Ripples Through Time (23 page)

“Definitely,” Jason said. “And, you know, the same goes for
you. You are welcome anytime.”

Richard smiled. “Thanks,” he said, extending his hand. Jason
shook it, nodded, and then walked toward his car. The rest of the crowd was
gone.

He turned back to the casket where his mother rested,
waiting for the lot crew to lower her into the ground and cover her with dirt. His
chest still ached, and he realized that it was a pain that would never go away.
The last thing he’d told his mom, he remembered suddenly, was that this coming
winter they wouldn’t make it for Christmas.

He would repair the relationships with his family, he
decided. He would rebuild burnt bridges, or at least try. But, no matter what,
it was too late for one relationship. The most important one.

“I’m sorry, mom,” he said gently, resting his hand lightly
on the carved and polished wood. “I love you.”

He started for the car, and then hesitated. As an
afterthought, he turned back to the casket holding his mother: “I forgive you.”

He wasn’t sure, however, if he would ever forgive himself.

1958 -
Emily Greenwood

Calvin grumbles something in his sleep. He’s sitting in
the passenger seat beside me, gasping and delirious. I swerve, weaving through
traffic. I hope there isn’t a cop nearby.

Or maybe I should hope there is one.

He can get us to the hospital.

Because we’re going to the hospital, right?

Right?

“Damn,” I say. “Damn it all.”

He starts crying, caught in some riveting dream.

“Don’t try to talk,” I say. “Just hang on ‘til we get
there.”

“She didn’t…” he says, “she didn’t know…”

But the rest of the words are garbled and mushy in his
mouth. I glance over at him and growl in frustration.

“Shut up, Calvin,” I say. ‘Just shut up ‘til we get
there…”

Emily stood in front of the door for almost ten minutes. She
couldn’t even imagine how she must appear, with her belly protruding and eyes
puffy from crying. She wasn’t crying now; she didn’t think she had any tears
left.

It was a cold day and she was miserable. She was also scared
and alone. The wind whistled by, and her light coat did nothing to protect her
from the elements.

The house was nothing like she remembered. Her parents had
fallen on hard times, which she had expected. But not this bad. The yard was
filled with more trash than grass, the exterior faded from weather, and the
paint was peeling. The top floor right side window—the one that used to belong
to her sister Janis—was boarded over with crumbling boards to keep out the
wind. They hadn’t even removed all of the broken glass.

Her father spent money frivolously, more than they had, and
no one was willing to help him anymore. He’d burned too many bridges.

This was a dying place, excessively degraded even for late autumn.
No horses ran in the fields, the fences were falling down, and even the barn
looked on the verge of collapse. She tried to remember the last time she was
happy here and couldn’t.

She raised her fist to knock, and then lowered it to her
side.

If I don’t knock, I’m going to freeze to death out here.

The uncertainty and anticipation was horrid. She was here,
she’d made it. Miles and miles across the Kentucky countryside—she was grateful
that the discussions of moving hadn’t turned into reality—in whatever pickup or
car happened to be passing at the time, assuming the driver was willing and
able to carry a scared pregnant girl a few miles.

It had been grueling. Her feet hurt, she was hungry, and she
was alone. But she’d made it.

Hadn’t she?

But she still didn’t raise her fist. She was worried that
she already knew their answer. In fact, she
did
already know the answer.
She’d called first, and they’d left no uncertainty in their response. She was
hoping that upon seeing her, and seeing the desperation written on her face,
they would reconsider. Didn’t they understand that it was already too late? There
was no going back. She couldn’t return…

She hit the door, three light taps with her knuckles, and
waited. Voices filtered out past the wood and then the sound of boots on
hardwood flooring as someone came to the door. From the sound, she expected her
father to be there when it opened, but instead her mother’s face appeared in
the crack.

And only a crack. Emily could barely see the gray wall
behind her mother with faded black and white photographs decorating the foyer.
She looked old, older than Emily remembered, with more wrinkles and gray hair
than she could count. But, just seeing her face was enough to embolden her. This
was the woman who raised her and took care of her throughout her formative
years. She was familiar and safe. She felt relief flood through her.

