Putting Makeup on Dead People (13 page)

T
hat weekend, I get to Carillon Park early and walk past the pioneer house and the Wright brothers building, which houses a replica of the world’s first airplane, and up to a patch of grass right under the Carillon, which has fifty-some bells in it. Across the way, the Little Miami River runs gray and shallow, like it could use some rain.

Liz is waiting for me, with a big yellow blanket spread out right under the bell tower, where the evening sun still feels warm. She hands me a brown grocery bag full of cheese, crackers, some sparkling Italian lemon water, and paper cups. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress that looks a little too dressy for the park, and I think she’s trying to impress someone. “You’re a good date,” I say. “She’ll love you.”

“Except that I can’t stay.” She explains that her mom and dad have to host a last-minute fund-raising dinner at their house, and they need her to be there. “I’m so sorry, Donna. Please tell her I’m sorry, too.” She hugs me quick. “You still have to be excited, right?”

My stomach feels empty. “Of course.” I promise Liz I’ll call her tomorrow, and sit down on the blanket.

Five minutes later, I see her coming across the grass and up the hill. Long, straight brown hair and big coffee-colored eyes. Knee-length red sweater with a tie-belt and flared dark blue jeans. She looks to the other corner of the tower first, then turns to me. She smiles and holds her hand to her heart.

I remember when I was six, and Aunt Selena walked into Nonna’s wake. I was standing with Mom, and noticed that the hushed conversations all hushed just a little more. Everyone backed away from Aunt Selena while she walked up toward Nonna, and I remember telling Mom, “That’s not very nice. Someone should talk to her.” So I smoothed out my fluffy yellow dress, walked over to Aunt Selena, and said, “I’ll go up with you.”

When she crouched down next to me, her long blue dress bunched up on the floor around her, and some of it touched my foot. I remember thinking it must be magic fabric. And I remember everyone staring at us. “Thank you,” she said to me in a soft, smiling voice. “You must be Donna.”

“You’re right,” I whispered. “Did you know ’cause you’re a Witch?”

“No, silly,” she said, and touched my cheek. “I know because you look just like my brother. I know other things ’cause I’m a Witch,” she said, and winked at me. “Maybe we’ll talk about them someday.”

Then we held hands and went to see Nonna, who looked like a statue with her hair done up how Aunt Sylvia would do it fancy for her in rollers, like poofs of white icing.

Aunt Selena closed her eyes and said, “
Ciao
, Mama,” and I said “
Ciao
, Nonna.”

Then I felt Dad put strong hands on my shoulders. He and Aunt Selena stared at each other, and Aunt Selena started to cry, and then they hugged tight, right over me. Then Dad pulled away from Aunt Selena and pulled me away too, even though I struggled to stay right next to her. So I stood again by Mom and watched Aunt Selena walk out by herself.

Now at the park, I stand up, just as tall as she is. She walks over and hugs me tight, and her perfume smells familiar, musky, and warm.

“Oh, you do have his eyes.” Aunt Selena takes both of my hands like she did at Dad’s funeral, when I saw her last. Her eyes turn wistful and watery. “You know he’s still with you.”

I feel naked, like in the woods. I don’t say anything.

She nods. “The spirits are all around you.”

“What?” I look over my shoulders and laugh nervously. “Like backup singers?”

She rubs her fingers over the oval purple stone on her long necklace, and grins. “Kind of.”

I look over my shoulder. “Who’s there?”

Aunt Selena asks, “Who do you think?”

I feel my pulse quicken in my chest, and I wish Aunt Selena wasn’t staring so intently at me. “I don’t know. Dad?” For a second, I smell his aftershave, and I close my eyes. My heartbeat slows, and I think of Nonna slipping me dollar bills at the end of every visit. “Nonna, maybe.”

“Yes,” Aunt Selena says, “and someone else I don’t know. Another grandmother?”

I think of Grammy, Mom’s mom, who made Barbie clothes for Linnie and me. “Dead people all around me.” Trying to smile, I sit down on the blanket.

“I think that’s how it’s going to be for you.” Aunt Selena’s grin widens.

This doesn’t seem like good news. I grip a patch of grass next to me. “What’s so great about that?”

“It’s your destiny,” Aunt Selena says, joining me on the blanket.

