A New Kind of Bliss (2 page)

“She has grown grandchildren living right here in Euliss.” That’s the kind of place Euliss was; if you didn’t leave by the time you were thirty or so you would probably spend your entire life within the boundaries of a single zip code.

“That’s not the same as children,” Sonny insisted.

“I’m not moving back here, Sonny, not even temporarily, so forget it.” I held his gaze for emphasis until he looked away. I was still glaring at him when the phone rang. “Hello?” I listened to the caller, a female, identify herself as a representative of the hospital, and I in turn identified myself as the daughter of Earl Yancy. “I’m terribly sorry,” the woman said. “We did everything we could. We were unable to revive him.”

P
eople started arriving at the stroke of seven. In a way I was glad; it gave me something to concentrate on other than the casket, just a few feet away. I had looked at Pop when I first arrived at the church. Some people truly do look as if they are merely sleeping when they are laid out. Others look like there isn’t an ounce of life left in them, like they’ve been stuffed by a taxidermist like a moose. I’m sorry to say that my daddy fell in the latter group, which I found depressing. I reminded myself of how at the hospital he had opened his eyes and smiled at all of us, the family he loved so much. In my heart I felt that he’d known all of us were there and that he only had another half hour or so of life left. It was like he was trying to tell us that it was all right, that he was ready to go and we shouldn’t be sad…words he could not audibly express because of the tube in his throat. Thank God I’d gotten into town when I did and was there to see the face I knew so well that one last time. But I’d give anything if I could have heard his voice as well.

“Emmylou,” he used to call me. His mother’s name had been Louise, and he made that my middle name, in honor of her. She’d died when he was a boy, and now he was with her after a separation of nearly seventy years. Could that have been why he died with a smile on his face? Big drops of tears spilled from my eyelids. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

The wake and funeral were being held at the A.M.E. church our family had attended for as long as I could remember. We opted for only one wake; more than that would be too much of an emotional burden. Telephone calls had been made to close family friends, and the obituary had run in the Euliss
Daily Dispatch.

I recalled the countless times I had opened letters from Mom and a folded piece of newsprint paper had fallen out, making me ponder,
Who died now?
always holding my breath a little as I unfolded it, knowing I would see a familiar name. Even miles from home the
Dispatch
was still part of my life. I’d be forty-three in a few months, and many of my friends had lost one or even both parents by this point in their lives. Now it was my turn.

It soon became apparent that we were going to have what is generally referred to as a good turnout. For some reason folks in Euliss like to brag about how many people show up at wakes and funerals, the same as they do about how late people stay when they give a party. Does it really make a difference how popular a person is when they’re dead?

The first arrivals were relatives, longtime friends, neighbors, and people from church, folks my parents’ age whom I’d known all my life. I hadn’t seen many of them in years, and they all looked a little smaller, a little grayer, and moved a lot slower.

The younger set showed up a little later. Even my brother’s and sister’s friends had that definite over-fifty look. I saw a lot of matronly looking women, and men with bulging bellies, raggedy gray hair a lá Fred Sanford, or shaved heads, which I suspected was their way of coping with receding hair-lines. Where had the time gone? Even my nieces and nephews were adults now. Cissy’s daughter, my parents’ oldest grandchild, was thirty-one, a mere dozen years my junior. Sonny’s two boys and Cissy’s son were all in their mid-to late twenties. Only Sonny’s seventeen-year-old daughter still seemed young enough to feel like a niece.

I sat in the first pew with my arm draped around Mom’s shoulders, periodically asking, “You all right?” and looking at the nearly two dozen floral designs, including the ones purchased by Mom, Sonny, Cissy, and myself, and the grandchildren. Only two were blanketed, but despite having cheerful colors, they practically screamed out, “Funeral!” The others were in wicker baskets or plastic containers and came in different colors, shapes, and sizes.

Mom was handling her stress and grief just fine, and I was proud of her. My own marriage had become a statistic after six years, and I couldn’t imagine being married to someone for five-and-a-half decades. You’ve got to feel like you’ve lost a part of yourself.

Mom eventually went off to huddle with her closest friends, the group from her twice monthly bid whist game. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but I could just imagine the inane remarks being made. I was surprised that older folks, who surely had been touched more by death than the young, didn’t seem to have anything better to say than how “good” the deceased looked. “Oh, Ruby, Earl looked beautiful.” “Ruby, he looks just wonderful.” “He looks like he’s going to sit up and talk.”
He’s dead,
I wanted to shout.
Don’t you get it? He’s
through
with talking!

