Now She's Gone: A Novel (11 page)

I went to the funeral alone. I insisted on it. It was held in our little church, the one where I was baptized when I was eleven.

The little church. It had a bare wood floor, plain wooden pews and one stained glass window. It was so simple, it was beautiful. Nothing clouded its beauty. Outside the white paint was peeling off the clapboard siding. Isn’t it funny the things you notice? That you remember when you’re no longer there? I took the peeling paint and wood floors with me.

It was so good to see Kelsey. She held my hand all the way through the sermon. It was just us and a few of his drinking buddies. They reeked of alcohol and I felt so sorry for them, I gave them all the money I had on me. For some reason, I couldn’t stand the thought of them going to sleep that night without a drink. I know I needed one.

I don’t think anyone knew who I was at first, then, somehow, they figured it out. Or someone must have told them. They began to ask me questions which I answered with a smile but when I turned the questions about my father on them, they didn’t have any answers. No one really knew my daddy. Most of his family was dead, had moved away or just didn’t care.

We buried him in the little cemetery beside the church. I paid for everything and saw that he had a proper burial. He deserved that.

When everyone was gone, I went to his grave alone and asked all those questions I never got to. Like, why didn’t he love my mother? Or did he? I never got a response, but it sure made me feel better. I could finally breathe. I could finally be alone with him. I didn’t care when it got dark and I could hear the coyotes. It didn’t scare me, not like it used to.

I stayed with him all night. He might have died alone but he wasn’t going to spend his first night in the dark by himself. I didn’t sleep; I roamed around a little, and then sat down beside his grave. I was scared, but I lived through it. I had to give him something. He’d given me life and he deserved that.

When the sun finally came up, I stopped crying. I wiped my tears, told him I loved him and walked away. I never went back there, though I did hire someone to look after his grave and to put flowers on it. I would do it myself, but it’s too painful.

The thing about my daddy was he always made me feel good about myself. Even though he was ‘no good,’ he was good to me. He may not have done shit for me, but he gave me this life and that’s saying something. I don’t hold grudges like my mother and other people I know. I can’t. They drain me. No, they don’t drain. They freeze you. You can’t move forward because of them. I refuse to succumb to grudges because then someone really has power over you. If you’re holding a grudge against them, they are controlling your life. And I’ve always been in control of my own life, thank you very much.

I’d rather think of my father as being good, even if it’s not necessarily true. I won’t think of him any other way. He and I had a special bond even if we didn’t see each other very much. Even if we really didn’t know each other, we belonged to one another. And no one, not even my mother, could take that away. I think that’s what killed her—that I refused to hate him like she did. I just saw him as a man who had made mistakes and as terrible as his mistakes were, they were just mistakes. He was human.

Bruce was so happy to see me when I got back. I don’t know why God gave me such a good man. Such a loving man. I don’t deserve him, but I’m sure glad I got him.

My mother should have been as lucky to have someone like that. But on the other hand, so should have my father.”

I stared into space. I had always wondered why she wouldn’t let me go with her to his funeral. She wanted to be alone with him just once. She’d never gotten that. She knew I wouldn’t have let her stay alone all night beside his grave.

I suddenly wanted to hold her so bad. Just hold her in my arms. Console her. Let her know how important she was to me.

Some of the resentment I felt was draining. I could feel it go. It was being replaced by sadness. I couldn’t hate her, no matter how bad she had hurt me, no matter how much pain I felt because she was gone, I couldn’t hate her. I wanted to. It would have made things so much easier. But I just couldn’t.

“Of course, Mom had to say, ‘I told you not to go.’

You know, sometimes she agitated the shit right out of me.

I said, ‘And that didn’t do you any good, did it?’

She just stared at me. I got so frustrated then. Why did she always have to be like that? I had begged her to go with me but she wouldn’t. I begged her to put her resentments behind her and move on. She wouldn’t. She was so stuck it drove me crazy.

I told her, ‘Mom, you can’t keep pulling me away from him. He’s dead now. He deserves better.’

