{"id":1731,"date":"2013-03-13T03:01:17","date_gmt":"2013-03-13T03:01:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/?p=1731"},"modified":"2015-03-26T05:26:05","modified_gmt":"2015-03-26T05:26:05","slug":"what-remains","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/what-remains\/","title":{"rendered":"What Remains"},"content":{"rendered":"

By Kathleen A. Magner<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

Hillrise Cemetery\u2019s stone turrets sprouted alongside the needle-straight road extending before me, severing the crisp sidewalk and line of idyllic storefronts shaded by lush maples. The trees were more robust than I remembered and although a handful of shops had changed in my eleven year hiatus, I could name the rest by heart.<\/p>\n

Staring at those looming entry pillars, I ground my fingers on the rental car\u2019s steering wheel. Thoughts of the waiting gathering swirled, making my jaw clench and my grip tighten.<\/p>\n

\u201cRelax, Grace.\u201d<\/p>\n

Darren\u2019s Outback drawl transported me for a precious heartbeat thousands of miles away to the ochre plains where my instincts screamed to be.<\/p>\n

When Darren slid his earthy-brown hand onto my thigh, however, I grimaced.\u00a0 His comforting touch plunged me back into the stale hatchback between all too familiar rolling hills and concrete strips I thought I\u2019d long left behind. Heedless to my mental boomerang, Darren caressed to the hem of my gray skirt strewn with luggage-inspired wrinkles, the ring I had placed on his finger a sweet kiss on my flesh.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho knows,\u201d he said with a reassuring squeeze, \u201cmaybe they\u2019ll be happy to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shifted my glower to the crimson light impeding our progress toward the inevitable.\u00a0 \u201cShe always does this, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat has she done, Grace? She\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

A long exhale poured out of me, full of conditioned air and jet lag.\u00a0 \u201cShe always finds a way to drag us back together.\u201d<\/p>\n

Darren retrieved his hand, the lost heat a cool slap.\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t think you\u2019re being fair.\u00a0 It\u2019s not like she died on purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n

Despite my wince, I didn\u2019t miss the streetlight changing.\u00a0 Flooring the gas, I surged through the intersection.<\/p>\n

Darren pressed a hand against the glove box. \u201cI thought you didn\u2019t want to do this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe faster we get there, the sooner I can play the nice little Gracie she always wanted me to be and we can leave.\u201d<\/p>\n

Thumping on the right blinker, I drove us between Hillrise\u2019s pillars, the car\u2019s suspension clanging, the cemetery\u2019s granite sign a blur. I navigated the winding lane framed by blooming rhododendrons and slowed when I discovered the parking lot.<\/p>\n

A twang thrummed in my gut noting Abby\u2019s sticker-strewn family van crowding two stalls. What had to be my brother\u2019s newest acquisition: a candy-apple Corvette compensating for his dearth of grandchildren, parked by the one-way exit. A menagerie of rusted sedans, boat-sized Cadillacs, and dented station wagons cluttered the rest of the asphalt like a used car salesman\u2019s dream.<\/p>\n

Claiming a corner spot by an overflowing bucket of geraniums, I brought our hatchback to a lurching halt. My hands, however, remained around the wheel, sun-bronzed knuckles pale.\u00a0 The engine\u2019s rumbling made the car tremble and the dangling keys clinked against their plastic label. Idling seconds stretched.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going to run out of gas,\u201d whispered Darren.<\/p>\n

I scowled but he countered with his dimpled grin. Slumping, I held his charcoal gaze.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne hour?\u201d<\/p>\n

An irritating drop of empathy entered his smile, one framed by a shaggy mop of chestnut waves. \u201cOne hour then we\u2019re gone.\u00a0 Unless you want to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n

I snorted and met my reflection in the odometer\u2019s glass. Numbers arched over the tumbled mess I\u2019d wrangled out of my raven curls in the terminal\u2019s restroom, half up, the way Mom had always liked.<\/p>\n

