Donovan (5 page)

"Oh…
thank you," he said. "Memphis, I—"

"You'd
better eat before that gets cold," I suggested. I lingered for another
moment, literally drinking in the sight of him with my eyes, wishing things had
been different between us. We had made a good couple. To my dismay, I felt a
flood of tears in my eyes and quickly blinked them back. The lump in my throat
grew in size and before I ended up bursting into tears in front of him, totally
humiliating myself, I turned and left his table. It took everything I had not
to throw my arms around him and hug the living daylights out of him. Yes, I was
incredibly angry, but at the same time, I wanted things to be the way they used
to be. I wanted to feel his arms around me. I wanted to feel his strength, his
support, and to share my grief over Frank's death with him.

Still,
like I told Gina, Donovan had made his decisions. He had chosen his new life
over me, and I no longer had a place in his life. He probably didn't even love
me anymore, which I had to accept. I wasn't going to make a fool of myself and
throw myself on him, but it took just about everything I had to swallow my
feelings, harden my heart, and walk away from him.

Chapter 5

Donovan

I sat in
the front pew between my mother and end of the bench while my sisters sat on
the other side of her. They had left room for Cameron and Shane, who had taken
their place as pallbearers. Shortly after the family had seated themselves in
the pew, the coffin was carried in by several of my dad's closest friends, as
well as Shane and Cameron. I knew the fact that I was not a casket bearer would
automatically provide ample fodder for the congregation as well as the
community, but, having only arrived at the house late last night to discover
that funeral arrangements had already been taken care of, I couldn't very well
insist on anything.

At the
moment, the pastor of St. Luke's Lutheran Church extolled the grace of God on
the faithful departed. The funeral service was attended by so many of my dad’s
friends within the community that it was standing room only. As I entered with
my mother, my siblings behind me, the low buzz of conversation within the
sanctuary had abruptly grown silent. I could imagine what they were all
thinking. The prodigal son returns.
The son who abandoned his
family.
They were right.

"I am
the resurrection and the life," the pastor intoned. "Those who
believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes
in me will never die." After the pastor finished speaking, I knew that
attributes and eulogies for my dad would be offered by members of the family as
well as dad’s friends. I had not been asked to speak. Deep in my chest, I felt
the pain of that, but what did I expect? I hadn’t
rode
into town wearing a white hat to save the day. I had come too late. Too late to
make amends, to save the day, to help, to do anything except upset an already
upset and distraught family.

The casket
sat at the
front of the church just before the steps that
lead
up to the altar and the railing where the congregation took their
communion. It was a nice casket, golden oak and varnished to a fine sheen. It
was an open casket service, but I had focused on not allowing my gaze to look
upon the reposing face of my father. I wasn't ready for that just yet. Beside
me, my mother sat still and silent, her fingers worrying a dainty white cloth
handkerchief into a ball, then unfolding it, and then crunching it into a ball
again. On the other side of my mother sat my sister Tammy, then Julie. Shane
and Cameron took their places beside them.

Around the
casket stood several flower bouquets, most of them wildflowers, with one or two
of them graced with a sunflower, my dad's favorite. I heard a stifled and
choked sob nearby and realized it was Julie. I wished that I could reach over
and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Unfortunately, I knew such a
gesture would be unwelcome.

I had
arrived home at the ranch the previous evening at around nine o'clock. Shane
had answered the door, stared at me a moment, and then nodded, stepping back to
allow me entrance. After a moment's hesitation, he had reached forward and
given me a brief hug. I stepped into the ranch house, a flood of memories
assailing my senses. It smelled just like it always had - of wood, the scent of
whatever my mom had baked or cooked last in the kitchen, and the lingering
aroma of the Pine-Sol that she used to clean the floors on her weekly cleaning
sprees. The smells had been comforting, eliciting in me a wash of emotion that
I hadn't felt in a long time. I frowned, wondering if that emotion could
possibly have been one of homesickness.

My shoes
made no sound on the hardwood floor as I entered the short hallway and then
turned left under the archway into the living room, where the family had
gathered in a quiet, somber group.
As if on cue, every face
had looked up, all wearing varying expressions of surprise.
My mother
sat on the sofa, Julie and Tammy on either side, their eyes red from weeping.
Cameron sat in an armchair next to the cold fireplace.

"Donovan!"
My mother had gasped out my name and then leapt up from the couch, rushing
toward me and throwing her arms around my waist. I placed my arms around her
shoulders, thinking that she seemed so much smaller than she had the last time
I'd seen her. She'd aged a great deal since then as well, her hair more gray
now than brown, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth more pronounced, and her
shoulders more frail. My heart sank, and I felt again the deep stab of regret
in my heart. I had allowed too much time to pass. My father had died and my
mother had suddenly become an old woman. I had not been around to offer any
kind of support whatsoever. A sense of shame flitted through me, and I closed
my eyes, praying silently for forgiveness to whoever might be listening.

Moments
later, Julie and Tammy also stood in front of me, their eyes filled with
uncertainty. I offered them my arms and Tammy rushed into my embrace, while
Julie held back a moment before tentatively offering me a hug.

"Well,
the prodigal son has returned," Cameron said from his chair.
 

He made no
motion to get up and greet me, and I could hardly blame him. I was the fucking outsider
here. For the first time I truly understood the hurt I had caused, and didn't
know the first step to try and fix it. I looked down at my mother, gazing up at
me with nothing but adoration, tears swimming in her eyes. My heart ached for
her,
and my overwhelming love for her made me swallow the
growing lump in my throat.

