'Thanks for the company.'
'Call me when you get in tomorrow.'
'I will,' Frank said. 'Good night.'
'Good night.'
Gail walked down the hall and Frank watched until she got into the elevator.
CHAPTER 7
Sunday, 9 Jan 05— Manhattan
Early. Still dark out. Dark as this city can be. Drinking awful hotel room coffee. Okay, still a day behind in this damn thing.
Had a nice time with Gail last night. Came down to my room and we talked. Made her cry. Yea! Way to go. Hell. Almost made myself cry. Sad story, yada, yada, yada. But today I’ll put a period to this whole sorry affair. Who knows, maybe I’ll even cry.
Ten minutes, huh? Want a sad story. I’ll give you a sad story.
My uncle came over one day. This is after my dad died.
'Al,' my mother says, gives him a hug.
She's got a wooden spoon in her hand. Dripping yellow cake batter all over the floor but she doesn't even notice. Why would she? She didn't have to clean it up. I digress.
'Al.' She smiles at him.
'Cat,' my uncle says, 'howya doin'?'
He had a deep voice like my father's. I wanted to cry every time I heard him.
My mother goes back into the kitchen. My uncle follows her. I did too, after wiping up the goddamned batter.
'Tm making a cake,' my mother announces. Duh. ' With chocolate frosting,' she says. 'Luce likes chocolate frosting'
Luce. She was the only one who ever called me that.
'That's nice,' my uncle says.
He's staring at my mother's back, and she's whipping the batter like she's trying to churn it into butter. My uncle, he says, 'I made arrangements for the funeral. I got him into Holy Cross,' and my mother screams, 'Holy Cross? You're putting him into Holy Cross? No, Al. No! I will not let you do that! I will drag him up to Central Park and bury him myself before I let him near a Catholic cemetery. Do you hear me, Al? He is not being buried in the church. I swear you'll have to kill me before that happens. I swear it, Al, I swear it! Do you hear me?'
She's fucking hysterical now. Berserk. She runs over to my uncle, starts pounding him in the chest.
'You bastard!' she's screaming. 'Don't you dare bury him there. Do you hear me? I won't let you, Al. I swear I won't let you.'
My uncle clamps her wrists like she's a two-year-old. 'For Christ's sake, Cat, take it easy. Jesus. Calm down.'
My mother only gets crazier. She's trying to get her hands loose, panting, 'I won't let you! I won't let you! I’ll kill you before I let you bury him there, I swear it, Al. I swear it.'
My uncle says, 'All right, Cat. We won't bury him there. Jesus Christ. I promise. We won't bury him in the church. Any church. Shh. I promise. Cat, I promise.'
'No, no, no! No church! He'd hate that. I know he would. You know he would.'
'Calm down, Cat. Calm down. No church, Tm telling you. We won't put him in a church.'
'You promise?'
'Yes. I promise.'
'Swear to me, Al.'
He crosses himself. 'On my mother's grave, I swear to you, no church.'
'All right.' Then my mother slumped down onto the floor like someone had pulled all her bones out. Very dramatic, and she says, 'I want him buried in Woodlawn.'
My uncle, poor bastard, he just laughs. 'Jesus, Cat, that's impossible. We don't have that kind of money.'
' We'll find it!' my mother says, suddenly coming alive again. ' We've got the life insurance policy! That'll cover it!'
My uncle kneels down beside her, shaking his head, tells her, 'Cat, honey, that's only ten thousand dollars. At Woodlawn that wouldn't be enough for a flower arrangement. We just don't have that kind of dough. You gotta be reasonable here. We won't bury him in the church but he ain't going to Woodlawn, neither. I’ll look around. I’ll find a public cemetery for you, I promise, but it ain't going to be Woodlawn.'
'But it's so beautiful and so close,' my mom pleads. 'I could visit him every day.'
'No. Not Woodlawn. But I’ll get him as close as I can. I promise. I gotta go. Marie's holding supper for me. I’ll take care of it, though, okay?'
My mother stood up and went to the cake batter. I heard her whisper, 'I just want him close to me.'
Yeah. No shit, Sherlock. Who didn't?
How's that for a sad story?
And all in ten minutes. Shit. Still owe another ten from Friday. I’ll get to it tonight. Promise. But for now, may as well see if the gym's open.
CHAPTER 8
Frank popped for a cab to Canarsie. When it pulled up at the cemetery she paid the driver and got out. She stayed a long time on the curb. Shifting a bouquet of flowers back and forth, she held her face up to the weak sun. She'd forgotten how lifeless northern sun was compared to southern sun, yet despite its bloodlessness the warmth felt good. She knew she was procrastinating, but she had all morning. This had been waiting for over two decades. Another few minutes couldn't hurt.
After a bit she felt silly and finally stepped through the iron gates. Her mother had been buried next to her father, and Frank walked in the direction that memory took her. She remembered his grave being near a tall, bare tree at the far end of the cemetery. But there were dozens of tall bare trees. She meandered between headstones looking for her father's name. She paused at some of the more poetic headstones, impressed by the age of others. Almost surprised, she read a white marble slab inscribed 'C. S. Franco 1932—1983.'
For a second she was confused, wondering if there were two C. S. Franco’s in the same cemetery. She glanced at the stone next to her mother's.
Francis S. Franco
Born 1934—Died 1969.
Just as she remembered.
But there was a jar of cut flowers in front of her father's stone. And a devotional candle, its pale wax smudged and melted.
Frank wondered who could have left them. She felt like she'd stumbled upon a secret. She backed away from the graves to gain perspective, searching for a plausible explanation. Perched against a granite tombstone she began compiling a list of names.
Her mother's parents were both long dead. She had twin sisters that Frank never met. They'd lived somewhere in New England, maybe Rhode Island or Maine. She couldn't remember.
Her father's parents were also deceased. They had died when she was six.. She remembered her father and Uncle Al flying home for the funeral, her mother crying in the airport and her father reassuring her he'd be back in a couple days. Not to worry. Telling Frank to take care of her mother, his cheek rough against hers when he kissed her.
Frank rubbed the back of her neck, bringing her focus into the present.
