couldn’t bear to change. With Clint dead, she didn’t feel entitled to wear anything nice. She would just have to greet his family in the lounging pants she’d been wearing, with the same old sweat shirt. She knew that as soon as they came in they would look her over from head to toe, watch her every move. They would scoff at her clothing. And if something were out of order, they’d be talking about it for days. But she didn’t really care.
The family would also check the house to see that everything was exactly where it belonged. They were furious when Clint bought this place without consulting them . They said it didn’t suit him and was too far away, down this long, deserted road. Who in their right mind would buy a clapboard, starter house that looked like a beach home?
Clint didn’t seem to care what they thought of it, and just put his photos everywhere, even the ones they didn’t like. Cindy’s memorabilia were perched in full display on the white, wooden shelves—hand-painted porcelain ducks and birds. Clint’s mother didn’t like them either. What grown woman would display objects like that? And who had designed the living room decor? The couch had tropical, colored cushions on it, and there were plants that were much too large growing everywhere. It was clearly Cindy’s influence, her lack of taste. This was definitely not the life she’d envisioned for her son. His mother had no compunction about telling him so, either . How Cindy landed someone like Clint baffled her mind.
Cindy was uneasy at the thought of seeing the family now. She knew they were devastated and had no idea how to comfort them. Thank God Ann was still here. She would not have been able to face them alone. .
Ann was in the kitchen now preparing coffee and cake. Cindy scanned the living room quickly to make sure everything was in order. But no matter how much she tried to spruce it up, the room looked sad and tousled.
Cindy puffed the cushions on the sofa, and arranged them neatly. She had stacked the piles of gifts they’d received for the wedding in the corner. She’d forgotten all about them, hadn’t noticed the gifts since she’d returned. They stood there as an awful reminder of a life that could have been.
Now she quickly went over, lifted them a few at a time, and brought them into Clint’s study in the rear of the house. The last thing she wanted was to have the family looking the gifts over, asking for them to be opened or pushing her to send thank you cards. She would when she was ready. It was all way too much right now.
“How are you doing?” Ann called in from the kitchen.
Cindy could smell the delicious fragrance of coffee and homemade cookies wafting into the living room.
Ann walked out of the kitchen and looked Cindy over. Ann was wearing a casual pair of slacks and an old familiar, blue sweater. Her light brown hair was brushed neatly down around her moon-shaped faced face. Ann was deeply at home with herself. Whatever she wore, she looked lovely, ready for whatever circumstance presented itself. Cindy envied that. She often felt awkward, and Clint’s family intensified that. When they were around, she felt as if she never made the grade.
Ann looked her over in disapproval. “If you’re not going to change, will you at least just brush your gorgeous, tasseled hair.”
Cindy smiled. Ann always tried to make her feel beautiful . The doorbell rang, and Cindy and Ann looked at each other.
“Can you answer it?” Cindy asked.
Ann nodded, and headed for the door.
Cindy went to the bathroom, closed the door, and listened. The quiet, muted voices carried through. Cindy splashed cold water on her puffy cheeks, and took a deep breath.
Finally, she opened the door.
Clint’s family was already seated. His mother sat beside Clint’s father on the sofa. They sat at opposite ends and did not touch. His sister Marge sat next to her husband Ralph in the sand-colored chairs that faced the couch. Everyone was dressed in either navy blue or black. Ann sat facing the family on a thin wooden bench. It had a long paisley cushion on it. The room felt stultifying.
Ann quickly got up when Cindy entered and pulled over a comfortable chair for her. Cindy wondered how she would ever get along without Ann at her side. As she sat down, she felt every eye in the family boring through her . Marge started coughing and Clint’s mother put her head in her hands. It was a terrible moment for them all. Cindy wanted to say,
“Would you like some coffee and cookies?” Ann asked, getting up to serve them.
“Not right now,” Clint’s father mumbled. He seemed much weaker and sounded distant and sad, as if this were all much more than he could bear.
“This is the worst possible thing that could happen for my father,” Marge blurted out. “He has to be careful of his heart and it’s been hurting terribly all week long. He’s on extra medication now,” and she looked at Cindy darkly, as though perhaps, she was to blame.
“I’m so sorry,” Cindy said.
“We thought you would take good care of Clint,” his mother lifted her head and stared at Cindy. There was not an ounce of sympathy in her. The entire family was wrapped only in their own grief. “We still can’t understand how something like this could have happened,” his mother persisted.
Cindy felt her heart start to pound and her lips get dry. What were they intimating? Fortunately, Ann came to the rescue.
“This was a horrible accident,” she said quietly. “If Cindy could have prevented it, she would have. She’s suffering, too.”
Ralph, Marge’s husband, cleared his throat when Ann said that. “We’re all suffering,” he said. “We recognize that.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Ann replied.
“We didn’t come here to argue,” Ralph stated, in his flat, orderly, dry tone.
“None of us are clear about what exactly happened,” Ralph took the lead. It sounded as though he’d prepared his words to the letter.
In a swift moment, Cindy realized this was not a condolence call. The family wanted facts, information—they wanted someone to blame for this nightmare. Thankfully, Ann had some experience with these kinds of situations. Before she started her own consulting business, she was trained as a social worker and had worked in a hospital for a few years before her marriage .
Cindy looked at Ann, pleadingly.
Ann got the message.
“What would you like to know, Ralph?” she said.
“It’s not just me, of course, it’s the entire family,” Ralph answered carefully.
“Of course,” Ann replied professionally. “What questions can I answer for you?”
“I don’t want to hear from
“Cindy has already told everyone what happened,” Ann said.
“No she hasn’t. Not enough. I want to know more—much more.”
“I know how hard this is for you,” Ann said to Clint’s mother quietly.
“No, you don’t,” his mother hissed. “Nobody can know what it’s like for a mother to lose a son. Certainly not a new bride, who only knew him for a year. I knew him his whole life long. From the day he was born. I carried him inside me for nine months.”
Cindy felt woozy again, almost like fainting. “I’m so sorry,” she said to his mother.
His mother’s head flipped upwards, like a cat. “Sorry isn’t enough,” she said.
Ann got up and stood between Cindy and her. “Excuse me,” she interrupted, “but my sister is in pain as well. I hope you realize that.”
“I don’t realize anything,” Clint’s mother said. “I don’t know how in the world I could have lost a son. And I want answers from the last person who saw him alive.”
Cindy choked back the tears that were forming.
