Family Blessings by LaVyrle Spencer
“Oh, this is stupid!” she said, angry with herself for starting to cry again. “They’re just plants! Just dumb plants!”
“It’s not stupid,” Christopher said. “I feel the same way every time I look at them . . . and at his hats, and his CDs . . . everything. It’s not stupid.”
“I know,” she said, mollified. “But I’m so tired of crying.”
“Yeah,” he replied softly, “we all are.”
“I might as well face his closet—is that what you’re saying?”
He nodded silently and led the way. At the doorway to Greg’s room he stepped back and let her enter first. Lloyd had remained behind in the living room.
She took in the room and said, “Was he always this neat?”
“He said you forced him to be. Something about Thursdaymorning cleaning.”
“Lord, how he hated it.”
“Didn’t hurt him a bit though.”
Chris moved to the dresser. “He got a couple pieces of mail yesterday.” He handed them to her. “And I went through his bills this morning. The ones we share for the apartment are taken care of. These are for other things.”
She glanced at them.
“This one’s for his motorcycle,” she said and broke down again.
He held her while she cried, held her hard and motionless, his own eyes dry, her hands clutching the back of his shirt with the envelopes bent in one. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God . . .”
It struck him while he stood strong for her, how often he’d held this woman in the past twenty-four hours, closer and longer than he’d held any woman for years. Being relied on by her felt fitting, and each time she turned to him he found his own sorrow eased. The process of grieving was so new to Christopher. He’d seen strangers grieve in the course of his nine years on the force. He’d had psychology courses on handling traumatized victims and their equally traumatized families, but this was the first time true grief had ever touched him. No grandparents, extended family or dear friends of any kind had ever been part of his life, so there’d been no tearful funerals for him. He doubted that when his own parents died he’d care much at all.
This though—this was tough.
Lloyd came to the door holding the green bill cap. His eyes met Christopher’s over Lee’s shoulder. He waited patiently, his face a map of sadness.
Finally he shuffled into the room and sat down on the bed.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, almost as if to himself. “The casket’s going to be closed. Greg loved this cap the best. And he hardly ever wore dress suits when he was alive. What do you say we bury him in jeans and one of his favorite T-shirts and this cap? Lee, dear, what do you think about that?”
She drew herself out of Christopher’s arms and fished for a tissue in her pocket. Wiping her eyes, she managed a snuffly laugh. “In blue jeans and that cap? Oh, Lloyd, you’re priceless.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Then let’s pick a shirt. Chris, which one did he wear most?”
After that it wasn’t so hard, opening the closet door, leafing through Greg’s clothes. They had interacted as a team, one supporting the other as emotions demanded, and by the time they left the apartment they recognized they’d done a fine job of conquering another hurdle.
Lee said to Chris, “You’re coming with us back to the house. You can’t stay here alone.”
“Thanks, but actually I have to go to the Ford dealer and pick up a new Explorer I ordered. I was supposed to pick it up yesterday, but . . .” He shrugged. “I called the dealer and told him I’d be in to get it today.”
“Then you’ll come over later?”
He hesitated, afraid of spending too much time over there, getting in the family’s way.
“Listen, I don’t think—”
“Christopher, I insist. What are you going to do here? And besides, the neighbors have been bringing in so much food. Come on.”
“All right. I will.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Will you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Will you speak to your captain and express my thanks to him for offering to have the members of the police force act as pallbearers? Ask him to pick six of them—whomever he thinks. Greg liked a man named Ostrinski, and someone named Nokes.”
“Ostrinski and Nokes, sure.”
“And you, Christopher . . .” She touched his hand. “If . . . if you want to, I’d be pleased to have you act as pallbearer. But only if you want to.”
“I’d have been hurt if you hadn’t asked. Besides, he’d expect it, and so would I if it were the other way around.”
She squeezed his hand and released it. “I need the names of the other men as soon as possible so they can be listed in the obituary.”
“I’ll take care of it all, Mrs. Reston. I’ll speak to the captain and call Walter Dewey myself—how’s that?”
“That would be a big help, thank you. It seems . . .” She felt a renewed surge of gratitude at having him to rely on. “It seems as if I’ve been leaning on you very heavily, Christopher. Forgive me. You’ve really helped—I want you to know that. Whenever you’re around, things just seem—well, I feel better.”
She smiled and he felt better than he had since awakening that morning.
“Me, too.”
* * *
WHENshe was gone, he drove over to the station and spoke to the captain, called Walter Dewey, then took care of an unpleasant detail that he didn’t want Lee Reston to have to handle: he drove to the impound lot to pick up Greg’s key ring. Toby, who ran the lot, knew him and knew he and Greg had been roommates. “I’m sure sorry, Chris,” he said as he handed over the keys.
“Yeah,” Chris said, clearing his throat. “He was a good man and a good friend.”
Toby clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and they commiserated in silence.
“I imagine the motorcycle is a loss.”
“Yes, it is.”
