“Say something nice.” Mom dabs at a tear that isn’t in her eye.
“Ok.” I think for a moment. “Here’s to Dad’s new resting place. There wasn’t enough room for him on the mantel anyway.”
“Here, here,” Ray says in an imaginary toast.
Cassie giggles. I know she’s reacting to Ray, but it was my unintentional joke so perhaps there’s a little warmth in her smile for me, too.
“This is good,” Lola says, holding her hands out, making a mock frame with her fingers like she’s deciding what part of this atrocity to capture on canvas.
“Children,” Mom snaps at us. “Take this seriously.”
Cassie looks at me, gleeful that I’ve been scolded.
The cemetery crew shifts around, and the guy with the shovel spades a new spot in the dirt. They look away when my eyes move over to them. Mom nods and hands the urn to someone official-looking.
“Should we say a prayer or something?” Mom asks the cemetery representative.
“I’ll do that for you,” he says.
The man says some words, and I feel like the hole is widening, not just for Dad, but for all of us. The air around my feet tugs at me like an undertow. It’s like standing on the seashore at the edge of the waves where the water is pulling the sand out from under your feet. You look down as the wave recedes and you’re standing in two little holes, your toes gripping the wet earth, holding you in place.
After a few minutes, the ceremony is over. Cassie skips back down to the car where she and Lola giggle about something unknown to me. Ray sighs loudly and walks back toward his car parked at the other edge of the cemetery. He gets in the driver’s seat but just sits there. I glance at Mom. She looks concerned but not anxious.
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll leave?” I ask.
“No,” she says with certainty. “I have the keys.”
“You don’t think he can hot-wire that thing if he wants to?” I ask.
“Not all people who have been in prison can hot-wire cars, sweetie,” she says, seriously. “Don’t make generalizations.”
I look over at the car sitting quiet in the parking space.
We’re all walking on eggshells around Ray. No one wants to be the one to scare him off. He looks out the car window and catches us looking at him. Mom waves.
“Your brother seems to have something on his mind,” Mom says. “Do you think it’s just your father’s passing? I guess he must feel strange being back after all this time.”
“Probably,” I lie and try to change the subject from the myriad reasons Ray looks upset.
“I’m sure it will all work out,” she says and winks at me.
Mom thanks the crew and then turns away. I watch her sidestep the gravesites as she makes her way to where Ray is sitting behind the wheel. She grows smaller and smaller as the laws of perspective dictate, yet she doesn’t seem to be getting any farther away.
“Have you ever done anything like this before?” I ask one of the diggers.
“Honey,” he says, “you wouldn’t believe what’s buried out here. Got a guy who had himself buried with a monkey. Monkey was already in there.” He laughs and turns away.
Cassie comes sprinting back to me to ask if she can go to Lola’s house for the evening.
“I thought you wanted to go to the mall,” I say, hopeful that she’ll remember our plans and still want to keep them.
“Aunt Lola can take me,” she says. “Or maybe we’ll just hang out and watch Netflix. I’ll call you later. Tomorrow is Saturday anyway.”
“Ok,” I say and bob my head up and down like my throat isn’t burning and my chest isn’t aching.
I miss you. Don’t leave me. I want to scream out. Choose me, choose me. It’s childish, but I can’t help it.
I think about Cassie always holed up in her room. She won’t let me talk to her about Dad, but I know she’s hurting. She’s already cut me loose from her life, and I’m not ready for it. I don’t know what she’s thinking or how she feels about much of anything these days. I didn’t even see it coming. She grew up without asking me how I felt about it. She was three and then seven and then twelve and then gone.
I want her to grow up—she must. I knew she would stop needing me—stop coming to me with every discovery, booboo, and heartache. I knew she would start to form her own opinions and not seek my advice. I knew there would be a time when she’d lead a life I didn’t participate in.
I just didn’t know it would happen so soon. I didn’t know she would leave me while she was still at home.
I’m not ready for this. I miss her, and she’s still right here.
My throat gets scratchy, and although I try to bite back the tears, they come anyway.
I sit down in the grass beside Dad’s plot—his spot in this new neighborhood. So, this is where we’ll come to visit our father, like he has merely moved or gotten a new phone number or a webcam. I envy my mother the optimism that makes her think we can simply open the earth and toss in our sadness.
I don’t know how long I sit there at Dad’s gravesite. I begin to judge the time by the progression of my crying. Long enough to feel like I might cry, long enough to try not to cry, long enough to give in, begin to sob, stop, then start again. Not long enough, however, to play off the fact that I’ve been crying.
“Hi.” I hear Oliver’s voice behind me.
I wipe at my eyes as if I am trying to get out a piece of dust or grit, something that was making my eyes water through no fault of my emotions. I don’t
