Family Matters
Authors: Laurinda Wallace
Family Matters
Laurinda Wallace
Sierra Vista, AZ
FAMILY MATTERS
Cover Design and Photo by
Jesaro Photography
Author Photo by
Jesaro Photography
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-without prior written permission.
For information contact
:
3-Mice Productions
2220 Kachina Trai
l
Sierra Vista, AZ 85650
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright © 201
3 Laurinda Wallace
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0985432853
ISBN-13:
978-0-9854328-5-0
DEDICATION
For my husband David, who has encouraged and supported my writing adventure every step of the way
.
hapter 1
I
t was over. Reverend Minders had pronounced the final “amen,” and the mourners drifted away from the artificial grass carpet draped against the sides of the open grave, an oak casket suspended above it. White roses, already wilting lay across the top of the casket. Gracie, more than eager to leave the cemetery, hurried over the thick, spongy grass toward her SUV. The rain shower that had pummeled the stained glass windows of the church during the funeral had cleared, but the trees still dripped, the light breeze spattering leftover raindrops on her face. She kept her eyes down, determined not to look in the direction of the gravestone that had her husband’s name carved deep into the granite. The small stone next to it with the white lamb on top only doubled her determination. Gracie had parked under the shade of an ancient maple tree at the edge of the cemetery. Now that the sun had finally burnt away the remnants of storm clouds, it was a perfect July day. Punching the unlock button on the key ring, the familiar click was silenced by the unmistakable grating voice of her cousin Isabelle.
“Gracie, wait. Aren’t you coming back to the house?” Isabelle’s tone indicated it was more of an imperative than a question.
“I don’t think so, Isabelle. I need to get back to work. It’s pretty busy right now.” She pulled on the door handle of the red RAV4.
“What are you talking about? Of course you’re coming back to the house for the meal. The family should be
together. Mother would have wanted all of us to be together. Your mother’s not here, so...”
Gracie saw the look in her cousin’s eyes and knew she wasn’t getting out of town any time soon. She had no valid reason to skip out anyway. Work was merely an excuse.
“Well, I guess I could come for a few minutes.”
Family duty is a powerful force. It makes one do the most uncomfortable and inconvenient things. But she was her family’s official representative today, and she needed to hold it together no matter how she felt.
“Good. I’ll meet you at the house in a few minutes. I must catch up with Reverend Minders and make sure Tim gave him a check.” Isabelle, in her tailored navy blue silk suit and perfectly coifed blond hair, walked quickly to where her husband was talking to the silver-haired, slightly paunchy Reverend Minders.
The rest of the funeral group straggled toward their respective vehicles. She saw Greg and Anna, Isabelle’s teenage children, shuffling toward the family Lexus with their heads down. They looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
“At least I’m not the only one,” Gracie muttered to herself, turning the key in the ignition. She began to ease the car back onto the street. A pile of papers slid from the passenger seat onto floor and she noticed dog hair clinging to her skirt and a small run in her pantyhose inching over her right knee. Gracie’s eyes went back to the street, just in time to jam on the brakes. Mrs. Youngers had blithely backed out into the street without looking. At 80-something, her license renewal should be in question after that maneuver, although she was usually a careful driver around town. Gracie judiciously refrained from laying on the horn and gripped the steering wheel while the elderly woman took an eternity to put the car in gear. Even with the meandering sedan in front of her, it took just minutes to arrive at her cousin’s house on Crescent Lane. The church ladies were setting out huge amounts of food on the picnic tables lined up family-style in the front yard. Fortunately, the canopy of sugar maples kept it all in the shade. Isabelle’s flower gardens were lush and well-tended—like everything in Isabelle’s house. Foxglove, iris in a rainbow of colors, red roses, and delphiniums were only a few of the flowers banked against a fieldstone retaining wall on the side lawn. The grass was cut to perfection, and no dandelions invaded the golf course-like turf. It looked like Tim had set up a putting green at the back of the property. That must be new. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d stopped by a couple of weeks ago.
Helen Smith, one of the blue-haired church ladies, smiled and waved to Gracie as she parked on the street.
“Come and get it, honey,” she called, as Gracie came up the walk. “We’ve got lots today.”
“It all looks great.”
“It is, so help yourself.”