I’d lived in Euliss for the first eighteen years of my life and had known many people, most of whom I’d eventually lost touch with after I moved to the Midwest, if not before. Because so many years had gone by I wasn’t expecting to see any faces from the past, and it came as a pleasant surprise when I recognized old friends who came to pay their respects. Some of them I hadn’t seen in ten or fifteen years.

I’d kept in touch with Rosalind Hunter, and even though I didn’t have time to inform her or anyone else, I wasn’t surprised to see her approaching. I’d know her anywhere. Even as a teenager, Rosalind had always stood out in a crowd. She was striking, tall and slim with wide-set eyes and long black hair, only now that hair was short and auburn.

“I love your haircut!” I exclaimed as we embraced. “And the color, too. If I didn’t know better I’d swear it was natural.”

“Thanks. It took John a while to get used to it, but now he likes it.” She squeezed my shoulder in concern. “How are you, dear?”

“Oh, I’m doing all right. Let’s move down here so we can sit and talk.” Mom, Cissy, and Sonny were all involved in conversations of their own, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t do the same. The wake had turned into a social event of sorts, a cocktail party without the cocktails. But I’d rather chew the fat than sit and sob for two hours, and I knew Pop would prefer it that way as well.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you, Rosalind,” I said after we were seated. “How did you hear?”

“The notorious Euliss grapevine. Valerie Woods called me.” Rosalind scanned the room. “I see a lot of people came out to pay respects.”

“Yes. I haven’t seen Valerie, though.”

“She said she plans to stop by tomorrow morning, before the service. She’s got…she’s awfully busy at home.”

I wondered what Rosalind meant—Valerie was single with three children, but the oldest was about sixteen, certainly old enough to give her mom a hand—but before I had a chance to ask, a male voice greeted, “Hello, Emily.”

I stared at the man with the close-cropped sandy brown hair, long nose, and close-set eyes, who was clearly enjoying my confusion. I watched as he and Rosalind exchanged amused glances.

My mouth dropped open in a lightbulb expression when I finally realized who he was. We all thought Wayne Pittman was incredibly handsome in junior high, as we did with every guy who was light skinned and had a big ’fro. His being a football player by the time we got to high school didn’t hurt, either. I ran into him and his wife—not a Euliss girl—at the annual Thanksgiving morning football game about ten years after graduation, long after Afros went out of fashion, and then it struck me that he was about as good-looking as Godzilla. But Wayne had always been a nice guy, easily able to straddle the line between being friendly and a come-on. To this day he was the closest I’d ever come to having a male friend, except for my ex-husband before our marriage went the way of the rotary dial.

I stood to hug him. My arm muscles were sure getting a hell of a workout tonight, and so were my cheekbones. “Wayne, it’s good to see you. Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry about your father, Emily.”

“I know. Sit down with us. I haven’t seen you in how long, fifteen years?”

“That’s about it. At the Euliss–Horace Mann Thanksgiving game, wasn’t it? You and your husband.” His eyes darted about, like he was looking for said spouse.

“Yes. We got divorced a couple of years after that.”

“Oh. Me, too.” Wayne leaned forward so he could see Rosalind. “What’s up, Slim?”

“Not a thing. How’re your boys?”

“Everybody’s well. My youngest son is in middle school already.”

“They grow so fast,” Rosalind remarked wistfully.

“Tell me about it,” I added. Of course, I had no firsthand knowledge of raising children. After a miscarriage I had difficulty conceiving again. In hindsight it had been a hidden blessing, especially after I learned that Al Davis, my dearly beloved husband, was cheating on me. I left him shortly after. At this point in my life, less than ten years away from hot flashes, I felt it was safe to say I wouldn’t be having any children, but my friends’ words reflected my earlier sentiments about my nieces and nephews.

So Wayne was divorced, too. Knowing that he hadn’t lived that storybook existence like Rosalind comforted me in an odd way. I guess nobody wants to be the only divorcée in the bunch.

When Rosalind got married people predicted it wouldn’t last as long as, well, pick any short-lived celebrity marriage. She and John Hunter had been the talk of Euliss High School twenty-five years ago because John was white. People in Euliss, both black and white, tend to view interracial dating like smoking on the street—it just wasn’t done, at least not by anyone who had any class. At least that’s how it used to be back in the day, but knowing Euliss, I doubt much has changed.

