A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents (18 page)

“Okay,” I soothe, secretly flipping the program around, looking for proof it wasn’t mailed. Abigail narrows her eyes at me.

“Jesus, Grace—he was there,” Abigail yelps, snatching back the program.

“None of this makes any sense,” I mumble, shaking my head.

“We’ll figure it out later. Let’s just get the documents we need and get the hell out of this haunted house,” Abigail says,
her voice dipping when she says the word
hell
. She collects herself once and for all.

“Right… right,” I agree, taking a deep breath. Abigail sets the program aside, stacks all the letters and robotically gets
back to the job at hand.

“Okay—here’s his Social Security card. That’s one,” Abigail says, laying the tattered blue piece of paper on the desktop.
Raymond Mateo Hawkes.

“You named Mateo after Dad?” I ask, holding up the evidence.

“I liked the name,” Abigail says, over her shoulder.

“Ah, you liked the name,” I repeat with disdain.

“Later… remember?” she warns, pulling out file after old file. I open the steno notepad back up and flip through the pages
while Abigail shuffles through the old file folders. I scan the entries.

“Dad must have a rental,” I say, noticing there’s another address that he seems to be paying the mortgage on.

“Oh yeah?” Abigail says, pulling out an old Medicare bill. That’s two out of three. All we need now is his medical insurance
card. I flip the pages of the steno notepad some more.

“He pays the utilities there, too. Sweet deal. Remember that apartment over Top’s Burgers where the utilities were paid?”
I ask.

“We should probably let the tenant know what’s going on, just in case there are any problems,” Abigail says, sifting through
papers and files deep in the desk.

“We can add it to the list of things we’re not going to be pushy about,” I say, still flipping the pages of the steno. Abigail
gives me a little smile as she continues to search for the final document.

“Nana Marina must have been loaded,” Abigail says, flipping through Dad’s banking records.

“And Dad got everything,” I say, flipping another page.

“Aha!” Abigail says, holding up the medical insurance card victoriously.

“Abigail?! Abigail?!” Leo calls, bounding up the stairs. It sounds as if a herd of buffalo are following him.

My stomach drops. Oh, shit. Connie’s back. Connie’s back?!

“In here,” Abigail says, closing the drawer and stacking the necessary documents to take to Nurse Miller. She’s trying to
act calm and collected, but I notice her hands are shaking as she piles the documents and starts for the door.

“I told you she was coming back,” I say, feeling nauseated.

“We’ll just explain to her that we needed the documents. Nurse Miller will have to back us up, she knows we need—” Abigail
is cut off by Leo breathlessly approaching the office door. The twins are right on his tail. Evie is just next to him, ready
to burst. I close the steno pad as I formulate a plan to duck out the back.

“Is she in the house already, or did you just spot the car?” I blurt, not able to help myself.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine—” Abigail says, herding everyone out of the office. Leo stops us.

“No… no. It’s not that,” Leo says, stopping us cold.

“Not what?” I need clarification.

“Connie’s not here,” Leo quickly replies.

“Then is the house on fire, because that’s the only other reason you should have come barreling up here like th—” I start.

“No woman lives here, Gracie. No woman has lived here for a very long time. Like since Nana Marina,” Leo interrupts.

W
hat are you talking about?” I say.

“No pwetty soaps,” Emilygrae offers.

“Just because there are no pretty soaps, mija, doesn’t mean—” Abigail begins.

“There aren’t any woman’s clothes,” Evie adds.

“Are you proud of yourselves? I believe there’s a grassy knoll out back, maybe the women live there?” I say, eyeing Leo.

“It’s not a conspiracy theory. Where are Connie’s clothes? Where is all the… girl stuff?” Leo stutters.

“What are you trying to find? Tampax? I think Connie’s a little long in the tooth for that,” I say, shutting the desk drawer
and looking to Abigail.

“Leo, Connie and Ray are married. They live in this house. Now, we need to get back with these documents,” Abigail says, herding
the children out of the office.

“Will you just come look?!” Leo shouts.

We are all silent. Shocked. Emilygrae and Mateo move closer to Abigail. Evie looks uncomfortable at Leo’s tone. Even Leo looks
a little taken aback.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” Leo says, taking Abigail’s hand, and as is always the way—no one can tell Leo no.

