Where Yesterday Lives (34 page)

“Lay off, Ellen,” Jane snapped.

Their mother placed a soothing hand on Jane’s arm.

“Girls,” she said, her voice calm. “Let’s not get angry with each other.” She turned to Jane. “I was only trying to help you narrow your options so we could finish up and get to lunch.”

Jane stared at Ellen and then their mother, her face twisted in frustration. “You know, I’m doing my best. You’d have a hard time, too, if you were trying to find a dress with three children pulling at you.”

“Here, dear.” Mom reached down to take Koley’s and Kala’s hands. “Let me watch the children while you look.”

“Fine,” Jane snapped again. She turned around and walked toward the women’s clothing, pushing Kyle’s baby stroller while Koley and Kala linked hands with their grandmother and walked along behind her. Ten minutes later Jane had picked out a dress and paid for it.

“Satisfied?” She looked at Ellen.

Megan sighed impatiently and Amy remained motionless. Their mother looked at the faces before her and forced a smile.

“Well. Now that we’re all getting along so well, let’s go to lunch.” There was not a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

Ellen marveled at her mother. The woman always had the ability to don a smile regardless of the circumstances. She and Jane used to accuse their mom of burying her head in the sand because she never wanted to discuss anything remotely controversial. Now she was starting to wonder if it wasn’t just her mother’s way of doing her best to hold her family together.

They moved silently through the mall, back to the car, and said nothing to each other as Mom drove to a nearby Italian restaurant. After the meal they headed home and rested until Aunt Mary arrived to watch the children. It was three o’clock and they had an appointment in thirty minutes. It was time to pick out a casket.

Three cars made the trip to Stone’s Funeral Home. Ellen rode with Megan, Mom took Amy and Jane, and Aaron rode by himself. By that time their father’s body had been embalmed, dressed in his best Sunday suit and tie, and made up to look “lifelike.”

Ellen was thankful they wouldn’t have to see him yet. That would come the following night, Friday, at the public viewing. Today was the final day of planning, of meeting with the director of the mortuary so they could choose a casket and coordinate the funeral plans.

The mortuary was conservatively set back from the road. It had beige siding and a black, shingled roof. Each window had decorative shutters accented in white trim. Stone’s Funeral Home had been in business since 1899 and had a reputation for being one of the most capable in Northern Michigan. The grounds were a carefully manicured carpet of deep green, and not far from the main entrance an American flag flickered in the afternoon breeze.

Ellen thought it was probably supposed to look like a very large family home. It did not. For all its careful upkeep, it still looked like death.

They filed quietly into the somber building and waited in a lobby for someone to help them. Ellen glanced down and noticed a standing ashtray near the foyer.
For future customers.

“Smells weird,” Megan whispered, and Ellen nodded.

“Hello there.” A thin man reminiscent of Ichabod Crane appeared and ushered them into a spacious office. He spoke in hushed tones, exuding an appropriate aura of respect for his clients’ loss. “You’re the Barrett family, I presume.”

“Yes.” Mom clutched her purse tightly

“Fine. Take a seat.” He motioned to the padded chairs around the room. “I’ve been expecting you. I’m Mr. Whitson.”

Everyone in the Barrett family remained silent, waiting.

“Now—” the man said, reaching into his desk drawer and retrieving a leather-bound catalogue—“these are the coffins we can have available for the Saturday funeral. Whatever you choose, it can be here by morning. Of course…there’s a wide price range.”

He paused and looked at their mother. “Did you have some idea of your price range?”

Ellen squirmed and hugged herself tightly. Her stomach was beginning to hurt.

“Yes, we’d like to stay under three thousand dollars, if that’s possible.”

The man nodded quickly. “Definitely Very possible.” He flipped open the book and thumbed to the back section. “We have a wide variety of oak and walnut caskets in that range. Of course the price goes up depending on the definition and degree of difficulty in the engraving on the wood.”

He flipped from one page to another, quietly allowing their mother to see for herself the many designs. Amy sighed softly and stared out a small window at the sunlit afternoon outside while Megan crossed her legs and nervously tapped her foot up and down. Each of them waited for their mother to say something.

