Family Blessings (9 page)

He had no doubt there'd be more bad days, bad hours, maybe even longer stretches when he'd miss Greg terribly, but he'd just learned one way to handle them. Get on with what needed getting on with, and give yourself the right to enjoy what ought to be enjoyed.

He drove over to the police station to show the boys. Out of long practice, he checked the call reports from the last shift-suspicious person, domestic, disturbing the peace, lockout, animal complaint, same stuff as usual. He had a cup of coffee, answered sympathetic questions about the Restons and the funeral plans, and went back out to enjoy his Explorer.

It was raining as he headed over to Lee Reston's house. His new windshield wipers worked great, made a different sound than the ones on the old beater. He put a Vince Gill compact disc in the player and drove slowly, singing along softly when he knew the words, enjoying the quiet snicker of the rain on the metal roof, the occasional ranting of thunder, healing a little.

Vince came on singing "When I Call Your Name" and took the cheer out of the afternoon.

At Mrs. Reston's, several cars stood in the driveway, he parked behind them and ran through the rain to the front door.

Janice answered his knock and opened the screen door. "Come on in.

Hi. How are you today?"

"Better. How about you?"

"Tired, sad, sighing a lot."

"Yeah, it's rough." He glanced toward the kitchen where the lights were on and people were gathered around the table. "It looks like you've got plenty of company. I probably shouldn't have come."

She put her arm around his waist and drew him forward. "Don't be silly. This is no time to be alone. Come on . . . join the rest."

Beneath a hanging light fixture people were leaning on their elbows looking at photo albums containing snapshots of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends. The counter was arrayed with hot dishes, bowls of salad, platters of sandwich fixings, muffins, cookies and four different cakes in aluminum cake tins.

"Hi, Christopher," Lee greeted from across the room. "Glad you came back. I guess you know everyone except these three. They all went to high school with Greg. This is Nolan Steeg, Sandy Adolphson and Jane Retting."

He nodded to them all while Janice added, "Jane dated Greg when they were in high school. She spent a lot of time over here." She gave the girl a hug from behind, Jane looked as if she'd been crying.

They continued examining the pictures, exclaiming, "Oh, there he is with that terrible cap he used to wear everywhere! Remember how you couldn't get him to take it off at bedtime, Lee?"

"He always loved caps."

"And hot dogs."

"And raw cookie dough."

"Oh, look, there he is at a track meet."

"For somebody only six feet tall he could really run."

"Nolan, look at this one where was this taken?"

"Taylors Falls. A bunch of us guys used to go over there and take our shirts off and play Frisbee in our cutoffs and see if we could pick up girls."

"My son . . . picking up girls?" Lee said in mock horror.

"My boyfriend . . . picking up girls?" Jane echoed in mock horror.

"He wasn't perfect, you know."

Lee said, "Well, we thought so, didn't we, Jane?" and the two of them shared a sad smile.

The examination of photos went on while Lee worked her way around the table and asked Christopher, "Are you hungry? There's plenty to eat.

Let me get you a plate and you can help yourself."

He ate some goulash, some chicken-and-rice casserole, Italian salad, two turkey sandwiches and three pieces of cake, all the while standing, looking over everyone's shoulders at pictures of Greg he'd never seen before. Four times he refused to accept chairs that were offered.

Janice handed him a glass of milk. He peered over heads at the open albums. There was Greg as an infant, a two-year-old blowing out birthday candles, holding his new baby sister on his lap, going off to his first day of kindergarten, around age seven, missing his front teeth, with Janice and Joey, the whole family beside a fishing boat holding up their catches, standing spraddle-legged with a basketball under one arm, beginning to stretch out in height, with four grandparents in front of Faith Lutheran Church, probably on his confirmation day, lying flat on the grass with some other boy's head on his stomach, the two of them laughing, wearing prank sunglasses one foot wide, carrying his mother piggyback, her arm raised as if holding a horsewhip, with a group of four teenage boys, one of them Nolan, leaning against somebody's car, dressed in a Nx with Jane at his side in her prom formal, with Lee on his high school graduation day, standing beside a black-and-white cruiser in his new uniform and badge, playing volleyball last Fourth of july, balancing the ball on five fingertips with his other arm slung around Christopher's shoulder while Christopher's arm hooked Joey around the neck.