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. \u201cWhy would I want to stay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Darren covered my thigh again, his fingers fiery but solid. \u201cThis is your family, Grace. It\u2019s been a while since you\u2019ve seen them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it had been up to Abby, I wouldn\u2019t be here at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCut your sister some slack. We were in the middle of nowhere. How was she supposed to reach you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Jenkins did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a lawyer, they\u2019re skilled.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll he had to do was pick up a phone.\u201d Shaking my head, I killed the ignition and tossed the keys into my purse. \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m right behind you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I cocked an eyebrow. \u201cChicken?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, but from what you\u2019ve said about them, I\u2019m wary of shrapnel.\u201d<\/p>\n

I smirked. \u201cChicken.\u201d<\/p>\n

Darren leaned over the raised parking brake and kissed my cheek. From within me grief, rage, and whatever else lay buried, threatened to boil up. Before he or they could shatter my composure, I fled the car.<\/p>\n

I slammed the door shut while rubbing the drive and plane-induced crick in my lower back. Like the upcoming ceremony, the knot remained, and leaving the cramp to fend for itself I adjusted my skirt hoping at least the creases from the twenty-six hour flight would fade. Abby would raise her brows for my lack of panty hose and the off-white blouse, but I could only bend to the occasion so far. Black was never my color and although I was sure everyone else would disappear into a moonless night I couldn\u2019t give in, not now. My path had already veered too far apart from those who I knew waited over the next rise.<\/p>\n

With a staggered inhale, I shouldered my purse and rounded the hatchback\u2019s bumper, my heels clucking like a disappointed tongue. Sensing Darren in my wake, I aimed for the trailhead marked by a pair of lily bouquets dripping indigo ribbons and wafting a scent sweet enough to frost pastries.<\/p>\n

Verdant blades of manicured grass rimmed the monuments and slab markers of the previously deceased adjoining the wandering strip of tar. Bunches of flowers, a candle, or picture adorned the lucky ones while most seemed to ache for tending or at least a second glance.<\/p>\n

Whether forgotten or not, the graves and curving hillsides hiding the suburbs beyond left me yearning for the expanse of reddened earth half a world away where you could see clearly for miles. An icy breeze countered my desire for desert winds and inspired a flock of goose bumps on my arms as easily as if I had opened a freezer. I shivered with how near to the truth the notion came.<\/p>\n

With the thought in mind, I scaled the final crest and paused, snared by the sight of a black garbed cluster milling beneath the branches of a healthy oak. Dusky clouds silhouetted the branches, the figures, and the accompanying rows of pristine white chairs. The descending sun tinged the backdrop tangerine, the sky itself combating the dour mix below.<\/p>\n

My trance broke when Darren arrived at my side. Towering in his rumpled dress shirt, loosened tie, and slate trousers, he stood at once a barricade against escape and my sole haven. Nervousness, however, seemed barely harnessed in his rigid frame and poker face. Regardless of how awkwardly the afternoon unraveled, I sensed how unnerving the entire event had to be for him. Better ways existed to meet the wife\u2019s family, even an estranged one.<\/p>\n

His calloused fingers encompassed mine when I took his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be fine.\u201d He formed a bleach-white stage-grin out of his mouth\u2019s slim line.<\/p>\n

I smiled, a genuine curl of my lips. No matter how long this took or how uncomfortably the hours transpired, I knew I\u2019d have company when I finally began a second flight from the land of my past.<\/p>\n

Hand in hand, we resumed our trek down the lane.<\/p>\n

Nearing the roped off grave, details emerged of those donned in veils or hats, suits or dresses; every one of them giving the closed casket and disturbed soil a wide berth. The oak\u2019s rustling leaves muffled their hushed banter but their pruned and sunken features crystallized.<\/p>\n

Unbidden names leapt from my memory. I began labeling those in the throng for want of a distraction, but the associations soon had my belly roiling. Pressing my hand against my midriff, I inhaled shallow breaths marred by mothballs and cologne.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my!\u201d<\/p>\n

The husky voice wrenched me from my internal battles and, against my better judgment, I sought the speaker in the ebony crowd.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that little Gracie?\u201d<\/p>\n

