A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents (21 page)

“When can we visit with our father?” I ask Nurse Miller, breaking away from the group. Does she work here all day, every day,
for crissakes? Couldn’t we catch a break and have someone in charge besides her? The rest of the group looks on.

“Connie says she’ll be leaving within the hour. I gave her a list of excellent facilities in the area that would be capable
of handling Ray’s… situation,” Nurse Miller says, looking at another clipboard. Huston walks over midway through Nurse Miller’s
confession that she’s usurped the power of attorney.
Again
. Abigail and John follow.

“Nurse Miller, I think it’s time you and I met with the legal department together. I don’t think you understand what a power
of attorney means. Can you get them on the phone and set something up.
Now
. I’ll wait.” Huston speaks quickly and clearly, but I can see that his ears are bright red and his entire body is tense.

“I understand, Mr. Hawkes—” Nurse Miller starts.

“I’ll wait,” Huston interrupts, raising his voice. We are silent. Waiting. Nurse Miller turns on her little squeaky white
heel, goes back behind the nurse’s station and dials the phone.

“Hi, Frank, it’s Nurse Miller in the ICU. I have Mr. Huston Hawkes here and he’d like the three of us to meet regarding some
confusion with the power of attorney,” Nurse Miller starts. She waits as “Frank” talks.

“There shouldn’t be any confusion. That’s probably what he’s telling her now,” John leans over and whispers to Abigail and
me. I nod up at him, trying not to—well, it’s a toss-up: do I straight inhale him or grab his face and start making out with
him just to feel something good? Apparently, I’ve signed on to feel again. Pain seems to be the primary emotion that’s come
flooding back during the last twenty-four hours. But with it comes an almost overwhelming urge to feel good again. Being here
with my family feels like wrapping up in a snuggly blanket as the chill creeps into a drafty cabin. But what I crave from
John? That’d set the entire cabin on fire.

“I understand, Frank. I was simply—” Nurse Miller is cut off. John raises an eyebrow and gives Abigail and me the smallest
of “I told you so” looks. I smile back at him, hoping I don’t look like the twitching mess I feel like.

“We’ll be there in five minutes, then. Thank you, Fr—” Nurse Miller looks at the phone like something completely alien has
caused the line to go dead. No, dearie. He hung up on you. Nurse Miller looks up at Huston with such… disgust. Wow. John’s
speech about this being about us comes screaming back. Connie
has
fooled everyone. I can’t wait until we get Dad out of here and into a regular room. Until we can take him all the way home.

“We’ll be right back,” Huston says, as he follows an enraged Nurse Miller out of the ICU. Abigail, John and I stand there
for a moment in awkward silence.

“I’m going to check on the kids, see where Leo is and start calling around to facilities near us.” Abigail whispers “near
us.” Adorable.

“If Leo needs a ride, just let me know and I can swing by and get him,” I say to Abigail, as she pulls the organizer out of
her purse once again.

“I will. I will. I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Abigail says. And then she does the strangest thing. She leans in
and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. Really fast, like she realized what she’d done too late. She stops for a quick millisecond
and then gives John a wave and heads out of the ICU. She raises her eyebrows the slightest bit as she looks from John to me.
Always the yenta.

John and I fall silent.

John rolls an office chair over and motions for me to sit down. I do and watch as he rounds up another chair for himself.
In the aftermath of the morning’s events I feel exhausted, but somehow invigorated.

Maybe I’m just punch-drunk from seeing all those pictures in Dad’s house. A lifetime of wondering and now I finally have some
proof that he loved us… that he loved me. I’m not forgettable. Without the ballast of Dad’s indifference, how high can I fly?

I watch as John pulls a chair from an empty ICU room. I look into Dad’s room. He’s still asleep and Connie’s at his bedside.
I look away. There are a thousand Connies and Tims out there just waiting to fill the void. But there’s only one Evelyn. Only
one John. One shot at true love.

“How are you holding up?” John finally asks.

“I’m good,” I say, fighting the urge to stand atop this chair and proclaim John as my one true love. Huzzah! Probably not
the time.

“You sure?” John presses. I turn and look at him. We lock eyes.