Gracie decided she’d just load a plate and stand. If she sat at a table, she’d never get away. Cousins, along with a raft of great aunts and uncles, were descending on the house, chattering and eyeing the food with anticipation.
She piled potato salad, a thick slice of cold ham, and a warm roll on her plate. The crowd was finding places to sit and getting down to the business of life after a funeral. Todd Graham, a distant cousin and the local investment guy, grabbed her elbow to steer her toward a table. She sighed and readied herself for his usual sales pitch. He was fit and dressed in an expensive suit. Todd’s thin mustache and darting eyes always made her uneasy.
“Gracie, it’s good to see you.”
“You too, Todd, but I don’t have much time. I’ve got to get back to the kennels.”
“Come on, Gracie, what’s the hurry? I don’t see you much around town. You’re always working.”
Gritting her teeth, she pasted on an insincere smile.
“Well, running a new business is pretty demanding; you know that. It’s vacation time, so we’ve got a steady stream of dogs. Plus we’ve got some new kennel helpers, and someone has to keep an eye on them.”
“They’ll be fine for a couple of hours. We need to talk since you don’t ever return phone calls.”
She absently nodded while Todd droned on about how he could improve her investments, and how she needed a man to look after her interests now that Michael was gone. A claustrophobic moment passed over her as she saw that she was completely surrounded by relatives with more headed toward her. A few stopped to pat her shoulder or give her an awkward hug. A few comments made her cringe. “How are you holding up, dear? This must be hard for you.” Her pantyhose were suddenly very hot, the run was creeping up her thigh, and she felt sweat trickle down her back. She needed to get back into jeans and a T-shirt.
Gracie caught a glimpse of her Uncle Stan, Isabelle’s father, picking up another longneck bottle. He’d been conspicuously absent at the committal service in the cemetery. Gracie noticed two brown bottles unsuccessfully hidden in the perfectly trimmed yew hedge. There were probably several more stashed in there. Isabelle must be steamed about his absence, and now she could be upset by his choice of beverage in front of the church crowd.
“I should talk to Uncle Stan. You’ll have to excuse me, Todd.
Nice to see you.” Gracie blurted out, patting his arm. Todd stopped mid-sentence, nodded, and shrugged. Before she made it to the porch, he’d already latched onto the church organist. Isabelle was talking to the Minders, plus the few dignitaries from the village, and hadn’t yet noticed her father.
Gracie admired the furniture on the huge wrap-around porch of the Craftsman-style house. The dark wicker had deep cushions in a tropical green and brown print. It looked
much more inviting than the flagstone steps Uncle Stan was sitting on, but Gracie joined him there.
“Uncle Stan, how are you doing?” She sat down gingerly, trying not to snag her hose in any more places.
“I’m OK,” he mumbled, looking down at the half empty beer bottle. He twirled it between his fingers. “Shirley and I had a lot of years. I hope she’s better off today. She was awfully sick the last few months.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “Life’s been pretty hard.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry. It’s been tough on everybody and especially Aunt Shirley. She was always busy, and being in the hospital or stuck in bed wasn’t for her.”
Gracie was trying to think of anything else kind she could say about her Aunt Shirley. Aunt Shirley had been a difficult woman on her best day. Life with her had always been tough, but she had made everyone’s life a true misery these final months of her battle with cancer. Nurse after nurse had quit or been fired in three months’ time before she’d ended up in the hospital the last few weeks. Gracie guessed there was probably a great deal of relief in this day for her uncle…in a lot of ways.
“Wouldn’t you like a little something to eat? You probably haven’t eaten all day.
Gotta get something in your system that’s…uh, well, solid.”
“Isabelle will give me what for, so I’d better.” His voice trailed off.
“Let me get you some potato salad, ham, and that great three bean salad.”
He waved her off, staring at his feet. Gracie quickly made a plate for him and hurried back, relieved to see that Isabelle and Tim were still engaged with the cousins from Castile and the mayor. Stan picked at the carb-laden funeral food and made an attempt to eat.
“Come on, Uncle Stan, let’s keep Isabelle happy today, and you’ll feel better too.” She smiled at her weary and well-worn uncle. His greasy gray hair was slicked back, and the creases in his face told the story of an unhappy life. He managed a lopsided smile as potato salad slid off his fork and onto his white shirt. Gracie grabbed a napkin and handed it to him.
