Impact 13: of Turbulence and Death

"Thank you so much Sarah Beth."

Father Tanner spoke about Dad's faith and his struggles. I didn't really recognize the man he talked about.

I made it through.

Afterwards we greeted everyone - parishioners who spoke kind words about my father, family, my mother's friends and coworkers. Kelly's friends and their families showed up en masse - there seemed to be hundreds of them - but she managed to keep the theatrics to a minimum. Wes introduced me to two of his friends, they seemed like nice boys, each told me how sorry they were.

Danny came with his family. He was weeping. My mother embraced him. His parents were wonderful, so genuinely sad and loving. His little sister cried and told me how sorry she was for my loss, how much she loved and missed me. I told her that we would always be friends. I shook Danny's hand, listened to his condolences.

The McNamaras came. Michelle with her husband and two little ones. Grace with her husband and a newborn girl. Katherine explained that Sophia was in California and Christina was in Colorado, but that they both sent their condolences. Her parents, who looked so much older than I remembered, were kind, if still their usual haughty selves. Mrs. McNamara was still the "great beauty" my father admired, and Mr. McNamara looked as tired as always.

"Of course he looks tired," my father had laughed. "He's all alone in that house. Even the dog is a bitch."

It was only after absorbing a thousand condolences that I saw Keith, Kip and Kwasi. They looked beautiful in their black suits.

"Don't look so surprised," Kwasi whispered as he hugged me. "You are the most beloved."

"You all came together?" I choked, feeling like I might actually finally cry.

"They did," Kwasi said, with a thumb at the others, "Kip spotted me at the gate. We came together from the airport."

"Ben wanted to come too," Keith said, hugging me. "He was really upset he couldn't."

I told the boys to come to the house with the family.

As we were leaving I noticed Katherine getting into Danny's car. Wondered if she was the new one. It made sense that she would be.

That afternoon the boys sat in the yard and ate in their shirt sleeves with my cousins. Kip was a huge hit, my cousins couldn't get enough of him, laughing at all his stories.

Keith looked undersized among the men of my family, and Kwasi looked oversized, but everyone enjoyed having them there, wanted to know about my life in New York. My grandmother in particular really pumped Keith for information.

"Grandma, leave him be!" I scolded.

"I will do no such thing, he's a grown man and can stand up for himself!"

Keith laughed and promised he was having a good time.

My Aunt Carole, Mom's oldest sister, whispered in my ear from over my shoulder.

"You know she never forgave him for getting Amelia pregnant."

I turned, Carole was smiling, watching Keith and her mother. She was talking about Dad. Mom had been 16 when she got pregnant. Still it was shocking to have Aunt Carole voice something I'd never heard any adult in my family acknowledge, but had always known: my grandmother couldn't stand my dad.

"But the real reason she hated your father was for taking her away. Mimi wants all her babies close," she said, something a little bitter under the warmth. "You're the exception. She loves that you got away."

That evening Keith and Kip headed back to the airport for their return flight. As they were leaving Kip leaned in and told me, "If I was staying tonight I would be laying waste to your cousin Devin's asshole."

Devin was one of the Ohio cousins. Outspoken right wing talk radio loud mouth misogynist, whose only redeeming feature... actually he really didn't have one - but he had been laughing at all of Kip's jokes and hanging on his every word all afternoon. But still...

"What?!? He's married Kip!"

"That swoosh is so hungry for dick I'm honestly shocked he didn't offer to suck me off in your mom's bathroom."

"KIPPEN!"

"SARAH BETH!"

Kwasi was staying the night. He had a room at the same Marriott where Aunt Jane and most of the other out of towners were staying. So he stayed behind drinking and visiting with the young people till late, and was able to catch a ride with Devin and his wife - whose cowed sadness I was now measuring against Michelle Williams' character in Broke Back Mountain.

Aunt Jane may be the bitch my father always said she was, but she made sure me and my mother had nothing to do besides talk to people. That we always had whatever we needed, a plate of food, a drink, a chair... at one point she caught me washing dishes and tried chasing me out of the kitchen.

"I just need to do something," I begged. "There's nowhere else to hide."

She gave me a long look and kissed me on the forehead.

"I know what that's like," she scoffed, making me realize that's what she had been doing all day - hiding. I wiped my hands on my apron and hugged her.

