The Funeral, Part Two

The setting sun bloodied the swings, scorched the slides as Kelly wandered around the elementary school playground. When things got tough, she usually found herself there, yearning for something lost, searching for answers. But no matter how many times she came, she never got any answers. Just a bunch of disappointment and dog shit on her shoes.

She sat down on the merry-go-round and gave herself a rough push. The world swirled around her, made her dizzy, but at least she was feeling something. All day, she’d had this horrible numbness, this sense of unreality, like she was only a character in someone else’s dream. During the funeral, she’d kept waiting for that someone to wake up, to set her free, but everytime she blinked, the casket had still been there. And everyone around her had been able to cry.

She wished she could.

More than anything, she wished she could forget the way she’d come upon the accident scene, had watched the flames engulf her mother’s car. Everything had lurched into slow motion, the firefighters seemingly moving through water, slowed up in their efforts to get to the car. She wanted to forget watching him, the single firefighter who had approached the car from the rear, the way he freaked when he realized just whose car it was, the way he had tried to climb in the blasted-out window.

Kelly pressed her eyes shut against the rail of the merry-go-round. So much misery, so much pain, and all because of her. But there was no taking anything back.

It was too late.

***

The house was shrouded in stillness now, the mourners gone, garbage bags filled with paper plates, used cups. The cobalt pans had been scrubbed clean, thanks to Lu, and now rested, dripping, in the drainboard by the sink. Shadows crept through the house like smoke, claiming the last light of day in their rolling masses. The only light left was issuing from the television, the volume turned low, meekly whispering in the somber silence.

Roy slumped in the armchair in front of the television, his arms hanging limply by his sides. His white shirt was drenched under the arms, his somber gray tie loosened, dangling soggily down the front of him. If he’d had the energy, he would have stripped it off completely.

Never had he ever expected that she would go first.

He was the one who ran into burning buildings, who climbed great heights to rescue someone. He was the one who challenged the odds, who jumped into the river to save a woman from a sinking car, who braved the rougher side of town to treat a junkie and take him to the hospital.

She was a homemaker, safe in this house, the only danger facing her whether or not her quilting needle would puncture a fingertip, perhaps a minor burn from a cooking pot. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Roy crushed his hand over his forehead. The headache edged its way back to the front and center position, commanding his attention, triumphant in its fight against the aspirin he’d taken earlier. Panic gripped him for a brief moment, fought for control of his body, subdued just as quickly by his iron will. No, he wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t submit to it.

He rubbed his forehead, then allowed his arm to drop back down. His hand brushed something soft.

He peered over the chair and saw the cream-colored afghan she’d been working on just a few days ago. He could see her in this very chair, her long tapered fingers gently but deftly wrapping the yarn around her blue crochet hook, pulling it through, making her stitches complete. The afghan was always heaped in her lap, the crochet bag at her feet, the skeins of yarn arranged sideways to enable the yarn to flow more freely. She used to crochet for hours after the girls were in bed while he watched the late night news, the light from the television dancing on her cheek, cooling her face in a bluish bath.

Roy trembled. White hot anger ripped through him suddenly, knocked the air right out of him as he snatched the afghan out of the bag. A long string trailed after it, the blue crochet hook bounced with a small ting off the coffee table as it fell to the floor. Without even knowing why he was doing it, he ripped the neat little stitches out, pulled at the yarn until it gave way, unthreaded into a long, loopy mess. The crochet hook rolled on the hardwood floor, settled into a spot next to his foot.

He grabbed the hook and tossed it back into the bag, stuffed what was left of the afghan in after it, then carted the whole mess off to the garbage. He didn’t want to see it anymore.

Roy plunked himself back into the armchair, brooded at the television. The shadows lengthened. Tinny music crept from the twins’ room, Krissy’s favorite boy band on the stereo. She had disappeared into her bedroom shortly after Lucinda left, had closed the door against him for what seemed like the first time. He knew she was suffering. He wanted to reach out to her, but couldn’t, not yet.

The front door opened. He paused in his brooding long enough to look up at his other daughter, anger and frustration still seething deep within him. “Where have you been?”

Kelly turned her back to him, shrugged her shoulders. “Out.” She paused, seemingly studying the small picture Marie had hung by the front door. By all appearances, she looked like she didn’t care. But then, Roy never knew half the time what his daughter was thinking anymore.

“That’s not good enough, Kelly.” He stood up, rose to his full height. He could tell by the way she avoided looking at him that he made an imposing figure. He looked down at her honey-brown hair, her face so like Marie’s it nearly killed him to look directly at her. “The least you owe me is an explanation why you couldn’t even stick around for your mother’s reception.”

She turned on him, shock in her eyes. “I didn’t want to be around all those people!” She knitted her brows together, a scowl forming on her face. “I just needed to be alone for awhile.”

“You should have been here.” Roy crossed his arms in front of him. “I’m sure Krissy was uncomfortable around all those people, too, but I didn’t see her leave without a word to anyone.”

Kelly bit her bottom lip, but kept silent.

Roy watched her for a moment, seeing unmistakable resentment buried in her eyes. Resentment toward him. All because he was angry about the way she’d wanted to be alone after her mother’s funeral. Was he being unreasonable? He’d wanted to do the same thing.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Kell. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I guess I’m just jealous that you got away for awhile.” He mustered up a smile, his eyes sad. He reached out to pat her rigid shoulder, then pulled away when she stepped back. Obviously, she wasn’t about to forgive him anytime soon.

He frowned. “Well, you’re off the hook this time, but I don’t want you wandering off without telling anybody where you’re going again, all right?”

She blanched at the sudden bite to his tone, nodded sullenly. Roy watched her skulk off to her room, the memory of her standing silent and dry-eyed by the gravesite drifting into the shadows, blackening them like soot.