Chapter 4
Vee
Robert Gordon, an older man, probably older than my dad or Uncle Darin, introduced himself as the crisis counselor.
He had a deep, soothing voice, firm handshake, and odd aroma.
His white hair was pulled tightly back into a low ponytail.
The shirt and khaki pants beneath his white lab coat were wrinkled, and his dirty white tennis shoes seemed out of place.
A tense silence filled the air as Mr. Gordon took the third seat at the table. Laying an electronic tablet in the center of the table, he exhaled and spoke, “I’m very sorry for your loss…”
His words were kind and filled with practiced compassion, as if he was required to repeat them day after day. After some obligatory pleasantries, he showed us pictures and asked if we could identify them.
There was a picture of Dad’s car, a new-model silver Porsche 911 Turbo Cabriolet. My stomach lurched. “It’s his car,” I confirmed. The top was down and the airbags inflated. I stared in disbelief at the crushed metal, shattered glass, and mangled side.
“The police explained the accident?” Mr. Gordon asked.
Uncle Darin nodded.
I didn’t move, my focus on the picture.
Apparently, Mr. Gordon took my silence as permission to recount the report.
“The police report states that at roughly 7:15 a.m. the accident occurred. The semi-truck driver claimed he didn’t see Mr. Hubbard’s car when he was forced to change lanes.
While they’re still studying the site, tire marks, and debris, it’s believed Mr. Hubbard swerved to avoid the truck, becoming pinned between the truck and the side wall.
The quick maneuver caused the truck’s trailer to wobble.
The driver tried to avoid a jack-knife situation. The size of your father’s car…”
The breakfast Fin made earlier this morning was threatening to reappear. I lifted my hand. “Please stop.”
Mr. Gordon changed the picture; however, it was another of the accident scene.
I shook my head. “The driver of the truck wasn’t injured?”
“Not to my knowledge,” he replied.
I looked toward Uncle Darin.
“They tested the truck driver’s blood,” Uncle Darin said, “and are checking his log to learn if he exceeded the acceptable hours driving. The results aren’t in.”
My dad was gone and it could be because some man didn’t stop to rest or had illegal levels or illegal substances in his system. I couldn’t think about that, not now.
Next, Mr. Gordon showed us pictures of Dad’s personal belongings: his watch, his ID, his wedding ring, and the leather satchel he always carried back and forth to work. We identified each object as belonging to Dad.
This session was unbearably long as Mr. Gordon began asking more questions.
What was Dad’s full name?
What was his date of birth?
Did we know his medical history?
Was he taking any medication?
Did he have a religious affiliation?
Did he have any tattoos?
What about scars?
“He had a scar on his forearm,” I said. “It was from a dog bite when he was young.”
The questions continued.
Uncle Darin and I answered what we could. For the first time I could recall, I wished for Daphne’s presence. Surely, she knew more about Dad’s health than either one of us.
“Mr. Hubbard’s body will remain here until after the autopsy,” Mr. Gordon said.
Blinking, I conjured the will to participate in the conversation around me. “Why do you want an autopsy? It was an accident, right?”
“In the case of fatal automobile accidents, the coroner often requires an autopsy.”
“But you already know how he died.”
“We only know the obvious.”
I didn’t know the ins and outs of an autopsy, but the idea of anyone desecrating Dad’s body caused bile to churn in my stomach. “Can we object?”
“The family can refuse a private or hospital-requested autopsy, but unfortunately, not one ordered by the coroner.”
“Will it…be noticeable…to us?” I was aware my question wasn’t well stated. To be honest, I wasn’t certain what I was asking.
“No, Ms. Hubbard. When we release your father’s body to the funeral home and they’ll prepare him for viewing, no one will be able to tell that an autopsy was performed.”
“How long does all this take?” Uncle Darin asked.
“Typically, twenty-four to forty-eight hours. That is, of course, if the autopsy doesn’t yield any unusual findings. Have you contacted a mortuary?”
