Impact 13: of Turbulence and Death

But the mood is different than it was with the whole family here. We talk, about wine, and travel, about Wes and Kelly's school, about NYU and Kwasi. Kelly asks Claire a lot of questions about London and Paris and Bali and Africa. None of us tell funny stories about Dad. No one cries.

As Claire and I get ready for bed in the downstairs bathroom that night she's babbling about my cousins, how wonderful they are, their husbands and wives, telling me things the little ones said. It had been fun to watch her with the babies. In the lobby of the funeral home - where the babies could scream and run around without disturbing anyone, Claire had gotten down on the floor with them, playing and clapping. She had looked so happy.

I had never seen her around children before. I forget how unnaturally child-free my life in the city is. I can go weeks without seeing one. Months without touching or interacting with one. Wes is the youngest person I'd ever seen Claire with before now, and he's 18. It was nice to see how much all the children loved her and how much she loved them.

I listen and watch her talking about them in the mirror. She knew all their names and birthdays and favorite colors. I smile, but the weight of the day seems to be bearing down on me.

I look at us in the mirror. It's almost morning in Paris. She must be dead on her feet, but I'm the one who looks exhausted. My shoulders are slumped, I'm sagging. I force myself to stand up straight, rub at the hollows of my eyes.

Claire is speaking, but she's not making jokes, she's trying to distract me from the sadness by telling me how nice everyone was, how much she liked my family, how beautiful my mother and sister are.

"She's so young!" she keeps saying as we pad into the rec room. "And so beautiful. You and Kelly look just like her!"

I sit down on the edge of the bed in my hose and underpants. I watch her crouching over her suitcase topless in her little boy shorts. She puts on the oversized t-shirt Wes gave her to sleep in without complaint, which makes me smile, but only a little.

We are surrounded by all dad's things. His hockey memorabilia and bible. His desk and easy chair. His smell - old spice and anger...

I think of all the time he spent down here alone, wondering what he thought about.

"I'm a bad daughter," I tell Claire.

"Why?" she asks, her brow furrowed with concern.

"I think I'm glad he's dead?" I admit, my voice hardly a whisper.

"You don't look glad, Sarah."

"I don't mean happy..." I started, but I had no idea where I was going. I'm so ashamed, it burns my chest. "Relieved?"

"You talk about your mother a lot," Claire says, which surprised me.

I try remembering telling Claire about my mother, what I might have told her and in what context.

"I not only know what she does for a living, I know Marcia is her boss. I know her church duties and about her frustrations with Kelly and Wes. I know her birthday and the make of her car. I know where she buys her gas!"

I struggle to recall what I know about Claire's mother besides her first name and her sexy underwear.

"I don't know anything about your father, Sarah. You've never spoken to me about him. You and Wes discussed your mother at length, but your father never came up. I've wondered what this means, and really, I don't know. But I'll tell you what I don't think it means. I don't think it means you are a bad daughter."

I'm crying again, at first I think it's like the funeral home, that I'm just overcome with Claire being here, but these sobs are bigger, and won't stop. I'm bent over. Claire is standing on her knees at my side, arms encircling me, head resting over mine. She makes little sounds, coos of agreement and understanding, but the sobs just keep coming.

"I'm sorry, I heard and..."

Mom is standing in the doorway, her robe wrapped around her, eyes red. I hold out an arm and she comes to us, wrapping Claire and I in her arms again, like a bird sheltering her eggs with her wings.

"I love you so," she whispers. "I'm so-"

She breaks off, her sobs joining mine, her arms and Claire's arms wrapping me tight. I can feel Claire crying too, even as my sobs become more violent.

As they both tighten their arms around me, belting me and buttressing me, my body goes still. I'm awash in a sensory memory. The feeling of resting my hand, upside down, in the bowl of his enormous palm. The two of us sitting side by side on the couch, not speaking or looking at each other, the tv off, the game over. Just us, touching; his fingers cupping mine gently.

