Then, his eyes finally found mine. Kerry said to me with such profound sadness that I released Yancy’s hand, left her bedside and walked over to him waiting for a split second to take him in my arms after he spoke the words I dreaded, “My mother died moments ago. I was with her.” While he cried tears wetting my hair and neck I held him in my arms. Yancy was crying too.
Chapter Twelve
The arrangements for Esther’s funeral were made. She would be buried the day after tomorrow. I had gone with Kerry to the funeral home to make the arrangements holding his hand, helping him chose what was needed for his mother’s funeral. Kerry spent the night of his mother’s death at my mother’s house. Keegan and I had not wanted him to be alone in his mother’s house. He seemed to need to be with us as much as we had wanted to be with him. Walking through the funeral arrangements that day with him had been a nightmare, reminding me of what I might have to do should my own mother die.
Kerry slept in one of my sister’s rooms on the third floor with me and Keegan. Although the thought of sleeping next to him again was intriguing there was no reason to confuse the situation with Keegan. Besides I still had a husband to deal with when I got home to Eden.
Reluctantly, I went to my old bedroom after we kissed quickly but tenderly at my bedroom door. Keegan’s bedroom was between ours reminding of us of our responsibilities to stay away for now. The night was long, thinking about Kerry sleeping in a bed so close but so far away.
#
The evening of Esther’s wake Kat and I were dressed in the best dresses that we had brought with us. We had learned from experience that you didn’t go to Yancy’s house without bringing diverse attire. You just never knew what was going to happen at Yancy’s house that might require a good dress or slacks and a silk shirt or sweater. I wore my A-line black dress with round neck and long sleeves. The dress was a classic simple cut but beautiful. Kat wore a tan skirt that was ankle length and a black turtleneck sweater with black ankle boots.
Gone was the eyebrow ring and most of the earrings. She wore a diamond at the top of her ear and two small diamonds in her lobes leaving the second and third holes empty. She had dusted her cheeks with a peachy colored blush and accentuated her full lips with a tinted gloss. She wore mascara and no eyeliner. God, she’s so beautiful. She’s been hiding it all these years. Her wild cut was beginning to grow out so that she could no longer spike it. She had combed her bangs across her forehead in a wispy manner. Keegan had tucked some hair behind her ears. I realized that she looked the way I had always wanted her to look.
My feelings on the subject had always been confused. I would look at my daughter and know that beneath all the make-up, the unusual clothes and the hair color she was beautiful. The word normal would again enter my mind. Keegan could never explain to me successfully why she wanted to dress the punk way. She liked how she looked. She wanted to be different than anyone else. Keegan wanted to express herself.
I could only think that she could express herself in a more normal way. It was the one bone of contention between my daughter and me. We argued about her appearance from time to time when I could no longer keep my mouth shut. I could say whatever I wanted to Keegan but God help James or Yancy should they bring up the fact that she looked odd or unusual. James would tell me to sheath my claws when they came out to protect my baby girl.
At the funeral home Kerry was watching for us when we entered. Kat picked up the pen in her left hand and signed the guest book at the entrance while I glanced around the room. Nothing had changed about this place, I thought remembering my Nana’s funeral less than ten years before. The pale beige carpet was still worn looking but presentable. The walls were still a camel colored paint with beige painted trim. The funeral home had once been a mansion that sat in the middle of town. There was limited parking because of the location. I was surprised that Esther knew so many people that came to her funeral. Many of the attendees were people from her church including Harriet Mills.
At eight o’clock I turned towards the door when the cool winter air filled the hallway causing me to shiver. Surprised, I saw two people I hadn’t expected entering the funeral home. I stood and walked to the entrance where Issy and Patrick were standing in the foyer handing their coats to the funeral director’s aide. Had the situation been different Issy and I would have screamed with delight before running into each other’s arms. As it was a solemn occasion we walked to each other as two adults, friends for a lifetime and when we were close enough we wrapped ourselves in each other’s embrace.
She whispered in my ear, “It’s great seeing you.”
We had been close friends in high school and beyond. We wrote emails to each other frequently after I married James and moved out of town. Issy had married her high school sweetheart and had four children. She still looked the part of the captain of the cheerleading squad though. Her blonde hair was still long although she had layers cut in it that were different than the last time that I had seen her.
“I needed something different,” she told me about the new hairstyle.
Her tall frame was still slender even after giving birth to four children. Her bright blue eyes still twinkled with happiness. I had missed Issy. She was another piece of the puzzle that suddenly fit into place. She was another voice calling me to come home.
“How are you?” She asked stepping out of my embrace but still holding onto my hands tightly in her own.
“I’m good,” I told her. “You look fantastic.”
“The kids keep me young. Gabby, how’s James?” She asked with concern. Her voice a whisper for my ears only.
She brushed a lock of hair away from my face. She knew without me saying the words that nothing had changed. James and I were done. I didn’t tell her about Kerry. Now wasn’t the time. She understood that I had to find a way to correct my mistake of marrying James and come home to those who loved me. Looking across the room, I hoped that Kerry was included in that special group.
“How could I have been so wrong?” I asked my friend.
“You were vulnerable,” she said looking to where my eyes were focused on Kerry and our daughter.
Her face registered shock I saw when I turned towards Issy.
“She looks more like him than I even realized,” she said.
Patrick stepped in and kissed my cheek. “How’s your mother sweet girl?” He asked me.
“She is coming home the day after tomorrow,” I told him. “She will start chemo and radiation in four weeks.”
“I’ll keep her in my prayers,” he told me.
Patrick was a staunch Catholic as was Issy. I had attended mass with them more often than I had attended the Lutheran church with my mother once I became a teenager. I had enjoyed being treated like one of their girls on Sundays. There was a special feeling that emanated through you at being one of Patrick’s girls. After mass we would always go to the heart of town and have breakfast at a family owned diner. The eggs were greasy and usually left my stomach feeling nauseated but I loved going with them anyway. My family had been just as fond of Issy as hers was of me.
“Thanks Patrick.”
Issy and I found a corner where we could catch up after she gave her respects to Kerry. We talked quietly. She showed me pictures of each of her blonde haired, blue-eyed children aged fourteen to four. She had three boys and a girl third in line. Issy was proud of each of her children. Listening to her, hearing her happiness made me envious of her just for a moment.