“See you tomorrow,” she says, and carries baby Inga away.
Alice turns to Mr. and Mrs. Grover.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Mrs. Grover smiles at her.
Two hours later, when everyone has finally left, Angie returns to the coffin. Alice and Ellie kneel on either side of her. They are exhausted and yet it feels like they are living outside of time now, with the minutes speeding up and slowing down, with wanting it to be over, and wishing it would never end.
“Can we see him again tomorrow?” Alice asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll seal the coffin tonight.”
“I wish—”
“I know.”
Ellie puts a book of drawings next to Matt’s body.
“Why can’t I see him one more time?”
“Alice—”
“Why? What difference does it make? I’ll ask Ms. Mahoney. You won’t have to do anything.”
Angie touches Matt’s face.
“I’m not ready, Mom.”
“No one’s ready.”
“I’ll never be ready.”
Ms. Mahoney steps up to them. She doesn’t have to say a word. It’s late and everyone is waiting for Alice and her family to leave.
“We just need another minute.”
Ms. Mahoney is looking at Angie. She is not so nice now. Maybe she’s tired, too. But this is just a job to her, Alice realizes; she’s ready to kick off her heels and take a bath and be done with the Bliss family for the night.
An old man in a dark suit flips on the overhead lights.
“Could you please . . . ?”
He stands at the light switch, his arms crossed over his stomach. The glare of the lights is cruel. Her father looks less and less like himself and more and more like something that no longer belongs to this world.
In the harsh light Alice can see that the chintzy velvet that surrounds the coffin is attached with Velcro. A stage set, that’s all it is. Why do they do it like this? It’s supposed to mean something, but does it?
She has packets of marigold and zinnia seeds in one hand, and Matt’s father’s hammer in the other. How weird is that, she thinks. A hammer in a place like this. She places them in the coffin, the hammer by his side where he can reach it, the seeds in his breast pocket. What had seemed so important a few hours ago, now she wonders what difference it will make. Is it all superstition; is it all just piling up little moments, little stacks of memories against the devastation of the future? As though she will somehow feel better next month when she remembers,
at least I put Grampa’s hammer in the coffin?
The hammer and the buttons on his uniform will last longer than his clothes or his body or the coffin itself. This is a horrible train of thought.
She jumps when she realizes that the old man is standing just behind them.
“Your father put a new roof on my house ten years ago. Good man. Good roof, too.”
They exchange a glance and then Alice and Angie and Ellie step away from the coffin. He turns to let them pass before him to the doorway.
“We’d like to stay until you close the coffin.”
He has to stand on tiptoe to reach and close the lid. The hinges are silent.
Angie takes both of her girls by the hand and walks through the building to the door, to the sidewalk, to the night air, to Gram and Uncle Eddie, heading for home.
May 10th
It’s four o’clock in the morning when Alice wakes up to find that Ellie has climbed into bed with her. She crawls over her to get up, sees Ellie’s pajamas and underpants discarded on the floor, and realizes she must have wet the bed.
She pads quietly down the hall and pushes the door to her parents’ room open. She is startled to see another head on the pillow next to her mom until she remembers that Lillian is staying with them.
“Mom?”
Angie sits up immediately; she has not slept. She grabs her bathrobe and follows Alice down the stairs and into the kitchen. Alice puts the kettle on though she’s not sure she really wants anything. Angie finds the Drambuie and pours herself a glass.
“You want to try it?”
“Sure.”
She passes Alice her glass.
“Ellie wet the bed.”
“Poor kid.”
“She got herself into clean PJs and she’s in my bed now.”
“Is that what woke you up?”
“I guess.”
Alice tastes the Drambuie.
“Mom . . .”
She hesitates.
“We can’t bury him.”
“What are you talking about?
“It’s not right for Dad. He can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
“What?”
“Put him in the ground.”
“Where do you want to put him? The backyard?”
“No. The ocean, a boat, maybe . . .”
“And never be able to visit him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Never be able to go to where he is?”
“I just can’t think of Dad trapped under the ground. I can imagine scattering his ashes from a rooftop, or by the ocean, or—”
“Daddy thought about cremation,” Angie says.
“He did?”
“But I asked him for a burial. I wanted a headstone, somewhere to go.”
“Why?”
“I need to know where he is. And I want to be buried beside him.”
“But maybe—”
“Do you really want to have your father cremated?”
“I don’t know. I just—”
Alice turns to look out the window.
“I don’t think I can stand there and let them put him in a hole in the ground and cover him with dirt.”
“That’s what’s going to happen, honey. I can try to help you, but you’re going to have to accept this.”
“Did you and Daddy talk about it?”
“Some. Not as much as we should have.”
“What do you believe, Mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“About heaven or an afterlife or the soul . . .”
“It’s hard to say.”
Angie pulls her robe close around her.
Alice stands there looking at her, needing her mother to know things. Angie hears Matt’s voice inside her head,
Try, Angie.
“I always thought holy rollers were ridiculous, and I never put my faith in any church.”
“And . . .” Alice waits.
There’s Matt’s voice again:
Keep trying.
“But now I realize I had a lucky life. I had the luxury of not needing to believe in anything. Now that Daddy’s gone I wish I believed in all of it.”
“Really?”
“Yes and no. I’m trying to figure that out.”
“And Daddy?”
“Oh, honey, you know Daddy . . . He was a pragmatist; he liked facts and figures. But this, this is a whole new ballgame.”
Alice pushes the glass away.
“When I wake up,” Alice says, “at first I don’t remember. Every day I wake up and I have to find out he’s gone all over again.”
“Me, too.”
“Really?”