“Mom,” she said.

“Emily,” her mother replied. She looked worried. And sad. “What
are you doing here?”

“I...” she started, but she didn’t know what else to say. I
left Calvin, she wanted to say, or, I need a place to stay, or even, I’m
carrying your grandchild, how could you have said such terrible things to me?

Instead she said nothing. She just stood, waiting and
scared.

“How are you?” her mom asked.

“I’m good,” she said. It was the answer she felt she was
supposed to give.

“And the baby?”

“Kicking all day. Never stops moving.”

“That’s good.”

And then silence. Emily stared at her, and her mother stared
back.

It was awkward and disheartening, but her mother didn’t
break the tension. Finally, Emily spoke up:

“Can…I come in?”

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “Oh dear, it’s…” she said,
clearly struggling for words, “best if you don’t.”

Emily felt her heart sink. “Why?”

“Honey, it’s…like we told you earlier. On the phone. When
you called.”

A tear slipped down Emily’s cheek. Apparently she hadn’t run
out of them after all.

 “What do I do now?”

Her mother looked at the ground then back at Emily. A chilly
wind whistled past, pushing Emily’s dark hair across her face. The clouds
rolled by. The world was gray.

“Well, you go home.”

“Home?” Emily echoed. “Where?”

Her mother misunderstood. “There’s a bus just up the road
that—oh dear, do you need money?”

“I have no home to go to,” Emily said.

“Go back to Calvin.”

“I left him.”

“Then go back,” her mother said. Emily was shaking her head.
The world felt like it was closing in on her. This last door, the last refuge
she could have sought, was closing on her. She felt like she was suffocating.

“I can’t…”

“Why not?” her mother asked. “He won’t take you?”

Emily just continued shaking her head.
How can she not
understand?

No, she realized. She understands. She just doesn’t care.

“He…”

“Has he hit you?” her father asked. His hand appeared and
pulled the door open wide, but the entry was even less inviting now. He stood
there, his massive frame filling the door. His hair was grayer and his face
more lined, but it was harder now too. He walked with a slump and grimace. Life
had been cruel to him.

Hitting a woman was the only thing her father would
understand. If Calvin was abusive to his wife she knew her father would go to
him immediately. And he would hurt him. Or worse.

Emily considered lying, but immediately changed her mind.
Her father would ask to see bruises, and there were none.

He hadn’t hit her. Not yet.

“No, he’s never hit me.”

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked. His voice was cold.

Hitting isn’t the only kind of abuse, she wanted to scream. He
ignores me and mistreats me and doesn’t care about me. I’m a nuisance for him,
and the happiest he’s been in months was when I told him I was leaving. I can’t
be with him. I can’t go back and just say I’m sorry for leaving, because
nothing will change and I’ll still be unhappy!

She said: “He’s unkind.”

Her father just shook his head. His expression was grim. “You
came here two years ago, and you asked for our permission to marry that man. I
said no. You insisted, and your mother insisted, and now you’ve said your vows.
You
will
honor and obey your husband, or you will no longer be my
daughter. Go home, Mrs. Greenwood. Go home to your husband.”

And then the door shut, closing off her last avenue of
escape.

And Emily was truly alone.

I can hear the sound of gravel crunching under my tires as
the car rolls to a stop. My sense of déjà vu is strong: I was here less than a
week ago for Emily’s funeral, but everything looks different now. Quiet.
Serene. Terrifying. This is a place of the dead where the living are only passing
through.

My eyes drift to the semi-coherent old man in the seat next
to me. Maybe not everyone just wants to pass through.

The Willow Brook cemetery has been here longer than I can
remember, and I’ve been to three funerals in the last fifteen years alone. My
dad is buried here. And my sister. I haven’t come to visit them in a long time,
but I don’t necessarily feel that I’ve let them down. I’ve been busy, and given
the circumstances, I think they would understand.