Chris nodded, studying the oily dirt of the yard. “That’s good.” He hadn’t looked around for the machine, nor would he. “I guess that’s good, otherwise his mother would have to have it fixed and sell it. This way she’ll never have to deal with it at all.”
Toby squeezed his shoulder and dropped his hand.
“Family must be takin’ it pretty hard.”
Chris nodded. Sometimes it was hard to know what to say.
“Well, take ’er easy, okay?” Toby said.
“Yeah, thanks.”
THEweather had grown muggy. To the east the sky was blue as an Easter egg. To the west the clouds looked like a dirty old hen who’d rolled in the dust. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Nearer, one could almost smell the first wetted-down dust, that summery scent that came just before the rain. It was approaching 4 P.M. when Christopher drove his spanking new wild-strawberry Ford Explorer out of the parking lot of Fahrendorff Ford. The dust-rain smell whipped in the open windows and mingled with that of new vinyl and an engine burning away the residual factory oils from its metal housing.
This should have been a rip-roaring happy moment. He and Greg had looked forward to it for two months, ever since he’d ordered the vehicle. They had made plans to take a trip in it this fall, maybe down to Denver, where they’d go up into the mountains and search out some old abandoned ghost towns where gold mines had played out. They’d also talked about going up to Nova Scotia to see its rugged coastline, or even wait until winter and drive down to Florida. Whatever place they chose, they were going to take the Explorer.
Suddenly Chris was sick and tired of all these mawkish thoughts. He was cruising along Coon Rapids Boulevard when he shouted at the thin air, “Hey, Greg—look! I got it!” He smiled and let some gladness seep in, let himself enjoy this milestone he’d anticipated for so long. “You there, Reston? Hey, lookit this. I’ve really got it at last and damn your ’nads for not being here with me! I’ll get you for this, you littl
He drove along feeling unexpectedly happy, realizing something for the first time: that until now he had not accepted Greg’s death. With acceptance came a measure of peace and the ability to get on with life. He had no doubt there’d be more bad days, bad hours, maybe even longer stretches when he’d miss Greg terribly, but he’d just learned one way to handle them. Get on with what needed getting on with, and give yourself the right to enjoy what ought to be enjoyed.
He drove over to the police station to show the boys. Out of long practice, he checked the call reports from the last shift—suspicious person, domestic, disturbing the peace, lockout, animal complaint, same stuff as usual. He had a cup of coffee, answered sympathetic questions about the Restons and the funeral plans, and went back out to enjoy his Explorer.
It was raining as he headed over to Lee Reston’s house. His new windshield wipers worked great, made a different sound than the ones on the old beater. He put a Vince Gill compact disc in the player and drove slowly, singing along softly when he knew the words, enjoying the quiet snicker of the rain on the metal roof, the occasional ranting of thunder, healing a little.
Vince came on singing “When I Call Your Name” and took the cheer out of the afternoon.
At Mrs. Reston’s, several cars stood in the driveway; he parked behind them and ran through the rain to the front door.
Janice answered his knock and opened the screen door. “Come on in. Hi. How are you today?”
“Better. How about you?”
“Tired, sad, sighing a lot.”
“Yeah, it’s rough.” He glanced toward the kitchen where the lights were on and people were gathered around the table. “It looks like you’ve got plenty of company. I probably shouldn’t have come.”
She put her arm around his waist and drew him forward. “Don’t be silly. This is no time to be alone. Come on . . . join the rest.”
Beneath a hanging light fixture people were leaning on their elbows looking at photo albums containing snapshots of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends. The counter was arrayed with hot dishes, bowls of salad, platters of sandwich fixings, muffins, cookies and four different cakes in aluminum cake tins.
“Hi, Christopher,” Lee greeted from across the room. “Glad you came back. I guess you know everyone except these three. They all went to high school with Greg. This is Nolan Steeg, Sandy Adolphson and Jane Retting.”
He nodded to them all while Janice added, “Jane dated Greg when they were in high school. She spent a lot of time over here.” She gave the girl a hug from behind; Jane looked as if she’d been crying.
They continued examining the pictures, exclaiming, “Oh, there he is with that terrible cap he used to wear everywhere! Remember how you couldn’t get him to take it off at bedtime, Lee?”
“He always loved caps.”
“And hot dogs.”
“And raw cookie dough.”
“Oh, look, there he is at a track meet.”
“For somebody over six feet tall he could really run.”
“Nolan, look at this one—where was this taken?”
“Taylors Falls. A bunch of us guys used to go over there and take our shirts off and play Frisbee in our cutoffs and see if we could pick up girls.”
“My son . . . picking up girls?” Lee said in mock horror.
“My boyfriend . . . picking up girls?” Jane echoed in mock horror.
“He wasn’t perfect, you know.”
Lee said, “Well, we thought so, didn’t we, Jane?” and the two of them shared a sad smile.
The examination of photos went on while Lee worked her way around the table and asked Christopher, “Are you hungry? There’s plenty to eat. Let me get you a plate and you can help yourself.”
