The Mill River Redemption (4 page)

“This is complete CRAP!” Rose screeched, before lowering her voice to a hiss. “There is
no way
that we’ll go along with this—this
little treasure hunt
or whatever the hell Mom called it.”

Emily looked at Jim Gasaway. “Can she … could she really insist on this?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim replied. “I will say that your mom’s is one of the more unusual estates I’ve seen, since she’s effectively put everything in a holding pattern for now, but it’s all legal and binding. I’m confident that it would stand up in court, if it comes to that,” he added, looking pointedly at Rose.

“Girls, you should know that Jim’s the best lawyer around, and he’s an expert in handling complex trusts and estates,” Father O’Brien said quietly.

“So, we’re just supposed to drop everything in our lives and move up here to
look for a key
?” Emily said. “I can’t believe Mom would do this to us.”

“Maybe she was losing it,” Rose agreed. “And what about her precious brokerage? Who’ll be running it until her estate is finally settled?”

“I’ll be monitoring the books, and there’s an associate broker on her staff who has the authority to approve transactions,” Jim said. “Your mom was pretty careful to have contingency plans in place.”

Sheldon sat up straight and turned to Rose. “Look, I think this is a total crock, too,” he said in a low, pleading voice. “But, we’ve got two months. We can look into this further, get another legal opinion, once we get home. Let’s just do what we need to do, and then we can get out of here.”

“I think Sheldon’s approach is reasonable,” Ivy said. “Jim, maybe we should just decide on a move-in date, give each of them a set of keys to a house, and let them go for now. They can think it over for a while and still have plenty of time to make arrangements once they come around.”

“Fat chance,” Rose snapped.

“You will,” Ivy said with a sweet smile.

Emily rolled her eyes and turned to Jim. “Whatever,” she said. “Doesn’t matter to me which house I get.”

“WE should get the bigger house,” Rose said. “We’re a family. She’s just one person.”

Jim Gasaway fished around in his pants pocket and removed two sets of house keys and a quarter. “The houses aren’t all that different in size,” he said. “But, it’s probably best that we consult Mr. Washington. Why don’t we let Alex call it? Would that be all right?”

“Could I?” Alex asked with a hopeful grin. He looked at each of his parents. Rose said nothing, but Sheldon bent to whisper something in his ear. Emily shrugged her shoulders.

“Okay, then, Alex,” Jim said, “heads or tails. On the count of three—ready? One, two, three!” He tossed the coin up high, almost to the ceiling.

“Heads!” Alex yelled, and the room was silent except for the sound of the coin landing on the wood floor.

“Looks like it’s tails,” Jim said as he peered down at the quarter, and Father O’Brien saw Alex frown and shrink back against the sofa. “Emily, which house do you want?”

“I suppose I’ll take whichever one is
bigger
,” she said, smiling. She reached out her hand for the keys that Jim held out to her.

Rose jumped quickly to her feet. “You get the keys, Sheldon,” she said. “I’m going to gather up our things in the living room.” Rose rushed out of the office.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Ivy muttered to herself.

“As for your arrival,” Jim said to Emily, “I assume the more time the better, for both of you. Today’s May fourth. Why don’t we make it easy and just say you and Rose will both be back here on the first of July?”

Emily stood with one arm across her middle as she stared at
the small set of house keys in her hand. “Whatever. I will try to do what Mom asked,” she said in her a sad voice, “but honestly, I don’t think it will make any difference. There are some things that just can’t be fixed, and with what happened between Rose and me …”

Sheldon sighed and shrugged. “July first.” He gently squeezed Alex around the shoulders before accepting the keys that Jim offered. “We should be going,” he said. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, but I’m sure we’ll be consulting our attorney—”

There was a sudden loud crash somewhere outside the office, followed by Rose shrieking, “No, no, oh my God, Mom!”

“Oh, dear,” said Father O’Brien. He opened the door quickly, and the four of them hurried out of the office toward the sound of the commotion.

The tidy, solemn living room had been transformed. At one end, Ruth Fitzgerald and the few remaining people who had come to pay their respects stood in a group. At the other end of the room, the small table holding Josie’s memorial display was lying on its side. Covered in a mixture of ashes, broken glass, and a greenish liquid were the opened bronze urn, the photographs of Josie, several floral arrangements, and Daisy Delaine.

