I always made a point to read each word of every obit. This would be the last way this person was remembered: Was I really too busy to take an extra three seconds to read about their commitment to the March of Dimes? Also, I felt reassured when all the day’s listings were people like Mrs. Maguire, who had lived a good, full life. An obit for a younger person, like my dad’s age, always made me sad. A teen or a child was heartbreaking. It just didn’t fit, like a rule had been broken, and I’d find myself trying to piece together the part of the story that wasn’t told.
When I’d first started reading the obits, they never mentioned overdoses or drugs as causes of death. In recent years, though, as more opioid crisis stories hit the front page, they made this section as well. Occasionally it was spelled out, with the deceased having “struggled with an addiction,” or similar. More often, though, you had to read between the lines, finding the references to battling demons, pride in a previous period of sobriety, or a family request to donate to Narcotics Anonymous.
Would it have made a difference, having a clipping from a paper with my mom’s name and dates, a recap of the things and people she loved, and those who were missing her? It would have been at least more closure than that night outside the building as the elevator doors closed. Maybe that was what I was looking for, all those mornings with Nana and now.
“Morning,” I heard a voice say. I looked up to see Bailey come into the kitchen in shorts and a red T-shirt that said BLACKWOOD on it, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Morning,” Oxford said. “You working today?”
“At nine,” she replied. She went over to the counter, where she opened a loaf of bread, taking out six slices and dropping them into the toaster before turning it on. “Why?”
“Mimi’s knee is acting up,” he replied, folding down the top part of the sports section.
“Oh, no.” Bailey came over, sliding into the chair beside mine. “How bad is it?”
“Doc says he wants her off her feet for at least a week, but we all know that’s not happening. You want any of the paper?”
“Horoscopes, please.”
He handed her a section as I went back to my own reading about Wallace Camp, 78, who had passed surrounded by loved ones after a long illness. His photo was from his military days.
There was a thunk from upstairs, then the sound of a door opening. Jack yelled, “Can someone put in some toast for me?”
“On it,” Bailey called back.
“Thanks.” The door shut again.
“I can try to trade shifts with someone for tomorrow,” Bailey said, running her finger down the horoscopes before landing on Aries, which was my sign as well. “But it’s late notice for today.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out somehow.”
The timer sounded—BING!—and she jumped up, taking a plate from the cupboard and bringing it over to thetoaster. As she plucked the pieces out, one by one, the screen door slammed and Mimi came in. Gordon was behind her, in shorts over a bathing suit, a backpack over her shoulders.
“Oxford,” Mimi said, dropping a cordless phone receiver on the table beside him. “Answer this if it rings. I’ve got to take Gordon to camp.”
“Where’s Celeste?”
“Early shift. She left at six.” Mimi looked at me. “Emma, honey, did you eat breakfast?”
“Not yet. I’m fine, though.”
“Let me make you some before the bread’s all gone,” she replied, crossing the kitchen to load the toaster up with slices again. “If the Sergeant’s spending his money on this fancy thing, we should use it.”
The toaster being idle couldn’t have been an issue. By my count we were at eighteen slices now and counting. I asked, “The Sergeant?”
“Trinity’s fiancé,” Oxford explained, not looking up from his own section of the paper. “Deployed right now.”
“Where’s the butter?” Bailey, now peering into the fridge, asked.
“Your sister took it,” Oxford told her.
Bailey sighed. “Trinity! Bring back the butter!”
“I’m getting dressed,” her sister replied. “You can come get it.”
“Honey, I’ve got to take Gordon to camp!” Mimi yelled in the direction of the hallway, starting the toaster again. “So you’ll be starting on your own today.”
“Are youserious?” Trinity replied. “I’m huge. I can’t even bend down to get under the beds.”
