Hot Tea (19 page)

“Bernie.”

“Oh Mom, I’m so sorry.  I know she was such a good friend of Grandma’s and how close you guys got after Grandma passed.  Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, there is.  Can you come by for a cup of tea so that we can discuss it?”

“Sure.  I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

“Thank you, Love.”

I begged understanding from AJ, who was generous enough to supply it.  Ran in the bathroom, brushed my teeth, being a heavy tea drinker, I brush my teeth several times a day, and ran a brush through my hair.  I was out the door in less than two minutes.

When I got to Mom’s house, there were no cars parked out front.  Not a good sign.  Usually there is at least one person visiting.

Mom was at the table, tea made, no cookies.  Another bad sign.  She didn’t even seem to notice me till I was at the table.

“Mom?  Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m just sad.”

“What can I do?”

“There’s nothing to be done at the minute.  Daddy has gone over to the funeral home to make arrangements.  Bernie doesn’t have any family left here.  What family she does have is still in Ireland.  We’ve made the calls.  There won’t be anyone coming.”

“Oh Mom, I’m sorry.”

“It used to be that a funeral and wake were a sign of respect.  Not only for the dead, but for the living as well.  Seems those times are gone.”

“Mom, to be fair, she’s been over here a long time.  I’m not sure that any of the relatives over there have even met her.  She outlived everyone.  She never married.  She doesn’t have any kids.  Is it fair to think that some cousin twice removed would jump on an intercontinental flight for the funeral of someone they only know by name?”

“True.”

“Mom, we’re her family here.  We’ll do right by her.”

“I’m glad you said that Love, because I’ll be needing a favor.”

“Anything.”  I jumped up to get busy. 

Mom sat me back down with one of her patented mom looks.  No words needed. 

She put her hand on mine and said “Not at the minute Love.”

Why is it that Irish people sound so much more Irish when they’re upset?  Even Irish people that have been here for multiple generations seem to sprout a brogue, or Irish accent, when they are in the throws of emotional trauma.  Even I start to talk funny if I’ve been around family too much, and I’m as American as apple pie.

Thoughts were coming at me from all directions when it suddenly dawned on me.  Mom was going to have me write the eulogy.  It was, after all, my new profession, and who else was there to put words to the feelings Mom felt so strongly?  I decided to offer my services instead of making her ask.  “Do you want me to write the eulogy?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that really.  Billy will be doing the service.  They were grand friends.  I thought he would say a few words.”

Perplexed, I tried again, “Then what’s the favor?”

“When I talked to the girls in Ireland, they asked that I hire someone to go through Bernie’s things.   See what is of value.  Pack up what would be of use to them there, not too much, the shipping will be dear.  See what needs to be attended to, and get it organized enough so that they can decide what it is they want to do with it all.  Then, once they’ve made that decision, help them to get it done.  I know it is silly, but I really don’t want a stranger going through Bernie’s things.  There are very personal items in that house, and I want them treated with dignity and respect.  I was hoping you and your sister could do that for me.  I’ve called and left her a voicemail.  I’m sure she’ll be on her way back tonight.  I’m sorry Love.  I just can’t do this myself.  It was difficult when your grandmother died.  This would bring it all back to me.  Could you do this for me, please.”

“Of course Mom.  I’m not sure how to go about it, but between Teagan and me, we’ll figure it out.  Is there anything else we can do?”

“Could you check the meat and put on the potatoes?  Your father should be home shortly.  I’ll want to talk to him about the service.  We have some decisions we need to make.”  With that, she got up and walked out of the room. 

I’m great at supporting people.  I’m comforting.  I can cheer people up.  I can nurture a rock; but when it comes to my mother, I’m always at a loss.  That’s Maeve’s job.  That’s one of the nice things about having lots of brothers and sisters.  We each have a job.  We spread the responsibilities around.  Maeve needs to get her butt home and deal with Mom’s emotions, because I can’t do it, and it isn’t a skill I’m gonna pick up any time soon.

Dinner was quiet.  Daddy had gone to the family funeral home to make arrangements for Bernie.  Our family always uses O’Gorman’s.  Unfortunately, coming from a really big family, we have enough experience that we pretty much know what needs to be done.

