touched her elbow. “Aunt Shannon.”
Her head turned to look at him and the confusion slowly melted away. “Let’s
go home,” she said. And home they went.
They came into the kitchen with their bags of things and set them down on
the counter. Uncle Edward emerged, suddenly, from the living room, looking
sheepish, his eyes rimmed with red, as though he’d been crying. He moved
quickly to the kitchen table where his book lay, splayed open, spine up, like a
seagull in flight. He snatched it from the table.
“I’ll be reading in the bedroom,” he announced and disappeared.
Aunt Shannon made a quick pot of tea for herself, while Steve made himself a
hot chocolate in the microwave.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did Richard pass away?” Steve asked, as
they drank tea in the kitchen.
“Oh. I don’t mind. He drowned.” Steve waited a few moments hoping she might
explain, but she didn’t.
“Ah. Oh.” The ice was thin, best to tread lightly. “That must have been
difficult.”
“Yes.” She replied. Silence.
“Um. How did he drown?”
“Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. Of course.” Aunt Shannon seemed to suddenly wake up to the
question he was asking.
“It was a snorkeling accident. He loved to snorkel, you know. I’m not sure
what really happened. Somehow, he ended up in his bedroom drenched, on the
floor, wearing snorkeling equipment. The coroner said he’d… um… drowned.”
Grief twisted her face. “But… how?” Her lip trembled. “How? His bedroom door
was locked.” Her face was torn with emotion, and the tears coursed down her
cheeks. “That…” Her chest heaved up and down as she struggled to control
herself.
Steve felt like he should do something, but he wasn’t sure what.
After a few minutes, she managed to speak a single word, “Tissue.” Steve
figured it out and yanked three tissues from a box on top of the fridge,
handing them to her. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose with one, then
balled the other two and pushed them up her sleeve.
“Let’s wrap our gifts,” she suggested. She went briefly to her lab and
returned with tape, scissors, and several old rolls of wrapping paper. “You
first,” she said, leaving the living room to allow Steve to wrap things up. He
was quick, and clumsy, but his packages were together and under the tree in a
matter of minutes.
“Aunt Shannon,” he called. “Your turn.”
Aunt Shannon nearly pranced into the living room. “You can finish up the
dishes from tea. They go in the dishwasher.”
Steve nodded and suppressed a comment, and reported for duty in the kitchen.
It didn’t take him long to arrange the cups on the top rack of the crusty old
dishwasher. How effective it would be at cleaning them, he couldn’t say.
“I’m done,” Aunt Shannon bellowed right after, clearly excited. “Just look,”
she cried as he entered the room.
“That’s great,” Steve replied, sticking to what he knew she wanted to hear.
In reality there was a giant, badly decorated toilet brush, with several poorly
wrapped, odd-shaped lumps beneath it.
“Oh, I forgot to wrap one thing. Can you pass me some wrapping paper?”
Steve grabbed a roll of paper and passed it to her.
“No, no, dear. That’s completely inappropriate,” she chided, after taking
the roll from his hands. “It’s a bit too, um, feminine, really. I’d like
something with richer colors.” As she spoke, Steve noticed that her hand gently
covered Richard’s remains.
He sighed quietly, scooped most of the rolls from the floor and placed them
beside her as she knelt on the carpet.
Aunt Shannon deliberated for quite a while, finally choosing a
regal-looking, mostly red paper. She carefully cut a square away from the roll
and placed Richard’s remains in the center of the paper. Then, slowly, fold by
fold, she wrapped him up like a present. “There, Deary, don’t you look
festive!” she announced to the box. Out of a large tangle of ribbons and
wrapping fragments, she
Her head turned to look at him and the confusion slowly melted away. “Let’s
go home,” she said. And home they went.
They came into the kitchen with their bags of things and set them down on
the counter. Uncle Edward emerged, suddenly, from the living room, looking
sheepish, his eyes rimmed with red, as though he’d been crying. He moved
quickly to the kitchen table where his book lay, splayed open, spine up, like a
seagull in flight. He snatched it from the table.
“I’ll be reading in the bedroom,” he announced and disappeared.
Aunt Shannon made a quick pot of tea for herself, while Steve made himself a
hot chocolate in the microwave.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did Richard pass away?” Steve asked, as
they drank tea in the kitchen.
“Oh. I don’t mind. He drowned.” Steve waited a few moments hoping she might
explain, but she didn’t.
“Ah. Oh.” The ice was thin, best to tread lightly. “That must have been
difficult.”
“Yes.” She replied. Silence.
“Um. How did he drown?”
“Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. Of course.” Aunt Shannon seemed to suddenly wake up to the
question he was asking.
“It was a snorkeling accident. He loved to snorkel, you know. I’m not sure
what really happened. Somehow, he ended up in his bedroom drenched, on the
floor, wearing snorkeling equipment. The coroner said he’d… um… drowned.”
Grief twisted her face. “But… how?” Her lip trembled. “How? His bedroom door
was locked.” Her face was torn with emotion, and the tears coursed down her
cheeks. “That…” Her chest heaved up and down as she struggled to control
herself.
Steve felt like he should do something, but he wasn’t sure what.
After a few minutes, she managed to speak a single word, “Tissue.” Steve
figured it out and yanked three tissues from a box on top of the fridge,
handing them to her. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose with one, then
balled the other two and pushed them up her sleeve.
“Let’s wrap our gifts,” she suggested. She went briefly to her lab and
returned with tape, scissors, and several old rolls of wrapping paper. “You
first,” she said, leaving the living room to allow Steve to wrap things up. He
was quick, and clumsy, but his packages were together and under the tree in a
matter of minutes.
“Aunt Shannon,” he called. “Your turn.”
Aunt Shannon nearly pranced into the living room. “You can finish up the
dishes from tea. They go in the dishwasher.”
Steve nodded and suppressed a comment, and reported for duty in the kitchen.
It didn’t take him long to arrange the cups on the top rack of the crusty old
dishwasher. How effective it would be at cleaning them, he couldn’t say.
“I’m done,” Aunt Shannon bellowed right after, clearly excited. “Just look,”
she cried as he entered the room.
“That’s great,” Steve replied, sticking to what he knew she wanted to hear.
In reality there was a giant, badly decorated toilet brush, with several poorly
wrapped, odd-shaped lumps beneath it.
“Oh, I forgot to wrap one thing. Can you pass me some wrapping paper?”
Steve grabbed a roll of paper and passed it to her.
“No, no, dear. That’s completely inappropriate,” she chided, after taking
the roll from his hands. “It’s a bit too, um, feminine, really. I’d like
something with richer colors.” As she spoke, Steve noticed that her hand gently
covered Richard’s remains.
He sighed quietly, scooped most of the rolls from the floor and placed them
beside her as she knelt on the carpet.
Aunt Shannon deliberated for quite a while, finally choosing a
regal-looking, mostly red paper. She carefully cut a square away from the roll
and placed Richard’s remains in the center of the paper. Then, slowly, fold by
fold, she wrapped him up like a present. “There, Deary, don’t you look
festive!” she announced to the box. Out of a large tangle of ribbons and
wrapping fragments, she
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