Chapter 70
All of us stare down at the box on the kitchen counter. I touch it and then remove my hand like it’s a jack-in-the-box. “Should we open it?”
We’re back in the house again, the mystified townsfolk left outside to whisper about the shock of what just happened.
“We have to open it,” says Austin. “Otherwise, we’ll wait another several days only to eventually discover that there’s another box inside this one.”
Matt produces a box cutter and cuts the tape.
I admit that there’s a small, childish part of me that thinks—it was all a joke! It was an elaborate lesson! She’s alive somewhere, in a kaftan and her big handmade earrings, ready to reach out her wings and gather us in toward her.
But, as the clear-eyed pragmatist of the group, I also know this is not a possibility.
Inside the box is something wrapped thoroughly with Bubble Wrap and packing tape. When we get that undone, we find an ornate figurine of a yellow wren. It takes only a moment of inspection to recognize it as an urn.
“Yeah, I’m going to open this one, too,” says Sammie.
She unscrews the top, and inside there is a tightly tied plastic bag of gray ashes.
“Wow,” she says, in wonder. “There she is.”
I shiver at the sight, thinking of the old saying: ashes to ashes. I always found it nice, if sad.
The finality of seeing inside the urn feels like the last thing I was waiting for. Something like acceptance clicks in me.
“You know, for a second, I thought it might all be some elaborate ruse,” says Sammie.
I put an arm around her. “I did too.”
“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Austin agrees.
“I just can’t believe they mailed her,” says Matt.
Ms. Collie comes in then. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, did you know there was a box inside this casket?”
“I did, didn’t I mention that on Friday? I could swear I did.”
We all gawp at her. “No,” Matt says. “We were under the impression there was a body in here.”
“Oh, no, Ms. Babe was cremated. Didn’t you read Giulia’s letter?”
“We … did…” I say, slowly.
“Here.” She goes to her bag and ruffles through a million papers before pulling a xeroxed copy out.
She puts on a pair of reading glasses and goes back through it, and I think we all expect her to see it as confusing, but instead, she says, “Yes, right here. Your mother has been dead, but I loved her, I am knowing now that she has experienced the fires of life, though I had not to know when we have constructed this construct for life.”
We blink at her. I start, “Right, so—”
“So she found out she was cremated after the casket was built.” She looks back at the letter.
“It is my wish for us that you should treasure this box for Babe and use for any ceremonials to memorial for her life, understand that is tradition in US, blah, blah, blah, their friend was a craftsman and he was building it as a surprise. Yes, so they thought it was traditional in the States to do a burial, a craftsman friend of theirs built it but Babe died before he finished. They sent it along anyway in case the family wished to use it for a ceremony.”
“You got all that”—Austin points at the letter—“from that.”
“Yes, of course! I see that maybe it’s not that clear. But my mother was not a native English speaker, so perhaps my threshold is a bit higher for bungled words.” She chortles.
“A bit,” agrees Sammie.
“I’m surprised you thought she’d be in there. She died a fair bit of time ago already, you know.”
“We’re not morticians, Ms. Collie! We’re not embalmers! We don’t know these things!” I say, a little hysterically. This is so weird and honestly, so funny.
“I did think it seemed like a stretch,” admits Matt, “but what was the option, to open it up? Obviously not.”
“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, y’all,” says Ms. Collie. “Do you need another minute in here?”
“You guys ready?” asks Matt.
All of us nod, and then we follow her back outside, Sammie clutching the urn under her arm. Austin laughs into my hair and says, “Your mom was almost as crazy as you are.”