Black as pitch. I mean—no difference in color from the pupil to the iris. Pure black. I’ve never seen anything like it. John
waits patiently as I assess the rarity of his eye color. Epiphanies seem to not understand that there is a proper time and
place for enlightenment. I look away.

“It’s just a lot,” I finally allow.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” John says.

“It’s just…” I spin around in my little office chair, rolling over toward him, overshooting a bit and bumping into his leg.

“Just what,” he says, steadying my knee. His hand lingers.

“It’s one thing after another. This house of cards where nothing is solid and yet we keep building, building, building,” I
say, gesturing wildly with every “building.”

“You’re way out of your comfort zone on this one,” John says gently.

“That’s your big pep talk?” I ask, smiling a bit.

“No! God, no… I was just saying I understand why it would be daunting.”

“You never think this kind of stuff is going to happen to you.”

“I know,” John agrees.

We are silent.

“We never talked about him,” I finally say, looking into Dad’s hospital room.

“Your dad?” John asks, following my gaze.

“Yeah,” I answer, trailing off.

“You can only say so much.”

“He wrote letters,” I admit.

“Letters?”

“With just two words.
I’m sorry
.”

John looks away with a cynical laugh.

“What?” I ask. John shrugs me off, looking anywhere but at me.

“What?” I press again.

“It was about him.
He’s
sorry?” John asks.

“Right,
he’s
sorry.”

“So what?” John asks, his face reddening.

“So what?” I ask, growing angry.

“You write to the love of your life over and over again and all you can say is
you’re
sorry?” John says.

“He’s the one who screwed up,” I say, trying to figure out where John’s going with this.

“I get that,” he says.

“What would you have said?”

Without missing a beat, “I love you.”

I shrink back. The words. The eyes. The man. John looks away.

We are silent.

“Do you think about your biological parents at all?” I am panicking, trying to derail the conversation completely.

“What’s to think about? They left me at a firehouse when I was nine hours old. End of thought,” John says, shifting in his
chair.

“The why,” I say, my voice soft.

“That way lies madness,” John says.

“But if you don’t think about it, you bury it and you find yourself five years later dating guys named Tim,” I ramble on.

“No,
you
found yourself dating guys named Tim,” John says, his eyes steely.

“Not anymore,” I say, looking away.

John is quiet.

“Some people just go to therapy,” he finally says with the slightest laugh.

We’re quiet. I think about the letters. What would I have said? My breath quickens. I look up and see John as if for the first
time. Whenever I looked at him in the past, I would find myself trying to memorize the lines of his body so I could remember
him when he left. I couldn’t help committing him to memory. As I take him in now, my breathing slows. Instead of tracing and
retracing the lines and sinews of his body like multiplication tables, I allow him to make an impression on me at a cellular
level. As his DNA absorbs into mine, I finally understand that people can be permanent if you let them. I take in a full,
whole breath and exhale.

“I love you,” I say, clear as a bell.

John turns his head and meets my gaze.

“I love you,” I say again, a little louder.

I can see him yielding, his shoulders lower, his face softens.

“I love you,” I say again, inching closer.

I watch as he steels himself, building the walls once more. I strike before he can finish the job.

“I love you,” I say again, reaching out my hand, across what once felt like a great divide, and placing it on his.

John is quiet. Hesitating.

“Where’s Huston?” Leo breathlessly asks, appearing out of nowhere next to John.

“What?” I ask. John stands. Clearly I’m going to have to kill Leo.

“Huston? Where’s Huston?” Leo asks again, his messenger bag slung across his chest.

“He’s in with Nurse Miller and the legal department.
Again
,” I say, standing.

“What’s going on?” I ask. What I want to say is “Any last words?”

“I brought th—” Leo starts, opening his messenger bag.

“Abigail, right?” Dennis approaches our group once again. Saved by the… well, saved by the bottom-feeding grifter. Not quite
a bell, but a close second.

“I’m Grace,” I correct. My voice flat. My eyes dead. Leo turns around, sees who it is and immediately backs up.

“We’re going to take a break. Maybe head down to the cafeteria. You’re welcome to go in,” Dennis offers. How generous.

“Thanks,” I say, coolly.

Connie walks out of Dad’s hospital room, passing right in front of us.

“Did you ask him if he had the keys?” Connie calls to Dennis.

