Irises (2 page)

 

M
ary saw her father enter the house and shuffle toward his bedroom, his legs trembling as if they were about to crumble.

“Is Papa okay?” Mary asked Kate when they sat down for lunch.

“He's just tired,” Kate said.

The girls started to eat in silence.

“Simon's going to pick me up in half an hour,” Kate announced. “I'll be back around four.”

“But you said you would take care of Mama while Papa goes on his visits. Renata and I are going to the museum. They have that new Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit I want to see.”

Kate lifted her eyes from her plate.

“I had to beg Papa forever to let me go. You know how he feels about painting. He even called Renata's mother to make sure she was okay with taking us.”

A small, vertical wrinkle appeared in the middle of Kate's forehead. She nodded to acknowledge that what Mary said was true. “I'm sorry. I'd forgotten I have a calculus test tomorrow. I really need to study with Simon. Can you go next week? I can get Simon to take you.”

“Why can't you and Simon study here?” Mary asked.

“I can't study here.” Kate's eyes darted toward their parents' bedroom. “I'm sorry.”

“I'll see if Renata can go next week,” Mary said reluctantly.

“Thank you,” Kate said. Mary saw a shadow of guilt cross her face. “Look, I totally forgot about your museum, and I promised Simon I would study with him.”

“It's okay.” Mary tried not to sound hurt.

They did the dishes together, although usually when Kate cooked, Mary did them alone. It occurred to Mary that maybe Kate wanted to talk about whatever was churning in her head, for something surely was. But they washed the dishes quietly until Mary spoke. “Do you think Papa likes Reverend Soto?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I think Papa might be worried that the church hired Reverend Soto to replace him. Do you like him?”

“Reverend Soto?”

“You like him, I know you do. I've seen the way you look at him.”

This brought a smile to Kate's lips. “He's young for a minister, don't you think?”

“How old do you think he is?” Mary asked.

“Twenty-two,” Kate said.

“You seem very certain.”

“I heard the church ladies talk this morning. They're all in love with him. They think he's movie-star good-looking.”

“He's sorta, kinda cute, but not movie-star good-looking,” Mary said. “Do
you
think he's cute?”

“I think he's good-looking.”

“Simon is more.”

“Mmm. In a different way. Reverend Soto has an air of mystery about him,” Kate said with a grin.

Mary was happy that the conversation had put Kate in a better mood. “What I don't understand is why he's here,” she said. “Papa doesn't seem to want to say too much about it.”

“Reverend Soto is here for a couple of months until he fi
nds a more p
ermanent position. It's kind of like an internship, to build up actual experience. I think his family is cl
ose to
Mr. Lucas, who convinced the deacons to take h
im on
.”

“How can he be a minister when he's barely twenty-two?”

“Father says he's super smart. He went to school summers and has his Master of Divinity. That's all you need to be a minister in the Church of God.”

“But don't you think Papa's worried, really?”

“Father needs all the help he can get. He's got nothing to fear from Reverend Soto.” Kate looked out the kitchen window. “The roses you planted are beautiful,” she said.

Mary remembered that she was going to miss the exhibit she had wanted to see for so long. She especially wanted to study Georgia O'Keeffe's flowers, the way she made the petals seem so delicate, so full of light and life. Who knew if she could get Renata's mother to take them next week? Who knew if Papa would give her permission again?

“Kate, I really want to see that exhibit.”

Kate looked at her as if she didn't know what the word
exhibit
meant. Then she seemed to remember. “Oh. Sure.”

“If for some reason Renata's mom can't take me, you and Simon will need to take me. It's really important to me. Going to that exhibit is like you wanting to get an A on your test. It's no different.”

“Let's not start that discussion again,” Kate said.

“It's just that you never take my art seriously. Papa doesn't either. There's no difference between me wanting to be a painter and you wanting to be a doctor.”

“I think your art is important. So does Father. It's just that there are other things we need to take care of first,” Kate said softly. She looked like she was about to say more, but she was interrupted by the honk of Simon's car.

From the front door, Mary watched Kate get into the red Impala. The car coughed a puff of white exhaust and then sped away. One moment Kate was drying the dishes and a moment later she was out the door. It was almost as if Kate felt there was not enough air inside the house.

Mary needed to call Renata to tell her about the change in plans. Then she would check on Mama and make sure she was okay, and after that, she would go to her room and work on her painting. Three months ago, she had decided to copy as many of Van Gogh's paintings as she could in order to learn his techniques. Today she was working on his
Irises
. It was a painting she had been struggling with for a long time.

“But she said she would take care of your mother so we could go to the museum,” Renata complained over the phone. “My mom is all set to take us. She's looking for the car keys right now.”