The smile seizing my lips stung my cheeks.\u00a0 \u201cHi, Auntie Barb.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mom\u2019s best friend and close-enough-to-be sister swooped in from a conversation with another snowy-haired lady I didn\u2019t recognize. Like the rest, Barb wore black from her pointed chin to the hem of pants baggy enough to pass for a skirt. Crow\u2019s-feet pinched her reddened eyes and deeper furrows marked her gaunt face, especially when she smiled. As the gazes of those in attendance turned to me full of muted curiosity, Barb extended her skeletal hands in obvious expectation of an embrace. Bolstering myself, I endured the stranglehold of her hug and her gardenia perfume undercut with a perpetual tobacco stain.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m so glad you made it.\u201d\u00a0 Barb withdrew but kept a manacled lock on my arms. \u201cWhen Abigail told me where you were,\u201d she said with a furtive glance at Darren, \u201cI wasn\u2019t sure you\u2019d even heard the news.\u201d<\/p>\n

I ratcheted up my smile and smothered an urge to rip my limbs free. \u201cThe Southern Hemisphere does have telephones, even the Internet these days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course.\u201d She inspected my ensemble and then lingered on my tanned skin. After a second subtle flicked to Darren\u2019s warmer pallor, Barb faced me once again. \u201cYou\u2019re certainly looking well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou too.\u201d An awkward silence dropped between us and I surged through as rapidly as the stoplight. \u201cI should find Abby and Roger before things get started.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think they\u2019re already seated. I\u2019m just going to step out and collect myself before Father Sawyer begins.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded, and giving the required blind eye to Barb\u2019s nicotine affliction, I advanced into the horde. Refreshing my smile and the steel in my spine, I started addressing the interceding attendees. The discomfort of being the lone figure not sun deprived and overtly melancholy dissipated as I weaved from one of my mother\u2019s old friends or neighbors to the next. My greeting and canned summary of the years I\u2019d been away rolled off my tongue with ease. Recognition sparked in glazed eyes, and I breathed easier as everyone seemed content with an expression of sympathy, and then the resumption of conversations with more familiar faces. No one asked about Darren although they glanced and would no doubt whisper about the singular dark skinned face in the crowd. Knowing him, the anonymity and disregard would suit him fine.\u00a0 His invisibility act and the repetition of my story, however, ended when we arrived at the casket.<\/p>\n

What remained of my family hovered alongside.<\/p>\n

A heartbeat later, Roger beamed his ever-dashing smile and flaunted his jazz-hands.\u00a0 \u201cHey Miss. Ladybug.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey Mr. Butterfly.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stepped into his waiting embrace, well aware we\u2019d have little else to say. The thread counts of his Armani suit coat soothed my desert-rough fingers nonetheless, his lapel a salve against my cheek. Despite my heels, he pecked the crown of my head. When we pulled apart, only the faint creases at his mahogany eyes, silver flecks in his gelled hair, and collar cinched by a gunmetal tie, kept me from feeling eight again.<\/p>\n

Abby made up the difference.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m surprised you made it,\u201d she said, her arms folded beneath her ample bust. A matching hip earned from her four kids jutted out in emphasis causing her ankle-length dress to waver like spilled licorice. Her cocked brow absorbed my entire being, and her gaze targeted the curves of my bare legs and skirt\u2019s wrinkles. With a sway of her inky mane, she transferred her powder-blue glare to Darren. \u201cAnd this is?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDarren,\u201d I said. \u201cMy husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

Abby pursed her lips while Roger, ever conciliate, extended a manicured hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cNice to finally meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou too,\u201d said Darren.<\/p>\n

As they exchanged a trio of mannish pumps, Abby tipped toward my ear and pitched her reprimand low. \u201cYou know that upset her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Stoked by a shot of adrenaline, I wheeled on my sister, my tongue laced with similar flame. \u201cDo you really want to dredge this up now, Abby? We eloped six years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just know Mom was disappointed she couldn\u2019t throw you two a proper wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, we all know how Mom and Dad learned to live with disappointment.\u201d<\/p>\n

Abby arched her back, her eyes wide. \u201cWhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

Roger grimaced while Darren and the rest within eavesdropping range of our family reunion stared at Abby and me. From the depths of my mind, I heard Mom\u2019s call for us to simmer down and behave like the ladies we were supposed to be. Out of respect for the occasion, I adhered to the ghost\u2019s demand and swallowed the decades-old quarrel. The gulp added fresh bitterness to the sour stew in my gut and sharpened my sister\u2019s accusing glare.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Grace? What are you trying to say?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d I whispered, my voice suddenly as scratchy as Auntie Barb\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I can have everyone\u2019s attention, please?\u201d Father Sawyer placed himself at the head of the casket, a leather Bible in his liver-spotted hands. His black and white robes hung from spindly shoulders and a claret stole draped his turkey neck.<\/p>\n

