Chapter 35

On Monday, Dad and I drove slowly back from SEATAC after sending the Mercers home to Georgia without us. The car seemed strangely empty, and I found myself sniffing my shirt collar where a bit of Paige’s perfume still lingered an hour after saying goodbye.

We joined the Rugettis for the rest of the day, spending it quietly with our thoughts. I helped prepare dinner, Dad cleaned up, we watched a movie, and then we retired. I was on the air mattress in the home office while Dad took the guest room.

Tuesday, I really didn’t want to get up. A year ago today, Mom passed away in a bed in the hospice, both Dad and me by her side. It was going to be difficult to make it through until twilight. A text I received from Paige, letting me know that she was thinking of me, helped.

Around eleven, Dad and I dressed in the suits we had brought, hugged June, shook hands with Frank, and walked out their front door to the rental car. Fifteen minutes later we were back at that winding drive where I had stopped with Paige. There was a Town Car parked nearby, the type that an older person might hire, but I thought nothing of it.

We climbed the little hill together, stood by the stone together, cried together a little bit and held our mourning in communion with each other. I sensed after a while that Dad wanted to say something to his departed bride, so I told him I would go for a walk. He knew it was to give him privacy.

As I meandered, I looked at the markers. Some were sad, no more than a ‘Rest in Peace’, a name and some dates. Not all of those were from the same era – I had thought that maybe it was a custom to only put that on stones at a certain period of history. Looking around though, I saw that there were stories etched into the granite and marble: this person was loved by many, that one, not so much. Here a family lay, all of them departed on the same day, obviously victims of some sort of tragedy. The little carved angels got to me when I saw them on a stone.

Some people had been heroes to their loved ones while others were simply planted in that memorial soil. I found myself seeking out those, who, like Mom, had been cherished, who had been honored in their passing. It made me feel better to read the words of love posted for the world to see. I took a picture of the one that stated, ‘He loved his children, and taught us to do the same. We miss you, Dad.’ The man had passed at the age of ninety, and the sentiment there was that his life had been cut short. Eventually it was time for me to go and regroup with my own father.

When I got back, there was an older woman approaching him. I made my way close enough to hear the conversation without interrupting.

“I knew your wife,” the lady began with no introduction or preamble when she met him at the plot. “My kids put me in a home when I turned seventy-five and left me to stagnate there. About a year after I settled in I saw a flyer on the bulletin board that invited our residents to come and enjoy dance lessons. The home billed it as a way to get out, get some exercise, see the city, so I went.”

She had cut flowers in her hand and bent down to put them on the grass in front of the headstone. “Some days when we went she had your son with her; sometimes he’d be in school. It’s a credit to the both of you that he was such a good boy: funny, polite, handsome, even at the age of twelve, and always willing to escort the old ladies around the floor. There were sessions where I was feeling every bit of my years and I didn’t want to go, but Jennifer had promised that young Tim would be there, so I attended.”

Dad helped her straighten back up and walked her over to a nearby bench.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. I only recognized you because you look so much like I remember Tim did. I’m Laura Casey.” She held out her hand and Dad shook it gently.

“James McKenzie, Jenny’s husband.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” She gave Dad a moment before she resumed her narrative, “Where was I?”

“Tim, at the studio.”

“Oh, yes. On those days when I didn’t feel like moving, I would simply watch him with the other ladies. It didn’t matter whether they were bent over with arthritis or still in their prime; he treated each one with respect, and he left a blush on many a cheek. My favorite days were the ones when there was a ballet class for beginners immediately after our session. Your wife let us grandparents sit on chairs around the back of the room while students the ages of our loved ones practiced. Occasionally she called for your son when there were lifts that needed to be performed and he’d come out of her office to help. I could see that he didn’t always want to, but he never let that show when he was in front of a class. I attended for three years before the studio closed and it was a pleasure to watch him grow up right in front of us.”

“But the thing I will always treasure is how he made me and every other student feel. When he was with a student, they were the center of his attention. It’s why I enrolled my granddaughter in ballet classes there. When she started, she was a rather unattractive eleven year-old; here, I have a picture.”

Mrs. Casey found her pocketbook and pulled out a photo to show Dad.

“It’s alright, you can say it – she was extremely lacking in height for her weight. Because of that, she had a self-image problem and was completely without self-confidence. Once she started there, she found her passion in dance, and she worked hard at it. Any time anyone asks, I always tell them it was due to Tim.”