Great, it’s my destiny to be haunted by creepy backup-singer corpses. I have a quick flash of Dad and Nonna in sequined outfits singing “Ooo” into a microphone. Too scary. Too much. I don’t want to know this. Aunt Selena seems to be enjoying herself, and I feel like I just realized I’m taking a shower on the front lawn during a block party. I cross my legs and then my arms. I muster up a definitive voice of my own. “Don’t we have some snacks to eat?”

“Yes, we do. And wasn’t your friend Liz going to be here?”

“She had to cancel. She’s really sorry.” I pour her a cup of the lemon water.

“I have to say I’m not disappointed. I get you all to myself.” She smiles and takes the cup from me.

I slice some of the white cheddar and put it on a napkin between us, with some crackers. I ask Aunt Selena about her work, and she tells me about the Web pages she’s created and the candle shop she’s opening in Yellow Springs.

For the next half hour, I keep asking questions so I don’t have to say anything about myself. I end up eating almost the entire double-sized dark chocolate bar with chili peppers that Aunt Selena brought. When there’s nothing else for me to eat or ask, I look at my watch and the sun going down. “Sorry, but I need to go.”

“Okay.” Aunt Selena glances at me, and something sad clutters her eyes. She blinks it away.

I look up at the bell tower and feel small. A slight chill drifts up from the river, and I rub my arms.

“You should come see me sometime. I want to know what’s happening in your life.” Aunt Selena writes down her address on a napkin. 919 Willow Street. “I’d love to spend more time with you. When you don’t have to get home so fast.”

Her hand is warm, and her eyes are kind. She sees me. And she’d like me to visit her. I wonder if my crew of dead relatives is also invited.

On Monday, I’m at Brighton Brothers, vacuuming the viewing rooms and looking over my shoulder every thirty seconds. After Aunt Selena mentioned all the dead people, I was uneasy all weekend. Dead bodies are one thing. Animated dead bodies or filmy spirit beings are something else entirely. Will some ghost appear to me while I’m brushing my teeth? Trying to avoid Mom on the way to the kitchen? While the first two seem perhaps less likely, it doesn’t seem far from the realm of possibility that I’d run into an apparition while dusting a coffin. Sleep last night came in neurotic spurts. I’m exhausted today, and I feel raw.

When I bring Mr. Brighton the mail, he’s staring at the picture of the elder Mr. Brightons—his dad and grandfather—on his desk. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing them proud.” His eyes are wistful, like Aunt Selena’s were when she thought of Dad.

I suddenly remember my first day of kindergarten: Dad handing me a silver pencil case at breakfast, saying, “Do me proud, kid.” And I wanted to, more than anything.

Now I feel like Mr. Brighton, looking at pictures and wishing they’d talk back and let me know how I’m doing. Since I’m guessing Mr. Brighton hasn’t been getting a lot of feedback from his pictures either, I say, “I think you are.”

“Thanks, Donna.” He shakes his head like he’s hoping the wistfulness will come out of his ears or something, and he smiles at me.

After work, I’m restless and tired of anxiety. I call Liz and tell her Aunt Selena would be happy to meet with her some other time. With my head full of pictures of the ghosts who might be trailing me, I don’t want to drive home. And going home makes me feel like I’m stuck anyway, in the same place I’ve always been. I decide I need a walk in the woods with my headphones on, maybe this time while the sun’s still shining its last few rays of the day.

I drive out to Yellow Springs, toward where Liz and I did our almost-ritual, right by the store where Tim bought me my picture box. As I maneuver through town, I pass Willow Street. Of course. This is where she lives. I keep driving a few blocks, but then I turn around. I can’t resist. And a tiny voice that seems more from my heart than my head says,
Maybe you’d like to see her again
.

I follow the slight curve onto Willow and park when I see a 900 address. The sidewalk jags up here and there, and all the houses stand like a motley group of old friends—beautiful, weathered, quaint. They aren’t big, more like cottages. I decide they must have exquisite gardens. This is where I’d love to live.

On a long black mailbox, I see a 919 and next to it, a crescent moon painted in silver. On the small porch, big wooden wind chimes dangle from a coconut. They make a soft hollow sound, like slow drops of water into an empty sink. I walk up the few front steps and knock on the door.

In the stained-glass door window I see Aunt Selena’s face. She smiles through a bright blue panel and opens the door. “What a wonderful surprise,” she says. “Twice in one week.” She hugs me. “Come in, come in.”

Her house smells of something warm and sweet. “I’m making brownies,” she says. “Your timing is impeccable.”

“I swear I didn’t know.” I laugh.