His request further diffused of our near explosion. My sister and I collectively donned our \u201ceverything\u2019s fine\u201d veneer and claimed our seats, encouraging the other attendees to do the same.<\/p>\n

The actual service proceeded without further stumbles into rutted squabbles. Abby read Mom\u2019s favorite bit of Genesis<\/i> where everything\u2019s created and Sawyer droned on about what he suspected waited on the other side. Tissues and sniffles replied, while I sat in a cement-hard chair, Darren on my right, Roger to my left. I kept my hands folded in my lap, the demure figure Mom had always expected.<\/p>\n

With a gaze already dry from tears shed eons ago, I stared at the lacquered lid covering my mother\u2019s face and I imagined her watching from wherever one ended up. I wondered if she could see us, and if the sight made her happy: the alcoholic divorcee, the gay entrepreneur, the wayward drifter. None of us, I\u2019m certain, turned out how she and Dad had expected or possibly hoped. From the classes and camps we\u2019d each endured, it was clear before his early exit Dad had wanted sports stars, Mom ballerinas or musicians. Instead, we had ended up at the extremes, emotionally, socially, physically, and scattered even when we sat side by side. And with Father Sawyer plodding through a final blessing, I sensed whatever ties connected us whittling away into thin veins of blood.<\/p>\n

I found Darren\u2019s hand as a void expanded in the center of my being and threatened to subsume me whole. I didn\u2019t let go when the assembled began dispersing or when we joined the snaking line leading to the parking lot. Auntie Barb and the others said their goodbyes and wished my siblings and me all the best before drifting from the stony reminders of an unavoidable end and, for now, resuming their normal lives.<\/p>\n

A smothering silence, one rivaling the nearby graves, descended with the coming evening.<\/p>\n

Clutching her forearms, Abby lifted her chin as if her head weighed a ton, perhaps from her own unshed tears or the want of booze gaping behind her eyes. With a bob of her head, she strode across the stalls and disappeared into her van where children had once laughed. I stared at her car, counting the seconds while she gathered her nerves enough to turn the ignition.<\/p>\n

As her car finally growled to life, Roger retrieved a card from his inside breast pocket.\u00a0 \u201cHere, \u2018bug.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pressed the stiff rectangle into my palm before I could examine it. After kissing my hairline with trembling lips, he headed for his Corvette.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t uncurl my fingers until an entire field of asphalt lay exposed. Roger\u2019s business card filled my hand, the immaculate surface embossed with his name, address, and phone number, each staring at me in a flowing, sage-hued font.<\/p>\n

Dents marred the flawless fa\u00e7ade, encouraging me to flip the card over. Another telephone number crossed the back in blue ink and Abby\u2019s jagged scrawl.<\/p>\n

The card wavered like a heat-distorted road and I blinked away sudden tears. In the lot, I spotted the empty stalls and then the exit that had allowed my brother and sister to disperse as easily as loose sand hurled by the wind. I knew then nothing remained capable of dragging us back together outside the card in my hand. Anything else with such intensions had been buried in lacquer and earth.<\/p>\n

Darren touched the small of my back and I welcomed the arm he slipped around my waist as an unexpected weight descended on my shoulders, an ethereal yoke from beyond. I lifted the card.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat am I supposed to do with this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think it\u2019s up to you,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

I bit my lip, suppressing a tart laugh.<\/p>\n

Around us night descended, but before me two diverging paths unfolded.\u00a0 Staring into the darkness, I debated between the pair: one an easy slide returning me to the life full of choices Mom never understood; the other a prickled course back into the lives of the only two people who ever could.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

By Kathleen A. Magner Hillrise Cemetery\u2019s stone turrets sprouted alongside the needle-straight road extending before me, severing the crisp sidewalk and line of idyllic storefronts shaded by lush maples. The trees were more robust than I remembered and although a … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":97,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1731","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2013-edition","category-prose"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1731","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/97"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1731"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1731\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1733,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1731\/revisions\/1733"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1731"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1731"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/studentweb.bellevuecollege.edu\/belletrist\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1731"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}