‘If you say so, but you weren’t the one who raised a child all by yourself, now, were you?’

‘No, that was you, as we all know.’

‘Shut. Your. Mouth.’

I stared at her, hating the fact that she still had so much control over me. Hating the fact that I would be in a bad mood for days after a visit with her. But she was my mother and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. So, I shut my mouth. It pissed me off, but I did it.”

That pissed me off, too. Sometimes she’d come home after visit and wouldn’t say a word. When I’d ask her what was wrong she’d say, “Oh, just another visit with my wonderful mother. What could possibly be wrong?”

Now I knew. She really did have a hold on her.

“She said, ‘I don’t deserve this shit from you.’

‘Whatever.’

She was beginning to get pissed off. “I did my best by you, Cassandra. My very best. I can’t help it if it wasn’t good enough.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s all about you and your sacrifices.’ I stood and pointed to myself. ‘What about me? What about the fact that I had to sacrifice a relationship with my own father to appease you?’

She eyed me but didn’t say a word. There was such a strong bond between us and I didn’t know how it even came into being. I wanted to break it so badly and just tell her to go to hell. But I couldn’t. She was my mother. You don’t do that to your mother, to the one who raised you alone and gave up her life for you.

‘I’m warning you,’ she said. ‘Shut your lip.’

I sat down and put my head in my hands.

She said, ‘If you’d just grow up and have a baby, you’d get all these foolish notions out of your head.’

The nerve! How dare she say that to me?!

‘What have you told him? I mean, about you not wanting kids?’

I got up to leave. I had to get away from her or I’d go off on her. Me not wanting kids was always an issue with her. No, it wasn’t that I really didn’t want kids. I just didn’t want them yet. Big deal. What business was it of hers?

‘Cassandra?’

‘What!’

‘What have you told him?’

I crossed my arms and snapped, ‘Who!’

She crossed her arms and glared at me. ‘Bruce. Your husband.’

‘We don’t talk about it.’

She eyed me. ‘A man like that will want babies.’

A man like that! What was he? Some prince in line for the throne? Oh, she was too much.

‘It’s none of your business,” I said, thinking maybe I should explain myself, to let her know I had been thinking about it. But I didn’t want to because then she’d start to push, to tell me to do it now, now, now! And I hated it when she pushed.

‘Just like your father,’ she mumbled.

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘He didn’t want kids either.’

I could have cried. I could have exploded. I just wanted to leave. I got up to leave. ‘Oh, thanks, Mom. That makes me feel really good.’

I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door, cursing myself once again for succumbing to her bullshit. I stared around the small house, the one I’d bought for her, for all her sacrifices. The one I’d paid for by stripping and working for Fabulous Freddy. Bruce didn’t even know what I did with my paychecks. But I worked every day until I got that house paid off and then I quit. And do you think she appreciated my ‘sacrifice?’ Hell no, she didn’t! My mother cared about one person and that was herself.

And, yes, Bruce had asked me about having kids and I just panicked. I was like, shit! It can’t be time to settle down and have kids already! I suddenly felt old, like time was slipping away. Yes, kids sounded like a good idea, but so did a vacation to Jamaica. I was stuck. That’s all. Stuck trying to figure just what to do and when.

And then what if he left me like my daddy left my mom? I mean, shit! What the fuck would I do? History repeats itself, you know? It always does and—”

The phone brought me back to reality. I stared at it and let it ring three times before I picked it up.

“Yeah?”

“It’s your mother.”

“So?’

“Young man! Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s your birthday,” she said and then, oh, dear God, she began to sing
Happy Birthday
. Every single note. Her voice reverberated in my ear after she was done. I held the phone out and yanked on my ear lobe, then got back on.

“Uh, thanks, Mom.”

“Me and your daddy will be by to get your around five.”

“For what?”

“We’re taking you out to eat!”

No! No! No!

“See you in a little bit,” she said and hung up before I had a chance to tell her no.

Shitmotherfuckingshit! At least I had enough time to finish this entry.