I wanted to know what had happened with Bernie.  Truth be told, the woman was old.  As my grandma would have said, ‘She was old when dirt was young.’

My guess is her body just couldn’t keep up any more, but I’d seen her about three weeks ago and she seemed spry enough.  Actually, she seemed damn healthy.  The woman was still driving, she didn’t even need glasses, and she went for a walk every day.  She kept her little house neat as a pin, and she didn’t require any medications.  It seems a little odd that she would drop dead for no good reason, other than being about 123 years old.

Mom seemed so upset I didn’t have the heart to ask for details.  I figured it would all come out in time.

A few of my brothers and sisters showed up for dinner or shortly after.  The girls cleaned up while the guys went out in the back yard.  I think the guys were trying to escape the emotion in the kitchen.

Finally, my youngest sister Sinead asked, “Mom, just what happened to Bernie?”

“We’re not sure Love.  They have her down to the morgue.  I’m sure we’ll know much more in a few weeks time.  For now, all we know is that she didn’t show up to do her volunteer work at the kitchen down at the shelter.  The director got worried, you know Bernie, down there to help morning, noon and night.  The director sent a couple of the young men to check on her.  They found her in the garage.  She was sitting peacefully in her car.”

Sinead asked quietly, “How did you find out?”

Mom smiled, “For a woman of her years, Bernie is quite the technical one.  She had a cell phone in her purse.  The police checked the address book.  Under ICE she had my number.  Turns out that people in the know put ICE in their address book.  It stands for In Case of Emergency.  They called me.  Your father volunteered and went down and identified her.  He says she looks just fine.”

I asked, “Do we have dates and times for the service?”

“Billy says that Wednesday will be best for the Rosary.  We’ll do a small graveside service on Thursday morning.  There’s no need to do anything at the church.  People just don’t go for that kind of thing anymore.”

Completely confused I blurted, “Really?  What about Mass?”

Mom seemed so tired, like the life force had leaked right out of her.  She was beginning to worry me.

“I’ll talk to Billy.  Whatever he decides is what we’ll do.”

I smiled and said, “Works for me.  If a priest doesn’t know the rules, we’re all in trouble.”

Even Mom let out a little chuckle.

FOURTEEN

“Hi!”

I shot up out of bed.  “Dammit Teagan.  You’re gonna give me a heart attack.  I want my key back.”

“No problem.  I made 27 copies.  Gave them to all the relatives.  Reminded them your fridge is always full and you love spontaneous get togethers, no need to call first.”

“You wouldn’t do that.  You wouldn’t want the world to find out about AJ and blow your chances to live happily ever.”

She didn’t say anything. 

She looked different.

I hadn’t seen that look in her eye in a while.

I shrieked, “You’ve had sex!!”

“Excuse me?  And shut-up!”

“Teagan Shannon O’Flynn, you heard me.  I know that look.  I personally, haven’t seen it in the mirror in, say, about 400 years, but I know the look.  You’ve had sex.  Not only that, but you’ve had great sex, and you’ve had it several times.”

She didn’t confirm or deny.

“And, you’re gonna have it again.  Who is he and where did you find him?  Does he have a brother, cute friend, harmless enemy, well functioning robot?  When do I meet him?  Are you guys serious?  Have you known him long?  Hey, why didn’t I know anything about all this before?”

“Stop.  One question at a time, and maybe I’ll answer.  Maybe.”

“Fine.  Is this a relationship we’re talking about, or does it fall under the heading of ‘other’?”

“I’m not sure.  At the moment, we’re good friends.”  She blushed.  She looked 17.  She gave herself away.  Most often it’s not what you say but how you say it, and her tones and body language spoke volumes.  Steamy, happy, volumes.  Good thing Mom isn’t here.

“Good friends?  As in your he’s-just-a-good-friend Jessie, from when you were young and wanton?  Did you track him down?  When did all this happen?  We were just talking about him the other day.  Was this going on then, or is this new?  I can’t believe I mention his name for the first time in years and here you are having a torrid affair with him.  Even if I believed in coincidences, which I don’t, that’s a pretty big coincidence.”

“Cara, dear, you’re assuming a lot.  I never said it was Jessie.”