Chapter 13
When Sarah’s parents came to visit, Phil asked me to meet them at the airport and drive them to the hospital.
It wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined meeting my future in-laws, but once the request came in, I knew I couldn’t refuse.
It seemed almost fitting somehow, as if it fulfilled some larger pattern.
My big test had come, and I’d failed it, but there were still more tests.
I didn’t want to fail any more of them if I could help it.
When Sarah’s parents finally emerged from the terminal, they looked nothing like their reputation had led me to expect.
Whatever orgies they’d enjoyed in their youths hadn’t left a single mark.
They were just two elderly people now, stricken and confused, blinking into the afternoon light.
Sarah’s father was smallish, roundish, and bald, wearing thick glasses and bright white tennis shoes.
Her mother was taller, a bit gristly, with lipstick edging outside the lines of her thin lips.
They looked around, almost doddering, and I waved them over.
I took their bags and hoisted them into the trunk.
I wanted Sarah’s parents to feel well taken care of.
We drove across town in silence. I’d composed the lines I’d give them if they asked any questions, but they didn’t seem to have any.
They didn’t care how long I’d known Sarah or how I’d met Phil.
They weren’t curious to learn I was a writer.
They barely noticed me at all, in fact, which was probably for the best. Not that it was a contest, but I knew their grief dwarfed mine.
I drove them directly to the hospital and guided them to Phil’s room, where the reunion was somber.
Sarah’s parents both cried when they saw him, and asked him many questions about his injuries and his projected recovery.
Phil was still bedridden but off the pain meds, which meant his energy and personality had returned.
He did his best to seem cheerful, but there was no way to make the meeting anything but sad.
I brought everyone sparkling water and sliced melon from the cafeteria and repaired to the corner, near the cylinder of Sarah’s ashes, where I waited in case they needed anything else.
Sarah’s parents mostly wanted to hear about the accident, which made sense, and Phil told them his story in gruesome detail.
I’d never heard the full tale myself, and I listened with fascination as he went through the chapters—driving through the desert pines, the slanting afternoon sun, the leaping buck.
He talked about the spinout and the river plunge and nodding in and out of consciousness as the car filled with icy water.
He talked about awakening in the speeding ambulance, heading west. I listened closely the whole time for any clues as to the conversation leading up to the crash, any notes of strife or hurt feelings, but I didn’t catch anything.
Mostly, I just kept hoping the story would end differently.
“It all happened so fast,” Phil said, summing up.
“I saw the buck out of the corner of my eye and before I knew it, it was right there, hitting us. He slammed into the passenger side and then kind of bounced over the windshield. For a second his eye was right in front of me. All the hair pressed against the glass. And then he was gone. Over the other embankment, I guess.”
“And then you ran into the other car,” Sarah’s mom said, although we’d already gone over that part.
“That’s right,” Phil said. “We clipped it, just barely.”
“But they stayed on the road,” she said.
“They did,” he said. “Thank God. They were the ones who called the ambulance. I mean, I wish they’d been able to call even faster… but… well…”
Sarah’s mother had yet more questions to ask.
She wanted to hear about the time in the water, how the passenger side nestled on the river’s bed, and how the water streamed in the windows.
She wanted to understand how Phil could breathe, being up higher, trapped behind the wheel, and how underneath him, Sarah was quickly covered by the water.
She wanted to know everything about the horrible event, every angle and degree of torque.
And after she’d comprehended the forensics, she wanted to go back and hear another version.
She wanted to know about the signage on the road, the moisture, and the ice.
She wanted to know about government agencies involved in road maintenance, like the Department of Transportation, and the county road crews.
She wanted to squeeze every drop of mystery out of the tragedy and leave only inert objects in her wake.
“I still feel like I could’ve done something if I’d just been a little quicker,” Phil said, almost to placate her with a new variable.
“They tell you to turn into a skid but I didn’t even know I was skidding.
I didn’t turn into it. I should have. We might have clipped them differently. I don’t know.”
