November 28, 2006
Chapter 23
(Filed under: The Novel)If Anwyn had brought Charlie with her on her run that Sunday morning he would have been whining by now. She was still standing on the bridge, lost in the water below. Her mind was replaying the day Isabelle had died, remembering her thoughts and emotions.
Anwyn sat on her bed with her dad and they heard noises outside, car doors opening and closing.
"That's probably them," Jack said, meaning the ambulance or the police or both. Anwyn nodded. Jack stood up, wiped his eyes and headed for the door.
"Are you going to stay here?" Jack asked, stopping in the doorway.
"Um, yeah," Anwyn said, "I guess." She didn't know what else to do. She watched her dad go and the thought occurred to her that she could have Isabelle's room. She had never really wanted it before—it wasn't any kind of dream. But the thought just occurred to her.
The front door opened and Jack stood back as two paramedics came in. They carried gear in bags slung over their shoulders and rushed as if it mattered. Anwyn came to her doorway and watched the paramedics come up the stairs and go in the door across the hall.
She just stood there, not wanting to follow, not wanting to leave her room since she told her dad she'd stay here. With the door to Isabelle's room open Anwyn could just see her limp form spread across the bed. She was still wearing her faded green high tops—the one with the hole in the sole.
She could see the paramedics working on the body, checking vital signs and doing standard procedure tests. But as soon as they touched the body they knew as Jack did that it was way too late. One of them picked up the empty pill bottle from the table, read the label and called in to dispatch. The walkie-talkie's cackle echoed throughout the house.
The day turned to a blur from there. The paramedics left. The coroner was on his way. The police were coming to take statements. Jill came home in complete hysterics—Anwyn didn't actually remember much of that.
Standing on the bridge Anwyn did remember that she didn't have breakfast that day. In the midst of everything she forgot and when she did remember she felt guilty for wanting something to eat and had started crying again. That's how it went in those first few days. There were phone calls, friends, home-cooked meals on strange platters that filled up the fridge. There were funeral arrangements, flowers, hugs.
It had all came in a flood. And it seemed like a million years ago and a million miles away. In reality it was a little more than seven months and 700 miles away. And through it all there were never any answers. The police asked their questions, family and friends respectfully didn't ask theirs—but they buzzed among themselves, and Jack, Jill and Anwyn had their own questions. But there were never any satisfying answers.
As the water flowed below Anwyn knew there never would be. Just days before she had stood on this very spot and thought about suicide. It could come up that simply and there was no explaining why Isabelle had done what she had done. But she did it, just as her grandmother Lily had done it before.
Her Grandpa Frank's words echoed in her ears. Searching for answers was a fruitless game. It happened. Anwyn could either struggle on, grasping for answers that weren't there and punishing herself for not missing her sister. Or, she could come out from under the long ugly shadow her sister's actions had cast and make her own life something more.
Isabelle couldn't find a reason for living. She couldn't find enough hope to carry on. But Anwyn would be different. Just as Grandpa Frank had gathered himself up and moved on, so would Anwyn.
She would no longer be a prisoner to questions with no answers. She hadn't been close to Isabelle, and she would no longer feel bad for that. It's just the way it was. Suicide didn't change anything. Figuring out what went through her sister's mind in those final moments wouldn't make her feel better. Isabelle would still be dead and life would still have to go on. She couldn't bring her sister back, she couldn't fix her messed up family, she couldn't repair her broken life. It's just the way it was. Healing would only come through living.
She broke her gaze with the water and turned north to Richmond, starting in a slow jog, building speed and increasing her stride to a full sprint. Her shoes landed in the pebbles and dirt with a soft crunch-crunch. Her lungs sucked in oxygen and she felt alive.
She hit the railroad tracks before stopping. Her heart blazed within her chest and she loved it. She shook out her arms and trotted home, letting her heart rate slowly return to normal.
Oliver.
It occurred to her suddenly. She needed to talk to Oliver.
She turned around where she was, home within sight, and started trotting to Oliver's house. She skipped the blacktop and when straight, cutting across a backyard and over a fence. She went across the railroad tracks where her and Isabelle had flattened pennies, across another yard and down the road to where Oliver and Catalaina and Mateo lived.
Mateo. She still hadn't gotten a gift for her little once-removed cousin. She made a mental note and knocked on the door.