Rosalind glanced at her watch. “I see it’s almost eight. I promised my oldest that I’d look at his math homework when I get home.” She turned to me. “Emily, how long will you be in town?”

“Until Sunday. I hope we can get together before then.”

She brightened like someone had turned on the lights inside her head. “Why don’t both of you come over for dinner Friday? I’ll put together a small dinner party. Maybe I can introduce you both to some nice people.”

Wayne chuckled. “No, thanks, at least to being set up. I’m still convinced that the last so-called woman you matched me with at one of your parties either was a transvestite or had a sex change.”

Rosalind made a face. “We’ve already been over that, Wayne. I thought she’d be good for you. You’ve always gone for tall women. How was I supposed to know? She seemed like a nice girl…who just had really big feet.”

“So which one was it, Wayne?” I asked. “Transvestite or surgically altered?” I playfully wiggled my eyebrows up and down.

“I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. The size of those hands and feet were a real turnoff. At the end of the evening I shook her hand and ran for my life. Her grip was stronger than mine.” He laughed.

“Oh, all right. I’ll give you a simply platonic dinner partner, Wayne. Tanis Montgomery doesn’t live far from me, and I think her husband is out of town.”

As I thought of Tanis, who’d gone through school with us, it was now my turn to want to make a face. Our mothers were good friends, and there’d always been a competition of sorts between both Tanis and I and our mothers, who were eager to brag about our accomplishments. I’m sorry to say that I was behind in the race.

“But I’ve got just the man for you, Em,” Rosalind continued. “Aaron Merritt. He’s the most eligible over-forty-five-year-old bachelor in Westchester County.”

“What’s wrong with him?” I promptly asked, and I wasn’t joking. I figured if he had credentials like that, it had to be because nobody wanted his ass.

“Well, let’s see. He’s about six one with a nice build, sexy eyes, he’s a doctor, a few years older than us…,” Rosalind began.

“Back up. He’s a
what?
”

“A doctor. He specializes in oncology at John’s hospital.” Anyone who heard Rosalind refer to “John’s hospital” and didn’t know better would think John’s last name was Hopkins, but John was actually an administrator at the Columbia University complex in upper Manhattan.

My heart began thumping in excitement, in spite of my efforts to stay calm. But I’d never been one of those people who saw the glass of milk as half full. Instead, I told myself that this milk had to have a sour taste to it. “And how is it that no one has snapped him up?”

“Somebody did. He met his wife when they were in college. But she died the beginning of last year,” Rosalind replied.

“Has he dated anyone else since?” The idea of breaking in a widower made me a bit uneasy. I pictured some faceless man telling me all about his late wife, then breaking down while I tried to comfort him. Not exactly my idea of a roaring good time.

“Not that I know of. I do know that a lot of women have been inviting him to their dinner parties as the ‘extra man,’ and that he’s been turning them down. So I’ll downplay the part about wanting to introduce him to my girlfriend and just say John and I are having some old friends over for dinner.” Rosalind stood up. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ve got to run, and I want to say hello to your mother on my way out. I’ll be in touch.” She blew Wayne and me a kiss and headed for the far end of the pew, where Mom continued to hold court.

The funeral service was a lot smaller than the wake—it was a weekday after all—and a lot sadder. Sonny and I flanked Mom. We all cried, and I found it heartbreaking when Mom broke down and cried on my shoulder, squeezing my hand like she’d never let go. I tried as best I could to comfort her, and suddenly I knew Sonny and Cissy were right. She shouldn’t be alone right now.

Sonny gave the eulogy, and his words made all of us feel a lot better. Pop died confident in the knowledge that we, his family, would never forget him, how well he took care of us and all the things he taught us. He would want us to go on.

“He knew that his one concern, namely that we siblings take care of our mother, would be taken care of,” Sonny said.

I knew I didn’t just imagine his gaze lingering on me with all the subtlety of church bells striking twelve, but what really worried me was Mom’s increasing the pressure on my upper arm in a silent plea. She
wanted
me to stay with her.

There had been no more talk of what would happen to her since we’d gotten the phone call from the hospital. I knew Cissy wasn’t going to take a leave of absence beyond the time she was spending in Euliss now, and I couldn’t half blame her. She’d worked hard to get that general manager position, which was largely dominated by men. She said that she never expected to advance to running a tony New York hotel because, for some reason, they were all helmed by accented Europeans, but that calling the shots at a convention hotel in Pittsburgh with a thousand guest rooms was a satisfying challenge.