Shattered (9 page)

I nod as a lump grows in my throat. “Yeah, I miss Lola a lot. But at least she’s not gone for good. I mean... you know... like my mom.”

“I was really devastated when my grandpa died last fall. He and I had been pretty close. But I can’t imagine how hard it would be to lose a parent... and so tragically.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze that sends a warm shiver down my back. “If you ever need someone to talk to, Cleo... well, I’m a good listener.”

I want to ask him if he’s serious, but I can tell by his eyes, which are kind of a blue-green color, he means this. And I’m totally taken aback. “Thanks,” I tell him as my dad motions to me, hinting that it’s time to go to the cemetery. “It would be good to have someone to talk to... at school.”

“Then I expect you to take me up on that offer.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Soon we are riding in the back of the limo to the cemetery—Dad and me and Aunt Kellie and Uncle Don. No one speaks as our car follows the slate-gray hearse. We move through town at a snail’s pace, inching our way up to the cemetery. I stare blankly out the window, seeing the same buildings and businesses I have seen for my whole life, but now they look unfamiliar. Even as our procession passes by Madame Reginald’s Ballet Academy, I feel as if I’ve never been inside that brick building. As if my mother had never taken me for a single lesson there.

I close my eyes, trying to block out everything. To my relief that pleasant buzzy-dizzy feeling returns, softening the sharp, harsh edges of my shattered life. But my relief is hindered by nagging concerns. I wonder how long it will be until I need to take another pill... and if I should’ve brought more with me... and what will I do when I run out? But thankfully, this pill is doing its magic. I forget where I am, feeling as if I’m wrapped in a thick, fuzzy blanket.

Then, just like that, the lulling ride comes to a halt. Doors open, loudly close, people are speaking to me, but I can’t understand their words. Or maybe this is a dream. I look around, trying to absorb my surroundings, wondering where I am.

“Come on, Cleo.” With sad eyes, my dad reaches for my hand, helping me out of the car.

And that’s when I realize we’re in the cemetery. And like a glass of icy water that’s been thrown in my face, I remember why we’re here.

W
e follow the men in dark suits as they transport the casket across the cemetery. The grass is damp, and my feet soon become soggy as we trudge up a hill. I vaguely remember these men—are they called pallbearers, and if so what does that mean? I’m pretty sure they are from our church, but I can’t even think of their names. How did they come to be doing this depressing task? Did my dad call them up and ask them to carry his wife like this? Will they also help to bury her?

I wish I could take the other pill now. Something to stop this flow of thoughts... something to block my brain. But now we are being seated in a row of folding chairs directly across from where the casket is now arranged over the hole—the hole that will swallow my mother. I close my eyes and wish I could join her. Better yet, I wish I could trade places. So much simpler.

Again, the words being spoken seem to float over my head. And when it’s time to stand, to sing “Amazing Grace,” I get a rush of dizziness, followed by a loud buzzing in my ears that won’t go away... and then darkness.

When I come to, my aunt is looking at my face. “There you are,” she says in that despicable congenial tone she likes to use. “See, Hugh, she’s simply fainted. I knew she should’ve eaten breakfast.”

“I—I’m sorry.” I sit up from where I was laid out on the row of folding chairs. Looking around, I’m relieved to see that the graveside service seems to be over; people are leaving. Before long, only our immediate family and Pastor Reynolds remain behind. My dad is standing by the casket. As he lays a single red rose on top, I look away.

“Come on now.” Aunt Kellie reaches for my hand. “Let’s get you back into the car.” Then with Uncle Don and Aunt Kellie flanking me on both sides, holding on to my arms like I might topple over again, we go back to the limo, where I lean back into the seat, closing my eyes, longing for an escape as my aunt lectures me about low blood sugar. She tries to get me to eat a peppermint, which I can’t stand, but to placate her, I do.

Finally my dad joins us, and once again, we are on our way. Will this day never end?

“That was a very nice service, Hugh.” Aunt Kellie makes this sweeping statement like we’re simply on our way home from church—not from burying a loved one.

“Yes...” Dad sighs. “It seemed to go well.” But he peers curiously at me now. “Except for that little fainting bit. Cleo?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Aunt Kellie said I had low blood sugar.” I look away, wondering if he suspects that I’ve been sneaking my mother’s old pain pills. But that’s absurd. How could he possibly know?

When we arrive at home, it smells like a bad buffet and is crawling with people. All I want to do is escape to my room and crash, but before I get the chance, Aunt Kellie corners me in the kitchen, insisting I need to eat something.

“But I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t
feel
hungry,” she tells me, “but you still need to eat.”

“And you need to visit with our guests.” My dad drops some used paper plates into a grocery bag that’s doubling as a garbage container by the back door.

Aunt Kellie nods in agreement. “Your dad is right, Cleo. It’s your job to play hostess today. Your mom would expect that much of you.”

So I eat some bites of a casserole that tastes like a combination of processed cheese and sawdust. I top that off with a piece of chocolate cake that’s so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Then I ask to be excused for a few minutes. “Just to use the bathroom,” I explain as I take a can of soda from the ice chest.

“Of course,” Aunt Kellie says sweetly. “Just don’t forget to come back.”

I head to the hall bathroom, which is actually in use, so instead I go to my parents’ bathroom where I take my other pill, washing it down with soda. Then flushing the toilet for effect, I open their medicine cabinet, looking to see if the bottle of Vicodin is still where I left it. It seems to be in the same place. I empty the remaining pills into a tissue, which I wrap up like a minipackage, then slip into my bra. But before I leave, I pour a couple dozen aspirin tablets into the empty Vicodin bottle. Just in case my dad should check.

Then I go out, trying to play the role of “hostess,” but everyone keeps talking about my mom, saying what a generous and kind person she was, how it was too soon to lose her... on and on. And I have no response to that.

