Читать книгу Here Lies a Father - Mckenzie Cassidy - Страница 12

CHAPTER 2

EACH OF US WANTED TO PAY OUR RESPECTS, yet none of us wanted to overstay. Funerals weren’t for the dead anyway. They gave those left behind a chance to grieve and tie up loose ends. I watched Catherine as she delivered her impromptu sermon. Her black hair, in sharp contrast with her pale skin, fell down the sides of her pronounced cheekbones. As brother and sister we were both pale and turned red like boiled lobsters on the beach, which was another reason I never understood why our family moved to Florida for two years and then unexpectedly came home in the middle of the school year, about six months earlier. We never finished what we started. People said Catherine and I looked alike because we both had full cheeks and slightly pointed noses that appeared to slide down our foreheads. And we both had big Irish chins. My father, Thomas Daly, was of full Irish descent—at least that’s what he told us—while Mom’s family was mostly German or English. Her name was Helen.

We all had loose ends to tie up. Catherine needed to say goodbye to her beloved father, Marie and Neil to their estranged brother, and our esteemed guest Carla a farewell to her old flame, if in fact there was any truth to her story. I’d come to do what any good son did when his father died, yet none of it was going how I’d expected. Once Carla opened her mouth about Dad’s other alleged marriages, I felt like everything was in a tailspin. Regardless of whether her story was true or not, it consumed my thoughts. The truth didn’t matter as much as the way a story made you feel, and fate had given me a chance to maybe learn something real about my father, something he never would’ve told me himself. I was apprehensive about not liking what I’d potentially learn, nervous about ripping off the lid and being haunted by what I’d find inside.

Catherine tossed the final handful of dirt into Dad’s shallow grave. She brushed her hands together and excess granules fell from her fingers. She looked out over the cemetery grounds. At first, I assumed she was surveying the property where our father would spend his eternity at rest, but instead I could now tell she was orchestrating our speedy departure.

“I appreciate you all meeting us here today, but I think it’s time we left,” she said.

“Oh, no, really? So soon?” said Marie.

We had barely spent half an hour at the cemetery, which felt unfulfilling after the excessive time it took us to drive across the state.

“I’m sorry, but we have plans with our family.”

“But … we made plans,” Marie said desperately. “Didn’t Neil tell you? Neil, you said you—”

“Yes, Marie,” Neil exhaled, hot steam leaving his exhaust pipe of a mouth. “I told them about it this morning, Marie.”

“What plans?” I asked.

Earlier that day we had taken a break from driving so Catherine could use a pay phone beside a peculiar-looking gas station. Many of the pumps were out of order and had yellow bags covering them. The building had been two stories, somebody’s get-rich-quick scheme, the kind Dad always sought out. Whoever owned it must’ve lived upstairs, which reminded me of when we were kids and Dad proposed we move above a bar he wanted to buy in Wellbourne. We toured the apartment to make him feel better, a musty place with carpets sticky from triple sec and cherry juice, and thin walls that failed to muffle the loud clinking of bottles and the scraping of wooden barstools downstairs. Mom said no. Hell no, in fact. They fought and argued over it for weeks yet we never moved in. Months later the building mysteriously burned to the ground, but that was pure coincidence.

Nearly three songs had played on the radio rotation before Catherine returned from using the phone. Smashing Pumpkins. The Gin Blossoms. Radiohead. Once back in the car she had cleverly avoided telling me who was on the line. Don’t worry about it, she had said. One of my father’s favorite sayings, one he often repeated to my mother to put her at ease when she was nervous about the state of things. Don’t worry about it. The line never accomplished what it intended, of course. Catherine had clearly been on the phone with Uncle Neil, most likely to update him on our progress, and for some reason she decided not to share the postfuneral plans with me. I knew that Catherine had a flight back to Florida either Monday or Tuesday, so she may’ve been in a hurry to get back, but I had no immediate plans.

“You two drove so far and we thought you could stay the night and spend some more time with us,” said Marie.

Carla stepped forward. “That’s a fabulous idea, Marie.” She avoided eye contact with Catherine as she spoke.

“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “I’m sorry about all this, but we’re so behind already, getting lost and all, and if we don’t leave now we’ll be driving back in the dark. I just don’t want to get lost again.”

Uncle Neil cocked an eyebrow at Catherine. “Your car has headlights, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes, of course, but I just don’t want to get lost again. We don’t know these roads very well. Plus, our mother is expecting us home tonight.”

The reference to my mother piqued Carla’s interest. “Could you call her from Marie’s house? I’d love to meet her officially, even if it’s over the phone.”

“Fantastic idea, Carla,” said Marie, smiling as if they had rehearsed the conversation beforehand.

“No. We can’t,” said Catherine. “As I said, we have to go. Thanks and all, but goodbye.”

