Buried (20 page)

17

MAKE A CIRCULAR HOLE with the spade and set the soil aside. The Madonna lily bulb fits snugly, and I sprinkle bonemeal the way Mr. MacPhee told me to. I place the snow globe and a letter on top of Mom's casket. It says:

 
I take a spade full of soil and sprinkle it over the letter. Behind me Candy cries and blows her nose.

We had to wait two weeks to have a service. I needed to get better, and someone had to find Grandma and tell her. I wouldn't do it. Candy found Ms. Frost's telephone number in my jeans and called her. I stayed there for a while, and sometimes Candy slept over at the trailer so I was never alone. But the hole I carry inside me makes me feel that way at times. Grandma's here now, and I still feel very alone. I'm the guest now in my trailer. It's not home anymore.

We stand in a circle around Mom's headstone. The MacPhees insisted on buying it for me and Mom. I wasn't so sure, but then nobody could find Grandma, so I said sure, she'd like that. Mom never had a problem with the MacPhee favors—it was me.

I am still and silent, but I let myself feel everything around me. Every cry from Candy is a knife to my heart; even Linwood's frozen stare, a stab of pain. But along with the pain I feel other things. I feel people rub my back, squeeze my shoulder, and say things like, “Call me anytime.”

And each changing leaf is so amazing since I opened my eyes. I let the autumn colors cut deep as they fall from the trees. I don't want to go back to that deep, dark place, my cave of denial. I won't hide my shame inside where it grows so big, it buries me alive. I am awake now.

We drive to Seaside Cottages, where people have brought food to share. Candy has laid out a table heaped with food and drinks. Ms. Frost and Mr. Springer sit alone, munching on deviled eggs and talking. They smile a little when I come over. For a second I don't speak, I just feel. I weigh each emotion to see if it's a real feeling or a cover-up feeling—the kind I have so I don't have to feel the real one.

This is a real one; I know it. I'm glad to see them. I'm grateful.

“Hi,” I say.

“Sit down,” Mr. Springer says, patting the bench.

“I'm glad you came.”

He looks at his empty plate. “We wanted to,” he says.

“Claudine, we'll be here for you whenever you need us,” Ms. Frost says.

I think about this. They both look like they might cry, and I let myself have a feeling about it. I can't put my finger on it and I decide it feels weird, but it's okay. I say, “Thanks.”

We look at one another. It's a look I've never shared with adults. I think it might be honesty, or understanding. I like it.

Over at the food table I think I see Matt. He's wearing a sweater and looks smaller than usual. I see the curls resting on his shoulders, and when he turns sideways, I know it's him. I walk over.

He touches my arm. I blush.

“I'm sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks. And thanks for coming.”

“Everyone's here,” he says. I look around and see Hanna, Chris, Blake, Willa, and Deb. Lydia and Mrs. MacPhee are talking, and for a second I want to stop them, but why, I think, why do that? What feeling is that? I'm too tired to figure it all out, but I know I can't hide anymore.

“If you want to talk, just give me a call,” Matt says.

“I will. I think I'll call you.” I look right into his eyes and I don't turn away. I start to count to five but stop myself.

Instead I say, “You know the hole, the unfillable one that aches day and night?”

Matt nods and looks away. I think I may have said too much, and I wish I had counted instead.

“It helps to talk about him,” Matt says. “It seems like it would be the opposite, but it hurts and then it feels better. I'm a better listener than I used to be. Really.” Then he punches my arm gently.

Hard fingers squeeze my arm and pull me away from him. It's Grandma. “Let's chat, dear.”

I try to recognize something in her too-tanned face. The deep lines tell me that most of her day is spent sitting in the Florida sun, not working.

“What is it, Grandma?”

“Why don't you come back to Florida with me? It'll be a fresh start.”

I still don't remember her. Then she cocks her head and brushes my hair from my eyes. I remember now, but I don't feel anything good and I should, because that's what I've been trying to do.

“No, Grandma, you go ahead. I need to finish out the year here, and then maybe I'll visit.”

I'm shocked to see tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” I hand her one of my soggy tissues.

“Nothing.” I'm betting she's feeling some shame like the rest of us who loved Mom. Could we have done more? I wonder that every day.