A wave of envy struck Christopher: What a charmed life Greg Reston had had. It wouldn't be so bad to die, having had so many happy memories.

Greg had had so much family love, friends, every occasion of his life marked by photographs that preserved them forever, lovingly stored in a photo album by a mother. Now here she was, sharing them with everyone again, helping them heal, passing out food and refilling glasses, touching shoulders as she moved around the table.

He gazed at her and thought, What a zvoman. She caught his eyes and smiled. He looked away quickly, back down to the picture of himself and Greg just as the page was being turned.

He had exactly four photographs of himself as a child, and he didn't know who'd taken them, but to the best of his recollection there'd never been a camera around his house. Of elementary school pictures he had none. He was one of the kids who never brought money to pay for the photo packet when the teacher passed them out. Instead, they went back to the photographer.

His graduation picture he'd paid for himself, for by then he was working in the produce department of the Red Owl, earning fairly decent money.

He took his plate to the kitchen sink and rinsed it off.

Lee Reston came up behind him and said, "Here, let me do that."

"It's done. Should I put it in the dishwasher?"

"Yes, please."

He did so. When he straightened and turned she was near, the two of them isolated from the others by an arm of the kitchen cabinets that divided the working area from the eating area.

"Thank you for taking care of the pallbearers today."

"No need to thank me. I was glad to do it."

"About Greg's things in the apartment . .."

He shook his head. "Take all the time you need. There's no hurry."

"But you'll probably want a new roommate."

"I haven't decided that yet. It's too soon."

"All right," she agreed quietly. "But I should probably get his car out of the garage."

"I got his keys for you . . . here." He fished them out of his pocket. "But there is no hurry. Nobody cares if it sits there for a few days. His rent is paid up till the first."

She studied the keys in her palm and a veil of sorrow descended over her face again.

"Really, Mrs. Reston," he repeated, "there's no hurry. Take your time getting everything."

Janice overheard and came up to join them. "Mom . . . are you talking about Greg's car?"

Lee cleared her throat and replied, "Yes. I told Chris we should probably get it out of the garage over there. He got the keys for us."

"I was hoping I could use it for a while. It's a lot more reliable than mine."

"Of course you can."

"Mine's been burning oil, and if the front tires last another month I'll be surprised. It would really be a lifesaver."

"Sure, dear, go ahead and use it. Maybe we can even have the title changed over to you and sell yours instead of his."

"I was thinking the same thing, but I didn't want to . .."

Janice shrugged and grew glum. "Well, you know."

Lee squeezed her arm. "I know. But something will have to be done with all his belongings eventually anyway."

"Thanks, Mom."

Christopher said, "If you want me to take the keys I can run it over here anytime. One of the cops can follow me and give me a ride back.

Or I can come and get you, Janice, whenever you say."

"I could ride back home with you tonight and get it."

"Sure. That'd be okay. It's raining though."

"I've driven in the rain before. You sure this is okay with you, Mom?"

"Of course it is. It's one more detail taken care of. Go ahead and get "Do you want to go now?" Janice asked Chris.

"Anytime."

"Just let me get my purse."

While Janice was gone he said to Lee, "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

"Oh, Christopher, you've been so helpful already. No, you just go."

She walked him to the door, where Janice joined them. "I hope for all our sakes that we can all get some sleep tonight. Janice, be careful driving home in the rain. And, Chris . .." She gave him one of the hugs she shared so freely, an affectionate, motherly brushing of cheeks that said goodnight and thanks.

"You're so kind . . . so thoughtful. Thank you for being here." He wondered if she knew how much he liked the way her hand lingered on his neck before he turned away to open the screen door for Janice.

