It Burns a Lovely Light (11 page)

The faint odor of fish and the stifling smell of exhaust on the bridge were embellished by the morning's humidity. Against the backdrop of streetcars, cars, trucks, and curious pedestrians, Father Ryan delivered a solemn prayer and raised the urn above his head.

After a final "Amen,' he unfastened the urn and poured the ashes over the railing. They blew underneath the bridge; a few small dark clumps clung to the ironwork along the bottom. And that was it. No dancing or
drifting. No devastating beauty.

Beside her, William pressed his head against the railing and looked down at the water.

"I guess they really aren't coming back," he said.
"No one comes back from ashes."

No longer able to stand, Farley slid to her knees on the warm sidewalk. The suffocating devastation of their death and the overwhelming shame of being the one not chosen closed in, threatening to crush her.
Oblivious to pedestrians and the clamor of traffic, she shoved all of the terror and shame deep and deeper down inside of her until she felt nothing at all.

William placed a small hand on her shoulder and squinted at
the skyline.

"The city looks different when you're not just visiting."

Dear Farley,

I wanted to write something that would make you feel better, but there are no words for that right now. My heart breaks for you and William.
Hold each other close. Farley, your enthusiasm and excitement for the future has been an inspiration to me since the day we met. Remember your dreams. They will carry you through.

Love,

Henry

Farley spent most of that summer in her room, sleeping or staring out the window. Everything hurt. Walking downstairs exhausted her. She smelled. She had difficulty keeping food down, carrying on a conversation, or
caring about anything at all. Even William. She knew she should comfort him, tell him everything would be all right, press foreheads like their father used to do. But that would involve opening her heart; exposing her feelings. And she
couldn't do that. The pain would be too much to bear; it would crush her.

"It's about time things warmed up around here,"
said William, raising his face to the sun. "All that snowing was getting on my last nerve."

"You're spending way too much time with Veda Marie," Claire mumbled as she and William maneuvered their way along the
crowded city sidewalk.

In the nine months since he and Farley moved to Bridge Manor, William had fallen into a routine of school, snack, and following Veda Marie around the house. If she wasn't available, he would follow one of the
boarders. He and Joe took a streetcar to the occasional sporting event - he still refused to get in a car. But it was Farley's company William preferred, and she was either at work or holed up in her room.

Tired of Farley's self-inflicted confinement, Dion had appeared one morning with her arms full of job applications. Farley accepted a waitressing position, which she came to enjoy. As she told Claire, the frantic pace left her no time to think. Order in...hot food
out...refills...complaints...more bread...check, please. By the end of the day she was too worn out to do anything but fall into bed.

Claire shifted her shopping bag and took William's hand as they approached the intersection. At sixteen, his body was still fragile and
childlike, but his long, ill-proportioned feet seemed predisposed to tripping.

"Can I have extra chips in my lunch, for Marcus Shultz?" asked William.

The light changed and they stepped onto the crosswalk. "We'll let Marcus' mother take care of his chips."

William's voice was somber. "Marcus' mother doesn't believe in chips."

Half-way across the street, an elderly man smiled and tipped
his hat. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Sullivan."

Raising her chin, Claire walked on. William tugged on her hand.

"That man said 'Good afternoon' to you! He took off his
hat and everything!"

She continued walking.

"Aunt Claire, you have to say it back! That's not nice!"

"No more talking," snapped Claire. "Not
another word until we get home."

Veda Marie emptied a load of warm, clean laundry onto the drawing room table and turned on the TV. For three peaceful hours a day, she washed, dried, folded, and ironed to the leisurely pace of All My Children, One Life to Live, and General Hospital. A feeling of tranquility came over her as she worked. The walls could be falling down around her, as long as her linens were folded into neat piles and her towels smelled like sunshine. September
called it her personal way of meditating.

September Rose was by far the most interesting boarder at Bridge Manor. Initially, Veda Marie would have put money on Resa Romano, given
that she was a recovering alcoholic and an ex-anorexic, to boot. And no one knew much about Mr. Winston, their most recent boarder. He seemed nice enough, although a bit standoffish for her taste.

September was Bridge Manor's official indoor house painter
and clandestine - or so she thought - resident pot smoker. Her first project had been the old playroom - now Farley's room - on the third floor. After applying a light buttery color, she distressed the walls to give them an aged look. Then she finished off the room by trimming it in an eggplant color, blended with tiny flecks of gold. The result was breathtaking.

The best part about September was how she was with William. Veda Marie smiled, recalling the first time the two met. A few days after he
and Farley arrived, Veda Marie asked him to help gather tomatoes in the garden. Returning from a weekend with friends, September floated down the yard to greet William. He had immediately taken to the girl with the long, free-flowing
skirt, peasant blouse, and bare feet. September was a poster child for healthy living, with her silky strawberry blond hair, and shiny, clear skin. Although, thought Veda Marie, she could do with a little color on her lips. Everything about her - down to the bump on her nose - seemed...true.

"Is September Rose a lie name, too?" asked William.

"It's not the name my parents gave me. My real name is Samantha Rosenstein. I liked September Rose better; so I changed it."

William hugged himself and twisted from side to side as he stared at her feet.

"Walking in bare feet is an invitation to ringworm."

She checked the bottom of her feet. "All clear."

"Are you a hippy?"

"I don't think so. I just got tired of being the penny-loafer, cookie-cutter, Magna cum laude type. After college, I decided to
be more...carefree."

He put a finger in his ear. "You
decided
?"

"It took some practice, but I was determined. I even moved to a commune in Vermont for exactly three days. Commune's weren't for
me." She placed a gentle hand on William's cheek, a gesture that usually made him flinch. "I guess you could say I'm trying out a different lifestyle."