“Miss Rose, I’m so sorry, Miss Rose, I was only trying to give you a jar of my grief potion,” Daisy stammered, trying to get to her feet.

“Oh, my God,” Rose said again. She blinked and stumbled backwards. The front of her black dress was now covered in gray powder, and her stiletto heels made sharp cracking noises as they crunched down on bits of glass. She brushed at her face frantically and glared at Daisy. “How did you … do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Oh, Miss Rose, I lost my balance and fell against the table,” Daisy tried to explain. The stout little woman was on her hands
and knees now. She gasped when she pushed herself into a kneeling position and looked down to see a piece of glass protruding from the palm of her right hand.

“You clumsy
idiot!
” Rose screamed down at Daisy. “I swear, Ivy,” she continued, whirling around. “Couldn’t you have gotten an urn with a screw-top? Or at least seen that whatever cheap container this is was properly sealed?”

“But Miss Rose, I never would’ve … I didn’t mean to do it. I’m so sorry, Miss Rose,” Daisy cried, cradling her hand. Tears began leaving darkened streaks down each side of Daisy’s ash-coated face.

Father O’Brien and Jim hurried toward Daisy, stepping gingerly through the mess until each of them could grab one of her arms. Together, they eased her to her feet and helped her over to Ruth.

“Daisy, dear, come with me. Let’s go get a better look at that cut,” Ruth said, putting her arm around her. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Jim kept his hold on Daisy’s other arm and walked with them to the kitchen.

“Rose,” Ivy said, “I know you’re upset, but it was an accident. There are fresh towels in the bathroom. You can wash up while I find something clean for you to wear.” She approached Rose and reached out to touch her elbow, but Rose jumped away.

“I don’t need your help,” Rose said. “Move it, Sheldon!” She marched to the front door, threw it open, and walked out.

“I am so sorry about that … about everything,” Sheldon said to Ivy. “You know how worked up Rose can get. She’s been upset for days, and today was especially tough. We had better get out there, but please let … Daisy? Please tell her, from me … from us, actually … that accidents happen, and there is nothing to forgive.” After a final glance around at the mess in the living room, he put his hand on Alex’s head and gently steered him out the front door.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Ivy.” Emily slipped an arm around Ivy’s shoulders. “I know you went through a lot of trouble to try to make this nice for Mom. To do what she wanted.” Emily paused a moment, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked down at the ruined ashes. “I don’t have to leave for a few hours. I’ll clean this up.”

“Thanks, kid,” Ivy said, and Emily left in search of cleaning supplies. Ivy looked at Father O’Brien and shook her head. “What a disaster.”

Father O’Brien nodded. “And poor Daisy, bless her soul, she never meant any harm. She’s probably beside herself, and she may need to see a doctor for her hand.”

“She’s still in the kitchen with Ruth,” Ivy said, as Emily returned lugging a bucket of cleaners and paper towels, along with Josie’s old Kirby vacuum. “Would you check on her? Em and I can tackle this mess.”

“Of course,” he said. Before he left, Emily pulled the table back into an upright position and tenderly picked up the bronze urn and its lid.

“I didn’t pick out that urn,” Ivy said bitterly to her great-niece. “It’s one your mom chose for herself, years ago, when she decided it was time to get her affairs in order.”

“It’s more like a vase. It doesn’t have a threaded top like it should, but it’s still beautiful. Let’s try to salvage what we can of her ashes. That way, we could still use it, like she wanted,” Emily said. “And, don’t let Rose get to you. I know she can say horrible things, but trust me … what comes out of her mouth isn’t worth a damn thing.”

1983

W
HILE
I
VY GREETED CUSTOMERS AND DID HER BEST TO
reduce her holiday inventory, Josie spent the remainder of the day in a haze of misery. She held herself together until Rose and Emily were asleep in the attic bedroom. Quietly, she came downstairs and found Ivy settled into the recliner in the living room.

Ivy looked up from the book she was reading. “They fell out okay?”

“Yes.” Josie sank into the sofa across from her. “I think I’d like to open the package now.”

Ivy nodded and left the sitting room. She returned a moment later with the box that the mailman had delivered for Josie earlier in the day. “I’ll be in my room, if you need me,” she said quietly.

