“I’m not turning back.”
He sighed. “I’m well aware. I will be available if you need to call throughout the day.”
“You said that already, too.”
“I’m telling you again. And what about Grace? You still haven’t told her where you are?”
“No.” Scowling, I shook my head, hating that I felt like a coward for not telling her. I also thought back to the last time I saw her face. The way I rejected her when all she did was do her best to help me. I knew that was all she had tried to do but I was someone who didn’t need to be taken care of by others because the people who were supposed to take care of me early on in life had failed. Dr. Kearns helped me to see why being cared for felt so wrong, even when it felt so damn right.
“Thanks, Dr. Kearns. I’ll call if I need to.” I hung up, knowing that I probably wouldn’t be speaking to Dr. Kearns again until I was back in Williamsport.
An hour later, I was heading out of the hotel and into the rental car I picked up for this occasion. I had an hour long drive from Seattle back to the town I grew up in. On the way there, I thought of Grace.
I’d called her once since I’d been in Washington to tell her that I was out of town for a few days. I didn’t give more details than that, although she wanted to know more. I told her I would be away for a few days and that I wouldn’t be able to speak with her. I heard the rejection in her voice along with the lingering questions. But I didn’t have answers to give. Not yet, anyway. I was still searching for them myself.
I hoped this spur of the moment trip would provide some.
I pulled up to the house on Lakeshore Drive. The very one I grew up in. It looked smaller, less intimidating than the last time I was there, more than fifteen years ago. But there hadn’t been many changes since. It was still lined with white siding, the door a candy red color that my mother loved, and black window panels. It was the cookie cutter home that fit in with the rest of the upper middle class family homes on this block. And I couldn’t stand the sight of it.
I watched as a few people trickled in and out of the house, dressed in all black. Some carried flowers and what appeared to be pans of food. The solemn expressions on all of their faces turned my stomach. I turned the key in the car’s ignition and drove off without getting out.
****
“Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return.”
The pastor’s words floated through the open windows of the rental car, colliding with my ears. My hands fisted in my lap as I watched a line form to toss flowers onto the off-white casket. I felt nothing as the casket was lowered into the ground. But I did feel a stirring of emotion when I watched my father bend over at the waist, in tears, as a few family members hugged him in his grief.
Fuck all of them.
I felt hatred. I’d said that the number one person I hated in this life was my mother, but as I stood there, watching my father cry over her casket, I realized that was a lie. I hated him just as much.
I sat in that car for a long time as people filed out, getting into their own vehicles or one of the limos that would take them back to the home I was just at, to eat, console one another, and share fond memories of the life lost. I sure as hell wouldn’t be joining in on any of that.
About forty-five minutes after I pulled up, the only person who remained at my mother’s burial site was my father. His back was to me as he sat in a chair slumped over with his face buried in his hands.
I climbed out of the car, dug my hands into my pockets, and strode in the direction of the two people who gave me life. One dead, one very much alive, but after this final conversation would be just as dead to me.
I moved closer until, pausing at my father’s side and glaring down at him. He didn’t even notice me at first. I took a few more steps until I was at burial site. Looking down, I glared at my mother’s casket.
“J-Jacob,” my father’s strangled voice gasped.
Slowly, I turned to him, glaring. He looked fucking pathetic.
“You came,” he said, standing, moving toward me.
“Don’t.”
He halted in his tracks.
I glanced back over my shoulder at the casket below before turning back to my father.
“I just came to make sure she was actually dead.”
His facial expression turned even gloomier. He shook his head.
“What a h-horrible thing to say about the w-woman who—”
“The woman who what? Tortured me? Beat the hell out of me? Taunted me by telling me how useless and worthless I was because I got an A- instead of an A+? That’s the woman who I should be grieving over?”
