on her. She found Oma sitting in her recliner. She’d died peacefully, Alexis de Tocqueville’s
The memorial service took place in a Methodist church in Merced, the front two rows packed with relatives and the rest packed with friends. No air-conditioning and late August heat made the sanctuary almost unbearable. Uncle Bernie and Aunt Elizabeth; Ed; Granny and Papa; Aunt Cloe and her producer husband, Ted; and Aunt Rikki and an old friend and widower named Melvin were all there. Dawn sat beside Mom in the pew behind Granny and Papa. Mitch sat on the other side of Mom, his arm wrapped around her as though holding her together. Christopher sat on the other side of Mitch, leaning against him.
Dawn had never lost anyone, and she felt more regret than grief. She’d liked Oma immensely and wished she’d spent more time with her. But the depth of her mother’s grief frightened her. Mom had cried for three days after Granny called with the news. She hadn’t eaten in a week. Now, she sat ashen-faced, tears streaming down her cheeks as the minister spoke of heaven and the hope God gave everyone who believed in the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ our Savior and Lord.
Granny glanced back at Mom, her expression pained, almost angry. Dawn had overheard her speaking to Mom in the pastor’s office before the service. “Are you going to be all right, Carolyn?” She had sounded impatient.
“She’ll be fine, Hildie.” Papa put his arm around Granny’s waist. “Come on. We need to go in and sit down.”
“No.” Granny stepped away from him and kept staring at Mom. “If you can’t hold yourself together better than this, Carolyn, maybe you should stay in here and cry your heart out.”
Mom gasped as though struck.
Mitch’s face darkened. Dawn had never seen him so angry. “There’s no shame in grieving over someone she loves!”
“No shame at all.” Papa took Granny firmly by the arm. Granny’s face crumpled before she turned away.
Mitch looked chagrined and muttered the first foul word Dawn had ever heard him say. He folded Mom in his arms and whispered to her. Christopher looked confused and distressed. Dawn put her arm around him and told him everything would be okay, though she wondered if it would.
Now, as the service wore on, she studied her mother’s worn face and wanted to weep. She took her hand and found it cold. While the minister droned on, Dawn remembered things Granny had said. “Your mother was always going off by herself, even as a little girl. She liked being on her own in her dream world. She’d play outside with the dog for hours.”
Dawn thought that meant her mother hadn’t cared deeply about anyone but herself, that she didn’t need anyone. Clearly, she cared deeply about Oma.
Mitch decided they would leave Merced shortly after the reception started. “She’s taken all she can take,” he told Papa.
“We have to stay,” Papa said. “The lawyer will be going over the will tomorrow morning. Apparently, Oma managed to make some good investments.”
Mom stared out the front passenger window on the drive home. Tears streamed down her white cheeks. Mitch looked worried. Christopher put his head in Dawn’s lap and slept most of the way. Dawn didn’t know what else to do but pray.
During the last two weeks before school started, Mom went about her daily chores like an automaton. Even Christopher couldn’t lift her spirits with his cheerful inane chatter and repertoire of new puns and knock-knock jokes. When Granny called, Dawn escaped to Jenner by the Sea. Papa asked how her mom was doing, and Granny jumped in.
“You know very well how she’s doing, Trip. I told you I called a few days ago and Mitch said she wasn’t up to talking to me.”
“Maybe she’s feeling better now.”
“She won’t even speak to me!”
“She isn’t talking to anyone, Granny.” Fighting tears, Dawn went into the blue bedroom off the kitchen and closed the wooden folding doors. She could hear her grandparents talking in low voices at the table. Papa raised his voice.
“You’re madder at Carolyn for grieving than you’re sad over your mother dying.”
Dawn heard Granny crying and then quick footsteps retreating to the back bedroom. Opening the door slowly, Dawn peered out and saw Papa still sitting at the kitchen table, staring out at the Russian River. When she sat with him, he gave her a pained smile and quipped, “Women. You can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them.” He let out his breath. “Things wouldn’t be nearly so bad if everything had been sorted out between your granny and Oma years ago.”
“What wasn’t?”
He scratched his balding head. “Nothing that’s ever going to get fixed now.”
Home again, Dawn left Mom alone and went out to wander through the garden and vineyard alone. Mitch had started building a new tasting room last spring, and now he pitched in with the carpenters. Maybe he just wanted to be out of the house so Mom could grieve in private.
Hot and tired, Dawn came back inside and found her mother sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of steaming hot tea. Dawn sat with her. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mom?” She’d already finished the laundry and folding. She wouldn’t need to start dinner for another three hours.
“It’ll just take time.” Mom put her hands around the cup. “I wish you’d known her better.”
“So do I. It’s my fault I didn’t.” Dawn hurt for her mother. She hurt for Granny, too. They should be comforting one another. Instead, they didn’t even speak. “Do you want to talk about Oma? Would that help?”
Mom raised her head and offered a sad, rueful smile. “Maybe you should think about being a shrink.”
Dawn gave a soft laugh and started to cry. Angry with herself, she covered her face. “I’m sorry. I just wish I could make things easier on you and Granny. She cried all weekend.”
“Did she?”
Dawn wiped the tears from her cheeks. “She’d smile and pretend everything was fine, and then she’d disappear into the garage and cry.”
Mom rubbed her temples. “You’ll be a great comfort to her.”
“What about you, Mom?” Dawn could see the effort it took for her to sit at the table. Her mother leaned forward, heels of her hands pressed hard against her eyes. Was she trying to stop another onslaught of tears?
“I won’t run away to Haight-Ashbury,” she half whispered hoarsely. “I won’t run…”
It seemed such an odd thing to say, but Dawn didn’t want to make things worse by asking what she meant. “Christopher needs you, Mom.” Maybe that would be enough to shake her out of despair.
Her mother raised her head with an effort, eyes bleak. “And you don’t.”
Dawn felt impelled to admit what she never had before. “Yes, I do.” She slid her hand across the table, lifting her fingers in invitation, hoping her mother would understand. Silent, pale, her mother stared. Dawn waited, counting the seconds. Just when she’d almost given up hope, her mother slid her hand across the table and wove her fingers into Dawn’s. The first spark of life came back into her mother’s eyes as they held tight to each other.
33
“You have mail.” Mom came into Dawn’s room and handed her two envelopes. Dawn set Jane Austen’s