My gaze went to Uncle Darin. This would be Daphne’s call, not ours. I turned back to Mr. Gordon. “We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve made the arrangements.”
He nodded, adding information to his tablet. “We’ll need to be contacted by the executor of Mr. Hubbard’s estate.”
Uncle Darin pulled a paper from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat. “Here’s a copy of the paperwork you need. According to Mr. Hubbard’s wishes, my wife and I are co-executors of his estate.”
The information hit me with the force of a sledgehammer. “Dad planned for this?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Not for this,” Uncle Darin replied. “His will is outdated, but it stated what I just said.”
“What else does it say? How outdated?”
Uncle Darin turned my way with a curt nod. “I tried to discuss this with you earlier.” Before I could respond, he went on. “We can discuss it later.”
Arguing at this juncture was beyond my current capability.
Mr. Gordon took the paperwork. “I’ll need this information confirmed by the courts. After that—”
Unable to sit, I quickly stood. “Mr. Gordon, we came here today to see my father, not to answer a million questions. The rest of the legal issues can be discussed with my uncle and Dad’s attorneys at a later time.
” Despite my assertive tone, I held tightly to my own hands to keep them from trembling. “I want to see my father.”
Mr. Gordon nodded.
The odd time continuum moved forward. Again, the scenes weren’t real.
They were choppy, as if from a low-budget film with horrible lighting and terrible sound.
My ears echoed with the tap of our shoes clipping along the hallway and bouncing off the cement-block walls.
Mr. Gordon led us beyond multiple sets of doors.
Each passage was colder than the one before.
I wasn’t fully present.
If this was a dream, it was a nightmare I wanted to end.
Leaving my body, it was as if I were seeing the scene from above.
Mr. Gordon opened a door, one of many on a long wall. For some reason, they reminded me of oven doors. I had an irrational thought: it was too cold for ovens. He pulled out a long table containing a figure covered by a white sheet.
My body convulsed and tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to breathe.
Mr. Gordon donned a pair of blue gloves, the color standing out amongst the monochrome environment. After looking at us, he lowered the sheet to Dad’s shoulders.
Unsuccessfully holding back the sobs, I stared down at the face that had been my constant forever.
Unbelievably, my lips curled. The sight wasn’t gruesome.
After the description of the accident, I had horrible images running through my mind.
While Dad was pale, he looked like he had yesterday in the family suite.
A strangled laugh came from my throat. “He looks like he’s sleeping. He’s not gone. Wake him up.”
Uncle Darin reached for my hand and spoke to Mr. Gordon. “That’s him. That’s Reid Hubbard.”
Mr. Gordon’s gaze came to me. “Ms. Hubbard?”
“Yes. It’s him.” I took my hand back and moved a half step closer. Staring down, my voice wobbled. “I love you, Dad.”
In the sliver of time I stood over my father, a monumental shift occurred—the buckling of tectonic plates. Earthquakes, volcanic activity, and tsunamis were changing the topography of my life for eternity. Forever, I’d think of before and after.
Without resistance, I allowed Uncle Darin to lead me from the room, down the cold hallways, until we were once again outside.
I gulped the fresh air like a dehydrated person guzzling water.
Leaning on the black railing, I struggled to stand.
The confirmation that my dad was gone was too much to bear, too heavy of a weight.
I was now in the after and going back wasn’t an option.
As a fine mist of rain hit my cheeks, I looked up at the clouds and smiled. Even God was sad by this loss. The heavens were crying. I wasn’t sure why the soft drizzle revived my strength, but it did. It was like the watering of dry, cracked soil—even when life didn’t want to continue, it would.
With the rain mixing with my tears, I straightened my shoulders.
“We need to talk to Daphne,” I said as I made my way to Uncle Darin’s car. I put my hand on the door handle and stared across the roof. “I don’t care what she wants. We need to make plans, and we need to make them today.”
Uncle Darin nodded.