Mom looked from one page to another and then directed Mr. Whitson to flip back to the first model he’d shown her.

“What’s the difference, Mom?” Aaron’s voice was loud and disagreeable as he broke the silence. He obviously did not care if he embarrassed her.

Ellen felt sorry for their mother. Mr. Whitson was too clinical, too businesslike. They weren’t buying a new refrigerator after all, they were trying to bury their father and get on with their lives. A sales pitch on types of wood was unnecessary. Still, her brother’s attitude was only making the task more difficult.

“No one’s going to see it,” Aaron continued. “What’s the big deal?”

Mr. Whitson cleared his throat and discreetly excused himself for a drink of water. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Why don’t you talk about it and we’ll see what we can work out.”

He disappeared and Mom looked wearily at Aaron.

“Your father was not a wealthy man, Aaron. He was not an important man by the world’s standards and certainly not a
famous man. But I’d like to see him buried as comfortably as possible.”

“That’s disgusting,” Jane blurted. “He’s dead, Mom. Good night! How can you talk about him being comfortable.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about his body. The coffin is his final resting place and I think it should be as nice as possible.”

Ellen looked at her mother tenderly “If that’s what you want, Mom, and if you think that’s what Dad would have wanted, I say get the best casket you can afford. It isn’t time to be cheap.”

“Oh, Ellen, that’s ridiculous,” Jane hissed. She turned to her mother, speaking like she would to one of her children. “I agree with Aaron. It’s a waste of money I say get the cheapest one there is and use the rest of the money to buy him a nice tombstone, something we could at least see. The coffin will be underground, for heaven’s sake.”

“With that logic, a tombstone’s not worth wasting money on, either,” Ellen mused aloud. “It’s just an oversized rock. We don’t need a larger one than normal to remember him. At least I don’t.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Do you always have to have the last word, Ellen? Why don’t you be quiet and let Mother decide for herself.”

Ellen stared at Jane and stood up. Once again, Jane had pushed her beyond her limit. She searched her purse for a few silver coins, and then stared at her mother. “I’ll be back. I have to make a phone call.”

Mom gave her a knowing look. “Good, dear,” she whispered in Ellen’s direction. “It’s time.”

Ellen ignored her mother’s comment and despite Jane’s angry glare she turned and headed for the pay phone in the
lobby. She had spotted it on the way in and made a mental note that if things got too tense she would excuse herself and make the call, regardless of her battered conscience.

Her mother didn’t know about the earlier conversation she’d had with Mike. Apparently she thought Ellen was about to call her husband and patch things up. A wave of guilt assaulted Ellen as she arrived at the pay phone, and for a moment she almost turned back to join the others. Then she thought of Jane, how their relationship was unraveling faster than a half-made sweater.

She thought of Mike, too.
It’s too late to change my plans… too late…too late….

She picked up the phone.

Don’t do it
, a voice inside her head screamed.
You’re married. You’re a Christian. You’re crazy-This isn’t about Jane, it’s about Mike. You’ve been looking for an excuse to call Jake ever since this morning. Come on, Ellen, remember what Leslie said.

Her conscience challenged her and threatened her, tempting her to hang up the phone. Leslie’s words came back to her.
Don’t do it, Ellen. Don’t do it.

She slipped the coins into the slot and dialed his number.

“Hello?” Jake sounded tired and Ellen almost hung up the phone.

“It’s me.”

“Ellen,” he said her name slowly and it sounded like velvet on his tongue. His voice was filled with concern. “I’ve been thinking about you. I wanted to call but I was afraid you’d be uncomfortable.”

“I know I’ve thought about calling you all day.”

“Things worse?”

“Yes.” Her voice was choked with emotion and not very clear. “I’m at the mortuary, Stone’s Funeral Home on Mitchell Road.”

“I know it.”

“Please come, Jake. I need to talk.”

Jake was quiet and Ellen knew his struggle. In that instant she was certain he still loved her. He was afraid to see her again, terrified that he couldn’t keep his distance. Jake didn’t have to say a word. Ellen knew what he was thinking because she felt the same way about him.

“What time will you be done?” There was resignation in his voice.