"Oh Aunt Jane," I whispered, feeling real heartbreak as I realized she had lost her parents and both her baby brothers - she was alone. I tried to imagine what it would be like to lose Mom, Kelly and Wes, but my mind rebelled.

"You're a good girl Sarah, you always were."

I was standing in the yard and my mom's sister and their husbands were trading stories about Dad when he was young, and making everyone laugh. These were the kinds of stories Dad never would have let them tell. Stories Wes and Kelly had never heard. They were both laughing, but I could tell they were having trouble wrapping their heads around that image of Dad, but they could see Mom was laughing the hardest.

I was laughing too, but I was old enough to remember Dad from before the stroke. Old enough to remember how things were at the old house - the "good times" - the pool and convertible and jacuzzi, never having to go to church... Dad falling down the stairs drunk, blood all over the kitchen... the screaming fights.

I saw Father Mike come out and say his goodbyes to Mom and the others. He looked over at me and I followed him out to the front yard to say my goodbyes.

"I wish you could have spoken instead of Father Tanner," I told him.

"Probably just as well I didn't," he told me with a broad smile. "I could tell stories about Eddy that would curl even your Aunt Gerry's toes."

Mom's sister Gerry was the middle child, and had been close to Dad when they were younger, they'd been the same age. She had been telling some of the bawdier stories about Dad.

"You ok?" he asked.

"I wish I could cry," I admitted. "I feel like a bad daughter."

He reached for me and hugged me tight. My temple pressed against his breastbone, the whole world muffled by his enormous mass.

"He was lucky to have such a loving and dutiful daughter," Mike rumbled, before releasing me and pulling away. "And he would have loved to hear how beautifully you eulogized him... you are surprisingly funny Sarah Beth, although Father Tanner was not pleased to have you swear in his church."

"Did I swear?" I asked, shocked at the idea, trying to remember.

"Did you swear?! You dropped an F-bomb!" he laughed. "No one's given you any grief? I'm the first one?"

"Really?"

"Yes really! You look so devastated, they must all be giving you a pass."

"Oh jeez..."

"You are your father's daughter," Father Mike said, laughing until he wept. He was talking about the father my aunts were laughing about. The guy who blew through money and crashed motorcycles in snow storms.

I texted Claire a few times during the day, and tried to reach her before I went to sleep, but all I'd gotten was one text saying her thoughts were with me and my family, that she loved me and was so sorry not to be with me right now.

I knew she was busy, and that it was the middle of the night in Paris now, but I was surprised she hadn't called. I had really hoped to talk to her before I went to bed.

I lay in the dark of the rec room for a long time, trying to picture Claire sleeping in her mother's apartment on the Seine. She probably wasn't on a sofa-sleeper. I thought of the way she held me, of waking up in the middle of the night, immobilized, her arms wrapping me tight. I had asked her about it once, if she knew, if it was conscious.

"Of course," she said. "You get restless in your sleep, sometimes a little wild. It calms you down to be held."

I knew I moved around in my sleep, but no one had ever described it as "restless'' or "wild".

"Do I have nightmares?"

"I don't know, but you seem upset, but when I swaddle you, you make the sweetest sounds and grow so calm."

I wish Claire was here, that she was swaddling me.

I wore my mother's dress again the next day. The funeral home was nearby. I sat with my mother at first, but after an hour or two drifted around, trying not to spend too much time with Kwasi and Wes who were off in a corner with Wes's friends and a couple of my younger cousins.

I spent the day playing the part of the dutiful daughter, the good sister. It felt performative; I felt like a fraud. Was I even mourning?

Father Tanner was there, sitting with my mother. Watching me.

Kwasi stayed the rest of the afternoon. Just a quiet presence, there at the back of the room with the boys. At one point I saw Wes and his friends going out and looked around for Kwasi, but he wasn't there. I went looking for him, afraid he'd left, but found him smoking in the parking lot.

"Darci's going to kill you if she smells that on your suit," I teased.

"Yeah, that's not a problem any more."

"What do you mean?"

"I moved out."

"What?! When?! Wait... I thought that place was yours?!?"

"Yeah, I told her if she can sort it out with the landlord she can have the lease, if she can't she needs to find a new place."