"Oh, just a minute!" Lee said, and hurried to the kitchen, where a drawer rolled open and tinfoil tore. Momentarily she returned with a neatly folded silvery packet. "It's chocolate cake. For morning."

"Thanks, Mrs. Reston."

In the Explorer, in damp shirts, he and Janice headed for the apartment with the rain-spotted tinfoil between them.

"Your mother is wonderful," he said.

"Everybody always says that. All my high school friends wished she was theirs."

"Does she ever get down?"

"Not very often. She has this saying: It is out of adversity that strength is born. But I don't think Greg's death has really hit her yet."

"It will when she stops supporting everyone else and has some time alone. That's when it really hit me when I got back to the apartment last night."

She reached over and placed her hand on his bare arm, and let silence roll down the rainy streets with them.

In time she dropped her hand and seemed to realize something.

"Christopher! Is this vehicle brand-new?"

"I just got it this afternoon."

"And you didn't say anything?"

He shrugged.

"I thought it smelled new. And it's still got cardboard liners on the floors."

"You're the first one to ride in it."

She gazed at his profile. In the center of this sadness came a moment when pure life zinged through her like a shock of electricity. She had always loved his face, from the first time she'd seen it, a handsome face with clear, tanned skin that always looked freshly scrubbed.

Highlighted by the dash lights, his nose, lips and forehead formed an attractive silhouette. In these days when men shaved designs into their heads, or wore their hair in ugly crew cuts or below the ear, his vigorous short hair with its slight curl gave him an all-American look that only added to the overall appearance of squeaky cleanness.

"There've been times when I imagined riding somewhere in a car with you. Too bad the occasion isn't happier."

He had felt her gaze and let her subtle implication pass. "Greg and I had planned to take it to Denver in the fall, maybe to Nova Scotia."

"Funny how every path leads back to him."

"I guess that's natural. When someone dies suddenly he leaves unfinished business."

"We talked about that last night, Mom, Joey and I. We all slept in Mom's bed together and we talked about a lot of our feelings."

He featured Lee gathering her kids in beside her. The picture fit.

"I'll bet she never in her life yelled at you, or swore at you or smacked you."

"Swore at us, no. But we got yelled at when we deserved it. And I got smacked once when I was about five or six years old. I called my uncle Barry a dumb shit."

Chris burst out laughing.

Janice went on. "I must have heard someone else say it--I don't know.

And right now I can't even remember what it was that bugged me so about Uncle Barry, but whatever it was I didn't like it, so I called him a dumb shit and Mom slapped my face and made me apologize. Afterwards she hugged me so hard I thought she'd crack my ribs, and she cried too and said she was sorry but I must never talk that way to anybody again."

Where Chris came from the parents called the kids dumb shits and meant it. And afterward there were no tearful apologies.

"You're a lucky girl. She's one fantastic mother." He made a sharp left turn that took them into the parking lot of Cutter's Grove apartments. "Here we are." He wound between the buildings and activated the door of an underground garage. Pulling to a halt beside Greg's white Toyota, he shut off his engine and asked, "Are you gonna be able to handle it?"

"I told you I've driven plenty of times in the rain."

"I'm not talking about the rain."

"I can handle it," she replied in a whisper. "I'm my mother's child."

She gave in to impulse, leaned over and kissed him on the jaw. "Thanks for everything, Christopher. My mother said she didn't know what she'd have done without you, and the same goes for me."

The next moment she was out of his vehicle, unlocking the door of Greg's car.

Chapter 4.

THE following morning the rain was gone and the sun promised a torrid day ahead.

Christopher awakened at 6:35 and listened to the silence in the apartment. What am I going to do today? The wake this afternoon, but between now and then the hours would stretch like a Dali painting, empty, dry, distorted.

He rolled over and switched on the radio.

Lorrie Morgan was singing about Monday, which was never good anyway.

The deejay came on with news about road repairs that would narrow I-694 down to a single lane for the remainder of the summer. The weather report predicted a high of 89 today, clear skies and extreme humidity.

The announcer said, "Watching your grass grow might actually be exciting on a day like today."