“That’s sweet,” Emerson said.
“She didn’t know that many people here,” I said. “Do you think we’ll need more seats?”
Mark smiled. “No offense to Grammy, but people won’t be there for her. They’ll be there for Ansley. And for you girls.”
My tears spilled over again because I was so grateful our mother had made our home in a town that loved us so much and would always be there for us.
Emerson and I were hugging, and Adam and Taylor were throwing fabric swatches in the air, when Kyle walked through the door. He put an arm around each of us and hugged us. “I don’t like my Murphy girls to be sad,” he said.
I wiped my eyes and nose and said, “You always make us feel better.”
“Because I’m Super Coffee Man?” Kyle asked, hands on his hips, chest puffed out.
That, of course, made us laugh, and order was restored to the world.
Kyle smiled. “My work here is done. Now I’m off to the church to get set up. Grammy wouldn’t want her mourners drinking Folgers.”
Everyone we knew and loved in this town was working on this funeral like they didn’t have a care in the world, save making my grandmother’s final celebration amazing. I sat back down, handed AJ an old wallpaper book and a pair of scissors, and said, “Can you cut some shapes out for Mommy?”
He smiled enthusiastically. “Sure, Mommy. I’ll cut you circles.”
Then I pushed a huge pile of fabric Taylor’s way and said, “Find all the red and put it in a pile for Mommy.”
This would buy me at least ten minutes—and be educational—while I put the finishing touches on this piece.
Instead of resuming my painting, though, I found myself staring at my boys. I thought about Grammy and Adam. They didn’t get to sit here and marvel at these perfect babies. So I put my brushes down and said, “Never mind, kiddos. Let’s go play.”
“Yay!” AJ said.
Taylor clapped his hands together. “Play, play, play!”
Like Kyle a few minutes earlier, for a second, I felt like Supermom, like I could raise these kids and have this job and handle anything else that came my way. I’m not sure if it was true. But, either way, it was the best feeling I’d had in quite some time.
THIRTY
eternity
ansley
Idon’t remember my mother’s funeral. I’m told it was beautiful, and I know that was true because I checked the flowers before I took enough of Caroline’s in-case-of-plane-flight Valium to get through the church and the handshaking and the stories about my mother with some sense of composure. Caroline informed me I even made a little joke. The mayor had had the hots for my mom for as long as I could remember, so when things got really rough with my former neighbor Mr. Solomon—like the time he said my grass seed had blown into his yard and was now growing there—Bob always took my side. When Mayor Bob came up, blotting his eyes, and hugged me, I evidently said, “Thank God Mr. Solomon went first.” I was funny.
My memory kicks in—hazily, more like I’m watching it all play out on video than actually living it—after the funeral, about the time I put on yoga pants and a sweatshirt. It was 75 degrees, but I wanted to feel cozy. I remember my brother Scott knocking on my door. I remember crying on his shoulder and begging him to come home in one piece. I remember John telling me he knew the spreading of our mother’s ashes was something he didn’t deserve. I remember telling him lightly that I agreed. He laughed, but we both knew I meant it wholeheartedly. And then I said, “You should come, John.”
He had looked up at me tentatively, contritely. “I’d like to have this time with you, Ans. I really would.”
I smiled. I thought I might like that too.
The girls and I sat around the living room and told stories about my mother. We laughed and cried.
Jack appeared in the living room, and when I saw him, I quit feeling so alone. When he hugged me, I knew I had someone. Though our skiff would have been more appropriate, Jack took our sad and poorly dressed brigade on his boat to Starlite Island. Well, poorly dressed except for Caroline, who looked impeccable in a white shift with a pale blue cardigan draped across her delicate shoulders. “Grammy would roll over in her grave if she saw the motley crew of the four of you,” she told us, looking John up and down in his shorts and T-shirt.
“And that,” Sloane said, “is whyyouwere her favorite.” I saw a sadness pass through her eyes with the mere mention of the wordwere. It was a hard pill to swallow.
After he helped each of us out, Jack started to climb back into the boat when Caroline said, “You come too, Jack. You’re family.”
He looked at me tentatively. I smiled. He was. More than she even knew. Whether we were ever together again, Jack was the father of my two eldest girls. Whether they ever knew that was irrelevant, though I did, as I had for years, intend to tell them. He would always, always be family.
I took comfort in knowing my mother would be here forever, across from the home that had been in our family for generations, and that she could rest peacefully on the island where she had spent her childhood summers, raised her children, and then formed a deep and irreversible bond with her grandchildren. It made me happy that I could always look out my window and know she and my dad were here. Of course, for a little while, it would be too painful to look out the window. But, little by little, the pain would ease until, one day, I would look out, think of my mother resting here, and smile. That day, I would know I was healed.