“You have five minutes,” Abigail says.

Leo leads us into the first bedroom that Abigail and I walked into. The depressing worn-out comforter and the half pillows
are just as dismal the second time around. Leo goes over to the closet door and opens it wide.

“Well?” he says, standing back so that Abigail and I can see inside. It’s one of those older-home closets—small and cramped.
It is packed with men’s clothes: jackets, slacks, shirts, all in some shade of navy, black or gray. The floor of the closet
is littered with luggage and a couple of random pair of shoes. All men’s.

“Honey, a lot of couples spread their clothes out over several closets. Women tend to have more clothes than men,” Abigail
says. Leo shuts the closet door.

“That’s what we thought, too,” Leo says.

“But we checked all the closets and nothing. No girl clothes,” Evie adds.

“No gore cloves,” Emilygrae repeats quietly.

“Not even on the floor,” says Evie.

“Not even in the washa-machine,” Mateo says.

“We need to get back to the hospital with these documents. It’s a proud moment for everyone. We should really consider writing
Parenting
magazine,” I say. Leo sighs loudly and looks at Evie.

“What…” Abigail says absently, obviously not listening.

“We should probably get back before Leo recruits the kids as drug mules,” I say. Leo crosses his arms across his chest.

“What were you saying about that other property?” Abigail starts. Leo perks up.

“That Dad had a rental?” I say, lifting up the steno pad. Leo glares at me.

“How do we know it’s a rental?” Abigail asks. Leo steps forward.

“We don’t… I guess,” I say.

“No, we don’t. Two pieces of property for two different people,” Abigail says, walking out of the bedroom and back into the
office.

“This isn’t an episode of
Law and Order
,” I argue, following Abigail into the office.

“We can’t dismiss the whole ‘sons of bitches’ thing,” Leo whispers, just out of kid earshot.

“I’m certainly not defending what she said, I swear. But can we just take a second here? Grief makes you do and say some crazy
stuff. Trust me… I know,” I plead. Leo darts around me and joins Abigail by Dad’s desk. He sees the program.

“What’s this?” Leo asks, holding up the program.

“The program to Mom’s funeral,” I say, promising myself that we’re not trying to figure that out just yet.

“Did you mail it to him?” Leo asks Abigail.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Abigail exclaims.

“We think he was there,” I say quietly.

“And those?” he asks, pointing to the stack of letters.

“Unopened letters from Dad to Mom saying
I’m sorry
… over and over again,” I say, mechanically.

“Awesome,” Leo mumbles. He shakes his head. My thoughts exactly.

“A haunted house,” I say.

“We need to get out of here,” Leo agrees, opening a drawer in a small file cabinet just to the side of Dad’s desk.

“I never wanted to come in here in the first place,” I say.

“Then let’s find what we’re looking for,” Abigail says. The kids are riveted.

“Here we go,” Leo says, pulling out a file filled with bills.

“Anything?” Abigail asks, looking over Leo’s shoulder.

“This is marked November 2005. It’s all of the paid bills for that month,” Leo explains, flipping through the bills in the
file. We all watch. And wait.

“There! There!” Abigail blurts, pointing inside the file folder.

“It’s the water and power bill for 1375 Daly Street. Constance Noonan,” Leo proclaims, holding up the bill.

None of us knows what to do. We just stand there and stare at one another. Even the kids are silent.

“We’re driving by,” Abigail says, looking at her watch and heading out of Dad’s little haunted office.

“Wait, what?” I say, following her out.

“If Connie’s living at this Daly house, she’s just about to leave for the hospital. We can catch her coming out,” Abigail
says, hopping down the stairs. I race down after her, carefully avoiding eye contact with Nana Marina’s crucifix. Old habits.
Leo, the damning water bill and the kids are behind me.

“And do what? Tackle her? Ask her to go on
Judge Judy
? Will you just be rational,” I plead, whirling her around at the bottom of the stairs.

“She’s been lying to us, Grace. Lying! She’s been making us feel like second-class citizens while our father is dying. I’m
not going to tackle her, but I sure as hell want to,” Abigail says, wriggling her arm free and walking out, the word
hell
not whispered in the least.

