Kimber (4 page)

I
tense as he comes closer. His arms extend out to me.
He can’t be serious if
he thinks I’ll hug him
, I think to myself. Our time apart has not healed
the wounds he inflicted upon me.

 “Kimber,
sweetie!”

 I
step back out of his reach. My father does not look the same as he did the day
he left. Time has not been kind to him. His hair is deep brown and speckled
with gray. His face is worn and his bare ring finger tells me he most likely
regrets the fling with his secretary. I try to keep my voice low to not draw
attention.

 “Get
out.” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“I’m
here to pay my respects to Marie. I’m also here for you. I can’t imagine how
hard this has been on you. I just can’t believe she’s gone.”

Any
fool could see that my father’s attempt at being caring was lacking true
emotion. Only my mother and I knew this man. My father had no heart. Otherwise,
he would have picked up the phone every time I called him in my weak moments
when I longed to hear his voice.

My
mother never did agree with the way I felt about him. She always encouraged me
to have a relationship with my father. Never, despite the bad things I would
say, did she ever put him down to me or in front of me. Maybe it would make her
smile now if I granted her wish and took comfort in my father’s arms. Maybe it
would but since my mother never forced me into submission, I can’t imagine she
would be too upset with me.

“Now?
I can think of a million better times for you to have been there for me. Now is
too late. Too late for all of it,
Ben
.” I emphasize his name with
sarcasm. 

 “We
have a lot to talk about Kimber and time to do it in.”

“I
don’t want your time. But there’s something you probably want, right? You think
you’d come here, play daddy and get while the gettin’ is good?”

“What?”

“Money!”
I take a step towards him. Luke mimics my movement.

“No.
Of course not!” My father replies defensively.

“I
think it’s time to go, Mr. Knowl.”

Luke’s
interference aggravates my father. He stands ridged and arrogant.

“Who
do you think you are, that you can tell me when to go?”

“This
memorial was by invitation only for friends and family.” Luke retorts not the
least bit intimidated.

“I’m
her father and Marie was my wife. Hell! I have more of a right to be here than
you do son.”

Out
of the corner of my eye, I spot Tommy and Joel as they enter the room. They are
ready to help Luke escort my father out if needed. As much as I would like Luke
to knock my father’s lights out, I can’t allow it. I take hold of Luke’s arm
and nudge him back a few steps. This is my fight not his.

 “I’m
the only family you have now Kimber. Like it or not. That’s how it is.”

I
look at my father, bewildered by what a gift he thinks his DNA is.

“I’d
rather not have family at all then. Besides, I have an aunt remember?”

 “Lena?
The one who is locked up in a psyche ward in New York because she claims she
can see the future? That’s hardly family Kimber. You’ve never even met her?”

He
is right. I never had the chance to meet my aunt but I will not allow him the
satisfaction of knowing it.

“You’re
wrong to assume you know anything about me.”

“I’m
not I just doubt Marie would bring you to that type of environment.”

“None
of this matters. I’m done. I want you out. Go back to where you came and never
show your face to me again.”

“I’ve
always cared, don’t think I haven’t.” My father pleads with me. His pleas fall
ten years too late.

“I
don’t care! Get out!”

By
now I’ve drawn the rooms attention. Even people who are not in the room could
hear me.

“You
can’t deny me the right to say goodbye to my wife.”

“
Ex-wife
!
And you denied yourself that right when you decided that the family thing was
too much and like a chicken you turned your back on us and left!”

He
looks at me, opens his mouth to speak but decides against it. With nothing more
to say, he storms past Luke and makes his way to the door. I inhale deeply
through my nose, close my eyes and try to forget my father’s face and our
prominent resemblance, especially in his brown eyes.

 “Are
you ok sweetie?” Amber asks. I’m so sick of that question.

“You
shouldn’t have had to deal with that. What a jerk.” Tiffany says as she and
Amber embrace me.

 I
want to scream, yell and cry from the frustration my father has caused and
forced me to relive by his appearance but I don’t. Today my tears will fall for
no one else but my mother.

“You
ready to get things started?” Tommy asks gesturing to the front of the room.

            It’s in
this moment I realize what this room really is. How I’ve dread the thought of
standing in it. I feel forced to realize the life I once had and enjoyed is now
all but a lost memory. Forced to see it for all it has become. All it will soon
be. I feel as though time races past me. Tomorrow could be next year and all
that will matter is this moment and the way this room looks, feels, smells.
This place will always be the ending to every memory I have of my mother. Mentally
my mind pleads with me to flee while my heart urges me to stay. Grief swells
inside of me but through the surface breaks an incomplete feeling. A feeling of
needing something more than the air I breathe. As bad as it hurts, I know it’s
not just my mother my body feels the need to hold on to. 

I
avert my eyes back to the front of the room. A dozen wreaths made of colorful
flowers wear sashes declaring sympathy and warm regards. Their aroma is the
only comfort they truly bring. A small slender table similar to the one in the
front entrance is draped in a white lace cloth. Several pictures of my mother
throughout her life surround her white gold urn on the table. The sight of it,
of her, of what is left, could have stolen my soul it leaves me so weak. I drag
my feet down this beaten path to reality, searching for stability I will not
find.

I
take a seat in the first row. Luke and Amber sit on either side of me. I try to
distract myself by recalling things that need to be done at home, whose
birthday is next and if I had a puppy what would I name it. I try to focus on
happy moments instead of the agonizing one I live in now. In the end, the grief
will always find me and take hold.

