1 Ashes to Ashes #2
“It’s just so ... wrong .” I pick at a loose thread on the black dress Mom bought me the day she found out her cancer had spread to her lymph nodes and then check my phone again.
Three spam texts asking me about my car’s extended warranty and a calendar reminder to refill my birth control, but nothing from Damian.
“She was half out of her mind on opioids at the end.”
“Right or wrong, we need to do it soon. This is my last free summer. I start my new job in less than a month.”
When I ignore her, she flicks a loose pebble into the grass with her big toe. Neither of us wants to tackle the elephant in the room—how she’s a college graduate with a bright future, and I’m a twenty-year-old high school graduate who’s never even had a real job.
“Is Mr. All-American picking you up, or are you walking home?”
“I don’t know yet.” I shift my weight again, squirming on the uncomfortable stone steps.
“I really have no idea what you see in that guy.” She snorts. “I’ve never liked him. Neither did Mom.”
Red-hot rage sears my veins. If we weren’t on the steps of a church, I’d slap the smirk from her lips. “What would you know about what Mom did or didn’t like? You’ve been gone for almost four years!”
“I wasn’t gone. I was in college.” She lowers her gaze as if my accusation wounded her. “And I talked to Mom every day.”
“That’s nice for you. But I’m the one who gave up my entire life to take care of her.
Watched her slip further and further away every single day.
And do you know what she never said? ‘Break up with the quarterback, Zoey. Don’t follow in my footsteps, Zoey.
’ Because she wanted me to have the kind of life she had. ”
Jeanie’s head snaps up. “Damn it, Zo, maybe you don’t remember how bad things were before Dad left, but I do. Mom divorced him for a reason. Marrying the quarterback isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I never said I was gonna marry him.” The words tumble out on a breath. The mere thought of seeing Damian every day for the rest of my life makes my soul itch. But I’ll be damned if I tell Jeanie that.
“Good, because we both know that didn’t work out so well for her. And despite what you think, that’s not what she wanted for you.”
“Like that matters now.” My shoulders sag, the fight draining out of me. Mom’s dead. Every single sacrifice I made over the past two years pales in comparison.
She chokes out a bitter laugh. “Whatever. I’m outta here.”
For someone so eager to ditch me, she waits almost a full minute before stomping down the steps toward her electric-orange Nissan—an early graduation gift from Mom. I would’ve gotten one, too, someday ... if life had unfolded differently.
“I’m not coming to get you if you change your mind.” Jeanie climbs behind the wheel and slams her door.
“I won’t!” I yell as she pulls away from the curb, determined to walk all the way home if I have to just to spite her.
The rumble of a broken muffler draws my attention from Jeanie’s retreating taillights.
My chest tightens as a familiar banana-yellow coupe turns the corner onto Church Street and backfires twice.
I instantly recognize my grandmother’s signature bottle-dyed, flame-red hair flying around her face as she speeds toward me, a cloud of smoke billowing out of her open window.
A sudden burst of emotion punches me right in the feels, and I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from giving in to it.
Seeing her again— today of all days —has my ten-year-old self longing to play dress-up with her hideous costume jewelry, her brightly colored scarves, and every shade of red lipstick ever made.
Her 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass pulls up to the curb and she climbs out, hacking up a lung as she slides her giant bug-eye sunglasses into her fiery-red curls.
“Zoey Marie, is that you?” She rolls her eyes at my halfhearted wave and barks out a throaty laugh. “Get your pretty little ass over here and give your G-Lo a hug.”
Swallowing a mouthful of resentment, I kick off my heels and hook them with my fingers, letting my bare toes sink into the cool grass as I traipse across the thick lawn.
With one arm still around Mom’s urn, I wrap the other around my grandmother’s narrow waist and suck in a lungful of stale Camels, cheap perfume, and the skunky stench of fresh weed.
“Good to see you, Grandma Lola.”
“Language,” she croaks, a thousand packs of cigarettes coloring her voice. “What did I tell you about using the G-word ?”
“Oops.” I grin. “Guess I forgot.”