"I'm
sorry, Mom," I said. She nodded, a choked gasp escaping her throat as she
glanced around at the family gathered in the living room.

"Oh,
if only your father were still here to see you—"

She
squeezed my arm and then turned and sank back down onto the sofa, trembling.
Awkward silence filled the room as I cleared my throat. "If there's
anything I can do to help with the arrangements or the costs—"

"Everything's
been taken care of," Cameron spoke up. "The service is tomorrow
morning at ten o'clock."

I frowned,
wondering who had already taken care of the arrangements. Back in New York, I
had tried to determine that, as when I called the only funeral home in Stinnett
the day following the news of my father’s death, the owner told me all was in
order. He would not tell me who had paid for everything, stating that it was
confidential.

"Memphis
and Tammy took care of the arrangements yesterday morning," Shane
explained. "Mom and Dad bought their plots at the cemetery years
ago."

I nodded.
So Memphis had helped with the arrangements. I was glad that she had stayed in
contact with my family. They had always liked her. For the first time in years,
I felt a sense of emptiness and loss that I had never experienced before. What
would've happened if I'd stayed, I wondered. Would Memphis and I have married,
had kids, and lived at and worked the ranch? I shook my head. I hadn't wanted
to be at the ranch, in Stinnett, or in Texas. I had wanted to make my own way
in the world, and I had done that, and I was successful. I wasn't going to
apologize for that. What I was sorry for was not maintaining open communication
with the family. I had allowed my disagreements with my dad to affect everyone,
which I realized
now
had been terribly unfair.

"Look,"
I said in an attempt to break the ice. "I know that I've been gone for a
long time. I can imagine you're all angry with me. I just—"

Cameron
broke in. "You just up and disappeared! We haven't heard from you in
years!"

I stared
at him in stunned dismay, and then glanced at the others. "I didn’t think—"

"Well,
if you had, you would have maintained some kind of communication, even if it
was sporadic. Ever thought about coming back home to let us know that you were
alive, little brother?" Cameron challenged.

Before I
could reply, my mother broke in.

"Boys,"
she said quietly. "This is not the time."
 

She looked
at me. "Donovan, you stay in your old room—"

"Mom,
I can stay at the motel in town—"

"You'll
stay here."

I knew
better than to argue with my mom, especially now. I didn't want to rock the
boat any more than I already had. Tired and on shaky ground since bumping into
Memphis, and this less than stellar meeting with my family had left me drained.
"All right," I nodded. "Is there anything I can do right
now?"

"Nothing
left to do," Cameron mumbled. "It's all been taken care of."

I stared
at Cameron a moment,
then
at Shane, who shrugged and
looked down at the carpet. Tammy and Julie stared at me as if they had never
seen me before, while my mom stared into the fireplace, swallowing hard before
looking back at me.

"It's
nice to have you back home, son," she said. "Get some rest. I'm sure
you're tired after your travels."

I took the
hint. Nodding, I sighed.
"All right.
I'll see you
all in the morning."

I turned
and left the room, not sure how I felt. I knew that my sudden appearance was
quite a shock for everyone, especially Tammy and Julie. Cameron was obviously
seething with resentment, while Shane appeared to be somewhere in between. Of
course my mom had been glad to see me, and I was sure I would have time to talk
to her privately tomorrow and in the coming days—

Coming
days?
I planned
to stay for the funeral and then go back home to New York City. There was
nothing for me here. I felt like a stranger in my own fucking home. I wished
that things could have turned out differently, although I was hardly surprised.
What had I expected? A family celebration like in the movie
It’s
a Wonderful Life
? I would likely have felt the same way if it had
been another member of the family to abruptly disappear from existence and then
show up – too little, too late. I would need to address my lack of
communication, but not right now.
First things first.

So here I
was at the funeral service, sitting with my family and yet alone. No one had
spoken to me this morning upon rising except my mother, who had ordered me to
sit down at the table and eat my breakfast as if I was ten years old again.
Breakfast had not changed in all these years.
Scrambled eggs,
bacon, biscuits, and gravy.
I hadn't had much of an appetite, but the
scent of the food in front of me enticed me to eat. Besides, my mom expected
it. I hadn't had such cooking since I left the ranch, and despite my lack of
appetite, forced myself to eat every bite, if for no other reason than to
please my mother.

Finally,
the service was over, the eulogies given, and it was time for the procession
before the open casket. I stood with my
mother,
one
hand supporting her elbow as she slowly rose and stepped out of the pew to
approach the casket. For the first time, I allowed myself to gaze down at my
father. My heart dropped. Overwhelmed with emotion, I blinked and swallowed
heavily, feeling the weight of guilt and regret weigh heavily on my shoulders.
My mother offered a choked sob and then extended one trembling hand to gently
caress my father's face. Then, bending down, she kissed his forehead, stiffened
her shoulders, and stepped aside to allow me to approach. Julie stood at my
other side, ready for her turn to bid her farewell.

I stared
down at my father, wishing that I could take back every mean thing I ever said
to him. Unbidden, tears came to my eyes as I realized that my foolishness and
my stubborn sense of pride had caused me to miss out on so much in the past
eight years. I cleared my throat and reached out one hand, laying it gently on
my father's chest, over his heart. "I love you, Dad," I said softly.
"I'm sorry."

I was
surprised to feel a hand on my arm and glanced down to see Julie looking up at
me with tears in her eyes. She squeezed my arm in silent support, and I nodded,
grateful for her compassion. With one last look at my father, I joined my
mother and waited for my sisters and brothers to make their own farewells.