“Your mother was an absolute saint,” a woman named Maria tells me. “Do you know how she helped me when Julio was born?”

I blink, trying to focus on this woman’s amazing eyes—they are black and shiny as glass. “No... I don’t recall.”

“She was an angel. Three years ago, I was pregnant with Julio and my husband had left me with nothing. Your mother arranged a baby shower at church, and she helped me to find furniture at secondhand shops and...” On she goes, but the words are like colorful balloons floating off into the nether-sphere, over my head and far out of my reach.

“And sh-she helped find me a place to live,” a middle-aged man with a serious lisp and stammer tells me. He seems to know Maria and I think I’ve seen him at church before, but I can’t remember his name. “I was homeless-ss and jobless-ss.” Like an impaired snake, he gets stuck on the
s
sound, but he nods over and over for emphasis. “That was about ss-six years ago. I’ve been working ever ss-since.”

Feeling like a bobblehead doll, I mimic his nod. “That’s great. I’m so happy for you.”

Maria continues talking about Julio and how much he loved “Aunt Karen” and how she sometimes babysat him. “Right here in this house.” She looks around with a sad smile.

“Right here?” I glance about the family room, trying to imagine my mother caring for a toddler... and me not even knowing.

As Maria and the lisp man continue to recall my mother’s attributes, I feel dizzy and spacey and I need to lie down. “I’m sorry,” I interrupt Maria. “But I’m not feeling too well.”

“Oh yes.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I forget how hard this must be for you.”

I nod again, and this time the mere motion of moving my head makes me feel like the walls are spinning... like I’m about to throw up. So I excuse myself and, trying to get my bearings, hurry from that stuffy room, rushing down the hallway toward my bedroom. But I feel like a rat in a maze, like I’m lost and can’t find the right turn... until finally, I find the right door, go inside, close it, then fall onto my bed... and escape into a foggy darkness.

When I wake, my dad is sitting on the side of my bed. His expression is one of great concern and sadness. “What’s wrong with you, Cleo?”

I sit up and blink at the overhead light. “Huh?”

“Are you sick? Do you need to see a doctor?”

I shrug, then let out a long sigh. “I’m just really sad. And tired.”

“I know...” He nods. “Believe me, I know. But we can’t give up. We have to keep going. That’s what your mom would want us to do.”

I look down at my hands, thinking they look like someone else’s hands. My mom’s perhaps?

“But if you can’t keep going...” Dad reaches over and takes one of my hands in his. “Then we will get you help.”

“Help?”

“Someone to help you through your grief. Aunt Kellie said she knows someone who—”

“I don’t need someone to help me,” I say stubbornly. Then I pull my hand away from his and slide my feet out from under the blanket and onto the floor. “I can deal with this myself.”

“I know it’s not easy. But we have to get through this, Cleo.”

“I know, Dad.” I stand up now, feeling both shaky and dizzy... and like I need another pain pill. “I’m getting through it the best way I can. I just need time.”

“Okay, I know it’s going to take time.” He rubs his hand through his messy hair. “And I hate to tell you this, but I’m scheduled to go to Denver next week. I thought about canceling, but we need the—”

“Don’t cancel for my sake.”

“But I hate to think of leaving you here... alone... after what’s happened.”

“I’ll be okay. I know you have to keep working, Dad.”

“If I wasn’t self-employed, I could take time off, but being my own boss... if I cancel on a client... well, you know how it goes.”

“I understand, Dad. It’s okay for you to work. I’ll be fine.” “Well, my flight isn’t until Sunday evening. I can always cancel—”

“No,” I say firmly. “You don’t need to cancel.” I stand a bit straighter now, trying to convey confidence. “In fact, I plan to return to school tomorrow.”

He looks relieved. “Oh, good. I think it will be good to get back to our old lives.”

I glance over my dad’s shoulder. “Does that mean Aunt Kellie went home?”

He makes an uncomfortable frown. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I think she’s worried about you, Cleo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, you might have to convince her of that.” He moves toward the door. “In the meantime, she’s not budging. She just told me that your mother wants her here.”

“What?” I ask hotly. “Is she able to speak to the dead?”

My dad says nothing, but his expression says it all. Sad, weary, lost. And it’s all my fault. Unable to see so much sorrow in my dad, I turn away from him, pretending to be busy with a tangled necklace on my dresser.

“Kellie said to tell you she’s putting out some leftovers for dinner.”

“Dinner?” I scowl. “Didn’t we just have lunch?”

“It’s almost seven,” he says as he leaves my room.

I look at the clock by my bed. It
is
almost seven. I have been asleep for nearly six hours. Six hours of blissful escape. I close my door, then go to my secret stash of pills. I’ve been very creative. I wrapped them in a tube of tissue that is stuffed into a cardboard tampon container, and this is wrapped in the plastic and stuck in the box, looking just like the others. In fact, it takes me a few seconds to figure out which one it is.

Then I remove the pills I stuffed in my bra and put them with this stash. But not before I take one more pill. I need another pill to make it through this night. Tomorrow I will try to begin weaning myself from the pills... or at least slow it down.

A half hour later, as we’re finishing up dinner, which I pretend to eat for my aunt’s sake, my dad mentions that he’s heard from the police. “They called this afternoon,” he says as I’m returning some of the food dishes to the kitchen.

“Karen’s car turned up,” he says in a flat tone.

“Really?” Aunt Kellie is still sitting at the table. “What kind of shape is it in?”

“I don’t know. Apparently it still runs.”

“Does that mean you’ll be getting it back soon?” she asks him.

“Not until after they collect their evidence.” Dad’s voice is grim. “That might take a week or so.”

“Then perhaps Cleo can have it to use,” Aunt Kellie suggests.