The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives, Part One

“You never know what’s going to happen.”

"You don’t, do you?”

“Let me go,” he whimpered, collapsing against the headboard.

Marie.

Roy half-lay, half-sat there for several minutes, the cold sweaty terror of the nightmare still gripping him. He blinked the tears from his eyes as he slowly came to his senses, his gaze wandering cruelly around the room she had decorated with her own hands. The patchwork quilt she had sewn by hand, the mauve and blue curtains she had bought at a yard sale and restored to almost new, the delicate perfume bottles on her dresser. Marie was everywhere here, and he couldn’t yet bring himself to pack her things away.

God, just a little over a week after her death, and already this house was driving him crazy. When the captain had called the night before, Roy was grateful to tell him that he’d be returning to work the next day. Sanders had hesitated, reminded him that he didn’t have to return to duty just yet, he still had over two weeks’ worth of leave accumulated, but Roy insisted on coming back. He didn’t know how much longer he could deal with it all otherwise.

He sighed heavily and rolled out of the bed. He listened to the silence of the house as he slipped into his navy velour robe-- a piece of clothing rarely used before Marie died but now somehow necessary in front of the twins-- then glanced at the clock. Not quite seven. He should have been able to hear one or both of the twins in the bathroom by now, getting ready for school.

He frowned.

The wood floor was cool, not cold, under his bare feet as he shuffled down the hall toward the girls’ room. The air was still unusually warm and balmy for late November, still freakish and wrong, like everything else that was happening.

He knocked on the twins’ door. “Krissy? Kelly?”

Muffled moans answered him. He smiled as he heard Krissy’s sleepy voice drift through the door. “We’re awake, Dad.”

“You gals are going to be late. Better step on it.” He turned to leave.

Krissy poked her head out the door. “Kelly says she’s sick again.”

Roy sighed, then followed her into the girls’ room. He ignored the disaster zone as he stepped carefully over discarded clothing to his other daughter’s bed, noting the way she huddled almost painfully under the covers. He carefully perched on the side of her bed. “What’s wrong, Kelly?”

“I’m sick.” Her voice was small, barely audible.

He put a hand to her forehead. No fever. “Upset stomach?”

“She’s faking it again,” Krissy said, looking through the closet. “We have a test in Hurley’s class today, and she didn’t study all that much for it.”

“I’m not faking it,” Kelly snapped, rolling over to face them. “I really am sick.”

Roy sighed again, at a loss as to what to do. Marie used to handle this little stuff. She knew when the girls really were sick and when they were just trying to avoid something at school. He studied Kelly’s face for clues, her eyes so like her mother’s it twisted the knife in his gut. “You don’t look all that sick to me, Kelly. Now get up and get dressed. You’re going to school.”

“You always believe her, don’t you?” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Roy gave her a warning look.

“Nothing.” Kelly sat up and eyed him reproachfully, then tossed the covers aside.

Roy nodded once as he headed to the door. “Hurry up. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Of course, things didn’t go that easily.

After he had showered, shaved, and dressed, Roy walked out to the kitchen to discover both girls sitting at the table, Krissy wide-eyed and sheepish, Kelly dark and defiant. He looked from one girl to the other and sighed. “Missed the bus, eh?”

Krissy nodded. “I’m sorry, Dad. If Kelly hadn’t taken so long in the bathroom--”

“Yeah, like it was all my fault.” Kelly glowered. “You could’ve gone in there earlier.”

“Girls!” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back the headache that was slowly forming between the eyes. God, he missed Marie. “Look, let’s not fight over this. Just get in the truck. I’ll be out in a minute.” He shook his head and reached for the aspirin.

It was already shaping up to be quite a day.

The trip to the high school was silent, the air in the truck heavy and still. Both girls ignored each other until they pulled up to the curb in front of the school, when Kelly accidentally-- deliberately? he couldn’t really tell-- clipped Krissy’s knee with her knapsack.

“Dad!” Krissy wailed, shoving at her sister.

“Stop it!” Roy snapped, thrusting his arm between the girls. Next time he took them anywhere, he would have to make sure that one of them sat in the back seat of the extended cab. “Kelly, apologize to your sister.”

“It was an accident.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Krissy pouted. “She’s not sorry.”

“Drop it, Krissy.” Roy clutched the steering wheel a little tighter. “Just drop it, okay?” He nodded toward the school, the yard empty of students. “Better hurry up and get to class. I’ve gotta get to work.”

