I smile and take a sip of tea. “And don’t worry, Mom, we took care of the plot at the cemetery.”
“You left it empty?” she says, slightly aghast at the thought of the waste of a good plot of dirt.
“No,” I say. “We replaced Dad with a jar of pickles.”
Everyone’s fork stops in mid-air. We didn’t really; I left them in the car. Suddenly the ridiculousness of it sets in, and we all break into uncontrollable laughter. For a moment, laughter does one of its jobs. It smooths its hand over heartache, just long enough for you to see through to the other side. Maybe not long enough to get there, but knowing it exists gives you the ability to press forward.
Thanksgiving dinner goes on with Dad at the head of the table and the requisite clinking of forks on china, laughter, and all the little nothings that make something out of all the chaos.
During coffee and pie, Ray speaks up. “Where do you think Dad wanted to go?”
“He wanted to be right here,” I say.
“You’re right,” Lola says. “Dad was always happiest at home. That was one of the great things about him. He loved being here with us. Even I remember that.”
“Brush the dirt off at least,” Mom says.
She can’t keep her eyes off Michael. She talks to him about his friends and his school and all the things that she and he will do now that they’re acquainted.
I steal a look every now and then at Dad, there at the head of the table. I can’t help but see him as he was before the stroke, before the nursing home, before the shortest passing of a year that I can recall. So much has changed, but looking around the table, I see how much has remained the same—all the truly important things.
I steal even more glances at Jack and catch him looking at me most of the time.
Finally, after the usual sighs of contentment and happiness, folks begin to gather themselves to say good-bye.
“I think we’re going to go, Cecilia,” Aunt Rose says to my mother. “This has been . . . memorable.”
Mom sees them out, and everyone excuses themselves from the table to mill about the good-byes at the door. Michael seems drawn to Jack and Cassie and pulls them into the living room where the three of them sit on the floor playing a made-up game. For a minute, Dad and I are alone in the kitchen.
“I’m glad you could be here,” I say, speaking out loud to him at last. “It wouldn’t have seemed right without you. Sorry about the jar of pickles joke. Cricket came up with it.”
The front door closes, and Chris and Lola, Ray and Nicole come back into the dining room. Nicole and Ray navigate each other’s space, awkwardly but purposefully. It will take some time to sort things out between them. Little moments are easy; the span of time is tougher to predict.
Lola is gazing at her left ring finger with a faraway look on her face. She and Chris whisper to each other, and the distance between here and Peru seems greater every second, but I will let her fly and be happy for her.
I spy on Jack and Michael for a moment.
Mom slips up beside me. “Ok,” she says, “burying the ashes was stupid.”
“Not as stupid as digging them up,” I say, and we laugh, our signal that there will eventually be a truce, that our attempt at a new and better relationship has passed its first test.
“I can’t believe I have another grandchild,” Mom says, and the look in her eyes tells me that just his being here makes the world a new place for her. She looks at me. “So, you and Jack?”
“I’m optimistic.”
“At last.” Mom puts her arm around my waist and gives me a squeeze.
“Jack,” she calls over to him. “Could I have some time with my grandchildren?”
Jack stands up, and Michael takes hold of Cassie’s hand as they walk toward the kitchen.
“I think we should eat more pie,” Cassie says.
“More pie,” Michael shouts.
“You should talk to him,” Mom nods at Jack but speaks quietly so he won’t hear. “So that you don’t run off and leave me in the grocery store again.”
Jack gives Michael and Cassie over to Mom, and as she passes the kitchen table, she kisses her fingertips and touches them to Dad’s urn.
“Mom,” I call after her, and she turns back. “You didn’t mess up. You made everything interesting. You still do. All the things that you want me to know—I know them.”
Mom dips her head and takes a deep breath. She looks up, nods, and walks away with Michael and Cassie. Nothing will be easy, but it will possible. Perhaps the difference in those two things is not as staggering after all.
“Will you wait for me for a minute?” I ask Jack. “I need to do something.”
“I’m neck deep already,” Jack says and touches my face. “Just the way I want it to be.”
I take Dad onto the front porch. It’s nearly dark, and the stars are popping on. Ray comes outside.
“I’m going to drive them home,” he says. “If I can get Michael away from Mom, that is. Do you think it went well?”
“Ray,” I say and set Dad on the porch railing, “I don’t think given the circumstances, we could have hoped for any better.”
Ray nods in agreement and puts his arm around my shoulder. He turns me around and pulls me into a hug.
“Thanks, Sis,” he says quietly into my hair.
“You’re welcome.”
“I guess now the rest is up to me. Let’s hope I don’t screw it up.”
There’s a very real chance of that, and I sense Ray knows it.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” I say. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
Michael and Nicole come out onto the porch. Nicole gives me a hug.
“It will be good to have you around again,” I say to her. “We missed you.”
“Thanks for the dinner
