Authors: Kathryn R. Biel
"I think I've eaten my body weight in chocolate," I groan into the phone. I haven't left my apartment in three days. Showering and putting clothing on is going to be a challenge. But I have to. The wake is tonight. Rob was at least courteous enough to drive his car into a tree over a vacation week. Since even John didn't know we were dating, and we
technically
had just broken up, I wouldn't have been able to use my bereavement days; it would have pissed me off to no end to have to use my personal days.
"You have to get up and move," Therese scolds me.
"I know. I'm going." I flop back into my pillows. My bed stinks. I stink. I don't care. What's there to care about? My life is a disaster. I all but killed my boyfriend. I guess, in hindsight, he most likely deserved it but still. Okay, not deserved it per se, but he at least should have had to pass a kidney stone for cheating on me with my own sister.
"Is Jenna going to be there?"
"Who knows? I'm guessing she will. It's a chance to have everyone fawn over her and make it about her."
"She does suffer from L.A.M. syndrome."
"What's L.A.M. syndrome?"
"Look At Me."
"Yeah, that's my sister. Her L.A.M. is further complicated by her F.M.O."
"Now you've got me. What's F.M.O.?"
"Fear of Missing Out. It can be serious, but when combined with L.A.M., it is downright crippling."
"Or you'll end up being crippled because you become so annoying that someone will want to take a bat to your knee caps."
"That's Jenna."
"Have you talked to Rob's parents?"
"No, I chickened out. Plus, this is an awkward situation. The woman lost her son. Turns out, he was a lying, cheating louse, but I don't need to make her feel worse about that."
"Are you going with anyone?"
"I'm meeting the rest of the department there. We're all going in together."
"Surely some of them know you were together, right?"
"I don't know." I slowly get out of bed and look around my room. It looks like a bomb went off. Empty food containers, a few spent bottles of wine and beer. Clothes and miscellaneous crap fill the entire space. "Oh my God, Therese. You should see my place. It's disgusting. I can't believe I let it get like this!"
"You're changing the subject."
"You're observant. I don't know if anyone knows we were together. I mean, sometimes we showed up at school functions together, but Rob was very adamant about not having any public displays, especially at school."
"Sort of ironic, don't you think?"
I avoid looking in my mirror as I start scooping up some of the debris while on my way to the bathroom. "How so?"
"Because people usually act like that when they want to hide their relationship from someone. The person that he should have been hiding you from is the one person who most certainly knew about the relationship."
"Yeah, don't even get me going on that one. I still can't believe my own sister—"
"I can. After all the shit Jenna has pulled over the years, this doesn't surprise me one bit. She can't stand to see you happy. Not that Rob made you all giddy or anything, but I bet she was afraid you were going to get married."
"And to think, I was contemplating having her for my maid of honor."
"YOU WERE NOT!" Therese's voice rises about three octaves. "You take that back right now. You cannot be serious!"
I'm laughing, so Therese has come through for me, yet again. "No, not really, but it is certainly fun to get your panties in a twist."
With that, she disconnects and I get in the shower.
Walking into the funeral home with the other members of the social studies department, I take a deep breath and try not to pass out. The scent of flowers and candles and funeral home overwhelms me. Even though we're on the early side, the place is already packed. Great. I don't want to see people. I don't want to talk to anyone. I especially don't want to talk to Martha, the woman standing next to me. She teaches freshman social studies. She's already a blubbering mess. I try not to look at her. I can't watch someone cry without crying. I know I'm totally delusional to think I will get through tonight without crying.
"I can't believe he's gone. I can't believe this happened!" Martha's voice is a whisper. An Irish one. The elderly woman in front of us seems to crumple a bit as she begins crying. This only makes Martha cry more. She's sniffing and snorting, so I try to focus on that. "You know,"
sniff
, "I always,"
sniff
, "thought that you and,"
sniff sniff sniff
, "Robin were together. I guess you were just close because he was engaged to your sister." And then she blows her nose, making a sound like a goose being strangled.
I'm going to throw up. I can't do this. I can't be here. I need air. I need to get out. I need ...
Black. Everything is black.
I hear the voices and then smell this terrible, terrible, awful smell that causes my eyes to fly open and water at the same time. I try to sit up but there are too many people around me. This is not helping.
"Sadie, are you okay?" It's my principal, John. I haven't seen him since the lingerie incident. I feel my face flushing even more, just thinking of that. I hear somebody say, "Look at how red she is! Should we call an ambulance?"
