The Father

Chapter 11

I stare out at the sand and the water. Maxwell, Katherine, and Trish are down by the shore, walking slowly, and I can see their mouths moving. I wonder what the three of them are talking about. No doubt it's about their grandfather and I'm sure Katherine is interested in whatever it is they're saying.

I haven't spoken a word to her. Not on the plane ride, not when we arrived here yesterday afternoon, and not during the funeral. There's been plenty of glances between us, though, and her solemn look has been comforting, as if she's saying she's sorry without actually saying it. I didn't know whether I was delighted or upset by her presence, but I've decided it isn't a bad thing.

Since we got here I've spoken to lawyers, the reading of his will is tomorrow, and we leave the day after that. The funeral was a rush job, I planned it as quickly as possible, because I didn't want him to sit in that freezer any longer than necessary. They've probably cremated him by now, I know his ashes will be ready tomorrow afternoon. As I think of him I take the ring I found on his nightstand out of my pocket. It's his pinky ring, the one he always wore, gold with a maroon gemstone, and a small, cursive B engraved on the side. I know it's going to be left to me, it was passed down to him by my grandfather, but I haven't put it on yet. I'm going to wait until I hear it out loud that he wants me to have it.

"You could go down with them, you know?"

I glance back at Lena and shake my head.

"I'm alright just looking," I mutter.

Now I look behind her, across the house. Both Scout and Julianne are flipping through photographs and I hadn't realized until just now. I could hear their voices, but hadn't paid much attention. The house has finally cleared out of our distant relatives and my fathers friends and it's just us. They're dressed in black, Julianne in a dress, Scout in a pantsuit, and my niece and nephew both in a suit and dress. They're dead to the world, on their phones, with ear buds in, lounging on the couch. I wear a suit, a three piece one, that's entirely black. The only color on me is the small purple ribbon pinned to my lapel.

"Michael, come here."

Lena kisses my cheek and I make my way into the dining room. They're standing at the table, which is completely covered with the photographs. I stand between them, towering over them both, and sigh.

"What is it?"

Julianne hands me a picture and I smile warmly. It's of me, the date on the back is scribbled in my fathers handwriting as 1974, and I'm sitting on my fathers shoulders. My mother is there, too, smiling up at me. For the first time during this entire ordeal a lump forms in my throat, tears threaten to burn my eyes, and I clear my throat. I came close after the service, when everyone was giving us their condolences.

"That's nice," I mumble. "What else have we got here?"

"Piles of pictures," Scout says with a smile. "He had so many."

"Looks like it. I'll look a little later."

"You don't want to now?"

I suddenly feel as if I'm suffocating.

"No, I'm going to take a walk."

I take off my jacket and unbutton my vest as I walk back to the french doors, then remove my shoes and socks. I leave them on the small wooden patio, then begin the descent down the long staircase. When I reach the bottom I kneel down, roll my pants up above my ankles, and step onto the sand. It's hot, too hot to be comfortable, but I walk slowly until I've reached the water. It's cool, the perfect temperature, and I stare up at the sky. There's not a cloud in sight.