That day she left me at my grandmother’s—that was my mother’s moment, and she didn’t realize it until it was too late.
She doesn’t make excuses. That would be insulting, and I think she knows it.
As the sun peeks through the blinds and the hospital begins to wake, she finally says, “I need to tell you something. Something that will upset you, but I think you deserve to know the truth.”
And that’s when she tells me how she’d realized she’d made a mistake leaving with Uncle Eddy, and how she’d begged my father to see me in those early years. She reveals how he refused to let her see me, making sure I was never home when she came, and how he threatened to move me away from Sweethaven if she tried to see me without him. He told her I hated her. And she confesses that she let herself believe him because it was easier to think I hated her than to admit how she’d failed me.
She broke his heart, and my father hated her so much, he took me.
And that, I realize, was my father’s defining moment.
I’m not sure what to say to my mother. She’s stunned me, and yet so much of it makes sense. I can’t excuse her, but as she speaks, I remember times my father shuttled me off to my grandmother’s or Carey’s without notice. I thought he wanted to get rid of me, but the truth has more layers.
My mother leaves to refill George’s plastic pitcher of water, and I watch her go with a more open mind. I’m so exhausted, I don’t know what to feel. Outside, a crow flies past the window before disappearing into the trees.
George makes a noise, and I stand to check on him.
He’s not asleep like I thought. His watery gray eyes are wide open and staring right into mine.
It’s not at all like the movies—there’s no dramatic music or doctors running in the room—but I know.
One crow, I think. One for sorrow.
“George,” I say, squeezing his hand.
He doesn’t respond. Nurse Espinoza enters the room and checks the myriad of machines they’ve hooked to his body. She warned me how this would go. George doesn’t want to be resuscitated, and they won’t take measures to save him. When our eyes meet, she nods. Without a word, she turns the volume off so we won’t hear George dying, one blip at a time.
I turn my face away for a moment, digging for strength.
Then I pull myself up onto George’s bed, and I lean my face next to his. I talk to him about nothing. I tell him I love him. I thank him. I promise to make him proud. I say how proud I am that he’s my family.
A sound comes from deep within his body and rattles from his throat.
He gasps for air.
I kiss his cheek.
Good-bye, friend.
Chapter Thirty
The day after George dies, CNN reports Carey’s condition as stable. He will return home.
Relief mixes with grief in one deep well. I cry.
My mother takes charge. She’s a soldier’s wife, despite all that’s happened, and she keeps everything together when I fall apart. Like a well-heeled general, she moves me from one place to another with supreme efficiency. Not even my father gets in her way. He disappears into his study and doesn’t come out, even when she temporarily moves into our house, sleeping on the couch and putting meals on the table when she can coax food into me.
I never see them exchange more than two polite words.
George has no family. Pierce Whitney, an old friend of his, introduces himself as a lawyer from Raleigh and the executor of George’s will. George arranged his funeral long ago, planning it right down to the guest list (Nurse Espinoza is to wear a short dress and sit in the front row next to me) and the music he wanted played (none of that weepy, sentimental bullshit).
I don’t give the eulogy.
I can’t.
Instead, Private Don Baruth and a series of soldiers from every armed force march to the podium. Each has a favorite George story, a favorite George joke, a favorite moment that was so George. Nurse Espinoza holds my hand, and we share a smile as the music comes on.
And hearing it, I choke, causing heads to turn.
My entire body shakes as I hunch over, tipping my face into my hands. My mother’s arm comes around me, and I can feel her leaning over in concern.
A few uncomfortable titters start up from the far corner as people begin to pay attention to the lyrics of the rap song playing through the church. I collapse in a fit of giggles, gasping for air, and I don’t care when people stare.
Somewhere, somehow, George found a song to play just for me.
The rapper repeats, “Yo Mama” for the fourth time, and I’m crying and laughing at the same time.
Fuck, I’m going to miss you, George.
* * *
At the cemetery, seven soldiers fire three times each, giving George a twenty-one-gun salute. The honor guard removes the flag from George’s casket, folding it in perfect creases until it forms a triangle.
Pierce says George asked for the flag to go to me, so when a member of the honor guard bends down to hand the folded flag to me, I take it.
The Marine’s voice is clear and calm. “On behalf of the President of the United States and the people of a grateful nation, I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one rendered this nation.”
A lone bugler plays taps.
Later, I find out that George left his estate to me, including all of his photos and equipment.
I do not feel worthy of either honor.
* * *
One night, about a week after the funeral, my mother decides it’s time for her to go home. She can’t leave Uncle Eddy alone any longer.