“Listen, will you? Abigail!?” I yell, following her. Leo stands on the porch with the kids safely behind him as Abigail strides
down the front walk, opens the minivan door and waits. Leo looks down at the kids and then to me.

“There’s no harm in driving by. Evie, close the door,” Leo says, stepping down off the porch with the twins on either side.
I finally catch up to Abigail.

“Are you actually thinking about this? Do you think maybe stalking a senior citizen with your children in tow might be a bad
idea?” I say.

“She doesn’t know what kind of car we drive, besides what’s worse? Figuring out that she doesn’t live there or finding out
that she does?” Abigail says, latching Emilygrae into her car seat as I latch in Mateo. Evie climbs into the third row with
Leo.

“You know, it could just be Dennis who lives there. Sure, it’s not exactly a good thing that a billion-year-old man is mooching
off his stepfather, but that could explain all of this,” I say, climbing into the front seat. I look back at Leo. His face
is resolute. Scary, even.

“Could be,” Abigail says, inputting the Daly house into her GPS. The machine bells on and tells us to flip around and head
back the way we came. The directions are brief: this other house is apparently within walking distance.

I sit back in my chair and stay quiet. I can’t believe this. We’re stalking an old lady. Stalking. Old lady. A soccer mom,
her jailbird brother, the AWOL sister and a pack of kids. In a minivan. Are stalking Everyone’s Nana. This is the worst cloak-and-dagger
shit I’ve ever seen.

If we get caught… if Connie,
wait
… if Connie sees us, that means she’s coming out of the Daly house. Which means she doesn’t live at Dad’s house. Which means
that… she lied to us. She made us feel unwelcome at our own father’s bedside. I buckle my seat belt across my chest just as
the GPS unit tells us we’re arriving. Not quite the gesture of unification I was hoping it would be.

“Okay, there it is. It’s a town house, that one… the beigey one on the corner,” Abigail says, pointing at a very modest town
house that looks kind of new compared to the other houses in the neighborhood.

“If you pull over on the other street we might not be quite as visible,” Leo says, leaning forward and pointing to a much
busier street where our car might not stand out as much. I don’t bother reminding Leo that our stalkee is an old lady and
not Henry Hill from
Goodfellas
and therefore probably not scanning the streets for our impromptu stakeout.

Abigail makes a quick U-turn and parks on the north side of the cross street. All of us fight the urge to duck down. Or at
least I do. As I turn around and look at the back of the minivan, I see Emilygrae and Mateo have unlatched themselves and
are now crouching on the floor along with Leo and Evie.

“She’ll see you!” Emilygrae giggles. I crawl back into the minivan and crouch down by the door, where Leo had crouched earlier
this morning. Abigail squats down between the two front seats, poking her head up now and again to get a better look. Leo
comes up and squats next to me. The minutes pass. It’s nearly eight-thirty a.m.

“This is ridiculous,” I whisper.

“Shh,” Leo scolds. Mateo lets out a giant fart just behind me. He collapses into a fit of giggles.

“Mattayyyyyoooooooo!” erupts the entire minivan.

“Wait! Wait, shhhhh,” Abigail says, from the front seat. We are all instantly quiet, the smell of little boy fart wafting
in the air. We take our spots by a window and watch as an old Honda Accord pulls up in front of the beigey town house on the
corner. A red-haired gentleman is behind the wheel.

Dennis.

I’m not breathing. I look at Leo just as he’s turning to look at me. He shakes his head in disgust and turns back to the window.
The minutes pass as the Honda sits idling at the curb. Abigail remains crouched at the front of the minivan, looking crisp
and efficient in her little sweater set.

“That’s that guy from the hospital,” Evie says. We all nod in agreement, but still don’t speak. Our eyes are all trained on
the front door of the town house. As we wait, I wonder what would be worse: seeing Connie walk out that front door or having
Dennis pull out and continue on to the hospital. Ojai is a very small town, it could happen. He could just have pulled over
to make a quick phone call.

“There she is,” Leo whispers. Sure enough, Connie in all of her white-panted glory steps out of the front door, checking to
make sure it’s locked, and heads down the front pathway and right into Dennis’ waiting car. We all watch them pull away as
they head toward the hospital.

“Well, I think we just figured out who the White Witch is,” Leo says, taking way too much pleasure in the Narnia theme.