I succeed in sitting up this time. "I'm fine. I just need some air." I need not to have caused the death of a student and my boyfriend. I need my sister not to have been having an affair with said boyfriend. I need this not to be my life.
Someone hands me a paper cup of water and I down it. It helps. I could drink about forty more of those. "Okay, everyone. Why don't you go back into the viewing room. I'll stay with Sadie and make sure she's okay."
I would have said that John was the last person I would want to be with right now, but I appreciate his quiet command of the situation. In ways like that, he reminds me of my dad. He's about the same age. He's due to retire next year. He's way past the typical retirement age, but he was in the service before becoming a teacher, so he's just now getting his thirty years in.
We sit in amiable silence for a few minutes. Finally he says, "Are you really okay?"
I just shrug. I'm not okay. I'm not sure I'll be okay after this. At least not for a while.
"Um, I know that you and Robin were ... an item."
I turn and look at him, completely stunned. "How?"
"I'm observant. And my daughter works at the Classless Cafe."
"That was our favorite place to eat. We thought because it was a few towns away, no one would know us."
"One day, one of you must have been wearing a school shirt. My daughter asked me and I figured it out. But that's neither here nor there. I want to know if you are okay."
Finally, I'm able to speak. "This would be a hard situation just based on that. Add in the fact that Rob was having an affair with my sister and it gets a whole lot messier."
"Yeah, I would think that it would. I never pegged Robin for a two-woman kind of guy."
"You and me both."
"So, you didn't know?"
"Total shock."
"I guess it would be. Well, whatever you need, just let me know. Are you going to leave now or do you want to go in?"
"I want to leave, but I guess I need to go in."
"Then let me escort you, if you don't mind."
We stand up and start to head into the other room. Right before we get to the entrance I say, "Thanks, John. I appreciate it."
I wish I could say that the most remarkable thing that happened at Rob's wake was me passing out. Well, I could say that, but it would be lying. I wish I could say that the other excitement didn't involve me. Again, I'd be lying.
John walks me back into the room and right over to Mr. and Mrs. Henderson and Rob's brothers Barry and Maurice. I don't know why it never occurred to me before, but in that moment it hits me. I know why Rob's name was Robin. Mrs. Henderson named her children after the BeeGee's. A bit of laughter threatens to bubble out of my mouth. I choke it back and make a strange gargling sound. It sort of doesn't matter. Everyone is staring at me anyway. There are hushed whispers going around the room.
Mrs. Henderson can't even look me in the eye as I stand before her. I don't blame her. Maybe I should, but I don't subscribe to the philosophy that one's actions are always a direct result of his or her mother's child-rearing abilities. "Mrs. Henderson, I'm very sorry for your loss." And sorry that I brought about your son's death. Obviously I leave that part out.
Now understand, these are people I've had Sunday dinner with. I've spent holidays eating her crappy ambrosia and deviled eggs. Other than accidentally killing Rob, I am not the person at fault here. I am the wronged party. She doesn't say anything, and so I move onto Mr. Henderson. Just as I'm about to give him a hug, I hear it. That shrill voice that has made me blow my stack countless times over the years.
Jenna.
She's in a wheelchair, my mother pushing her. "Bernice! George! I'm so sorry I'm late. I had to leave the hospital against medical advice to be here, but I just couldn't miss this. I am devastated. Absolutely torn up. I feel so guilty! I wish there was something I could do to bring our Robin back."
Jenna is like a bad soap opera actress, complete with the back of the hand to the forehead and everything. For being in the hospital and not being allowed to leave, she looks pretty made up. Her hair, which is unnaturally red, hangs in ringlets down past her shoulders. She's wearing a black dress that I'm guessing is brand spanking new and most likely carries a brand-name label. Her makeup is caked on, making her look older than thirty-three, and is topped off by fire-engine-red lips. On her left hand is a marquise-cut solitaire set in yellow gold. It takes every ounce of self-restraint I have not to punch her as my mother wheels her over to me.
I hear Barry mutter under his breath, "Well, if she hadn't been jerking him off while he was driving, he'd probably still be here."
I turn and look at him. I never really cared for Barry. Three years older than Robin, Barry made Rob seem laid back and spontaneous. "What did you say?"
"If you're asking me, then you heard correctly."
"How ..."
"Because the first responders all had a great laugh at my brother's expense. His fly was down, his junk was out, and there was obvious ... stuff all over her. One of the new guys took the call. He came back to the station and was telling everyone about it before he realized it was my brother. I was on duty that night. I could have been on that call."