"I'm trying out a different lifestyle, too."

Veda Marie busied herself yanking weeds, her heart in shreds.

"I know," said September. "I'm so sorry about your parents."

"Me too." William pushed his glasses up on his
nose. "My sister won't come out of her room."

"She's doing what she needs to do." September pulled a large ripe tomato from the vine and held it under William's nose. "Smell."

Closing his eyes, he took a long, deep whiff. It smelled like sweat, grass and summer.

"Are you a vegetablarian?"

"No," said September, laughing. "I'd die if I
couldn't have a rare, juicy steak once in a while - especially around my period. But I do love a tomato still warm from the sun. Want a bite?"

"Maybe after we wash it."

He watched, fascinated, as she opened her mouth and sunk her
white teeth into the tomato. Juice squirted down her blouse. She closed her eyes and let out a long, sensual moan. William giggled.

"Sorry," he said, covering his mouth. "I'm
extremely immature."

September wiped her chin with her wrist and smiled. "Never apologize for being yourself."

The slam of the mudroom door startled Veda Marie out of her
thoughts. William stomped into the kitchen, dropped his package on the table, and stormed out of the house.

A tired-looking Claire appeared in the doorway, her arms
full of packages.

"What in the world?" said Veda Marie, as she placed another folded sheet in her basket.

"William is upset that I didn't bring my best manners to town."

Veda Marie raised her eyebrows. "Because you usually
do?"

Claire scowled. "I don't know how you ever played poker with those eyebrows."

William ran down the back yard, through the trail in the
woods, and down the hillside steps. When he got to the place where the houses were closer together, he sat. He watched a man try to light a grill on his back deck. The man's wife set the small picnic table and chased bees away from the
condiments. Two girls practiced cheers in the grass. Down here on these steps, there was a lot more happiness for William to watch.

Veda Marie handed Claire a laundry basket.

"Come on," she said. "You can tell me all
about it while we make up Mr. Winston's bed."

"Since when do we make up our boarders' beds?"

"Fitted sheets can be tricky. I can't stand the thought
of the old man struggling with them."

"He's not old. I'd put him at late sixties, tops. You're going to be fifty soon." Claire bumped Veda Marie as they walked to his room. "Who knows? The two of you might hit it off."

"Now you're talking crazy, Claire Sullivan."

"Why? I see more and more interracial couples..."

"You know I don't give a damn what color Mr. Winston
is. But I have a strict policy of only dating men who can keep up with me. The man uses a cane, for crying out loud!"

Initially, Claire and Veda Marie had decided not to accept any more boarders. September, Resa, and Farley filled the third floor and Joe,
William, Claire, and Veda Marie took up the second floor. The only room left was the one behind the kitchen, and such close proximity to the kitchen might lead to privacy issues.

Then along came Mr. Winston, a distinguished gentleman with
blue-black skin, a perfectly groomed white beard, and a slight hearing loss. The retired professor of architecture had an old-world manner that had appealed to both women. Besides, as Claire pointed out, they could use the extra money.

Veda Marie spread a clean sheet over Mr. Winston's bed.

"All right, back to you," she said. "Tell me why you misplaced your manners."

Claire tugged on the sheet. "William and I ran into Mr.
Franco, the owner of The Novel Hovel."

The Novel Hovel was a used bookstore Claire and her father used to frequent. They'd often spend their Saturdays in that dark little store,
going through mountains of used books, searching for treasures.

"That old man is still alive? He was old twenty years ago."

"Still kicking." Claire grimaced as she tucked in
the corners. "So today he tipped his hat and said 'hello.' I ignored him and kept walking, which upset William."

Veda Marie was surprised. Claire could be crotchety, but she had a good heart and was never
intentionally
rude. "Why would you
ignore an old man's greeting?"

"Because he's a liar and a cheat. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

On her way through the kitchen, Claire slipped an oversized
chocolate bar into William's lunch bag.

"Enter if you dare," said William, making a beard out of the bubbles in the bathtub.

Farley waved the steam from her face and addressed the
Superman shower curtain. "Morning, kiddo."

Silence.

"Claire told me what happened," she continued. "She feels bad for snapping at you."

Nothing. Not even a splash.

"Listen, I know I haven't been around a lot, but I got a new..."

"Ever," interrupted William.

"What?"

"You haven't been around
ever
."

Farley closed the toilet lid and took a seat. She glanced up at Superman, who seemed to be glowering at her. She looked away.

"I got a new job," she said. "I'm still
waiting tables, but at a new restaurant called Uncle Salty's. Of course the uniforms are asinine and the shoes are hideous...but you'll like the restaurant. The inside of the building is stuffed from floor to ceiling with really cool antiques."

"Like the antiques Mom found in London?"

She pressed her lips together.
Sorry, kiddo. Can't go there.

"They have these old cash registers," she
continued, "and brass instruments and sports memorabilia, and black-and-white photographs..."

"You mean like the pictures you used to take?"

She put her head in her hands and addressed her padded white
waitress shoes. "So, Uncle Salty's has this management training program. They said if I worked hard I could be a manager in no time."

"Go for it. Work away." His thin arm appeared between Superman's spread legs. "Can I please have a towel?"

Farley pulled a Mighty Mouse towel from the rack. Turning to place it in his outstretched hand, she froze. "Where did you get that?"

"What?" The arm disappeared.

"That thing on your arm."

"I found it in one of our boxes, from back when," he said, his voice thread-like.

Once, feeling cruel, Farley had asked him what 'back when'
meant.

He had shrugged and replied 'You know, back when we were a real family.'

The object flew over the man of steel and bounced off the wall, sound ricocheting off the old Carrara tiles.

"Take it. It's yours, anyway," said William. "I thought you didn't want it anymore."