The red pickup shook as the girls clambered out, both of them arguing about the incident as Roy pulled the door shut with a slam. He watched them stalk toward the school, Kelly’s head low between her shoulders, Krissy straight and tall as she reached for the doors. For twins, even fraternal twins like them, they were as different as night and day. It never ceased to amaze him how much conflict could occur between twin sisters.

He tried to ignore the blackened railroad trestle as he headed away from the high school. His headache now at a dull roar, Roy cursed at having to drop the girls off at school. He’d never wanted to come back this way again, through this hellish intersection, and the red light that now held him prisoner here.

The railroad trestle mocked him in the rearview mirror, the soot stain outlining where the car had struck and burst into flame.

“Damn it.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. Pain grappled his head, the air in the pickup stifled him as he lowered the window and gulped at the moist, heavy air outside. His insides shook with agony as he tore his eyes away from the funeral wreath one of Marie’s friends had perched on the side of the road near the trestle.

When the light finally turned green, he gunned it and screeched away from the last place his wife had breathed before the semi plowed her into the trestle.

The Funeral, Part One

The flames are all long gone
But the pain lingers on.
--Pink Floyd, “Goodbye, Blue Sky”

The warm air choked him like smoke.

Roy glanced toward the brutal sun, saw its white fire wrap around the smooth wooden casket where his beloved wife lay. In the movies, it always rained during funerals. Of all days, it had to be sunny on this one, during Marie’s funeral. There was something unnatural about the whole thing. Hell, this whole autumn had been unnatural. Temperatures had soared into the upper seventies for many days at a time without even a hint of the snows to come.

Today, it was nearly eighty.

He ignored the drone of the priest as he looked down at his fraternal twin daughters, both of them with their heads bowed. Krissy cried openly, a tissue pressed into her nose as she snorted, the tears streaming down her cheeks, dropping softly onto her crisp black dress. She glanced up at him then quickly looked away, a fresh onslaught of tears overcoming her. Kelly stood on the other side of her sister, dry-eyed. She stared at the casket, confusion in her face, no sign that she even knew he was watching her.

Roy frowned.

The casket was lowered into the gaping chasm by his feet. A fleeting sense of panic gripped him as he realized his wife was in there, closed against the beating sun, settling into the clutches of the earth. He resisted the urge to jump in after her, to pry open the lid and release her from her prison. She wasn’t really there anymore. All that was left of her was a blackened husk. A crispy critter.

He winced. How on Earth could he have ever thought that about his own wife?

One of Marie’s quilting friends sobbed loudly behind him, drew his attention away from the casket. The flowers were coming. A woman from the funeral home was handing some to Krissy, her sympathetic brown eyes catching his for a brief moment as she held out the largest bouquet to him. His throat closed, made it difficult to breathe. He wasn’t ready to give up his Marie, to let some vague notion of a god take her away from him. He couldn’t bear to think of the sound that the flowers would make when they struck the lid of the coffin, the clods of dirt raining down after them, sealing her into the ground with the worms and beetles. His eyes grew heavy with tears as he let out a gasp, reached for Krissy’s hand. Her fingers gripped his as she leaned against him and buried her face into his shirt.

The priest had fallen silent. Roy looked up at him, saw the clergyman watching him expectantly, dropping his eyes toward the flowers. So, it was time.

Roy gently pulled away from Krissy, then turned his attention toward the casket. He tried not to remember the woman who lay within, the unrecognizable shape they had laid out upon the white satin interior. It wasn’t really her at all. Narrowing his eyes against the sun, or so he told himself, he let the bouquet fall.

Time held still as the flowers dropped, jarring back into action with a sickening thud as they hit the top of the coffin.

He closed his eyes, swallowed his tears, then glanced over at Kelly. She stood there rigidly as she threw her own flowers in, her cheek illuminated by the fiery sun.

***

“Watch it, Roy. This is hot.” Mavis bustled past him, her hands full of tuna casserole. He watched her carry it to the butcher-block table where she set it down among the plates of smoked ham, scalloped potatoes, chili. The table was getting crowded, yet still more plates were being brought in from the kitchen.

Personally, he couldn’t eat a thing.

