Red’s hair was a hot representation of the August sun as she sat graveside with her three children. Their father—her ex—was laid out in front of them, a flag falling straight and precise over the coffin’s curves.
She had been at the wake, too, in that receiving line of awkward sadness. Furthest from the flowers and the silky gathers of casket fabric, she was the first to greet me. She opened her arms around huge breasts lifted by Victoria’s Secret, pulling me in. I bent into the hold. She’d always been so small. Looking down, I imagined that my ankles looked like a bloated caricature of her own tiny bones.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, which was strange. Of all the losses for which I could have expressed my sympathy, this was by far the least appropriate. She had lost a baby. She had lost a marriage. She’d lost her parents and temporarily misplaced a sister. Losing was not new to her.
“I’m so glad you could be here. The kids were talking about you yesterday while we were looking at pictures. Kayleigh called you ‘our summer sister.’” She giggled in her usual way, only the laugh was older now—softer and more muted. She patted the arm beside her. “Kayleigh, look, it’s your summer sister!”
Her eldest daughter turned to us. The protective rays of Red’s sphere pushed us into each other as Kayleigh smiled and hugged me. Shrugged niceties of the brief and funereal kind were exchanged. It was a relief when the line moved on.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Red’s son. Ethan patted my back a few times, solidly. Then Karen looked over. As the one who had never lost touch with her father, she stood alongside his body. She wore a sleeveless dress of black and white. I’d seen it before.
Karen was the middle child. Her father’s girl. My best friend. I opened up my arms and we both stepped in. When we pulled away, Karen was all whispering incredulity. “Look at her,” she demanded. “Can you believe it? What is my mother doing here?” Karen’s eyes were huge, dripping irony like tears. “I mean, how is that even appropriate?”
I laughed too loud. I couldn’t help it. Even Karen’s sneezes had comic timing and delivery. I looked around to see if anyone noticed my gaffe. Nobody had. Red was welcoming one of the police officers who’d come to pay his respects to an old colleague.
When I turned back to Karen, she was looking at the coffin. Her gaze hung there, upside down.
The next day my own father helped bear his old friend Mark’s casket into the church and out again. I sat with my husband and my mother near the front. Afterward, we drove together to the cemetery. Red and her three children were seated in black camping chairs. There was no hole in the ground beneath the long box. The funeral director spoke into thick, unmoving air. After a single prayer, the flag was folded into itself many times over, until there was only a pocket of red, white and blue. The director placed it on the lap of Mark’s youngest child, the only living son. Not that he was a child anymore, really. Somewhere along the line, we had all grown up. Ethan accepted the gift. One seat removed, Red wept. Karen was on the far end, unblinking.
Today’s post was brought to you by the letters ECR and the numbers 24/7. ****
As part of today’s Blog Exchange, ECR and I have switched places. You can find me at her site, where I am discussing the other half of the holiday color scheme: GREEN! Be sure to go check it out and then take a peek at the rest of her blog while you’re at it!
For even more perspectives on Red and Green, or to find out how to participate in the next Blog Exchange, click here.