It was a moment for tissues, and both Dad and Mrs. Casey used one.

“Tim was the ‘beautiful boy,’ my granddaughter’s words, not mine, who paid attention to her. Tim was the one boy in the class who could lift her when it came her turn to dance, and he lifted her with ease. She’d go home crying when he did that because in spite of her weight problem, he made her feel that she was as light as a feather. She was heartbroken when the studio closed, but she was well on the way to a positive sense of self-worth by then. In the year and a half since she had to find a new teacher, she’s kept at it and she recently danced the juvenile lead in the city ballet production of The Nutcracker when it was performed at Christmas. Would you like to see a picture of her from that?”

Dad nodded and another photo was produced.

“Wow! This is the same girl?” He looked more closely. “Okay, I can see it now, but that’s a huge change.”

“It is, and we owe it to you, and your wife and your son Tim. My granddaughter wouldn’t have put in the work that she did otherwise. I just wish I could tell him that.”

Dad looked up and saw me not too far away.

“I think you can.”

He gestured for me to approach.

I remembered Mrs. Casey from those octogenarian classes that Mom held. Once she had talked about her granddaughter, I remembered young Tiffany too. I came over and knelt beside her, taking her hand and raising it to my lips.

“How have you been, Mrs. Casey?” I let her collect herself. “I’m sorry to eavesdrop, but I’m glad to hear that Tiffany has been doing well. Could I see the pictures you showed Dad?”

She nodded and retrieved them once more, showing me the before and after. Yes, that was the girl I remembered, but the one on stage was a new version. The still photo of the older ballerina showed poise, grace, joy, exuberance, love of the expression of dance. It helped too that the fifteen year-old was now at a healthy weight.

“She’s freed the beautiful young woman that was always there to come out and face the world. Please let her know that I said that and that I hope we’ll see her in something in the future.” I handed the pictures back to the older woman.

“You have no idea how much that will mean to her. Thank you.” When she started to rise from the bench, both Dad and I helped her up.

“Well, thank you for allowing me to intrude on your moment.” She looked like she wanted to say something more, but was stopping herself. I thought I knew what it was.

“Would you like to take a picture with me Mrs. Casey?” I asked.

Her smile told me that I had read her mind. She passed her phone over to Dad who shot what, in the old days, would have been at least a film roll’s worth of snaps. When done, he gave the phone back to her and then asked me to stay while he walked her back to the car. They obviously concluded their conversation on the way and she hugged Dad before he opened the back door for her, helping her situate herself for the ride back to wherever she was going. There was a grin on his face as he climbed the hill back to me.

“I told her that you had a Facebook page now and invited her to share that with her granddaughter. Don’t worry, I mentioned that you already had a girlfriend.”

On the way to our rental he opened up again. “It’s stories like that from someone I’ve never met that turn the heartache into joy.”

Dad smiled for the rest of the day, taking the opportunity to share with June. Of course, since the pregnancy hormones had scrambled her a bit, she alternated between laughing and crying. Eventually she opened her laptop and made me log into my Facebook page. Sure enough, there was a friend request there from Tiffany, the ballerina, which I accepted. I wrote a quick message to her along the same lines as I had asked her grandmother to relay, and sent it on.

We left the next morning, driving for the second time on this trip to SEATAC, dropped off the car at the rental agency and made our way through security. Noon found us eating in the VIP lounge, Dad having made sure we both flew first-class on the way to California. Grandma and Grandpa Edwards met us at LAX and then we drove out to their home in the desert.

There wasn’t much to do there except play golf, visit, talk about the future, swim, and of course tan. For once I wanted a tan that didn’t immediately proclaim me either a farmer or a construction worker. Well, I got one in four sunny retirement village days, and wouldn’t my girlfriend be surprised when we returned to Macon?

Sunday saw us back at LAX, back in the VIP lounge, back in our first-class seats, and finally back at home.

“So, would you like to tell me how you’re suddenly Facebook friends with half of the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company?”

I had gotten a hug, a kiss and a question from my girlfriend in that order when Dad and I were met in the Atlanta concourse.

I gave a tired smile. “I missed you.”

“And how did you get so tanned? Did you guys fly off to Hawaii?”

“It’s good to be home, Sweet Pea. You have no idea how nice it is to see you and Evie here.”

“Will you quit trying to make me feel all mushy inside for you? Answer my questions!”