"Hola chica," Oliver said, smiling when he saw her standing there. "Out for a little run this morning?"
"Of course," Anwyn said. "I've got an image to maintain. Look, we need to go to Lynn's house. Can you drive?"
"We?" Oliver asked. "What's this all about."
"I can explain on the way," Anwyn said. "Can you go? Or are you watching Mateo?"
"No, but I was on my way to church," Oliver said. "I pick up Guadalupe every Sunday and we go to the little church a few blocks down from the nursing home."
"Church, huh?" Anwyn asked. "Can you skip it? Just this once?"
"For you, I'd do it," Oliver said. "But Guadalupe relies on me to get her there. I can't just let her down. She looks forward to Sunday about as much as she looks forward to Saturday."
"She looks forward to Saturday?"
"Yeah. She loves getting visitors. It's the simple things."
"I guess," Anwyn said, her mind spinning. "You could just drop her off. We won't take that long. You can be back to pick her up before church is over."
"This is that important to you?" Oliver asked. "It needs to be now?"
"Yeah," Anwyn said, "I think it does."
"OK, let's go."
Oliver opened the door for Anwyn, feeling a little awkward wearing his good jeans and a button down shirt while Anwyn still wore her running shorts and a ragged long sleeve T-shirt. He walked around the pickup and climbed in the driver's side, shaking his head.
"So what are we doing?" he asked as they pulled onto the highway.
"I'll tell you when we get there," Anwyn said, smiling as she turned away and looked out the window, watching the corn fields go by.
When they arrived at the nursing home Oliver suggested she go in and say hello to Grandpa Frank while he loaded up Guadalupe and drove her the few blocks to church. The pickup was pretty tight and it wasn't worth cramming the three of them in the cab. Oliver said he'd come back and pick her up and they could finish her little errand.
Anwyn nodded and the two went inside. The nurses smiled at Oliver and waved him through as usual, and the two parted company.
"See you in a few," Oliver said. Anwyn nodded and wandered down to her Grandpa Frank's room. She rapped on the door softly and slowly pushed it open when she didn't hear anything.
Her grandfather was sound asleep in his chair. He wore the same faded blue bathrobe he always did and it looked like he hadn't yet shaved. He actually never shaved on Sundays. He always said that Sunday was a day of rest, and so he'd give shaving a rest just for that day. His face was leathery, full of pock marks and wrinkles. The stringy remains of his gray hair were messy. It looked like he'd woken up and moved straight to his chair and fallen back asleep.
Anwyn quietly tiptoed into the room and curled up in the chair opposite her sleeping grandfather. He looked so calm and peaceful that she didn't want to bother him. She knew what he'd say, that it wasn't a bother at all, but she let him sleep just the same.
She watched her Grandpa Frank sleep, thinking about Isabelle and Lily and how Grandpa Frank had carried on all by himself. The tragedy of losing his wife was never a secret, but the true details of that loss made it so much more painful and his story so much more tragic. But also so much more hopeful. She suddenly realized how much more amazing her grandfather was because of it. The fact that he could go through so much worse than what everybody thought and still come out as strong and amazing as he was just floored Anwyn.
She saw the same strength in her father, carrying on despite Isabelle, despite Jill's implosion. It was a solid strength, a sure strength. It wasn't rock solid or impenetrable. It had to flex and give and grow. It allowed for love and pain and weakness and failure, and perhaps that's what made it so strong.
A soft knock came at the door and Oliver poked his head in.
"Hey, you ready?" he whispered. Anwyn nodded and followed him out the door, turning to shut the door as quietly as possible.
"Sound asleep?" Oliver asked as they climbed back into his pickup truck.
"Yep," Anwyn replied.
"Guadalupe says he always sleeps in on Sunday morning," Oliver said. "She tries to get him to come to church with her, but always says he's busy having his own church."
"So, where to?" he asked.
"Lynn's house," Anwyn said. "The house next to the cemetery in Carver."
Oliver nodded and steered his pickup back onto the highway. Carver was halfway between Richmond and Truss, the three forming a triangle. They rode in silence as usual. They came to Carver and slowed to the town's speed limit, driving through town and heading for the cemetery on the far side. Oliver parked the truck outside the house and a dozen feet from the cemetery entrance.