“That’s part of why we go through all of this. It seems so strange and bizarre even, but the rituals—saying the words, touching his body, putting him in the ground, remembering him with friends—all of it starts to make it real for us.”
“I don’t want it to be real, Mom.”
“I know.”
There is a pause.
“What have they told you about what happened to Dad?”
“Very little.”
“I need to know.”
“Alice . . .”
“I have nightmares. I keep seeing him.”
“Honey . . .”
“How did they find him? Was there a rescue? What happened, Mom? I need to know what happened.”
“I don’t have answers to all of your questions.”
“Just tell me what you know.”
“And we don’t have the results of the autopsy yet.”
“How hard is it to tell whether he died from his wounds, or further injuries, or pneumonia? That’s pretty simple.”
“Nothing is simple with the U.S. Army.”
“You’re stalling.”
“All that they’ve told me so far is that he died from his wounds.”
“When?”
“That’s what the autopsy is for.”
“How did they find him?”
Angie takes a sip of her drink, looks out the kitchen window to the dark shadow of Matt’s workshop. She does not want her daughter to hear these words, to be haunted, as she is haunted by this knowledge.
“. . . Mom . . .?”
“His body was dumped on the side of the road.”
“Where?”
“Eleven miles from where he was captured.”
Alice leans against the counter.
“Was he mutilated?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Did they take his organs?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Really sure?”
“Yes. Alice—”
“Did they ever give you Travis Boyd’s phone number or address?”
“They say they’re working on it.”
“Was anyone else with Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“How bad were his wounds? Have they told you?”
“No, they haven’t.”
“I keep imagining the worst things.”
“So do I.”
“It must have been terrifying.”
“Yes.”
Angie reaches out to Alice just as Alice takes a step away.
“Mom, sometimes I think I can’t stand it; I won’t be able to . . .”
Alice looks down at her hands, clenching and unclenching her fists.
“Daddy would want you to . . . He would want us all to really live, honey, really live in this world and try to make a difference.”
“I know.”
“He was so proud of you.”
“I don’t know why. I never did anything amazing.”
“He was proud of the person you are, the person you’re becoming.”
“I want him back.”
“So do I, sweetheart. So do I.”
Alice is the last one in the shower later that morning. The hot water runs out before her hair is rinsed so by the time she gets the shampoo out she’s chilled to the bone. But that’s okay, that’s perfect, in fact. She is dog tired and feels like she is hearing and seeing and feeling everything through thick layers of cotton wool. Everything is a little vague, a little removed; cool and distant.
Upstairs, she pulls on her dress from the dance and slips on her flats. She rakes her fingers through her hair and goes into her mom’s room to grab a sweater. She tries not to look at all the pictures of her dad on the dresser, but there they are: the early morning sun is streaming into the room and lighting them up.
Ellie is sitting on the top step of the stairs, dressed in a new plaid dress Gram bought her with white socks and brand new black patent leather shoes with straps. Ellie has her stuffed polar bear in her lap and her thumb in her mouth, which she yanks out as soon as Alice sits down.
“I put my sheets in the hamper.”
“I’ll help you make your bed later, okay?”
“You’ll forget.”
“No, I won’t.”
“I don’t want to go,” Ellie announces.
“Me neither.”
“I’m scared he’ll be stuck in that stupid cemetery forever,” Ellie says.
“Me, too.”
“I hate that idea.”
“Daddy would hate it, too.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Why?”
“He loved you best.”
“He did
not!”
“And you got to be with him longer than me. Seven years longer. That’s almost double.”
Angie calls to them to come and get in the car.
“Do you have the passage you’re supposed to read?” Alice asks.
“Why are they making us do this?”
“You scared?”
“I’m gonna want to cry and I can’t cry up there . . . Alice?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want this day to happen. Can’t you tell somebody? Can’t you make it stop?”
“It won’t be any easier tomorrow, Ellie.”
“How about never, then. Never would be good.”
From downstairs they hear:
“Girls! Let’s go!”
They stand up. Ellie takes Alice’s hand.
“I wish we could absquatulate.”
“What’s that?”
“Flee.”
They get through the service somehow. Little old Sacred Heart is packed to the rafters. There’s crying all around them, but the Birds and the Blisses seem to be seated in a no-cry zone. That could be because they are all pretty furious every time the priest opens his mouth. Each of them is sorely tempted to shout: Stop saying those stupid things about Matt! Jesus this and blah-blah better place that. It’s enough to make you sick. Matt would have hated it. Absolutely hated it. The only thing that’s kind of nice is Ellie’s reading of that old standby from Corinthians and Johnny Mason’s little speech or eulogy or whatever it was. But really, Johnny’s speech would have embarrassed Matt to death. He hated testimonials.
Even the music, which might normally be a weep fest, is so baggy and saggy, Alice wonders if there’s something wrong with the organ or maybe it’s the four-foot tall crone of an old woman who is playing it. Maybe she can’t reach the pedals. That would explain a lot. Henry must be grinding his teeth.
There’s a big holdup on the church steps with people wanting to stop and talk. Come on, already. Chat, chat, chat, sorry, sorry, sorry, over and over; it is driving Alice crazy. Perfect strangers some of them, wanting hugs, wanting to be comforted themselves. You just want to give some of these people a good shove.
Then there’s the hustle and bustle in the parking lot with the hearse and the cars and who goes where. The family is alone in Uncle Eddie’s latest Mercedes. A little respite. Lillian, who has been basically joined at the hip with Angie since she arrived last night, is riding in the car with Johnny Mason and his family. The Birds and the Blisses are directly behind the hearse with Lillian and company directly behind them.
In the pause before they pull out, Eddie passes his flask around. When Alice reaches for it, Angie just rolls her eyes and takes it away.