She was attempting to maintain an angry façade and was failing miserably. She finally let me pull her to my side where she fit perfectly in the Paige-shaped hollow that had been empty since Monday.

“Fine, I’m all mushy. Now will you answer my questions?”

“In the car. I’ll let Dad tell the story since he does it with such panache.”

I followed Paige’s skips all the way to the Audi and since she was moving pretty fast, we arrived long before Dad and Evie. It gave us time to renew our acquaintance.

Evie drove on the way home while Dad regaled us with the further exploits of the Lady-whisperer. Actually, he pretty much related to us the story that Mrs. Casey told, with extraneous comments now of course. The ladies listened intently as he recreated for them the time we spent at the cemetery. He let me explain how Tiffany first friended me and then since she was still in touch with some of the girls from Mom’s ballet classes, I had gotten requests from them as well. Dad took responsibility for the opening salvo though, reassuring Paige that I wasn’t gallivanting around on her while we were in different states.

The tan was sort of self-explanatory, particularly after I made mention that grandma and grandpa Edwards had taken Dad and me golfing every single day we had been there, and then let me lounge by the community pool in the afternoons and evenings. Evie said something under her breath to Dad that made him do a spit-take of the water he was drinking. He didn’t gainsay whatever she had told him though.

Paige badgered her mother until the comment was made public.

“I just said that I bet there were a lot of granddaughters visiting their grandparents last week once the word got around.”

The funny part was that her words held truth.

I really wanted to check on Grandpa’s build before getting some rest, but as our flight left LAX at noon, lasted for five hours, there was a three hour time difference between east and west coasts, and the ride back from Atlanta took ninety minutes, it was almost ten when I got unpacked. Instead, Grandpa reassured me that everything was a little ahead of schedule and if we were lucky, we might have the house done by the middle of April.

I also checked with Paige regarding the days of school I had missed. Both of us had asked for and received assignments in advance so we could take our little trip with minimal disruption to our schooling, but there’s always something you miss. She filled me in and it only took a chapter of reading my chemistry book to feel prepared for the morrow.

Before bed, I sent out a group text to our lifting companions saying that with the time change I wouldn’t be meeting them at school in the morning, but that I’d be there Wednesday. Paige took my dirty clothes and promised to have them back to me by the next evening before we all went to our own restrooms to prepare for bed. Since it was just brushing and washing up, I was at my sink while Paige took hers – we had claimed them early on in the commingling of households.

“I hope you know I wasn’t insecure about the new friends you added to your page.” She told me between rounds of brushing and spitting. “It actually makes me feel closer to you to hear about what your life used to be, especially when the stories are that nice.” She closed the distance between us and kissed me on the cheek.

I captured her hand and led her into my room, sitting down on my bed and patting the spot beside me. Her hand was soft and warm in mine, so I played with it, drawing circles and intertwining our digits while I shared Uncle Frank’s wisdom with her. “We’re not going to be together this summer like we have been since December, but I know that I don’t have to worry about you, and I promise that you don’t have to worry about me.”

I hugged her, accompanied her back to the bathroom, rinsed, washed my face, gargled and then closed the door behind me as I found my bed.

Grandpa was right. The house was ahead of schedule and looked good. I made some changes to the project management software, updating it to match reality, and found that we had gained three whole days. We, all of us in the house that is, soon fell into a routine for the month of March where we would perform our day tasks and then tack on the extra-curricular activities after school or work as was applicable.

Paige suggested at one of our relationship meetings that we develop a schedule for cooking so that no one person had to bear the brunt of the responsibilities. That was implemented and Grandma was happy that she didn’t have to make every meal. She still helped on most of them because she wanted to, not because no one else would make it otherwise. Then, between Paige and me, a plan was concocted for tackling the lawn where I’d do the tricky areas on the riding mower after which I turned its operation over to Paige and finished the hand mowing she had started. When she put the big equipment away, she grabbed the edger and made neat unions of asphalt and greenery. Evie took over the flower beds in which she was sometimes helped by Grandma, but more often by Dad. It was a way for them to share experiences just as the lawn maintenance was for me and Paige.

I don’t want it to sound like it was all sweetness and light around the place. With six people living there, we got on each other’s nerves occasionally. Grandma kicked us out for a spa day on a Sunday in April when Paige and I had a lot of homework, and that didn’t go over so well with us or our parents. Evie and Paige were learning how to live with we men, and Dad and I were learning a lot about living with these women.