"Holy shit Kwasi, what happened?"

Kwasi sagged. His enormous frame slumping into a posture of dejection so unfamiliar I had trouble recognizing him.

"Oh fuck Sarah, I'm not sure your dad's funeral is the place to have this conversation."

"But... you guys-"

"She is so fucking hung up on you Sarah, so jealous of you and I, of everything you do. It was funny when she and I got together, not in a million years did I think I would fall in love with her. But I did. Hopelessly."

He threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped it with his heel, his head bowed. I'd only seen Kwasi cry once before, and that's when he apologized to me about the threesome. I had told him we were all drunk, pretended not to remember. But he had told me he was ashamed of himself and he was sorry. I had thought he and Darci were through, but she had gotten him back, again and again. They had really struggled that whole year, lots of drama. I'd very carefully kept out of it, never saying a word against her. And then they moved to Brooklyn together.

Watching the tears falling now was very different. This wasn't shame or remorse, this was real heartbreak. I thought of him telling me once how mean she was to him. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

"Oh my beautiful man, you are so good Kwasi. So good," I whispered, afraid to say anything more, that she might still come roaring back. But feeling him drop his great head on my shoulder, and wrap me in those long heavy arms around me and sob was a shock. This was different.

"God damn it..." he spat, his voice thick with tears. "I tried so fucking hard, Sarah. For so long."

"I know Kwasi, I do."

When he had to leave for his flight that afternoon my mother embraced him, telling him how much my father had loved him, what a good friend he was to me, and how grateful she was for him.

"That big old house scared me, but I always felt safe knowing Sarah was living with you," she told him.

After he left I found myself sitting alone, feeling like I sometimes did at parties, wishing I was invisible, that I could slip between the floorboards and disappear. That's when I felt the touch on my shoulder.

I can't believe my eyes, she must be an apparition, a figment of my broken heart, a desperate mirage.

Drawn and pale, Claire looks... scared.

She's in a simple black dress, sleeveless, down to her knees. Her hair pulled tightly back in a knot at her neck. The neckline is a shallow v. She's wearing pearls and diamond earrings. She looks so preposterously elegant.

"How?" I ask, trying to stand, almost stumbling.

"I left as soon as I could," she says, holding me by the elbow, steadying me. Her eyes are wet, she looks concerned. I'm shaking all over. My whole body seems to quake. My legs feel weak.

"How?" I repeat, not believing my eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't want to intrude..." she whispers to me, her eyes darting.

"Intrude?" I wonder, trying to understand what she could possibly mean, how she could possibly be here.

"I was afraid I might not be welcome?" she admits, and the tears that have felt so entirely out of reach come. They are pouring down my cheeks as I embrace Claire. A great wrenching sob wracks me. I gasp for breath, her old fashioned scent, more familiar and comforting than home. "But I couldn't stay away..." she whispers in my ear, wrapping me tight, swaddling me.

"He's-" is all I can manage, before another gulping sob chokes off my words.

"I know," she coos. "I know. I'm so sorry Sarah..."

"Thank you Claire," I whisper, clutching her to me, pressing my face into her neck. "Oh God, thank you..."

"Come," she says, straightening up, and pulling back. "Introduce me to your maman."

"Sarah Beth?"

It's my mother, she looks confused. Her arms are spread and palms up and open in supplication. She's looking back and forth between us, struggling to understand.

"Mom, this is Claire..." I whisper, a tiny little sound that carries such an enormous load: all my love, everything I want, all she means to me.

"Claire!" my mother cries - and like the sound I made, my mother's cry seems to express real understanding, as if the full import of what I was saying somehow made it through.

She moves to embrace us both. "Oh Claire, how impossibly kind, how wonderful of you," she whispers to us both, the two of them holding me while I finally weep.

"I was able to leave the fair a little early. I just arrived," Claire explains to us as the three of us separate. My mother is handing us both tissues, wiping her eyes with one of her own. "My mother sends her love, Amelia. My father passed away when I was twelve, she was heartbroken to hear of your loss."

We separate and my mother distributes more tissues. Mom mutters something about her purse being a clown car, which makes all three of us laugh.

Claire makes noises about finding a hotel.

"You will stay with us tonight," she tells Claire. There can be no debate.