He ate some goulash, some chicken-and-rice casserole, Italian salad, two turkey sandwiches and three pieces of cake, all the while standing, looking over everyone’s shoulders at pictures of Greg he’d never seen before. Four times he refused to accept chairs that were offered. Janice handed him a glass of milk. He peered over heads at the open albums. There was Greg as an infant; a two-year-old blowing out birthday candles; holding his new baby sister on his lap; going off to his first day of kindergarten; around age seven, missing his front teeth; with Janice and Joey; the whole family beside a fishing boat holding up their catches; standing spraddle-legged with a basketball under one arm, beginning to stretch out in height; with four grandparents in front of Faith Lutheran Church, probably on his confirmation day; lying flat on the grass with some other boy’s head on his stomach, the two of them laughing, wearing prank sunglasses one foot wide; carrying his mother piggyback, her arm raised as if holding a horsewhip; with a group of four teenage boys, one of them Nolan, leaning against somebody’s car; dressed in a tux with Jane at his side in her prom formal; with Lee on his high school graduation day; standing beside a black-and-white cruiser in his new uniform and badge; playing volleyball last Fourth of July, balancing the ball on five fingertips with his other arm slung around Christopher’s shoulder while Christopher’s arm hooked Joey around the neck.
A wave of envy struck Christopher: What a charmed life Greg Reston had had. It wouldn’t be so bad to die, having had so many happy memories. Greg had had so much family love, friends, every occasion of his life marked by photographs that preserved them forever, lovingly stored in a photo album by a mother. Now here she was, sharing them with everyone again, helping them heal, passing out food and refilling glasses, touching shoulders as she moved around the table.
He gazed at her and thought, What a woman. She caught his eyes and smiled. He looked away quickly, back down to the picture of himself and Greg just as the page was being turned.
He had exactly four photographs of himself as a child, and he didn’t know who’d taken them, but to the best of his recollection there’d never been a camera around his house. Of elementary school pictures he had none. He was one of the kids who never brought money to pay for the photo packet when the teacher passed them out. Instead, they went back to the photographer.
His graduation picture he’d paid for himself, for by then he was working in the produce department of the Red Owl, earning fairly decent money.
He took his plate to the kitchen sink and rinsed it off.
Lee Reston came up behind him and said, “Here, let me do that.”
“It’s done. Should I put it in the dishwasher?”
“Yes, please.”
He did so. When he straightened and turned she was near, the two of them isolated from the others by an arm of the kitchen cabinets that divided the working area from the eating area.
“Thank you for taking care of the pallbearers today.”
“No need to thank me. I was glad to do it.”
“About Greg’s things in the apartment . . .”
He shook his head. “Take all the time you need. There’s no hurry.”
“But you’ll probably want a new roommate.”
“I haven’t decided that yet. It’s too soon.”
“All right,” she agreed quietly. “But I should probably get his car out of the garage.”
“I got his keys for you . . . here.” He fished them out of his pocket. “But there is no hurry. Nobody cares if it sits there for a few days. His rent is paid up till the first.”
She studied the keys in her palm and a veil of sorrow descended over her face again.
“Really, Mrs. Reston,” he repeated, “there’s no hurry. Take your time getting everything.”
Janice overheard and came up to join them. “Mom . . . are you talking about Greg’s car?”
Lee cleared her throat and replied, “Yes. I told C
“I was hoping I could use it for a while. It’s a lot more reliable than mine.”
“Of course you can.”
“Mine’s been burning oil, and if the front tires last another month I’ll be surprised. It would really be a lifesaver.”
“Sure, dear, go ahead and use it. Maybe we can even have the title changed over to you and sell yours instead of his.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want to . . .” Janice shrugged and grew glum. “Well, you know.”
Lee squeezed her arm. “I know. But something will have to be done with all his belongings eventually anyway.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Christopher said, “If you want me to take the keys I can run it over here anytime. One of the cops can follow me and give me a ride back. Or I can come and get you, Janice, whenever you say.”
“I could ride back home with you tonight and get it.”
“Sure. That’d be okay. It’s raining though.”
“I’ve driven in the rain before. You sure this is okay with you, Mom?”
“Of course it is. It’s one more detail taken care of. Go ahead and get it.”
“Do you want to go now?” Janice asked Chris.
“Anytime.”
“Just let me get my purse.”
While Janice was gone he said to Lee, “Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“Oh, Christopher, you’ve been so helpful already. No, you just go.” She walked him to the door, where Janice joined them. “I hope for all our sakes that we can all get some sleep tonight. Janice, be careful driving home in the rain. And, Chris . . .” She gave him one of the hugs she shared so freely, an affectionate, motherly brushing of cheeks that said goodnight and thanks. “You’re so kind . . . so thoughtful. Thank you for being here.” He wondered if she knew how much he liked the way her hand lingered on his neck before he turned away to open the screen door for Janice.