“They’ll get them to us as soon as they can,” Dennis answers, smiling benignly at us—letting us know what’s expected of us.

“He’s right there. Can’t you just ask him?” Connie motions at Leo.

“Mother, that’s not Huston.” Dennis laughs, walking over closer to her.

“Course it is.”

“That’s… Sir, what’s your name again?” Dennis quickly asks.

“Leo. Leopold Hawkes,” Leo answers, his face red.

“That’s the little one, Mother,” Dennis oozes.

“The little one?” Connie sniffs, looking up at Leo, the giant of a man.

“The youngest one. The—” Dennis cuts off, raising his eyebrows. Leo shrinks back as it becomes clear that Dennis is trying
to jog Connie’s memory about Leo being the “criminal” he told her about.

“Oh… that’s right,” Connie says, as they quickly exit the ICU.

“Takes one to know one,” Leo says, his voice tight. John and I try to offer Leo a smile.

“Sweetie… you’re nothi—” I start.

“I know… I know,” Leo quickly agrees.

“I’ll leave you to it,” John says, sitting back down.

“You’ll be here… when I get back?” I ask, turning around, as Leo continues on into the hospital room.

“I’ll be here,” John answers. Not going anywhere.

“Okay,” I say almost to myself. As I walk away, John sits back down in the office chair, bending over slightly with his elbows
on his knees. I look back to see that he’s dropped his head into his hands.

When I get to Dad’s hospital room, I wonder if he’d understand if we told him we figured out his puzzle. Maybe it wasn’t a
puzzle at all. Dad probably didn’t plan on having a stroke. He probably thought he’d die suddenly, not linger, like we all
wish we would. He set this whole thing up, so after he died we’d get everything.

Except him.

I meet Leo in Dad’s room. Dad seems to be sleeping pretty soundly, so we sit down in the two hospital chairs against the far
wall under the big window. Leo digs in his messenger bag and pulls out the mahogany sculpture of the Madonna and Child.

“What? Wait… why?” I stutter, watching him pull the giant wooden face of the Virgin Mary out of his bag. Leo stands up, holding
the Madonna and Child, as he looks for a place to hang her.

“I just thought… you know, it might help,” Leo says, his voice quiet, his eyes darting. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure
how much of a believer I am, especially since Mom died. But knowing that Dad is devout in his beliefs is helping me. Knowing
his fear is being diluted just a bit by his belief in the afterlife, or Heaven, or whatever, has calmed me somewhat.

“Heyyy,” Leo says, noticing that Dad is watching him.

“He’s up?” I ask, standing up and moving to Dad’s right side. I lay my hand on his shoulder, knowing full well he can’t feel
it.

“I brought this from your house,” Leo says, holding up the Madonna.

Dad raises his still-restrained hand and lifts two fingers up. Two.

“Two?” I ask. Dad struggles to look over at me.

“Two?” Leo asks.

Dad raises his arm again and once again lifts two fingers. My mind races. Two. Two. Two. The Madonna and Child and…

“The crucifix,” I blurt, seeing the landing of the staircase at Nana Marina’s house clearly in my mind. “Two. Two. They’re
together. They’re always together,” I say to Leo.

I rush over to the other side of the bed and ask it again, “The crucifix?” I ask Dad, remembering Huston said he answers yes
to everything. I just… I think I’m right. John comes over and stands in the doorway to Dad’s room. Watching.

“The crucifix?” Leo asks. Dad watches Leo intently. I dig wildly in my purse and pull out a black pen and draw a large cross
on the back of my hand.

“The crucifix?” I ask, holding up my hand. Dad raises his restrained hand and pulls mine close to his face.

Dad nods yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

“Yeah?” I say, knowing it’s not a real yes, but, for the first time in twenty-two years, I feel like I’m talking to my dad.
We’re connecting about something. I’m back at the piano, looking up to him for the downbeat. I have to do this for him.

“I can go get it,” I say to Leo.

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll stay here,” Leo answers, taking Dad’s hand.

I dig into Leo’s messenger bag and find the newly minted set of Dad’s keys. I grab my purse and walk out of Dad’s hospital
room, ready to speed over to Nana Marina’s house, grab that creepy crucifix right off the wall and bring it back. John shifts
his body so I can pass and looks down at me.