Waiting to Believe (38 page)

The phone rang again and again. “We're so sorry,” the callers all said. Finally, the family sat down to eat. It had been years since they had all gathered at the kitchen table. Each in their place. But now Rose wasn't there, sitting between Maureen and Gerald. Instead, a self-conscious Lisa took the chair, understanding as she did, the significance of her place at the table. They picked at the lasagna, washing it down with more beer, more Jameson.

Night was settling in. As Kacey washed supper dishes, she saw the yard light come on, casting eerie shadows on the path to the barn. She thought of Two Spot. “Hey, Dad,” she said, “how about we go to the barn? I want to see my girl!”

He was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Sure,” he said in a tired voice. How many times had the two of them taken this walk together? There was comfort in the memories.

As they entered the barn, Kacey saw the mare raise her head, sniffing the air. Then she nickered and shook her head. “Look! She knows it's me!”

“Well, of course she does!”

They opened the door to her stall. “But it's been so long. I think she'll be eleven this fall, and I've been away the last six of those years.” Kacey encircled the neck of the beautiful pinto. Her chestnut mane was silky, soft to the touch. Kacey leaned her head against the little horse's chest, continuing to stroke her and in so doing, bringing comfort to herself.

Kenneth stood back, watching the reunion. Finally, he spoke, “I don't think I was there for your mother as much as I should have been.”

Kacey was startled by his admission. “You did your best. Mom could be tough.”

“Well, yes, but I—”

Kacey interrupted, “Regret's a waste of time, Dad.”

“But it's important for you kids to know I loved her. I always loved her, even when I didn't show it.”

“I think somehow I've understood that.” Father and daughter gazed at one another.

This was too intense for him. “Well, I want to hear about
you
now. Your big day's almost here. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be, I guess.”

“That doesn't sound very confident.”

“Oh, it's been a roller coaster ride, but I think I'm ready.”

“Well, it's a mighty big step. I suppose you've been praying about it a lot . . .”

Kacey gave her father a penetrating look. “I think you made that same statement six years ago. Right here in this barn. My response is the same today as it was then.”

Kenneth looked perplexed. “I don't recall. What'd you say?”

“I said I've never really been on a first-name basis with the Almighty.”

“For God's sake, Kacey!” He shook his head, frustrated at trying to understand.

“Let's just say I
think
I'll be ready on the big day, and let it go at that.”

“Kathryn Clare,” he cleared his throat, “I just want you to know I'm proud of you.” He said it softly, almost with a touch of embarrassment.

But now it was Kacey who was embarrassed. “Thanks, Dad. I want to make you proud. I really hope I can . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she swatted at him, “C'mon, we'd better get back before those sisters of mine polish off the Jameson!”

What will he think of me if I don't make it?

A spectacular summer day greeted them as each awakened from uneasy sleep. Kacey felt the early morning sun shining on her face as she rolled over in bed and had her first conscious thought:
Something's wrong. What is it?
Then the realization.
Mom is dead. Oh, God. Oh, God.

The tasks were many for the day ahead. They all understood why the funeral had to happen so soon. Kacey could only be home for three days.

The house needed a good cleaning. Clothes needed to be washed and fresh towels hung in the bathroom. Someone should cut the grass. A quick run to the grocery store for basics and a stop at the liquor store in preparation for the gathering after the wake. A bottle each of Jameson, Bushmills, and Tullamore Dew. A case of Guinness and one of Grain Belt. It would be a long evening.

Lisa pitched in, deadheading the flowers alongside the house, ironing shirts for Kenneth. Gerald and Joseph washed dishes one more time. They all moved about in silence. Clockwork.
There is an order to things
, Kacey thought. Even in death. Particularly in death.

At last, it was time to leave for the wake. Cars were already pulling into the parking lot when they arrived at the old church.

Kacey tried for a look of peace as they marched in together, but her stomach lurched at the sight of the coffin before the altar.

Father O'Hearn rushed to greet them, fawning over Kenneth a little too much, Kacey thought. And then they walked down the aisle and stood before Rose in her Ava Gardner dress. Her beautiful hair wasn't done as she would have done it herself, but her makeup was flawless, and the gold hoop earrings Kacey had picked for her were perfect. All things considered, it was Rose, except for the rosary threaded through her fingers. That was not Rose.

Kacey wiped at tears. Bridget crowded as close to her big sister as she could. Annie reached up to put her arm on Joseph's shoulder. Maureen and Gerald stood motionless, staring down into the coffin. Kenneth stood behind Maureen and Bridget, spreading his arms to touch each of their backs. His face was pale, his cheek moving in and out as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

Behind them, a line was forming, all waiting to pay their respects. Kenneth steered his children away from the coffin. Kacey's eyes searched the crowd—familiar faces for the most part. She was looking for one face in particular but did not see it.

After a few minutes, Father O'Hearn stepped forward. “We're here tonight to remember our friend, Rose Doyle. Let us begin by reciting the glorious mysteries of the holy rosary.”

Kacey grasped her rosary tightly.
Give me strength, give me strength
. The words were a prayer of her own, while all around she heard the words of others, “I believe in God, the Father Almighty . . .”

Finally, people were invited to share a remembrance of Rose. Annie was the first to speak. “Mom and I didn't always get along. I think it was something about oil and water, something like that.” Chuckles drifted through the congregation. “But by the time I was finishing my second year of college, I began to see Mom in a different light. I think it was because of her that I learned to love flowers and wild colors, even if I never learned to cook from her.” Laughter again. Annie swallowed. “I'm not sure I ever told her I loved her.” She swallowed again, her voice husky, “So I'm telling her tonight.”