As far as Catherine was concerned, the others didn’t exist. There was no reason to stick around and learn about their inconsequential lives. She knew our father particularly well, arguably better than anyone else, and she didn’t want his memory to be tarnished. I had a hard time believing Carla’s claim as well, that strange children with my father’s looks and quirks were out walking, talking, and carrying on lives of their own. I couldn’t stop thinking about how it all sounded like a bad episode of The Twilight Zone. I had friends in school whose parents were divorced and later remarried into other families with children, but I had never heard of anything quite like this.

Catherine hooked her arm in mine and subtly dragged me down the hill like a child.

“Wait a second, Catherine,” I said as we stepped onto the path that led to the front gate. “If we’re already here, wouldn’t it be easier to stay?”

“Not now,” she hissed.

Not wanting to be rude, I waved back at the group as we neared the gate. Catherine and I circled the brick maintenance building and arrived back at our parked orange hatchback. Her hands were trembling as she struggled to slide the key into the door, and she only started to vent once we were safely inside.

“Holy shit!” she shouted, turning the ignition so hard that the car’s engine made a grinding noise. “I knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought, that somebody would show up peddling bullshit.”

“Are we really leaving?”

“Hell yes we are. Did you actually think we’d stay here for the weekend?” She adjusted the rearview mirror and started backing the car out.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It just seems—”

“That’s enough, Ian!” she shouted. “We need to get the hell out of here and that’s it.” She craned her head out the window to ensure we had enough room to pull out. “And not a word of this to Mom.”

The parking lot was narrow and Catherine needed to do a U-turn. She rode the edge of the pavement as we circled and tore past the cemetery gate. Neil, Marie, and Carla had reached the parking lot. They halfheartedly nodded at me as we passed and I returned the gesture through the passenger window. Our wheels skidded a bit and Catherine accelerated harder. We left the old high school in a blur, across the parking lot, and spotted the Main Street intersection. From there we’d backtrack through the poorly marked country roads and merge onto the highway toward Wellbourne. Within a few hours we’d be home and nothing would stand in our way, but then our tire burst and the car leaned heavily to one side. Catherine slammed on the brakes.

“What the hell?” she said, opening her door to investigate.

I got out as well. Not that I knew anything about cars, but I thought it was the right thing to do. Catherine left the engine running and hot exhaust floated around the car like fog, a rank odor reminding me of waiting for an order at a drive-thru. We both peered under the driver’s-side door. Only rubber shards remained where our tire used to be. Large hunks of black rubber were scattered behind us, a path which led a concerned-looking Uncle Neil straight our way.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Catherine said, clenching her jaw as she saw him approach. “Let me do the talking. Whatever happens, we aren’t staying!”

“Hey! Are you two all right? I heard a loud bang. Is everyone okay?” called out Neil.

Catherine waved dismissively. “It’s fine, we’re just fine, don’t worry about us.”

In no time he was standing beside us, out of breath and inspecting the car like old know-it-all men do. He wasn’t in very good physical shape. He put a hand on the car hood, groaned, and eased himself onto one knee to study the damage.

“Yup, yup, the tire is blown. If it was just a leak you could’ve patched it up and driven home by now, but you’ll be needing a brand-new tire,” he said.

“I can certainly see that,” Catherine said. “We’ll be fine, Neil, don’t let us keep you, if you have someplace else to be. Just tell me where we can go for a new tire.”

“Not safe to drive on the donut, not safe at all. Do you have some kind of roadside service?”

Catherine ignored him.

“There’s only one place in town. Chuck’s Tires,” he said, looking at his black digital watch, waterproof up to eight hundred meters. “But Chuck closes at five and it’s quarter till. You’ll have to wait until the morning.”

“Seriously? There’s no place else that sells tires?”

“Not anywhere within fifty square miles. You’ll have to stay the night.”

Catherine punted a hunk of rubber across the road into the grass. She relocated to the curb, pondering what to do next.

Uncle Neil decided to change his tack and he turned toward me. “Ian, listen, you two can stay the night. I know your sister has her heart set on getting back to Wellbourne tonight, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.” He talked past Catherine as if she wasn’t there. “You two can get that tire changed tomorrow morning and be on your way.”

Catherine glared at me in a panic because the decision was now in my hands. She had likely concocted an elaborate story about why the answer had to be no, but the choice was no longer hers. I wanted to tell her we had no choice, but nothing upset her more than not getting her own way. I couldn’t tell for sure, because she stood by the curb, but she appeared to be mouthing No to me. I shrugged.

“Sure, we’d be happy to stay,” I said, beaming.

Catherine dropped her face into her hands. She’d be furious at me, but we had no choice. I understood her side, I really did.