She doesn’t make excuses. That would be insulting, and I think she knows it.
As the sun peeks through the blinds and the hospital begins to wake, she finally says, “I need to tell you something. Something that will upset you, but I think you deserve to know the truth.”
And that’s when she tells me how she’d realized she’d made a mistake leaving with Uncle Eddy, and how she’d begged my father to see me in those early years. She reveals how he refused to let her see me, making sure I was never home when she came, and how he threatened to move me away from Sweethaven if she tried to see me without him. He told her I hated her. And she confesses that she let herself believe him because it was easier to think I hated her than to admit how she’d failed me.
She broke his heart, and my father hated her so much, he took me.
And that, I realize, was my father’s defining moment.
I’m not sure what to say to my mother. She’s stunned me, and yet so much of it makes sense. I can’t excuse her, but as she speaks, I remember times my father shuttled me off to my grandmother’s or Carey’s without notice. I thought he wanted to get rid of me, but the truth has more layers.
My mother leaves to refill George’s plastic pitcher of water, and I watch her go with a more open mind. I’m so exhausted, I don’t know what to feel. Outside, a crow flies past the window before disappearing into the trees.
George makes a noise, and I stand to check on him.
He’s not asleep like I thought. His watery gray eyes are wide open and staring right into mine.
It’s not at all like the movies—there’s no dramatic music or doctors running in the room—but I know.
One crow, I think. One for sorrow.
“George,” I say, squeezing his hand.
He doesn’t respond. Nurse Espinoza enters the room and checks the myriad of machines they’ve hooked to his body. She warned me how this would go. George doesn’t want to be resuscitated, and they won’t take measures to save him. When our eyes meet, she nods. Without a word, she turns the volume off so we won’t hear George dying, one blip at a time.
I turn my face away for a moment, digging for strength.
Then I pull myself up onto George’s bed, and I lean my face next to his. I talk to him about nothing. I tell him I love him. I thank him. I promise to make him proud. I say how proud I am that he’s my family.
A sound comes from deep within his body and rattles from his throat.
He gasps for air.
I kiss his cheek.
Good-bye, friend.
Chapter Thirty
The day after George dies, CNN reports Carey’s condition as stable. He will return home.
Relief mixes with grief in one deep well. I cry.
My mother takes charge. She’s a soldier’s wife, despite all that’s happened, and she keeps everything together when I fall apart. Like a well-heeled general, she moves me from one place to another with supreme efficiency. Not even my father gets in her way. He disappears into his study and doesn’t come out, even when she temporarily moves into our house, sleeping on the couch and putting meals on the table when she can coax food into me.
I never see them exchange more than two polite words.
George has no family. Pierce Whitney, an old friend of his, introduces himself as a lawyer from Raleigh and the executor of George’s will. George arranged his funeral long ago, planning it right down to the guest list (Nurse Espinoza is to wear a short dress and sit in the front row next to me) and the music he wanted played (none of that weepy, sentimental bullshit).
I don’t give the eulogy.
I can’t.
Instead, Private Don Baruth and a series of soldiers from every armed force march to the podium. Each has a favorite George story, a favorite George joke, a favorite moment that was so George. Nurse Espinoza holds my hand, and we share a smile as the music comes on.
And hearing it, I choke, causing heads to turn.
My entire body shakes as I hunch over, tipping my face into my hands. My mother’s arm comes around me, and I can feel her leaning over in concern.
A few uncomfortable titters start up from the far corner as people begin to pay attention to the lyrics of the rap song playing through the church. I collapse in a fit of giggles, gasping for air, and I don’t care when people stare.
Somewhere, somehow, George found a song to play just for me.
The rapper repeats, “Yo Mama” for the fourth time, and I’m crying and laughing at the same time.
Fuck, I’m going to miss you, George.
* * *
At the cemetery, seven soldiers fire three times each, giving George a twenty-one-gun salute. The honor guard removes the flag from George’s casket, folding it in perfect creases until it forms a triangle.
Pierce says George asked for the flag to go to me, so when a member of the honor guard bends down to hand the folded flag to me, I take it.
The Marine’s voice is clear and calm. “On behalf of the President of the United States and the people of a grateful nation, I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one rendered this nation.”
A lone bugler plays taps.
Later, I find out that George left his estate to me, including all of his photos and equipment.
I do not feel worthy of either honor.
* * *
One night, about a week after the funeral, my mother decides it’s time for her to go home. She can’t leave Uncle Eddy alone any longer.