He sighed and ambled toward the living room, past the potted ficus tree that was being scrunched by several of his fellow firefighters. He nodded in their direction, accepted their condolences, then eased past them to peer into the room. Mourners teemed like ants, covering every surface, all of Marie’s friends from her quilting circle, her mother, various members of her church. Roy was surprised at how many people he didn’t recognize. Of course, he hadn’t set foot in her church for ages. Never a particularly religious person to begin with, Roy had always found excuses for not going most Sundays-- work schedules, charity events, hanging out with Red Corrigan, his longtime friend since high school. Marie had always been unhappy about that.

He would have to make the effort now, for the girls’ sakes. He swallowed hard.

“Hey Roy, we’ve gotta go.” Jim Lane offered his hand to Roy. Dressed in uniform, he and his partner, Bill Johnson, were officially on duty, their radios by their sides. “Mrs. Lindsay and her poodle, you know.”

Roy managed a weak smile. “What’s the emergency this time?”

“The dog’s stuck in a drainpipe somewhere.” Lane rolled his eyes. “I don’t know who’s doing this, but it’s getting a little old. All I know is, if we’re two minutes late, the mayor’s office is going to hear about it.”

“That’s the advantage of having your son be the mayor.” Roy chuckled.

“Must be nice.” Lane shook his head, then grew sober. “Lisa and I are really sorry about Marie. She was a really sweet girl.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh wait, before I forget--” Lane offered Roy an envelope. “This is from the union. A bunch of the guys wanted to help out with expenses. You have enough to worry about right now.”

Roy looked at the envelope, hesitated. It was a nice gesture of all the guys he worked with, but at the same time, it felt like he was taking blood money. “I can’t--”

“Please, Roy. We all wanted to do this.”

Roy took the envelope and mustered up a smile. The envelope held the heat of his fingers. “Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it. If I’m not at the next meeting, could you thank all the guys for me?”

“Sure thing, man.” Lane smiled.

“Thanks.” Roy glanced down at the envelope, swallowed the lump in his throat. “Now go on, rescue that damned poodle before you get in trouble with the mayor.” He turned away, blinked hard at the moisture in his eyes. Facing away from the crowd, he nearly ran into the side table where the giant floral arrangement from City Hall rested. Calla lilies swayed in his face, their perfume whispering sweetly of her. Though roses had been her favorite, Marie had adored flowers of all kinds. This impressive display would have pleased her.

He cursed under his breath, then made his way back to the kitchen. He needed air. Badly.

Mavis was packing away some food into the freezer, Lucinda by her side. Of all people he most needed to see, it was these two. Friends since way before middle school, Mavis Asher had hung around with Marie throughout high school, had kept in touch with her when Marie went off to college, continued to be her friend through the wedding, childbirth, the gradual cooling of their marriage. Lucinda Richardson was almost as long of a lifelong friend, a gifted artist who spent long hours with Marie in her quilting circle, doubtless sharing many memories, many heartaches as their fingers stitched together bits and pieces of life into a thing of beauty, a map of an ideal like “love” or “friendship.”

Mavis paused for a moment, tugging at her thigh beneath her knee-length dress. “Damn, I hate these things.” She seemed oblivious that he had even walked into the room. “My pantyhose are bunching up.”

Lucinda laughed. “Don’t worry, soon you’ll be able to put on your jeans again, Grease Monkey.” She forced the air out of a Tupperware container, then slapped a strip of masking tape on the lid. As she labelled what was in the container on the outside, she threw a wink Mavis’s way. “At least you were able to clean out the grime from your fingernails.”

Mavis grinned. “Hey, I’m clean. Just because I work on bikes doesn‘t mean I’m filthy.”

“Far from it.” Roy leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the two women. “You look really nice today, Mavis.” She did, too. Her long black hair was combed neatly into a French braid, which brushed against the top of her simple black sheath dress. Her bangs which normally hung over and hid her eyes were tamed into submission, held in place on her head by a simple black leather barrette. Looking at her, a person who didn’t know her would never guess that this woman was a full-fledged biker chick, normally decked out in blue denim and black leather.

Mavis smiled back. “Thanks. How’re you holding up, Roy?”

“I’m okay. Tired, but okay.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No offense, but I don’t believe you. You look like hell.”

Roy winced. “Well, I--”

Lucinda frowned at Mavis, then strode across the kitchen to hug Roy. “What she meant to say is, she’s worried about you. You’ve been through a lot these last few days.”

“Yeah, what she said.” Mavis shifted from one foot to the other, ducked her head. “Sorry, I’m not really good at these things.”

Roy nodded. “Don’t worry about it, Mavis. We’re going to be okay, especially once today’s over. I just needed to come in here and get away from everybody for awhile.”