When her aunt was gone, Josie looked down at the package. With a trembling finger, she traced the words on the shipping label—
PACKAGE CONTAINS CREMATED REMAINS. PLEASE HANDLE WITH CARE AND RESPECT
. The return address was for a funeral home in the Bronx.

She stood up and took the package into the kitchen to cut through the tape. The cardboard shipping container held a sealed envelope and a rectangular metal box, which she lifted onto the table. Josie opened the envelope and unfolded the paper it held, but she saw only “Certificate of Cremation” and “Anthony Paolo
DiSanti” before her eyes filled with tears and the paper slipped from her fingers.

Josie couldn’t breathe. She found her wool coat on the rack by the side door, stumbled outside, and started to walk.

The sidewalk was covered with a dusting of new snow, and Josie’s shoes were the first to leave footprints. She pulled up her hood and occasionally used the sleeve of her coat to wipe her face. Two blocks ahead, at the intersection with Main Street, the glimmer of Christmas lights caught her attention.

When she arrived at the intersection, the white town hall building was on her left. To her right, the small row of shops she remembered seeing the night before ran along one side of the street. Across from them, set back off the road, was St. John’s. It was after eight o’clock, and the shops along Main Street were long closed, but she thought she saw a few lights on inside the little stone church. Emotionally exhausted, her face numb from the frigid air, Josie crossed the street and walked up the steps of the church to the front door. To her surprise, it was open.

Josie entered cautiously, easing the door closed behind her and enjoying the warmth that met her cold face. She was in a small, dark foyer. Ahead of her were two large double doors that led into the sanctuary. She could see that the altar was well lit, but the light faded gradually so that the pews in the row closest to the door were almost completely shrouded in darkness. Josie slid into one of them and sat down.

She was grateful to be alone in this quiet, warm, dark place. Time was irrelevant. She wanted to somehow slip into the darkness and escape her grief, but when she closed her eyes, she was haunted by the words “cremated remains.” As she slumped forward, tears dripped onto her lap. Josie didn’t hear how her gasps and sobs echoed slightly in the sanctuary. She focused only on trying to survive the seemingly endless torrent of agony that poured out of her.

Josie didn’t know how long she had been sitting there crying when she heard the pew creak under the weight of another person. She turned to see a priest seated next to her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly. “I was just getting things ready for tomorrow’s mass when I heard you. I wanted to see if I could be of any assistance. My name is Michael O’Brien. I’m the pastor here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t … I mean, you’re probably closed. I was just out walking and got cold,” Josie stammered. She stood up abruptly and wiped her eyes.

“If I’m here, the front door is always open, no matter the time,” Father O’Brien said. “I can see you’re upset. Perhaps you were meant to find my open door.”

Josie glanced down at Father O’Brien. He was tall and lanky with a receding hairline and looked to be older than Ivy. Although she had made up her mind to head back to Ivy’s, there was something about this priest that kept her from leaving. He seemed to radiate compassion. Josie hesitated only a moment longer before she lowered herself back down into the pew.

“I’m not sure why I came in here,” Josie whispered. “I haven’t been in a church in … well, I can’t remember the last time.”

Father O’Brien smiled. “Everyone is welcome here,” he said simply.

Something about his voice, his presence, was so comforting. Josie looked at her hands clasped in her lap. “My husband died last week,” she whispered, “in a fire. We … I … have two little girls, and the fire took almost everything we had, so I came here, to Mill River, to stay with my aunt.” Josie took a deep breath. “I’m so afraid, Father. I’m lost without him. I feel like I’m sinking lower and lower. And my aunt … the one we’re staying with … I don’t even know her. She’s all the family I have left. She’s been so welcoming, but I still feel like a horrible burden to her, being such a wreck and bringing my kids to live in her house. I don’t know
where to go from here. I have to take care of my girls, and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to do that. I feel like I’m drowning.” It was as if every thought that had tortured Josie since Tony’s death gushed out along with her tears.

“I’m so sorry, my child,” Father O’Brien said. “Could I … could I ask your name?”

“I’m Josie.”

“Josie.” Father O’Brien paused a moment, perhaps to collect his thoughts. “I know you’re hurting right now. The way you’re feeling is very normal after the loss of a spouse. You’re still in the earliest stages of the grieving process, and feeling overwhelmed and afraid is very much a part of that.”