At that point, I throw up. Right in front of Rob's casket. From some things, there is no rebounding. This is one of those things.
Rob's mother has to be escorted from the room. His brothers give me death looks. My sister starts wailing about how I ruin everything for her. My mother starts yelling at me for getting my sister all agitated in her precarious condition. My colleagues just stare at the freak show.
Sitting in my car, trying to muster up the strength to drive home, I don't know if I can move. If I can carry on. This is my punishment for killing all those people. I think a negative thought about someone and—poof—they're dead. I have to erase all the negativity from my life. And there's only one way to do that.
I have to move.
I know it seems rash, especially in light of the recent turmoil I'm living, but I need to start over. I'm thirty-five years old and destined to be alone. I'm actually sort of okay with that. I'm really and truly nervous that I am responsible for people's lives. If I'm living somewhere new, then maybe I won't have as many ties, and I won't kill as many people. I know I'm grasping at straws, but I need something to hold onto in this moment.
Even if I didn't kill Rob—which seems unlikely, since we had just broken up—I had decided I was no longer settling. Living in my crappy apartment is settling. Putting up with my sister's antics and my brother's douchiness is settling. I don't have the money to quit my job right now. Even anticipating the awkwardness that will result from the goings on at the wake, I'm actually pretty content with my job. I truly love American history. I'm sort of a nerd like that. I do enjoy teaching. I like to think I make a difference, even if it's a small one.
I get back to my apartment and am once again startled to see Therese inside. "What are you doing here? Please don't tell me someone else has died. I just cannot handle any more tonight."
Therese hands me a glass. I make a face as the liquor burns going down. "Good Lord, what is this?"
"It's a Rob Roy. In honor of the dearly departed. You won't need many."
I put the glass down on the coffee table. Which is uncharacteristically clean. I look around. The whole place looks spotless. "Did you clean?"
"Yeah, I figured you could use the help. How was the wake?"
I kick off my heels and head into the kitchen to find something to eat. Drinking on an empty stomach isn't a good idea, and I definitely need to be drinking tonight. I dig a bag of pretzels out of the cabinet and find the jar of peanut butter. Dipping the pretzels right in the peanut butter, I start munching away.
"That's disgusting. Haven't you ever heard of utensils?"
"I live alone. No one eats this peanut butter but me."
"Good point. You didn't answer my question."
"The wake was a disaster of epic proportions."
Over that Rob Roy, and then another, I give Therese all the gory details.
"So ... vomit?"
"All over the funeral home rug."
"So ... she was spanking the monkey?"
"Yup. He died with it all hangin' out."
She's quiet for a minute, and I can tell she wants to ask me something big. 'Cause otherwise, Therese is never this quiet for this long.
"Was he ... like that with you?"
"You mean getting it on while he was driving? Never. I mean, this man wouldn't hold my hand in public. He would only kiss me behind closed doors. God forbid there was any public sex. I mean, once we did it on his living room rug, but otherwise, it was in bed, with the lights off."
"How boring."
"It got really bad after the fall. That's when things fell off between us."
"Do you think that's when he started seeing Jenna?"
"I don't know. I kept waiting and waiting for things to pick up again between us. For him to make a move and to take control, but he never did."
"Maybe he wanted you to take control."
I shrug. "Maybe that's why he ended up with Jenna. I just can't believe he proposed to her."
"Yeah, that makes no sense whatsoever."
"And the ring is the antithesis of anything I would want."
"Marquise cut?"
"You got it."
"Doesn't he know that you're likely to stab yourself with that cut of stone?
"Apparently not." Feeling the alcohol melt through my limbs, I sink even deeper into the couch. "I didn't want to marry him. I broke up with him. But I didn't want him to love someone else."
"I just find it hard to believe that he could be in love with Jenna. It's like he had the Madonna-whore complex or something."
"Yeah, but I would have been a whore in the bedroom. Or living room. Or wherever. He just never gave me the chance to."
"Too bad we can't ask him."
"Oh, I bet he's glad he got out of this one." I stop and think for a minute. I'm getting pretty sleepy. "You know, when I said I didn't think we'd ever talk again, I didn't mean it like this."
"Of course you didn't, Sadie. There's no way you could have caused this."
I'm drifting off and I feel the weight of a blanket on me. Mumbling, I speak, probably just to myself, "But somehow I did and I don't know what to do about it."