"This would be kind of a creepy place to live," Oliver said, eyeing the looming gravestones that started in neat, orderly rows just beyond the fence around Lynn's yard. Anwyn didn't say anything. She just climbed out of the truck and slowly walked up the path to Lynn's front door.
"What, did you run all the way here?" Lynn asked when she opened the door. Her hair was still messy and she was still wearing her pajamas.
"No, Oliver drove me," Anwyn said, gesturing to the pickup on the street. "C'mon. We have something to do."
"And what would that be?" Lynn asked. "You do realize it's before noon on a Sunday morning."
"Yeah," Anwyn said. "I want to show you guys something."
Lynn sighed and went back inside to get her shoes. She put a jacket on over her tank top and followed Anwyn outside. Oliver was leaning against the pickup truck and nodded to Lynn.
"What are you all dressed up for?" Lynn asked.
"Church," Oliver said. "And you?" Lynn ignored him and followed Anwyn. Oliver fell in line behind them and Anwyn led them to the front of the cemetery.
"Seriously?" Lynn asked. "This place creeps me out all the time and you want to have a little picnic?"
"You live next to it," Anwyn said. "Haven't you gotten over the creeps?"
"Well yeah, but I don't need to go for a visit and stir things up again."
"And we're not having a picnic," Anwyn said.
"Then what are we doing?" Lynn asked.
"I think we're having church," Oliver said. Anwyn didn't say anything. She was leading them up and down the rows, reading each tombstone as they passed.
"At least you're dressed for it," Lynn said. "I'm not sure this is the proper attire."
"You're dressed perfectly," Anwyn said. "Here. This is it."
It was a small, flat gravestone that sat flat on the ground. The stone wasn't polished and perfected like the newer gravestones. It also wasn't towering and covered in gothic motifs like some of the ancient gravestones.
The words read, "Lily Nelson, 1924-1957. Beloved mother, wife and friend."
The three teens stood in a semi-circle around the gravestone. Anwyn stood in the middle. Nobody said anything. They just read the words, over and over. Finally, Anwyn spoke.
"Lily Nelson was my grandmother," she said. "She obviously died pretty young. I had always known that, though I never thought anything of it. But yesterday Grandpa Frank told me something I didn't know. Lily had committed suicide."
It suddenly became clear now. Lynn pulled her jacket tighter around herself, suddenly feeling cold. Oliver slowly nodded his head, realizing how very much like church this was. Anwyn smiled in spite of the sadness she felt for her grandmother. She noticed the broad Kansas sky in that moment, stretching for miles and miles and miles all around them.
"It really doesn't clear anything up for me," Anwyn said after a few minutes of silence. "Isabelle is still dead. If anything a history of suicide in the family should be a little disturbing, but it's not. It somehow makes it all a little easier."
"So no more kneeing Dominic in the balls?" Lynn asked. "Sorry—couldn't help myself."
"No," Anwyn said, ignoring Lynn's apology, "No more searching for answers that aren't there. I don't know what my sister said or did to Dominic, but it really doesn't matter."
"None of it really matters," Oliver said. "Does it?"
"Not really," Anwyn said. "I'm not living under Isabelle's shadow anymore."
"I feel like we should leave flowers or say a prayer or something," Lynn said. "I don't go to church myself, but it seems like something like that would be appropriate." She looked to Oliver, thinking he might know what to do, but he didn't say anything.
"No," Anwyn said. "We're here. That's enough." They stood in silence for a few more minutes.
"Grandpa Frank loved her," Anwyn finally said, again breaking the quiet. "And you could tell that without him telling you. I think that's what amazes me the most."
"Do you love Isabelle?" Lynn asked. It was a forward question and she almost regretted asking it. But she asked it anyway.
"Sometimes," Anwyn answered, searching her heart. "I just can't say I loved her just because of what she did. We didn't always get along. We didn't always bond. But she was my sister."
"Sometimes you love your family no matter how much they drive you nuts," Oliver said. Anwyn nodded.
"Then I must really love mine," Lynn said.
Anwyn smiled and wrapped her arms around Lynn and Oliver. "C'mon, let's go," she said. "Who wants to hang out in a cemetery all day?"
Posted by kevin at November 28, 2006 9:58 PM
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