“—I just wasn’t ready for kids. Why was it always kids, kids, kids? That shit drives me crazy. I asked Bruce about it once and he said, ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

I told him, ‘I might not ever be. What if I won’t ever be ready for kids? Don’t you want to know now so you can find someone who will want kids?’

He stared at me like I was crazy. ‘Sandy, I love you. It’s really your choice. Kids would be fine. I’d love to have kids with you. But don’t do it for me. Do it for you.’

For me… Maybe I should start thinking about it.

Oh, Kelsey called yesterday. She’s getting ready to divorce her husband. He’s been cheating on her. She’s thinking of moving to a bigger city. I hope everything works out for her. She deserves the best.

Ta ta for now.”

She Belonged to Me

They were trying to be so nice. They took me to a really nice restaurant and even ordered a little cake with one candle, which my mother forced me to blow out. When I did, she clapped her hands together happily like it was my second birthday. Sometimes she got on my nerves so bad.

She turned to my father. “Thirty-nine years old now.”

He tried to smile at me. I didn’t try to smile back. I knew they were just trying to be nice and I appreciated the thought but I really didn’t want to be here. It showed on my face and in my mannerisms. I tried to be nice and let it go. But I really wanted to go home and be by myself. That’s hard to hide.

“Where’s Nick?” I asked.

“Your brother is working tonight,” she told me.

“Fat chance of that,” Dad muttered.

Mom smiled a little, embarrassed. My brother Nick still lived at home with my parents. He was five years younger than me. He was bum and that’s pretty much all he’d ever be. I knew when they couldn’t take care of him anymore it would be up to me. And I accepted that family duty. We’d just pass Nick around until we could put him in some nursing home.

I shook my highball glass at the waiter. He nodded.

“I was just telling your father about this young lady I know,” Mom said.

I couldn’t believe her. I was more than a little appalled when she pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and waved it at me.

The waiter set the drink down in front of me and took the other glass away. I picked it up and downed it.

“Now her name is Penelope and she works with Louise’s daughter.”

I just stared at her. She was so fucking happy about this! She never liked Sandy. She was probably glad when she found out she had left. I could just imagine her saying, “Now I can find him a nice girl.”

“I got her phone number for you,” she said and slid the paper over to me.

I picked it up, glanced over it, wadded it up and threw it over my shoulder. She just sat there and looked dumbfounded.

“I went to a lot of trouble for that!” she squeaked. And then she actually got up and retrieved the paper, smoothed it out, put it back in her purse and told me she’d have it when I wanted it. She was almost in tears. Happy Fucking Birthday.

I asked her, “You have no clue what I’m going through, do you?”

She wiped at her eyes pitifully. My dad just sat there and tried not to become involved, like he always did. Run when there’s trouble or play dumb. He usually just played dumb.

“No you don’t,” I said and looked away.

He said, “She’s only trying to help, Bruce. You don’t have to act that way.”

“Oh, really? Let me ask you something. Did you just have your wife leave you? Huh! Did you!”

Mom said, “Bruce, honey, I’m sorry. I—we—just want to help you through this. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think,” I hissed. “Do me a favor and stay out of it.”

She looked away from me.

Something caught the back of my ear. I stopped and listened. It was the sound of a saxophone, then violins. Then the unmistakable sound of Dean Martin’s voice crooning
You Belong to Me
. I hadn’t heard that song in years.

“Well,” Dad said as I listened to the song. “Happy birthday, son.”

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small gift. I unwrapped it to find a set of drafting pens. They were very nice.

The song was playing, so softly, in the background. I stared at the pens, then glanced at my father. “Thanks Dad,” I said and stared at Mom. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to meet anyone right now. I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes. “That’s okay, honey. Whenever you’re ready.”

She didn’t realize I’d never be ready.

I cut everything out of my mind and began to listen to the song. I looked out into the restaurant, thinking of Sandy, thinking about how she belonged to me. Or, how she had once belonged to me. I always thought of her whenever I heard this song. It wasn’t our song—I don’t even know if she’d ever heard it—but it was the song I’d always dedicate to her. If I did that sort of thing.