One by one, family by family the out of towners leave. Well-wishers continue to trickle in until 6, when the funeral director ushers us all out into the parking lot. We say our goodbyes to Aunt Jane and the few others, and climb into Mom's car. I drive. Claire is in the back seat, talking quietly with Wes and Kelly, my mom in the passenger seat, her eyes closed but awake. It's so strange having Claire in the family car chattering with my little sister while my mom listens; two parts of my life I never even tried to imagine coming together.

When we get home Claire helps me pull stuff for dinner out of the fridge and decide what to heat up. Again I am struck by the strangeness of seeing Claire in my mother's kitchen, bent over at the waist gathering Tupperware from the fridge.

"So much food!" she cries, laughing.

Wes comes up from dropping Claire's bags in the rec room and prepares to cut himself a big slice of cake. I hand him a glass of red wine for Mom, but Claire stops him before he can take two steps. She's looking at the wine label with distaste.

"Wes, please leave that with me. Would you go get me my small carry-on bag?"

"You mean the slightly-less-really-really-heavy one?" he teases.

"Please."

Wes had been Claire's boy-Friday all afternoon - ready to jump when she needed anything - running over to the Starbucks for a triple espresso, handing her tissues, bringing her a chair, cup of water, a snack - whatever he thought she might need.

Without further complaint he disappeared downstairs to retrieve her bag.

"What are you up to?"

"I can't let your mother drink this," she said, making a face.

"What's in this anyway?" Wes asks as he puts Claire's bag down in front of her, watching her fold her knees primly to root through her things.

"Lady things."

"I feel like I'm relatively familiar with 'lady things...'"

"French lady things" she says smartly, pulling out one, then two then a third bubble wrapped wine bottle.

"Claire..." I start to protest, but this earns me a sharp "tsk!"

Claire is done examining her bottles through the packaging and hands one to Wes.

"Do you know how to open wine Wes?" she asks him seriously.

"I think so?" he says, doubtfully.

"OK then, we'll do it together, just to be sure," she says in a friendly tone. She is so gentle with him. "In France the man is expected to open the wine. It's important you know how to do this properly."

I watch Claire walk Wes through cutting the foil and slowly drawing the cork. He looks nervous. I can't tell if it's because he's afraid to make a mistake or because of Claire's proximity and attention. Reaching around him to help and instruct.

"Now use your hand to free it," she's telling him, her voice low and almost seductive. She's flirting with him. I try not to laugh.

The bottle is still in Wes's hand, Clair reaches around and carefully wipes the lip of the bottle with a napkin, and shows him the residue.

"You see the bottom of the cork?" she asks.

"Crystals?" he asks, examining the cork, his cheeks flush.

"Tartrates - wine diamonds. They aren't always there, and aren't harmful, but you wipe the bottle because we don't want things floating in your mother's glass. No?"

She's looking up and past me, and has dropped her teasing seductive tone. I follow her gaze and see that Mom is in the doorway watching the drama.

"What's this?"

"Brigitte and Morris sent wine," Claire explains. She examines the glass Wes hands her critically, giving it a quick scrub with her napkin pinched tight. Then explains to Wes how to pour.

"Gentle," she cautions, her hand on his. He looks nervous, but she smiles and nods. "Now the twist, and pull away. See no drips!"

Smiling, Claire kisses Wes on the cheek.

"Now your sister and then me."

She brings my mother her wine while Wes wipes my glass like a sommelier.

"It's a family label," Claire tells Mom, "which sounds much grander than it is, but it's what I grew up drinking."

Mom dabs at her eyes as she takes the glass from Claire.

"Thank you Claire, you'll need to give me their address so I can send them a note."

"Of course, Amelia - let it breathe," Claire cautions her.

"I want a glass!" Kelly chimes in from behind Mom. She's in her pajamas. A little girl in a woman's body. Claire looks to Mom.

"You can have some of mine," my mother tells her.

After a meal of leftovers we stay up drinking wine. Mom relents and allows Kelly and Wes to have their own glasses.

"Not too much!" she yells to the kitchen. "I mean it Wesley Adam!"

Claire laughs, and then apologizes, her hand over her mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... it's just I've only heard Sarah scold him that way - the exact same way!"