Two Geny
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The whispers are loud. Half of them think they’re being quiet, but the other half want to be heard. Just as half are here because my father meant something to them, and the other half are here purely for the gossip.
My dad wasn’t one for spectacles, but this isn’t the first time he’s found himself part of one. The first one wasn’t his fault. No one’s fault but the rip current’s, the police said. At least he isn’t here to witness this one. He’s just left me with the mess. Alone.
That’s the main thing I’m feeling: loneliness. I’m no stranger to the roller coaster that is the grieving process, but each time I’ve had to endure it, I’ve had my dad. Not this time. Not ever again. And thinking he made it this way by choice hurts that much more.
All over again, I get that sick feeling in my stomach that something isn’t right.
He wouldn’t leave me alone if he could help it.
He just wouldn’t. Not after all we’ve lost. My sister first. My twin sister.
My everything. Then it was Mom, and we were both missing our other halves. And now I have no one.
Wyatt shifts beside me, reminding me that I’m not actually alone. I have a husband. I have two wonderful sons sitting on the other side of him. I’m not alone. I’m not alone.
The murmur of whispers behind us quiets as Pastor Don steps onto the stage at the front of the church.
My father lies in the open casket to his left.
I haven’t been able to go up and look at him yet.
I don’t think I’m going to. I don’t want to see him like that.
Stiff and coated in makeup meant to make him look alive.
I’m terrified I’ll still see the marks on his neck, and I know I’ll lose it.
“Hi, everyone. I’m so glad you all could make it here today to celebrate the life of our friend, Kenneth Chandler. Ken was a dear friend of mine, like I know he was to many of you.”
The whispers start up again, and I want to scream at them to shut up. My dad was well loved in this town just days ago. I don’t know what to make of the rumors, except that they’re not true. They couldn’t be. Anyone who really knows him, knows that.
“Ken was a loving husband to his late wife, Faith. A doting father to his daughters, Genevieve and Grace, rest her soul.”
Emotion rises in my throat, choking me from the inside.
“He was a good man.” He says the words strongly, his back straight and meeting the eyes of those who stare up at him.
My breath shakes on my inhale. I blink back tears and try to sit up taller in my seat. My father was a good man. A great one. And I’m so thankful to Don for standing behind him when he isn’t here to defend himself.
I reach for Wyatt’s hand and wind my fingers between his. He squeezes gently, and I try to breathe evenly as Don continues his eulogy. I felt bad asking him to do it, but I knew I couldn’t. My voice would break, and I’d cry on stage with the nasty snakes of the town sneering my way.
Grace would have been able to do it. She was good at compartmentalizing her emotions. Something I think she got from sports. It’s harder for me. I can lie about the reason, but the emotion is always on the surface.
“Ken was a reserved man who would have wanted . . .” Don starts to say.
I wait for him to finish, but it’s as if he’s frozen.
He stares straight ahead. Whispers start at the back of the room, and they grow into a quiet roar.
Wyatt’s hand grips mine tighter. Too tight.
I wince and look up at him, but he’s looking over his shoulder.
I follow his line of sight and jump at the sound of a gasp.
Someone else shrieks and the room gets louder.
I see what the uproar is all about right away. My head swims. I’m losing it. I’m having a stroke, I think. I must be dead. I must be, because I’m seeing ghosts.
But that can’t be right because everyone else sees her too.
Walking to the front of the church, down the center aisle, is my dead twin sister.
Only she is very much alive.