But even that’s not why I’m here now. In fact, I have no
idea why I’m here now. I should have kept driving. Right past the graveyard,
onto the interstate, and exit at the Van Buren Hospital for the Emergency Room.
That was what I should have done. Even what I was planning to do.

And yet… 

“We’re here,” I say. I have to repeat myself twice before he
responds. Calvin opens his eyes. I can tell it’s a struggle. He can barely
stay awake after taking those sleeping pills, and I can’t even guess how many
he took. I don’t know what effect they are having on him or how long it would
take for him to…

“…here?” he mumbles.

“Mmhmm,” I say. I consider putting the car back into gear,
rolling back to the street, and setting off for the hospital. This could be a
minor detour and I still wouldn’t be doing the wrong thing.

Instead I shift to park and turn the car off. I let out a
deep breath, open my door, and move around to the other side to get Calvin out.
“Easy there,” I mutter, lifting him gently out of the seat. His breathing is
shallow, but his eyes are still open. And he’s smiling.

God help him, he’s smiling.

No, God help me.

“Where…?”

“Right over here,” I say, carrying him to the grave. I still
can’t believe how light he is. How light and fragile. I never realized just how
much weight he’d lost these last years.

Emily’s grave is still fresh. Unblemished. Pristine in some
macabre fashion. Flowers decorate it on every side, some wilting and others
fresher. She was a great woman. Everyone who knew her loved her. The funeral
had seen hundreds of people coming out of the woodwork to offer their
condolences.

But all of those condolences, I know, are a temporary
reprieve. Emily was a great woman, beloved by all, but when I scan the
graveyard I see more tombstones than I could count in a day. Some have flowers,
wilting in the fall weather, and others are barren within various stages of
disrepair. How many beloved people reside here? How many of them had family
members who promised to never forget about them? Who still pays homage to their
memories?

In a hundred years who will be left, I wonder, to pay homage
to my memory?

At a certain point, we are truly alone.

I gently lower Calvin to the ground beside Emily’s
tombstone. His eyes are closed again. “Calvin,” I say softly. I have to repeat
myself several times before he finally opens them. “Here she is.”

He looks at the grave and tries to put himself up to an
elbow. I help arrange him so that he’s leaning against the side of the
tombstone. He can barely breathe now, but his eyes are clear.

His eyes find mine. “Do…you…think…she…” he coughs, and is
silent for a long moment. “…she ever forgave…me?”

I don’t have an answer. I should say something. I need to
say something, but nothing will come. Forgive him for what? He was good to her,
better than could be expected given her condition. They were good for each
other.

“I think,” I say, carefully weighing my words “that she
understood.”

He is silent, as if considering what I said, and then he
nods. His eyes return to the grave and his head slips down again. I back away.

“I’m coming Mellie,” I hear him whisper as I walk to my car.
“I’m coming.”

I take my phone out of my pocket. I can’t let this continue.
Uncertainty is ravaging my chest as I realize what I’ve done.

An ambulance can be here in five minutes, get him to the
hospital, and pump the sleeping medicine back out of his stomach. They can save
him, give him a new lease on life. Bethany is his power of attorney, and she’s
already said she won’t put a DNR on him. Not while there’s a chance of keeping
him alive. His DNR—in the envelope on the floor of my sedan—would be useless
once they picked him up and notified Bethany.

They can save him. They can keep him alive.

They’ll keep him alive, never caring what he wants.

My eyes fall to Emily’s grave, with Calvin lying beside it. There
is already a plot with Calvin’s tombstone. I hadn’t noticed it before.

It doesn’t hold my attention for long.

My eyes find their way back to Calvin’s face. His mouth is
still moving, chewing his invisible food, but slowly now. More relaxed. His eyes
are closed. And he’s smiling as the sun catches his face, beautiful and serene.

“I’m coming Mellie,” he says, each word clear despite his
waning consciousness. “I’m coming.”

I brush my eyes with the back of my sleeve.

An eagle cries out overhead as it passes, its shadow dancing
across the scattered graves.

I carefully type the numbers into my phone: nine, one, one.

My thumb hovers over the send key.

Thank you for reading!

Lincoln Cole