“You go ahead back, then, Grandma.”

“Okay. And we'll keep in touch for sure, Claudine. The trailer is yours for now. Don't worry about it.” It's a guilt gift, but I'm fine with that. She kisses me and disappears into a group of people near the door. I have a feeling her stuff will be gone when I get back to the trailer.

Liz is standing with a plate of mini-quiches. I haven't talked to her since the day of the hurricane. When she calls and Candy or Ms. Frost holds the phone out to me, I freeze. I have no bearings in this new relationship where she is confident and I am the messed-up one. I don't know how to be me now.

Liz sees me watching her and comes over, holding out the plate. I take a quiche, but I don't eat it.

“Claude, something terrible happened, but you and I are okay.”

I turn and start walking. Everything about her reminds me of my lies. My deep denial, the professionals call it. Liz knew I was in trouble. She knew me when I didn't know myself. So why am I angry at her?

She stops me. “Come on, we're like sisters, Claude.”

I feel my throat tighten.

“I want to be there for you whenever you need me,” she says.

She is so good. She's doing the right thing again and I am frozen.

“And I need you to be there for me. You know, those times when I need to talk. There's nobody who knows me like you do. You have to come back and be there for me. That's what friends do.”

This penetrates my shield. She still needs me.

She sets the quiches down and puts her hands on my shoulders. “I miss you, Claude.” The wisps of her silky hair brush my cheek as she grabs me up in her hug. “I can't lose you.”

Hugging her back, I say, “I can't lose you. And I can't lose me either.”

18

THE SEAWALL IS BACK IN PLACE, and people are parked along the beach. Lazy waves slap at the rocks like the hurricane never happened. I sit on the hood of the car and watch them come and go. The tide is going out.

It's late October, but my feet are bare. I touch the anklet, trace the letters, and feel the coolness of the links as I unclip it. I put it to my lips and pull my arm back to heave it into the waves but stop.

I'm not ready to let Mom go, and I decide I don't have to. Clasping it around my ankle again, I think about second chances and how everyone has them. They come right after a mistake, and before making another choice, but you have to feel your feelings first.

I've been seeing a friend of Lydia's named Dr. Palmer. He's okay. He mostly listens, but every once in a while he asks me a question or says something to make me see things differently. Like last week, after I told him about messing up my chance at the Charles Hart Scholarship.

I went on and on about how I screwed up, and Ms. Frost would be mad at me, and Candy would be disappointed, and how I was just like Mom, and the MacPhees wouldn't be surprised, and all he said was, “So?”

“Well, it's true,” I said.

“And?” he said.

“Well, I did mess up.”

“It's okay to make mistakes, Claudine.”

My throat closed and I forced myself to swallow.

“You missed that scholarship, and it's okay.”

I shook my head and looked at my fingertips. They were sore, but beginning to heal with the help of Candy's hand cream.

“Think about it. What's the worst-case scenario?” he said.

“Everyone knows I didn't get it.”

“So?”

“I can't afford college without it.”

“Are there other scholarships?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“How can you find out?”

“I can ask Ms. Frost.”

“How do you feel right now?”

“Ashamed. Embarrassed. Both.”

“Why?”

“I screwed up.”

“Do you have any other feelings?”

I sigh loudly. I don't want to do this. He's digging again. He wants to talk about Mom. “I'm scared.”

“About what?

“Talking about it.”

“Talking about what?”

“Mom.”

“Her death?”

I nodded my head.

“Why?”

“It'll be real if I say it out loud.”

“Even if we don't talk about it, it's already real, Claudine. It really happened.”

 
I pick up the basket and walk the beach collecting sand dollars, starfish, and sea glass to take home to the garden. I notice the new skin that grows on my fingertips and nails. New skin and new feelings.

There's so much debris left from the hurricane, but it can wait. Instead of filling the basket to the top, I set it on a rock. I feel a surge of something. I'm not sure why it is, but I feel like running. I begin with a slow jog down the beach, then I speed up a little and run in the waves. They are small, baby waves, and I run fast through them, making my lungs strain. I imagine I'm on the cross-country team. I wonder if they ever practice on the beach.

My breathing comes in fast puffs, and I smile to myself. Then I laugh as I identify the feeling.

It's hope.