Gracie’s cancer used up a chunk of the nestegg, but I still was doing okay with my IRA. I couldafford a small indulgence. The guy I bought it from let it go for just a fewthou, but it needed work, and his brother just happened to own the only importparts shop in the city. Convenient.
Ididn’t care. I didn’t care that I couldn’t affordanything better, nor that I paid three times what the car cost me to restoreher. I didn’t care that I had become a walking cliché. Stereotypes happen for areason, after all. It kept my mind off things and gave me an excuse to not makefriends with the neighbors. And the timing was justabout perfect.
Myangel finished the last of her executrix duties a few days after I finishedsprucing up the Triumph. She and the kiddo flew down a week after that. Ipromised them we could go to Disney and all thoseother attractions, but to be honest, my heart wasn’t in it. With the car done,I had nothing left to do except drive it, and when I drove, I thought of Gracie. And thinking of Gracie hurt.
I’ddrive for hours with no one but the voice of the GPS forcompany, going nowhere and getting there fast. Some days I’d leave at dawn andget home at dusk, and I couldn’t remember anything I saw that day. I couldn’tremember what I had for lunch, or anything about whatever greasy spoon I ate itin. All my memories were of Gracie.
WhenAngel & Kiddo showed up on my door stoop, there wasn’t a thing to eat inthe house. She dumped her bags in the spare bedroom and asked me for my keys. Ibalked, offered to spring for delivery, but she insisted. So Kiddo and I watched Cartoon Network for a while and waited for her to comehome. It seemed like ages before I heard my key turn in the door.
Assoon as I looked at her, I knew that I was screwed. The apple doesn’t fall farfrom the tree, and before she handed back my key ring,she opened it up and took two keys off.
“I got a spare made, Dad. You don’tmind?”
Shesnapped the two loose keys onto her own ring. That girl loved convertibles, allright.
“Dad, could you help me get the groceriesin? You’re a pal!”
Idon’t know why she even bothered to make a spare setof keys. I never got to drive my car again.
#
black
nosound no light no sense of being
justnothing
justpeace
.
#
I…exist!
Excruciatingpain!
Agony!
Light.
Wheream I?
Lyingon my back. Looking up at a cheap chandelier.
Howdid I get here?
Sounds.People, talking. Low tones. Whispers. Crying… who is crying?
Angel?
Arush of colors and suddenly I can see through her eyes.
Iam looking at myself.
Iam in a casket.
Ilook like shit.
Whatthe hell? I thought I made myself clear! After we sawwhat those bastards did to her mom, I specifically told that girl I wanted tobe cremated. “Noembalming. No makeup. No coffin, no wake, no funeral. If you want, you can saya few words before you spread my ashes. Then go getdrunk on my dime with your friends.”
Thisis bullshit!
She’stalking to people. Sometimes they hug her. She is numb. Like a robot she says, “Thank you,” over and over again.
She’sleaving. She’s with her boyfriend. Not the a-hole, the new one. She’s going back to his place.
Oh,hell! Like a father needs to see this…
#
nothing
nothingis okay
.
#
Pain.Light. Sun.
Toobright! Hurts.
Iam back in Florida. I am lying back in my chaise lounge. I’ve got a G&T inone hand and a good cigar in the other. I can hearmyself thinking….
Lifeis good.
She’ssitting in the chair next to me, big straw hat, sunglasses, black one-piece cutlow in the back. I can hear herthoughts, too. She doesn’t like to show her stretch marks, but she still turnsheads. She reminds me so much of Gracie, it hurts.Her memories are like a movie. So are mine.
AmI watching this movie or am I acting in it? Can it be both?
Wewatch Kiddo playing in the pool with the neighbor’s kids. The older one isnearly seventeen and not unattractive herself. I feelashamed for noticing. Gracie always said that men are pigs. Tomorrow the girlis going to sit for Kiddo while his mom and I drive across the state.
Thismorning my daughter told me the final figures on Gracie’s estate, including theauction. I’m a bit more flush than I thought.
MaybeI can afford a boat after all!
Thereis a nice one I saw online, 35-footer, berthed in Tampa. My plan was drive outthere, take a look at her, eat a pressed Cuban with bacon, buy some more ofthese fine cigars, and be back home before Agentsof Shield comes on. Kiddo and I don’t have a lotto talk about yet, but superheroes and baseball are enough for now.
Iprobably won’t get that boat anyway. Kiddo needs a better school.
“Dad, no! Mark’sschool is fine. And after that, the public highschool will be fine, too. He doesn’t need to go to Phillips.”
“Honey, you know I had always hoped to dobetter for you. Let me do this for him. He’s bright enough.”
“Well, how about my old Catholic school?I liked it okay. Some of my teachers are stillthere.”
“That’syour idea? Let me tell you why it sucks.”
Shesighs, rolls her eyes. I ignore it.
“First of all, you are a liar. Youbitched and moaned every day you were in that place. Second, you only wentthere because your mother thought it was the rightthing to do, so you would be a good Catholic. A devout churchgoer, your mom.But I happen to know you’ve never stepped inside a church since the day wedropped you off at college.”
Shewinces.
“Oh, honey, no, I’m sorry!”
Idiot.I forgot about the funeral mass.
“It’s all right, Dad. I’m all right. ButI was thinking that maybe it would be okay ifMark started going to church. He needs something to believe in…”
It’smy turn to wince. She knowshow I feel about this. Particularly after what Graciewent through. The years she spent, suffering, dying by inches. Right up untilthe end, she had faith. Faith in her god. Faith in her man. She was wrong