“Don’t think that way,” Sarah’s father said, stepping in abruptly. “It does no good to think like that, Phil.”
“It’s hard not to,” Phil said.
“I understand,” Sarah’s father said, “but you did everything you could do. You must know that. We don’t blame you for anything.”
Phil bowed his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to Sarah’s father. “Thank you for saying that, Christopher,” he said. “I appreciate it very much.” And I realized this was the judgment Phil had been waiting for.
The conversation still wasn’t over. It had already been exhausting, but the biggest agenda item hadn’t been covered, which was the plans for Sarah’s remains. It was macabre, but it needed figuring. It turned out Sarah’s parents hadn’t even known she planned to be cremated until a few days earlier.
“She talked about it,” Phil said. “I’m sorry you didn’t know. There was no paperwork or anything. I assumed you were okay with the decision.”
“It’s fine,” Sarah’s dad said. “If that’s what she wanted, then that’s what she wanted. But did she say anything about where she wanted to be… scattered?”
“We never talked about that,” Phil said. “I doubt she’d even thought about it herself.”
“To be cremated, but not tell us what to do with the ashes,” Sarah’s mom said. “It’s unfortunate.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot the last few days,” Phil said. “It’s actually given me some comfort. Thinking about the places she loved the most. The places that really meant something to her. It’s been good.”
“And did you think of some place the ashes should go?” Sarah’s father said.
“I have an idea, yes,” Phil said. “If you’d like to hear it.”
“We do,” Sarah’s mother said. I was curious to hear, too.
“One thought that keeps coming back,” Phil said, from his bed, “is the ocean. Sarah loved the water. She loved the coast in Mendocino especially. I could see a little ceremony in the summer, maybe. Something simple. Scattering the ashes in the waves.”
Sarah’s parents listened stoically. For some reason, they didn’t seem to find the idea very attractive.
“Or do you have a different idea?” Phil said.
They looked at each other. Sarah’s mother gave their answer. “We were thinking about the Santa Cruz Mountains,” she said. “That’s where she went to camp as a child. She loved it there all her life. It should be a warm place, a sun-filled place. Not somewhere cold and ugly.”
“I never thought of the ocean as ugly before,” Phil said.
“On the bottom, it’s ugly,” she said. “And cold. Look how hard we worked to get out of the ocean. It took us millions of years. No one wants to go back there.”
I almost had to laugh at that. It was such a thing Sarah would have said. I felt a sudden burst of love for her mother.
“Better in the mountains,” her father said. “Where we can plant a tree.”
Phil took the idea into himself and turned it over a few times.
It was clearly something her parents wanted.
I could see him negotiating with himself, wondering if he was supposed to hold a line.
He was the husband, after all. He had a certain leverage in the matter.
It was probably his right to decide. But why push it?
he seemed to ask himself. Again, as always, he acquiesced, not out of weakness, but out of strength.
“If that makes you happy,” he said, “of course.”
The sun fell into the room and for a moment something like peace descended.
Sarah’s spirit seemed to throb in the air and offer its blessing.
Then Sarah’s mother began sobbing into her hands.
I worried that maybe Phil had said something wrong after all, or maybe I’d done something wrong, but as it turned out, the tears were coming from another place entirely.
“We always hoped she would have children,” her mother said, wiping her face with her sleeve. “We never pressured her about it, but we always hoped she would. It was a dream we had…”
“It wasn’t what she wanted,” Phil said gently. “I can tell you that. It really wasn’t.”
Sarah’s mother nodded and continued weeping. “I know,” she said. “I know. She said it to me many times. I just always hoped she’d change her mind.”
“She knew her own mind,” Phil said. “That was one of the beautiful things about Sarah.”
“It’s true,” her mother said, between small gasps.
“She knew her mind. And I revered her for that. I never doubted her. It’s just that now…
” She waited through another convulsion, then braced herself, knowing more were on the way.
“Now, it’s just so awful… Now, I’m just so glad there are no children. ”