My
hands and legs start trembling, my jaw falls open, breathing stops. I grab my
head as the top part of my body falls over onto my legs. “No. No.” I’m barely
able to squeal as I rock back and forth. I sob uncontrollably taking in gasps
of air when I remember to breathe. I feel hands on my shoulders and back. No
one tries to comfort me. They know it’s useless.

A
strong stabbing sensation in my chest feels as though my heart is being
removed. I am hollow and empty. I could die right here, right now and not
care. 

“Kimber,
I’m Father Preston.”

 I
raise my head enough to meet Father Preston’s eyes as he kneels in front of me.
No matter how many times I blink my eyes the tears that fill them make Father
Preston’s face a blurred water ball.  

“You
must remember child, the lord does not forsake us. Nor will he give us more
then we can bear. I know your heart is full of torment and pain but find peace
in knowing your mother will always be with you and love you.”

Lies
!
I scream in my head. I know nothing will comfort me now. I nod to Father
Preston.

He
places his hand on my head as he prays. “Father look over your child in her
time of need. Bless her and save her. Keep her in your grace. Amen.” He stands
and takes his place in the center of the room.

 With
all the strength I can muster, I raise my head and rest it on Amber’s shoulder.
Luke takes my left hand in his. As Father Preston starts his sermon the room
becomes quiet. He speaks of how my mother was an activist against poverty and
proudly walked with breast cancer survivors to support their cause. When he
finishes he asks if I would like to say a few words on my mother’s behalf.
Inhaling deeply I will my legs to support me as I stand. I dig as deep as I can
but still I feel as though my body will betray me. I think of the confidence my
mother emanated and tell myself,
for her I can
.

I’ve
never been good at public speaking and now was no exception. So many eyes
staring at me, waiting for what I will say. I clear my throat and look down at
my hands as I fiddle with my nails. Hoping the strain in my voice will be less
noticeable, I speak softly.

 “My
mother was everything to me. She’s was my hero, my inspiration, my rock. She
never said never. She wasn’t afraid to look fear in the eye. She found a will
for every way. She leaves behind a legacy impossible to live up to.” I pause
having to fight the hysteria cramping my throat. “I’ll never get the time I’ve
lost with her back. I’ll always have this emptiness. She is—was— my best
friend. I love and miss her so much.” My body trembles beyond my control I
cannot hold it together any longer. “Thank you.” I say ending my eulogy. I take
a seat as everyone pays their last respects before exiting the room.

I
do not stand at the entrance of the funeral home thanking people and hearing
them say how sorry they are for me. I do not need the pity they wish to offer
me. Their sympathy is useless to me. Instead, I stay sitting in the viewing
room.

I
cannot form a single thought as I stare aimlessly at the maroon carpet as
though it offers me some kind of guidance. I feel like I have been sucked into
nothingness. I hardly notice Tiffany’s presence when she sits next to me. I do
not have to look directly at her to see the silent tears that fall from her
eyes.

 “I
could never be as strong as you. You spoke so beautifully.”

 I
know she offers comfort but I will not find it today. This I have already
accepted.

“I
didn’t want to come here today. I knew it would mean that everything wasn’t
just a bad dream. Now I don’t want to leave.” I sigh. “I said goodbye to her
that morning but this is different. This is the end of the road. Now what?
Where am I supposed to go from here?”

 I
see how bad Tiffany wishes she could give a valid answer. It does not matter.
No words could lift me from this dark place. I turn my eyes back down to the
floor. “Can you just give me a minute?”

Tiffany
hesitates but once she sees the insignificance in whatever she would have said
she simply nods.

              I keep no
track of time while I sit alone in the room with my mother’s urn. I think back
on the past four months. I’ve heard people say that with change comes growth. I
try to think of what growth I could have accomplished in my insufferable
change. What good comes from death? I think if anything, it hinders my growth.
I feel comfortable and safe with living in the past. Everything I know and love
is there. Why venture into an uncertain future that asks that I be open to
sustain future loss and pain. I can be a skeptic. I can look at the world and
not see its beauty. I can appreciate that heartache lasts longer than love. One
thing that will never make sense to me is that we must find acceptance in the
unacceptable. That when the ones we love die we are unable to bargain for their
lives.   

Hours
could have passed. I know I can no longer stay here. Although I’m not truly
ready, I stand letting the day I never wished to encounter finally have its
end. I take my mother in my arms, hold her urn close to my chest and whisper to
her softly, “Let’s go home.”

IN
THE WEEKS following my mother’s memorial, my friends make it a point to make
sure I’m not alone. We spend the days by my pool, afternoon’s eating take out
and the nights watching movies or playing board games. Even with all this, with
life seemingly going somewhere, moving on does not seem like a realistic
option.

Against
my gut, I feel the need to make an honest attempt to enjoy myself. When Amber
calls Friday morning to invite me to the beach I accept. But just as I’ve
learned, every up becomes a push back. With an unexpected voicemail from a
Robert Blake from Blake and Associates regarding my mother’s will, I cancel my
plans. I schedule an immediate meeting with Mr. Blake at his Tampa office.

 My
mother was savvy and a planner. I do not know why I did not anticipate her
having a legal will. To say I’m eager to get the meeting with Mr. Blake over
and done with would be a huge understatement.

            The drive
to Mr. Blake’s office takes longer than the normal half an hour commute to
Tampa. The clock in my car reads four fifty p.m. It’s the beginning of rush
hour. Once over the Howard Franklin Bridge, which connects my home city of
Saint Petersburg to Tampa, the traffic is lighter and thanks to my GPS, I find
Mr. Blake’s office.

When
I arrive, I park my black 335i BMW, that was a graduation present from my
mother, around back. Nervous butterflies swarm in my stomach.