I feel the weight of this terrible day finally lifting. I take deep calming breaths, the first really deep breaths I've taken since Wes called.

"I love you two," I tell them.

Mom leaves, turning off the lights for us.

"Good night girls," she sing-songs, "don't stay up too late."

We answer, exactly as if it were a sleepover.

"Good night Mom!"

"Good night Amelia!"

After she's gone, we face each other under the sheets, listening to each other breathe.

"How did you do this?" I ask finally. "How did you manage this?"

"Ah yes - well, the important events for the fair ended Saturday evening. I was able to hand everything off to the girls working for me... they're good. It wasn't a huge stretch for them, and they understood, Paula understood, everyone understood. It helped that I sold a ton of work in Brussels and did almost as well in Paris the first two days. But getting here was a family endeavor. I had nothing to wear. Brigitte ran out and got me the dress and shoes. My stepfather... made it possible. He insisted. He arranged everything..."

"I'm so grateful to them," I tell her. Finally kissing her. After all the hours of being together, standing side by side - over my father's casket, showing him to her. Introducing her to my grandmother and aunts and cousins. Sitting with her and my sister on the couch, all the time wanting to touch her, to hold her, to feel her against me.

"My family loves my Young Sarah," she whispers, as we move together.

I kiss her, her tongue pushing into my mouth, mine into hers. My leg slides between hers, hers between mine. We hold each other tight, our kisses deepening. She is so strong, so solid and real. Her fingers push into my hair, gripping the back of my skull and I start to moan.

We both freeze. I listen for any movement from upstairs, but the house is quiet. Still Claire pulls back a little. I can hardly make her out in the dark. She's smiling at me.

"My family loves you," I tell her

My fingers have found the hem of her t-shirt and I'm moving it up.

"Sarah, are you sure?" she whispers, her voice sounding worried.

It's too dark to see her expression, but I feel like I can see her eyes moving around nervously.

"We'll be quiet," I assure her, the squeaking of the sofa sleeper's springs making a liar out of me as we start to shift.

"Maybe we should move to the floor?" she jokes as I slowly slip the shirt over her head. I picture eating her out on the linoleum floor and shush her.

"I've missed you," I tell her, pushing at her waistband. She helps me, and my hand is on her mons, fingertips smoothing her lips. Her skin feels perfect, so wonderfully smooth.

"Did you have sleepovers down here," she asks, sounding frisky.

"No, this was Dad's space," I tell her. "It was hard with him, to have friends over or anything."

"I got a Brazilian in Paris," she tells me, ignoring the dark turn of my thoughts. "For our sleepover."

I can hear the naughty grin in her voice. If her intention is to head off maudlin thoughts, it works. I press my finger into her and am greeted by the heat and wet of her excitement.

"You missed me too," I smile.

"Terribly," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry.

She is tugging at my shirt. I raise my arms over my head and let her strip me. She takes my panties off and we move together again. The thrill of feeling her breasts against mine, of my bare belly sliding against hers, I go soft. I feel like a slow moving gel.

We are touching each other, my fingers in her, hers in me. Our lips touch and we are kissing again. The reunion is gentle and easy. I feel Claire moving towards her crisis and think how long it's been for her, how hard she's been working. I wish I could go down on her and taste her as she cums, but I don't dare risk the noise. As it is, her orgasm is a slow relaxing, I feel it peak as she goes slack. Her tongue and lips limp against mine, her hand movement losing focus. I kiss and caress her until I feel sleep finally take her from me.

"I made coffee..."

I peel open my eyes. Mom is standing in the doorway holding two mugs. She's looking around, as if what's flummoxed her was where to set them down.

"I didn't want to wake you," she explains. "But it's so dark down here, I was afraid you'd sleep all day."

I blink. Orienting myself, feeling Claire begin to shift, to pull away. My leg is between hers, her arms around me, faces touching.