It’s been forever since I’ve seen her, but other than a few extra lines around her eyes when she smiles, she’s barely changed. Wearing weathered jeans with frayed knees and a vintage Sex Pistols tee that’s probably older than I am, she looks more like a college student than someone’s grandmother.
“Now, let me get a good look at you.” She cups my face in her warm hands, and the tears I’ve battled all day threaten to break free. “You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, and I’m sick to death that I’ve missed it.”
I hold my breath as she studies every inch of me, combing her black fingernails through my dark-blond waves. My eyes flutter shut, and my imagination replaces her touch with Mom’s.
“You look so much like her ... when she was your age. Same wispy frame, same dishwater-blond hair.”
The fragile illusion pops like a soap bubble, and I release the breath with a groan, my hand drifting to my clean hair. “Can we not compare my hair to dirty dishwater? Please?”
Grandma Lola erupts in loud laughter. “Your mother said the same thing when she was eighteen.”
“I’m almost twenty-one. Damn near old enough to drink, for god’s sake,” I snap with a little more bite than necessary.
She waves her hand through the air, making her stack of gold and silver bracelets clink like wind chimes. “When you get to be my age, everything under thirty-five runs together.”
I have a thousand questions, starting with a big fat Where the hell have you been? But she beats me to the punch.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m late.”
Understatement of the century.
I nod as a million other questions swirl around my brain, each one more painful than the next. With my unresolved feelings stacked in a reckless game of emotional Jenga, one wrong word could send it all crashing down around me.
“Oh, sweetie, I know what you’re thinking, but I couldn’t bear to see her like that.” She dabs at her dark-rimmed eyes with the hem of her black tee, flashing lacy side-boob to the world.
“She missed you.” I missed you. The thought takes me by surprise, and my next breath catches in my throat as I blink back more tears.
Grandma Lola pulls the latest iPhone from her back pocket and holds it up. “I texted. I called.”
“Not the same.” Eyes burning, I tighten my grip on Mom’s urn and focus on the tall blades of grass jutting between my toes.
“You sound a little too much like her, too.” Grandma Lola’s smile falters. “Cut me a little slack, kiddo. Funerals are for the living, not the dead, and I’d much rather remember your mother the way she was. Full of vibrancy and life.”
“ I’m one of the living.” I level a scorching glare at her. “So is Jeanie. Did it ever occur to you that we might’ve needed you today?”
“I’m here now.” Throwing an arm over my shoulders, Grandma exhales a breath heavy with unspoken apologies. “Come on, let’s get some lunch. You look like you could use a sandwich ... or two , and I’ve got a serious case of the munchies.”
I shift the urn to my other hip, the weight of Mom’s judgment pressing down on me. “What about Reverend Tom and the church ladies?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’re talking about a new punk band, they can get their own damn lunch.”
“No, I mean, they’re at my house. With food. Probably tons of it. Jeanie went home to let them in.”
“Good. Let Jeanie eat Crock-Pot delight and lime ambrosia with the denture squad. You and I have a date for triple-decker sandwiches from Mimsy’s.”
A fleeting memory of shiny chrome stools and vanilla Cokes with paper straws brings me to the edge of losing it again. “Mimsy’s closed. Last year.”
“Closed?” Her mouth hangs open, exposing several silver fillings. “As in closed down ?”
“As in, there’s a nail salon there now.”
“Damn. Guess it’s church lady surprise for us, too.” The Cutlass creaks and moans as Grandma yanks her door open. “Come on, hop in.”
Empty fast-food wrappers and Styrofoam cups litter the passenger seat, and I shove everything to the floor before climbing in. A grainy photo of my grandmother smiles up at me from the trash pile—a laminated ID card, attached to a purple lanyard—and I fish it out.
Bold black letters spell out P-r-e-s-s above her photo, her name scrawled in red ink at the bottom. “What’s this?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” She chuckles as she pulls away from the curb.
I flip the ID over, looking for proof that it’s authentic. “Where’d you get it?”
“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re wondering. Did you think I wandered the country going to rock concerts for fun?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. I’d never questioned my grandma’s motivations for what she did. Mom called her an old hippie, so that’s how I always thought of her.
This time, she throws her head back and laughs. “Even an old girl like me has to make a living somehow. Classic cars like this don’t pay for themselves.”