“Are you sure you don’t have some kind of second sight?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure about anything.”

She leads me to a living room with a big blue couch and a rainbow of pillows. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.” I sit, and the soft cushions pull me in.

“Would you like something to drink? Tea? Milk?”

I shrug. “Either one.”

She leaves me to look at the sky blue walls, a mural of a giant tree painted on one of them. A million different trinkets and pictures sparkle and draw my eye. A red Chinese lantern casts soft light in the corner. I am entranced.

Aunt Selena returns with two short lime-green teacups, no handles, stacked in one hand, and holding a matching teapot in the other. She sets down the cups and pours a little into each. She hands me a cup, and the tea smells like roses. “It’s been steeping a little while—shouldn’t be too hot.” She holds her cup to mine and toasts, “To family.”

We drink, and I’m confused. “Aren’t you angry at them? No one talks to you.”

“You’re talking to me.”

“That’s true.”

“All they know about magic is the dark kind with demons. What I do and who I am doesn’t have anything to do with that. Which I think you know.”

I nod and find that I mean it. She’s not bad or dangerous. In fact, she seems fun and alive in ways I long to be.

“Your dad was different. He didn’t judge me, and he still talked to me, even though no one else knew it. Did you know he helped put me through college after he finished?”

I shake my head. I realize there’s a lot Aunt Selena must know that I don’t.

“They made fun of us—we were the bookworms.” She taps the side of her cup with her fingernail and looks past me, her eyes getting shiny. “I figured out a long time ago that most of my family is more comfortable giving their power over to some faraway god than claiming control of their own lives. And I can’t make them change.”

“You’re right, but—”

“But what?” A few tears roll down her cheeks, but she’s smiling and her voice is calm. She wipes the tears with the back of her hand, and the charm bracelet on her wrist jingles softly. “I can keep dragging around every last disappointing moment from the past, or I can just live right now, when my niece, the spitting image of my sweet brother, has come to see me and share tea and brownies. Which would you pick?”

“Brownies.”

“Exactly. You are where you are. Where you are is your destiny.”

I sigh and sip my tea. “What if I don’t know what my destiny is?”

“Honey, you can’t see it,” she says. “Too many ghosts around you.”

I set down my glass. “Yeah, about that. It’s been kind of freaking me out.”

“I don’t mean those ghosts. Those people are your ancestors. They’re looking out for you, always. Your dad loved you and was so proud of you.” She drains her cup and sets it down next to mine. “I mean things you’re not letting go of. Old worries. Insecurities, maybe. Stale fear. Those ghosts. They can keep a person blind. Paralyzed.” Aunt Selena refills my cup. “May I ask you a question?”

“Should I take a drink first?”

She laughs.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Ask away.”

Aunt Selena leans forward. “What are you so afraid of?”

The tea warms my mouth and throat. I’m tempted to say
I don’t know
—that’s my first instinct, but that’s a lie. I do know. Whether they’re right behind me or floating up on a heavenly cloud somewhere, I’m not afraid of Dad or Nonna or anyone watching over me. Why should I be? They loved me, and I bet they still do.

I’m afraid they’re shaking their heads and saying,
What a waste. We knew she could do better.
What I’m really afraid of is being boring, inconsequential. Not taking chances. I blurt, “That I won’t ever do… that I won’t ever be something—someone—amazing.” I look down.

“Then you’ve only got one choice,” Aunt Selena says as a buzzer goes off in another room. “And I’ve got to get some brownies out of the oven.” She stands and walks toward the smell of chocolate.

“Wait,” I say. “My choice? My one choice?”

Without turning around, but loud and clear, Aunt Selena calls to me, “Be someone amazing.”

Over fresh brownies, I tell Aunt Selena I’m working at Brighton Brothers and going to mortuary school, and she smiles so big and for so long that I think her face must hurt. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“Who you are. You don’t need to look so hard for your destiny. Don’t miss what’s right in front of you”

When I leave Aunt Selena’s, I’m calmer, almost so calm that I could fall asleep. I decide to get a coffee drink at Full of Beans for the twenty-five-minute drive home, and I’m surprised to see Mom sitting at a corner table with some guy. They are leaning close together, and I could swear the guy is holding Mom’s hand. I’m not sure because I’m a little distracted by the fact that he looks like some kind of Egyptian god. Long shiny black hair hangs loose on his shoulders, and his skin is the color of creamy coffee.