Read Online Funerals for Horses by Catherine Ryan Hyde - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Ryan Hyde
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wearing silence. It seemed to stretch forever, like the god mesa, only not beautiful in any way.
I glanced obsessively over at Simon, hoping he’d say it was time to go.
Grandma Sterling broke the silence. “Before you go, maybe you’d like to see the room where your mother grew up.”
We followed her up carpeted stairs to the second floor, where she opened the door to my mother’s bedroom and motioned us inside. She did not cross that threshold herself.
Then she disappeared, leaving us alone in a new world of retrospect. Simon breathed deeply when she left, as though he’d never breathed before.
“DeeDee thinks this is all pretty funny,” he said.
“Well, she did warn us. Hey, Simon, is it supposed to be so dark in here?”
Simon held my face and stared into my eyes as though he might see some obvious evidence of my breakdown in vision.
“You okay, Ella?”
“Yeah, but we can’t stay here, Simon. Not even if she said we could, and she won’t.”
“I know. Hey, look at this.” He rolled his neck around as if to stretch out kinks. “Have you ever seen anything so clean? There’s no dust in here. You think she dusts in here every day?”
I walked the walls of the room, staring at close range like an old blind woman. I saw a teenage girl’s shelf of books, a bed with a ruffled spread, a locked diary on the nightstand. On the dresser I peered at a snow globe with Heidi inside, and a picture of my mother at about Simon’s age, which I held in my hands.
“Wow, look at this, Simon. She was so beautiful.” I felt his comforting presence at my shoulder. “I never saw her look this pretty. Did you?” Her hair clung to her skull in tight ringlets, her dark lashes curled like a doll’s from her blue eyes. She wore a tight polka-dot dress.
“Yeah, a while ago, maybe. When you were little. She’d get all dolled up and Dad would take her dancing.”
Something moved inside me. I knew then why my father fell in love with her, which had always been hard to fathom, watching her vegetate on the couch in her old housedresses, and curlers that never seemed to turn into a hairdo.
And then, knowing why someone would love her, I worried that she might not be okay.
“Where do you think she is, Simon? Do you think she’s happy?” Simon wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer.
Just then Grandma Sterling appeared in the doorway, startling me, and the framed photo sailed out of my hands and landed on the braided rug. I rushed to redeem myself by picking it up, and kicked it out of my reach.
Grandma Sterling scooped it up and returned it to its rightful place on the dresser.
Simon grabbed hold of my wrist and pulled me downstairs and out the front door.
“Simon, dear,” she called out as we trotted down her front steps.
Simon whirled as if sensing a gun held to his back. “Thank you for the ice cream, Grandma Sterling, but we can’t stay”
“Before you go, dear...”
This is it, I thought. She’ll say some little nice thing, now that she knows we’re not staying long. Pleased to meet you. Come again. At least, tell my daughter I love her, which we could not have done.
“Did your mother die?”
Later I would learn to guard against hope, but this one last time I had let a flagging sense of trust in the rightness of things pull me in.
My brother Simon only said, “What?”
“Did your mother die that time?”
“Uh, no. No, ma’am, she didn’t.”
“Oh. I just wondered.”
Then the click of her door, no kinder than its owner.
“Why did she say that, Simon?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the cancer surgery. Or because Dad tried to call.”
“Oh, yeah.”
We sat in the car together, and Simon leaned on the steering wheel and cried.
“We could go to Mrs. Hurley’s,” I said.
“We hardly know her.”
“But she said if we were ever in Columbus we had to come see her. We can be in Columbus just as easy as Reading.”
“I think she meant like in a year or two.”
“But she didn’t say in
I glanced obsessively over at Simon, hoping he’d say it was time to go.
Grandma Sterling broke the silence. “Before you go, maybe you’d like to see the room where your mother grew up.”
We followed her up carpeted stairs to the second floor, where she opened the door to my mother’s bedroom and motioned us inside. She did not cross that threshold herself.
Then she disappeared, leaving us alone in a new world of retrospect. Simon breathed deeply when she left, as though he’d never breathed before.
“DeeDee thinks this is all pretty funny,” he said.
“Well, she did warn us. Hey, Simon, is it supposed to be so dark in here?”
Simon held my face and stared into my eyes as though he might see some obvious evidence of my breakdown in vision.
“You okay, Ella?”
“Yeah, but we can’t stay here, Simon. Not even if she said we could, and she won’t.”
“I know. Hey, look at this.” He rolled his neck around as if to stretch out kinks. “Have you ever seen anything so clean? There’s no dust in here. You think she dusts in here every day?”
I walked the walls of the room, staring at close range like an old blind woman. I saw a teenage girl’s shelf of books, a bed with a ruffled spread, a locked diary on the nightstand. On the dresser I peered at a snow globe with Heidi inside, and a picture of my mother at about Simon’s age, which I held in my hands.
“Wow, look at this, Simon. She was so beautiful.” I felt his comforting presence at my shoulder. “I never saw her look this pretty. Did you?” Her hair clung to her skull in tight ringlets, her dark lashes curled like a doll’s from her blue eyes. She wore a tight polka-dot dress.
“Yeah, a while ago, maybe. When you were little. She’d get all dolled up and Dad would take her dancing.”
Something moved inside me. I knew then why my father fell in love with her, which had always been hard to fathom, watching her vegetate on the couch in her old housedresses, and curlers that never seemed to turn into a hairdo.
And then, knowing why someone would love her, I worried that she might not be okay.
“Where do you think she is, Simon? Do you think she’s happy?” Simon wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer.
Just then Grandma Sterling appeared in the doorway, startling me, and the framed photo sailed out of my hands and landed on the braided rug. I rushed to redeem myself by picking it up, and kicked it out of my reach.
Grandma Sterling scooped it up and returned it to its rightful place on the dresser.
Simon grabbed hold of my wrist and pulled me downstairs and out the front door.
“Simon, dear,” she called out as we trotted down her front steps.
Simon whirled as if sensing a gun held to his back. “Thank you for the ice cream, Grandma Sterling, but we can’t stay”
“Before you go, dear...”
This is it, I thought. She’ll say some little nice thing, now that she knows we’re not staying long. Pleased to meet you. Come again. At least, tell my daughter I love her, which we could not have done.
“Did your mother die?”
Later I would learn to guard against hope, but this one last time I had let a flagging sense of trust in the rightness of things pull me in.
My brother Simon only said, “What?”
“Did your mother die that time?”
“Uh, no. No, ma’am, she didn’t.”
“Oh. I just wondered.”
Then the click of her door, no kinder than its owner.
“Why did she say that, Simon?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the cancer surgery. Or because Dad tried to call.”
“Oh, yeah.”
We sat in the car together, and Simon leaned on the steering wheel and cried.
“We could go to Mrs. Hurley’s,” I said.
“We hardly know her.”
“But she said if we were ever in Columbus we had to come see her. We can be in Columbus just as easy as Reading.”
“I think she meant like in a year or two.”
“But she didn’t say in
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