Lost for words, I give the press pass another quick once-over.
She nods toward the glove box. “Put that where I won’t lose it, would you, sweetie?”
The latch sticks, so I give it a yank. The little door flies open, launching the contents toward me like projectile vomit.
Without missing a beat, Grandma slams the door shut, but not before a few crumpled packs of Camels, a baggie with three joints, and several mini liquor bottles land at my feet with a clink.
“Just toss it in the back seat.”
From the time we leave the church until we pull into the driveway alongside Mom’s ancient, faded-green Explorer, Grandma Lola waxes poetic about coleslaw and turkey sandwiches, making whatever casseroles the church ladies left us seem all the more unappetizing.
“I still can’t believe Mimsy’s went out of business. I’ve been craving one of their turkey Rachels since hitting the state line.” When I don’t respond, she follows the path of my eyes to the shiny black four-door parked along the curb. “The church ladies, I presume?”
“No.” I sigh. “Just Reverend Tom.”
“What the hell’s he still doing here?”
“Probably waiting for me.” I don’t tell her I slipped out after the funeral without saying goodbye.
Or how he spent a lot of time at our house when Mom was sick.
If she had gotten better, I have no doubt he would’ve come around even more.
I didn’t mind so much then. It gave me a chance to breathe once in a while.
Doesn’t mean I’m ready to discuss my feelings now.
“Oh, hell. If I’d known I was about to face the wrath of God, I would’ve fired up another doobie.” Grandma cuts the engine and turns to me. “Guess we’d better get this over with.”
We don’t get far before Jeanie bounds down the front steps as if the devil himself is on her heels.
She plants her bare feet in the grass and presses her fingers to her pink lips, staring at our grandmother as if seeing a ghost. She looks so small standing there, so much younger than her twenty-two years, and for the first time, I recognize the weight of grief in her eyes.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispers. “I just knew it.”
Grandma Lola opens her arms. “My goodness, Jean-Jeanie, you’ve grown up!”
“One of us had to.” Jeanie’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she falls into Grandma’s arms.
“Well then.” Grandma pats Jeanie’s back. “I’m glad it was you.”
Reverend Tom wanders out of the house dressed in casual Dockers and a Mister Rogers sweater. Without his church uniform, he looks more like a substitute math teacher than a preacher.
His gaze skips over me, drifting from Jeanie to G-Lo, and he offers a consoling smile. “I’m guessing you’re Vida’s mother. I was quite fond of your daughter. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Grandma releases Jeanie and stalks forward, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she holds out her hand. “Lola Stone.” She studies the man as if planning to cook him and eat him. “And you must be Reverend Tom.”
“Uh, yes. Tom Randall. I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you. Wish we could’ve met under different circumstances.”
“Guess we’ll have to make up for lost time then, won’t we?” she purrs.
Reverend Tom backs away slowly, turning as red as Grandma’s lips. “I really should be going. I’m sure you’d like some time to catch up with the girls.”
“See you around, Reverend.” She wiggles her fingers in a flirty wave as he stumbles the last few feet to his car and slips behind the wheel. As he pulls away from the curb, she turns to us and releases a whoosh of air. “I thought he’d never leave.”
“He’s gonna be absolving himself all night long after that little exchange.” Jeanie’s eyes sparkle with amusement.
I’d sooner gouge out my eyes than imagine anything Reverend Tom does under cover of night. “We probably should’ve been nicer to him. He was really good to Mom.”
“Your mother was always drawn to complicated relationships.” Grandma wraps her arm around Jeanie’s shoulders.
“But let’s not talk about men. I’ve driven halfway across the country to see you girls.
” She pins me under her knowing gaze. “I understand we have things to discuss, so we should probably get right to it.”
Jeanie eyes the urn in my arms.
I shift my weight, balancing Mom’s ashes on my hip. “You can stop pretending you haven’t been talking behind my back. It won’t change how I feel about Mom’s crazy request.”
“It’s not so crazy when you understand her reasons. May I?” Grandma nods toward the urn and holds out her hands. “Let’s take her inside so we can talk.”
I reluctantly surrender Mom’s ashes and follow my sister and grandmother into the house.