Sandra nodded and pulled me into her. “I think you’re amazing,” she said. “You’ve held up incredibly well in the worst of the worst. I’m not judging you. Just worried.”
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about Adam.”
I was dipping my brush back into the paint when I heard, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” and my two little monsters tore through the store, Mark and Emerson following closely behind. “Mommy, Mommy!” AJ said, out of breath and sweaty, that little-boy billy goat smell emanating from every part of him. “Mark got me this banana and it had chocolate covering it, and it was so good!”
“Popsicle,” Taylor said.
“Yeah, yeah,” AJ enthused. “It was frozen like a Popsicle!”
They leaned into either side of me, those babies, so soft and warm. I was so grateful for them. Adam was missing this. I couldn’t think about where he might be or what might be happening to him, but he wasn’t here. He didn’t get to hug these sweaty children who we made so well, and raised well, too. And he might never get to again.
I felt unexpected anger burning in my chest that he had left me here alone. To curb the feeling, I smiled up at my sister. “Seems like you two were a big hit.”
Emerson leaned into Mark, and he put his arm around her waist. “This one really knows what to do with kids. It’s kind of crazy. Are you sure you don’t have one?” she asked him, eyebrow raised.
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head in reply. “Not yet,” he said, winking.
They were so adorable it made me want to cry and cheer all at the same time.
I took a deep breath.
“Hey, look,” Mark said, “I’m going to run to the church to help set up chairs.”
“That’s sweet,” Emerson said.
“She didn’t know that many people here,” I said. “Do you think we’ll need more seats?”
Mark smiled. “No offense to Grammy, but people won’t be there for her. They’ll be there for Ansley. And for you girls.”
My tears spilled over again because I was so grateful our mother had made our home in a town that loved us so much and would always be there for us.
Emerson and I were hugging, and Adam and Taylor were throwing fabric swatches in the air, when Kyle walked through the door. He put an arm around each of us and hugged us. “I don’t like my Murphy girls to be sad,” he said.
I wiped my eyes and nose and said, “You always make us feel better.”
“Because I’m Super Coffee Man?” Kyle asked, hands on his hips, chest puffed out.
That, of course, made us laugh, and order was restored to the world.
Kyle smiled. “My work here is done. Now I’m off to the church to get set up. Grammy wouldn’t want her mourners drinking Folgers.”
Everyone we knew and loved in this town was working on this funeral like they didn’t have a care in the world, save making my grandmother’s final celebration amazing. I sat back down, handed AJ an old wallpaper book and a pair of scissors, and said, “Can you cut some shapes out for Mommy?”
He smiled enthusiastically. “Sure, Mommy. I’ll cut you circles.”
Then I pushed a huge pile of fabric Taylor’s way and said, “Find all the red and put it in a pile for Mommy.”
This would buy me at least ten minutes—and be educational—while I put the finishing touches on this piece.
Instead of resuming my painting, though, I found myself staring at my boys. I thought about Grammy and Adam. They didn’t get to sit here and marvel at these perfect babies. So I put my brushes down and said, “Never mind, kiddos. Let’s go play.”
“Yay!” AJ said.
Taylor clapped his hands together. “Play, play, play!”
Like Kyle a few minutes earlier, for a second, I felt like Supermom, like I could raise these kids and have this job and handle anything else that came my way. I’m not sure if it was true. But, either way, it was the best feeling I’d had in quite some time.
THIRTY
eternity
ansley
I don’t remember my mother’s funeral. I’m told it was beautiful, and I know that was true because I checked the flowers before I took enough of Caroline’s in-case-of-plane-flight Valium to get through the church and the handshaking and the stories about my mother with some sense of composure. Caroline informed me I even made a little joke. The mayor had had the hots for my mom for as long as I could remember, so when things got really rough with my former neighbor Mr. Solomon—like the time he said my grass seed had blown into his yard and was now growing there—Bob always took my side. When Mayor Bob came up, blotting his eyes, and hugged me, I evidently said, “Thank God Mr. Solomon went first.” I was funny.
My memory kicks in—hazily, more like I’m watching it all play out on video than actually living it—after the funeral, about the time I put on yoga pants and a sweatshirt. It was 75 degrees, but I wanted to feel cozy. I remember my brother Scott knocking on my door. I remember crying on his shoulder and begging him to come home in one piece. I remember John telling me he knew the spreading of our mother’s ashes was something he didn’t deserve. I remember telling him lightly that I agreed. He laughed, but we both knew I meant it wholeheartedly. And then I said, “You should come, John.”
He had looked up at me tentatively, contritely. “I’d like to have this time with you, Ans. I really would.”
I smiled. I thought I might like that
