Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Present Day
Waverly
The cemetery is quiet. They always are. I mean, I don't expect a rager to be happening here, but there’s an unnatural kind of quiet which only exists in a cemetery. Or maybe it’s an entirely too natural kind of quiet. I wear my business-appropriate black dress, the white piping on this one giving everything an extra level of sophistication.
I'm already at the gravesite. I should talk to mom before everyone arrives.
“Hey, Mom. I don't know how much time I have before everyone else gets here. Are you busy?” Of course she’s not. “I feel...” How do I feel? “Weird and off. Like I should be further along in my life, have more accomplishments and credits to my name. Angie's getting married, my friends have kids, Izzy’s killing it at her new job. And I'm on the platform waiting for a train to come, and worrying it might not. I don't know what to say.”
A bird cries out in a tree. Not a lovely song, but bellowing a startling cry.
“I saw Lukas this week. He looks good. Healthy. Same brooding, growly guy. He didn't seem happy to see me. I’m not sure what I expected though.”
Two squirrels are bouncing off headstones that must be at least a century old—gravesites whose only visitors approach to admire the age of the stone, not considering the body underneath.
“Mom, did you know everyone hates Adam and no one told me?” There’s a chill in the air and I jam my hands into my pockets. “Of course, you do. You're probably in a group chat with all the other dead Four Families members. I’m pretty sure I need to leave Adam. I’m not happy, but at least I’m comfortable?”
In the distance, my half sister Shae's voice carries on the wind. She's rambling, nothing disrespectful or whiney, it’s who she is. I turn to see my dad in a suit, his wife Sheila’s wearing a long, green maxi dress. Dad has his fingers locked with hers. He smiles when he sees me. “Have you been here long?” he asks when he gets closer.
“Not long.”
He faces the gravestone. “Happy birthday, Colleen.”
Sheila waves. “Hi, Colleen.”
Even Shae steps up. “Hi, Waverly's mom.” She pauses, then starts into a story. “So there's this new kid. I mean, he's not new new, he's kinda new. His name is Ian. I talked about him last time. Now there's another new boy, Drew. It's nice to have Drew here because now I don't feel responsible for Ian. But Ian and Drew are like best friends now and I'm stuck with Maria. Ugh! Maria can't even read chapter books, so what are we supposed to talk about? And I can't ditch her because it’s mean...”
“Yep,” all three of us adults say at the same time.
“I know.” Shae rolls her eyes. “I don't know where I fit anymore.”
Preach, sister.
“You will always have a home with us,” Dad says.
Sheila steps up. “Colleen, I need your help.” Dad winces. “Your beloved, former husband will not listen to me. I know, you're not shocked at all. Every morning, he stays in bed for twenty minutes working up the courage to get moving. Then it takes him another ten minutes to walk to the bathroom. Look, I'm not a morning person, but his knee is clearly bothering him. Will he go to the doctor? No. I've tried to explain that maybe he needs a knee brace, or at least an MRI, but he won't do it.” She leans in and whispers, “He's afraid he'll need surgery, and you know how much of a baby he can be.”
“Hey,” Dad says.
Sheila gives him a side smile and turns back to the grave. “Can you give us a sign he should call the doctor?”
We pause, frozen in silence, when the wind kicks up and the bird in the tree flies away.
Sheila grins at my father. “See. Even Colleen thinks you need to make an appointment.”
Dad steps up. “Traitor,” he grumbles as he bends over to pull some weeds trying to invade my mother's space. “I think about you every day. I still see you everywhere.” He closes his eyes. “Things feel right. And besides the knee, I feel good. I'm so proud of my girls. Thank you for giving me the strength to love again.”
My throat burns.
No one has ever loved me the way Dad loved Mom. He loves Sheila and Shae, but it's different. With my mom, it was a kinship and a profound understanding. With Sheila, it's about healing and living without survivor’s remorse.
We stand around as the first sharp gust of November wind whips our hair around. Thanks, Mom. We've all said our peace and Dad motions to the car.
Shae jumps closer to the grave site. “Bye, Waverly's mom. Thanks for being cheaper than therapy.”
I can’t help a snort as Dad desperately tries to hold back his laughter and fails miserably. Problem with criminal underworld stuff, no health insurance. At least not one that has good mental health services.