There were fights, there was crying, yelling, making up, talking and sharing. Dad insisted on the relationship meetings, even if it meant he had to split his week between Minnesota, Georgia and Illinois. It turned out to be axiomatic that absence really did make the heart grow fonder, at least the way Dad and his beau were processing things. Paige and I didn’t have the chance to do the same as we were thrown together on a daily basis. What we started to learn though, was how to make that sort of relationship work. I think the key was that as we grew to trust and rely on each other, the blowups lessened in severity and we could deal with our differences using the techniques that Dad had taught us.

Grandpa even got mad at me a couple times when I scheduled something on the house and didn’t verbally remind him, choosing to let the reports speak for themselves. He taught me some of the finer points of management in the process, and I think both he and I grew as project foremen and bosses. April ran on at our busy pace and then suddenly the project was over. We held a grand house-warming party, our friends showed up again to move everything back to the old farm, and Grandma and Grandpa weren’t such intimate partners in the combined McKenzie-Mercer household any more.

I think Paige missed it more than anyone else, having bonded with Grandma in the kitchen, on the links and over sewing. It was clear that she really had enjoyed for the first time having a set of grandparents that actually doted on her. For me, I missed most the comforting sight of Grandpa in his chair in the evenings, eyes closed, simply drinking in the warmth and love with which everyone filled the place.

In terms of those around us, neither Paige nor I let our developing relationship come in the way of making and keeping good friends. I was finding that I enjoyed doing stuff with Trent, Jake and some other guys who had joined our little lifting association. Andrew was still dating Gloria and that was going well as far as she shared with Paige. Jake had found a freshman volleyball player named Eleanor who didn’t think he was completely repulsive, and some of the others of our cohort had begun to pair up as well.

“Mom, I just updated the list of people coming here and I don’t think we have the room. We need another planning meeting.”

Oh Lord. Their planning meetings had started small – just Paige and Evie. After a while, Dad and I got roped into them. When the logistics started to get away from them, Gloria and her mom were enlisted. Grandma had a sixth sense, obviously, as whenever more than one woman unrelated to me showed up at the house, Grandma wasn’t far behind. She brought Grandpa with her, tasking him with getting the extra chairs from the basement and setting them up. Dad didn’t have to endure too much of this as he was still travelling to various cities where we had summer projects lined up, so Grandpa and I were the lone males who were given the opportunity to run all the errands.

The first time that Dad was home for one of these expanded meetings it had gotten a little loud for him, with Gloria, Paige, Evie, Linda and Grandma all sitting around the dining room table and talking over each other. He emerged from his home office and ordered them into the sound-proofed media room to continue. Being commanded like that didn’t sit well with Evie and her eyes told Dad that same thing, but the ladies did as he requested. Later that night Paige and I heard voices, not yelling, but definitely with an increase in volume from the two of them. We weren’t concerned when, the next day, they looked as happy as ever, even telling us as we got ready for school that they were heading into Atlanta for a day together.

The next planning meeting happened a few days later; when Grandpa showed up, he and I simply resignedly headed into the basement to grab chairs for the women. Evie stopped us after the first load.

“Thanks you two, but I think we’ll take the media center,” she told us sheepishly, “as it’s more comfortable and a little quieter.”

We lugged the seats back down and then tried to figure out what to do with our free time. It was a nice late-April Sunday afternoon, Paige and I had taken care of the lawn the prior morning before her most recent golf tournament (which I attended and was appreciated for), and we really didn’t have anything on the agenda. So we did what guys do, and walked out to the equipment yard where my kit car was stored in the back of one of our sheds. It hadn’t been worked on at all since it had been gifted to me, and one thing led to another that Sunday.

It wasn’t until three irate women showed up looking for us that we realized we had spent most of the afternoon there. The donor-car frame was pretty much down to bare metal for our efforts, ready to be sandblasted and then powder-coated on the flip side. Grandpa and I were wearing the overalls we kept around the shop, but we were still covered in dirt and grease. Evie stayed back as Grandma and Paige stepped up to give us a piece of their minds, but it didn’t get that far.

Paige stopped in front of me and took a deep breath, I suppose in order to take me to task over whatever infraction I had committed. Instead, an expression I was hard put to identify, replaced the annoyance. Her exasperation with me vanished as she reminisced.