“You stay in here as long as you need to.” Lucinda pointed toward the kitchen table. “Sit.”

Roy smiled and did as he was told. “Yes, Ma’am.” He leaned back in his chair and looked around the kitchen, watching the whirlwind of activity going on around him. Steam rose from the cobalt colored pots and pans on the stove. Her pots and pans, the ones she’d chosen for their wedding registry. The heat in the kitchen was stifling despite the open windows, the temperature gathered in the confined space like an inferno.

Ashes to ashes... the flowers fell... dust to dust... THUD.

He closed his eyes against the headache that was filling his cranium. He stood up, walked over to the refrigerator, reached up to grab the aspirin bottle. He was only dimly aware of Mavis watching him as he shook three aspirin into his palm, tilted it up to his mouth. The pills, bitter and pungent, drew his attention back to the most basic of instincts, the instinct to swallow as quickly as possible and chase the tang away with a beer.

Mavis shoved a glass of water into his hand. “Careful, Roy.”

He mustered up a smile. “I’m okay, Mavis. Really.”

She watched him for a moment, then smiled. “All right.” She motioned toward the freezer. “We packed away about a week’s worth of food for you guys, plus whatever’s left over from today should keep you set for awhile. Lu and I are going to make it a point to check in on you every other day or so to make sure you’re doing okay, and you always know you can call me if you need anything, right? Right?”

He nodded. “I take it you’re going soon?”

“Yeah, Dad’s left at home and he hasn’t been feeling well.” She glanced around, then winked. “Plus, these clothes are getting on my nerves. I’m going to go change into more comfortable things. Forgive me?”

Roy nodded. “Always, Mave.” He embraced her, allowed his arms to pull her into a strong bear hug. Her hug back was almost as strong as his own.

She pulled away, blinked back tears. “Well, I’d better get going. Kiss the girls for me, okay?” Her voice was gruff, husky.

“You got it, Mavis. Thanks for everything.” He watched her gather up her purse and make a quick exit out the back door, then turned to Lucinda. “Speaking of the girls, have you seen them lately, Lu?”

“Krissy was in the living room with Marie’s sister, last I saw. As for Kelly, I haven’t seen her in awhile.”

Roy sighed. That figured. Of the two girls, Kelly had always been the hardest to deal with. Marie had been able to counter her moods and actions most of the time, but he’d always found his firstborn twin to be a mystery. In a way, he could see why. Kelly was a lot like her mother, and there were many things about Marie that still confused him.

But this was inexcusable. As close as Kelly had been to her mother, it just didn’t look right for her to disappear at Marie’s reception. “Excuse me,” he muttered, then turned to go.

He almost bumped into the tall man with shocking red hair who’d quietly come up behind him. Red Corrigan, his boyhood friend who now worked as a detective at the Red Rock PD. His normal jocular air subdued with the occasion, Red didn’t look at all like himself. His forehead was lined with strain, his normally twinkling blue eyes dull and lifeless.

Red reached out a tentative hand, pulled Roy into a quick hug instead. “I’m really, really sorry to hear about Marie.”

“Thanks.” Roy felt a lump well up in the back of his throat. Out of all the people who had come to the funeral, it was hardest to look Red in the eye. They had been so close growing up, been through so much together. They had also been in competition for Marie Halliwell’s attention throughout middle and high school up to the tenth grade, when Marie finally chose between them. It had almost destroyed their friendship.

“She was a great woman. You were a very lucky man to have her.”

Roy smiled. “I know.” It was awkward, facing his oldest friend, wondering if perhaps Red had kept loving her throughout the years, keeping it to himself the whole time. He swept his eyes over the hunched figure of his friend, saw the sadness in his eyes. “She really liked you, too, Red. She often told me so.”

Red smiled back, though his eyes remained dull. “I’m glad.” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve gotta get going. I just wanted to come and pay my respects.”

“Thanks.” Roy patted his friend’s arm. “Take care, Red.”

“Yeah, you too.” Red straightened, forced a smile. “Don’t turn into a recluse, eh? Let’s go out drinking or something when you’re up to it.”

Roy nodded. “That sounds good. I’ll call you.” He watched Red lose his way in the throng, then glanced back at Lucinda, who was watching him closely. Judging by the look on her face, the strain was probably showing on his own. He mustered up a weak smile. “I don’t know how much more grieving I can take.”

She bit her lip, then hugged him.