“Kate had to go to Simon's to study for a test. We can go next week, can't we?”

“I can't next week. My mother's forcing me to go to my aunt Luisa's birthday party. I can't believe how much you let Kate push you around.”

“I know,” Mary admitted. It was hard to argue with Renata, especially over the phone. “Can you come over later this afternoon?”

“I don't know. I'll call you. Bye.”

The best thing about Renata, Mary thought, was that as much as she liked to pretend she was angry, it was always just pretend.

The only telephone in the house was on a TV tray in the hall between Mary and Kate's room and their father's office. The girls liked to joke that their father placed the phone there so he could monitor their conversations, and since there was no place to sit, the conversations tended to be short. Mary returned the receiver to its cradle and walked to her parents' bedroom.

Mama lay calmly on one of the two single beds, her unfocused eyes barely open. Papa was on the bed next to hers, on his back with his shoes still on. Mary sensed something unusual as soon as she saw him. She stopped as if she had heard a noise in the dark. The sounds of labored breathing that her father made when he was asleep were not there.

She walked over to her father's bed, sat on the edge, and put her hand on his silent chest. The realization that he was dead sent a shuddering shock through her body. She restrained a sob and, after a few moments, she closed her father's eyes and combed his white hair with her fingers. A soft radiance glowed from his body. She watched the light slowly dim and then disappear. Then she let herself cry.

Simon's telephone number was inside the address book Kate kept in the middle drawer of her desk. Simon's mother answered first, and then Kate came to the phone.

“What do you mean Father's dead?” Kate shouted into the phone.

“I went to check on Mama after you left and he had died.”

“Oh, oh my —” Kate stopped herself. “Did you call 9-1-1?”

“No.”

“Do it now! Never mind, I'll do it! I'll be right over.”

Mary hung up the phone. She examined Kate's words carefully, the way she examined an object she was about to paint. Why didn't it occur to her to call 911 right away? Why hadn't she panicked when she saw that her father was not breathing? There, by his side, she felt that his soul needed time to leave his body quietly. She was sure she had acted the way Papa would have wanted. But would Kate understand?

 

K
ate arrived as the paramedics were trying to resuscitate her father's body. She held Mary's hand while one of them jolted her father a few inches off the bed with the shock of the defibrillator. After a few more tries, the paramedic shook her head and began to pack the equipment. “His body is still warm,” she told them. “We might have saved him if you'd called us earlier.”

Kate glanced quickly at Mary and released her hand. She walked to her father and touched his forehead with the tips of her fingers. A wave of sorrow settled in her throat but did not materialize in tears. Surely, the tears would come later when there was no one looking.

Kate left the room to call Dr. Rulfo and the funeral director. She glanced again at Mary, who was now holding their mother's hand. Why hadn't Mary called 911? Why had she let Father die? She was immediately glad that she had not asked Mary those questions. She could feel some weird chemistry taking place in herself, transforming sadness into blame.

“Simon!” she said when she saw him in the hall. She hugged him, and he wrapped his strong arms around her.

“I'm so sorry, Kate,” he said, stroking her hair.

“Can you get me a glass of water?” she asked him. He left her to go to the kitchen. When he returned, she took the glass and went to her room to look for Dr. Rulfo's phone number. Her address book was not in her desk drawer where she had left it, and it occurred to her that Mary probably took it when she called Simon's house. She was amazed at how well her mind was functioning.

It took Dr. Rulfo only ten minutes to get there. Dr. Rulfo had been the family doctor forever. After the accident, when the hospital notified Father that they would terminate Mother's life support unless he was able to find another health provider for her, it was Dr. Rulfo who accepted responsibility for her at Father's request and arranged for her to be taken care of at home. He visited Mother every week.

Dr. Rulfo examined Father's body. “Your father's heart simply stopped beating,” he told Kate when he came out of the room. “I don't think an autopsy needs to be performed. I'll talk to the medical examiner.” Dr. Rulfo suddenly stopped and his eyes moistened. Kate reached out and touched his arm.

“You were always good to him,” Kate said to Dr. Rulfo.

“I'm going to miss him,” said Dr. Rulfo.

Mr. Lopez, the funeral director, and his assistant were outside waiting for Dr. Rulfo to sign the death certificate. As soon as the doctor left, Mr. Lopez sat down with Kate and Simon. There were decisions to be made. Burial or cremation? Wake? Open or closed casket? When would the church s
ervice take place?
In a way, it was good to have things to think about. Kate could feel grief and uncontrollable thoughts waiting for her, ready to invade as soon as there were no more details to arrange.