“Thanks, Gracie. I think you’re the only one left who’ll even talk to me anymore. Isabelle just yells. Tim never says a word, but gives me that look. I don’t think Isabelle wants the kids to talk
to me. Guess I’ve made a mess pretty much of my whole life, well at least since...” He cleared his throat. “You’ve had it pretty tough, too, with Michael and all.”
Hot tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked furiously to stop them. Gracie didn’t want to talk about Michael today. The cemetery and the service were hard enough. The ache of missing her husband of 16 years, 2 months and 4 days wasn’t over yet.
“I’m…well, I’ve gotta go. If you need anything, just give me a call.” The perfunctory farewell to the bereaved rolled easily off her tongue. She couldn’t believe she was saying it. People had said it to her, but she’d bet the farm they hoped with all their might she wouldn’t call. And she hadn’t.
“Thanks, Gracie.” He finished the potato salad and washed it down with the last of his beer.
“I’ll say goodbye to Isabelle and then head back to the kennels. It’s really crazy right now.”
She patted her uncle’s shoulder and saw that Isabelle and Tim were headed toward the food tables. She started down the sidewalk, but Uncle Stan grabbed her arm. His beery breath hit her face; his watery brown eyes suddenly intense.
“Listen, Gracie, I’ve got some things I want you to have. Some books for your collection and some things that are family stuff. I want you to have it now. You know, before Izzy gets in a tizzy.”
Gracie grinned. Isabelle hated being called
Izzy. Isabelle hadn’t ever handled teasing well, and it was entertaining to rile her.
“Sure, Uncle Stan.
I can pick them up sometime. Maybe tomorrow or Saturday.”
“No, I’ve got ‘
em here in my car. I want you to take them now. I don’t want her trying to stop me. You know how she is.”
She patted his stringy, darkly tanned arm.
“OK, sure. Well, let’s put them in my car, and I’ll tell Izzy goodbye.” She winked and smiled reassuringly at him. He headed for his ancient blue New Yorker just a touch unsteadily.
Gracie waved to Isabelle and Tim, and started walking toward their table to keep attention away from her well-marinated uncle. It looked like an official head table with the mayor and his wife and some distant cousins, whose names Gracie couldn’t remember, along with Albert and Gloria Minders. Greg and Anna were standing under a nearby tree in an attempt to be inconspicuous. When Gracie surveyed the tables that were filled to capacity, she wondered, how did I end up with so many relatives? Her mother’s side of the family must have multiplied like rabbits. She steeled herself for the closing remarks with Isabelle.
“Isabelle, I’m headed back to the kennel. Let me know if there’s anything you need help with. Mom and Dad are so sorry they couldn’t be here. There was just no way to get them back in time from the cruise. And Tom couldn’t get leave to come back from Afghanistan.”
Isabelle ignored Gracie as she continued picking at her plate. She wiped her mouth carefully with a white paper napkin and glared at Gracie.
“I understand about Tom, but it’s unbelievable that Mother’s own sister couldn’t be here today. It’s not right, but we couldn’t put off the funeral for another week. I just hope Aunt Theresa can still enjoy the cruise.” The sarcasm and stinging judgment were all too apparent in her voice. Tim placed his hand over his wife’s, which she quickly shrugged off. A wisp of the perfect blond hair blew out of place; Isabelle dabbed one eye with a tissue, avoiding Gracie’s gaze.
Gracie sighed. “Of course you couldn’t put it off. Mom didn’t want you to wait, and I’m sure she’s having a difficult time dealing with…”
Isabelle cut her off.
“Well, she’ll have to carry that burden for a long time. I can’t understand such selfishness. Why would they go on this cruise when mother was so ill?” Her voice was sharper yet.
Gracie bit her tongue. Tim put his hand on Isabelle’s shoulder and looked at Gracie with silent pleading. Everyone shifted uncomfortably at the table, concentrating on their plates of food. Isabelle pulled away from her husband’s touch. Gracie felt anger flush across her face.
“Well, it’s their 45th anniversary, and it’s been planned for over a year. They couldn’t have known your mother would die three days after they left.”