Maureen followed, but once she got to the lectern, she could think of nothing to say. Finally, “I never learned to cook from Mom, either. But she was the best tennis player in the family, and one of my goals was to get good enough to beat her. It didn't happen, and now I won't have a chance to do it.”

The boys remained seated. Bridget and Kacey, too. Bridget wept silently, leaning against Kacey. Kacey knew she was expected to speak. She felt the pressure. The nun in their midst.
What would she say
, they all wondered,
about her sometimes rambunctious mother?
Her mother who drank too much. Her mother who didn't always follow the rules. Her beautiful, fragile mother. She could not do it.

A few others stepped forward with their own stories about Rose. Nathan Richman, the first Jewish mayor of their predominantly Catholic and Lutheran community, looked out over the congregation. “Rose Doyle has a special place in my heart. When I decided to run for mayor, I knew I was in for an uphill struggle, but one of the first people to come to my campaign office was Rose. ‘I like what you stand for,' she said to me. And then she handed me a check for $500 with only one string attached: ‘Don't let my husband know!'”

The mayor paused amid smiles and chuckles. “Now, I'm not only Jewish,” he added, “but I'm a Democrat. Neither of those things stopped Rose. We became friends that day.”

Kacey was astonished. She was hearing things about her mother she had never known. She was seeing a side of her she had never seen. And she felt shame for never looking closer at the woman who had been a mystery in so many ways. At the same time, she experienced a release she could not explain. She was grateful to know the Rose Doyle who was present that night.

Father O'Hearn was about to bring the service to a close but then waited as a tall, blond, young man made his way up the aisle. When he reached the lectern, he looked directly at Kacey.

“Mrs. D. always liked me,” Greg Saunders began, “and I liked her.”

Kacey had been looking for him, but she wasn't ready to see him. His lanky frame had filled out, more muscular than she remembered. His blond curls were more contained. His face showed lines she did not recall. But his eyes. His eyes told her he was the Greg she had known so intimately.

“She made me feel welcome, treated me like a son. And in many ways, I
did
feel the Doyle home was my home. I had many a happy meal around their table. It's true, she wasn't the best cook, or the most organized person, but I always enjoyed being in her presence. Hearing her laugh. Even having her scold me on occasion. In her own quiet way, she was a force.” He smiled down at Kenneth before continuing.

“It's going to be hard for me to come back home to Minnesota from now on, knowing she won't be on that front porch, waiting to offer me a drink and some advice. She was good at both.”

He returned to his seat. Bridget grasped Kacey's arm. Kacey was motionless. Six years. Her young love, now a handsome, confident man. It was hard to get a breath.

The old priest, with the ruddy, red face, raised his arms heavenward and prayed: “Christ, you are the firstborn from the dead and the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep, usher the dead into the glory of your resurrection.”

“Sleep well, Mom,” Kacey murmured.

Leaving the church, Kacey scanned the crowd, looking for Greg, but he had slipped out the door. He did not want to be found.

63

Another perfect day, were it not for the fact that Rose was being buried that afternoon. The sun was dazzling as the Doyle family stepped from the limo and entered the musty, old church. Gladys Wright was playing the organ, hitting most notes correctly.

First “What Wondrous Love Is This,” and then “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth” filled the sanctuary as Kenneth and his children gathered in front of Rose's coffin for one last moment with her. Kacey leaned down, kissing her mother's forehead. When had she last kissed her mother?

They took their places in the front row as the funeral director lowered the coffin lid. Father O'Hearn placed the pall over it and sprinkled it with holy water. “Welcome, everyone, as we offer praise to God for the gift of Rose Doyle.”

He moved methodically through the Order of the Service. The hymns, the prayers, the Liturgy of the Word, and finally the Liturgy of the Eucharist. Kacey found herself being comforted by the time-honored rituals. She was at home in the rhythm and the sanctity of the readings and the prayers. And for the first time since she had returned to bury her mother, she relaxed and gave herself to God's keeping. It came as a surprise that she could feel comforted by the outward symbols of her faith.

The congregation sang the closing hymn, “I Am the Bread of Life,” a newer hymn Gladys had not yet completely mastered. Father O'Hearn stepped to the head of the coffin to lead it down the long aisle. But before he began the walk, he paused and nodded to Patrick Burns, who slipped onto the piano bench. Kacey was puzzled. She turned to her father, but he closed his eyes as Patrick started playing. A look of peace came over Kenneth's face, and Kacey knew he was singing the words in his mind:

My wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows.

You may search everywhere, but none can compare . . .

For all the tumult of their lives, she was still his wild Irish Rose.

Kacey was drained, unsatisfied, as she and Lisa climbed into the wagon for the trip back to Blessed Sacrament. She resented having to return the evening of the funeral, while people continued to drift in and out of the house.

“How ya doing?” Lisa finally asked as they sped along the highway.

“It was a whirlwind. I think I lived my whole life over again in those two days.”

Silence stretched between them. Finally Lisa said, “So that was Greg.”

Kacey smiled, remembering the handsome man who had stood before them. “That was Greg.”

“Did you get to talk to him?”

“No, he left right after the wake. I don't think he came to the funeral.”

“But he
was
there,” Lisa said softly.

“Oh, yes. He was there.”

Lisa glanced at Kacey. “Is that over?”

“Yeah, it's been over for a long time.”