Ellen looked at her watch. It was four o’clock. “Around five-thirty I’ll send the others home without me and I’ll wait here for you.”

“Where should we go?”

“How ’bout back to your house. Just for a few hours.”

“Are you sure?”

Ellen understood the deeper meaning behind his question. Perhaps they were asking for trouble, allowing themselves to be alone together at his house. If so, Ellen didn’t care. Mike didn’t want to be there. She and Jane were no longer on speaking terms. Worse, the constant friction between them made it impossible for her to think about her father. His funeral was in two days and she hadn’t even had time to mourn his death. What did it matter if she spent a few more hours with Jake? The week would be over soon enough and they would return to their separate lives, thinking of each other only on occasion as they had before.

“Ellen?” His voice was a caress.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m sure.”

“Okay, five-thirty. See you then.”

Ellen hung up and returned to the office where the others had reached an agreement on an oak casket. It was lined with white satin and engraved with tiny roses around the base.
There were six brass handles stationed along the sides where the pallbearers would carry it from the hearse to the church and back.

“What do you think?” Mom pointed to the picture of the coffin in the catalogue. She had dark circles under her eyes and she seemed anxious to be done with the selection process.

“I don’t know. It’s a coffin.” Ellen stared at the wooden box in the picture and thought of her father, full of life, sitting at a Michigan football game. She tried to imagine that same man lying in the carved oak casket and she shuddered. “It’s hard to picture.”

“I know, dear. I understand that. But I want us all to agree on the coffin and this is the one we’ve picked out. Could you please tell me what you think?”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay, then that’s it.” She turned to face Mr. Whitson, who was once again sitting patiently behind his desk while the family made their decision. “What’s next?”

“We need to work out arrangements for tomorrow night’s viewing and transportation to the church and cemetery. You do have a plot picked out?”

“Yes, that’s taken care of.”

Megan shut her eyes, and Ellen thought she was probably holding back tears. Amy stared at the floor, and Ellen clenched her fists, pressing them into her stomach to ease the knots that grew there. Aaron slipped on his dark glasses. Jane remained motionless.

The plot was located in St. Francis Cemetery, a small tree-lined park situated on a steep bluff overlooking Little Traverse Bay. The view was incredible from any spot in the cemetery, and there was a generous amount of space between plots. Earlier that week their mother had chosen a plot directly
underneath a large oak tree. It was not far from the split-rail fence that bordered the edge of the cemetery and the embankment that led down to the water. Mom had not taken them all to see the plot. Ellen was just as glad. They would see it soon enough.

For an hour the five Barrett siblings sat quietly together but very much apart, as their mother worked out the logistics of the viewing, funeral service, and burial. Ellen thought her mother was holding up remarkably well. She made notes and jotted down key details as they worked through the planning process.

Ellen watched and wondered if funerals were always like this. The planning took so much effort that there was no time to grieve. She had expected her mother to break down and cry, to be unable to get through this part of the week. Instead she was stoic and calm, well organized and efficient. Ellen wondered when the reality would hit.

“Well, that’s all I have. I think we’ve worked everything out.”

Mr. Whitson stood up and shook their mother’s hand. He looked at the others and barely smiled. “We’ll see all of you tomorrow night. You should get here at least an hour before the public viewing but you can come any time after two o’clock.”

“Thank you,” Mom told him as the group filed quietly out of the office. As soon as they were outside, she announced that they were all expected back at the house for dinner.

“Is that okay with everyone?” She held the keys to the van and looked at each of them expectantly

“Uhh, I still have some work to do on that thing I’m writing for the funeral,” Aaron mumbled. “I thought I might go to the beach and work on it.”

Their mother’s shoulders dropped in disappointment and she sighed heavily. “Aaron, I thought we’d all be together tonight.”

“Mom, if you want me to get that thing done then don’t complain about me missing dinner. Maaaaan, I mean it. Give me a break, will ya?”

Ellen cast a disgusted glance toward her brother and Amy rolled her eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Mom smiled calmly, caving under Aaron’s implied threat of a temper tantrum. “Go ahead, honey. Drive safely.”