"I need to be at the funeral home," my mother continues. "You don't need to go - but I know Claire has a flight...."

"No, I'm up! I'm up," I sit up. Mom is still holding the coffees, she's looking around, trying to decide what to do. I reach out to her. "Here."

She hesitates, but walks over with the coffees. Claire is rubbing the sleep from her eyes as my mother hands her a cup.

"Thank you Amelia."

"Thanks Mom," I croak as she hands me mine. "What time is it? What time do we have to be at the funeral home?"

"It's ten now - there's no specific time, but I told them mid morning."

I look at her. She's showered and dressed. I wonder how long she's been up waiting.

Claire's flight is at one...

"Just give me a minute to rally?" I tell her. "It's just this stupid cave," I say, gesturing at the shadows. "I shouldn't have pulled the shades..."

Claire is rubbing at the crust on her eyes as Mom retreats up stairs. She turns and looks at herself, and at me.

"Did you dress me?" she asks, bewildered.

"Just your shirt," I whisper, pulling the bedding aside to show her our bare crotches. "I couldn't find our panties."

"Ah, putain, thank god I didn't jump out of bed!"

Claire comes with us to the funeral home, sits with my mother and I one last time before the coffin is closed. We sit together in front of his body while my mother sobs, me petting her back, Claire on my other side holding my hand.

Her sobs aren't violent, but they last a long time. I think of how long they were together. She was fifteen or sixteen. Most of her life, her whole adult life. Still, she's only a few years older than Claire...

The funeral director is a round older woman with a sad face. She takes us through the last of the details about the plot and the burial and then I drive us to the airport.

"Claire, it's so wonderful to meet you, I'm very grateful for you coming," my mother says, hugging Claire.

Claire kisses my mother on each cheek, telling her, "He raised an amazing woman."

Which makes my mother smile, then stepping back, she makes way for me.

I embrace Claire. There on the curb, in front of my mother.

"I love you," I whisper in her ear, and as we pull away, I feel myself pull her back and kiss her. Not a passionate kiss, but a kiss on the lips, not a peck, a real kiss.

Claire looks surprised, but happy.

"I'll see you soon," I tell her.

The car ride home was silent. Mom didn't say a word until I'd pulled into the drive and shut off the car.

"Do you remember when I walked in on you and Katherine McNamara?"

I stared at her in shock. I had no idea what she meant.

"You were so young... Katherine was too, but she was old enough to know better. It was at the old house, she had come over to play in the pool. The two of you had disappeared. You were both totally naked when I found you. I don't know exactly what the two of you were up to but you both looked so guilty I'd almost laughed - your father was not amused."

"I don't.."

"Oh well, you wouldn't remember. It was nothing, but I thought of it when I walked in on you and Claire this morning, watching you sleep."

"Mom, I-"

"You know I was surprised when you started dating Danny... relieved really. You had so little interest in boys."

"He wasn't who you thought he was."

"I know he wasn't perfect, but you have to understand. He was from a family I could trust and I had watched him for a long time. He was a 'good boy'... and I thought you might come to love him."

"You knew?"

"That you didn't love him? Of course Sarah Beth, you were so uninterested in him, could hardly tolerate him most of the time. It amazed me that he stayed with you as long as he did, but he loved you so much."

"You don't know what it was like."

"No, I don't. Wes has told me some things. I'm sorry Sarah... I didn't know, but I knew you weren't happy. I wanted you to be. It scared me the things you did, when you went away. It scared me when you started that awful InfoPorn!" she says with a shudder, that makes me laugh. "It scared me when you moved to New York. All your life I've wanted for you to do things in a way I understand, and all your life you have done things your own way."

"Mom-"

"Hear me out. I was wrong about Brown, and I was wrong about The New York Times. And Sarah, I'm so sorry I was wrong about Danny. You and Claire scare me. I'm afraid for you, afraid your life will be unnecessarily hard, but Sarah, you're smarter than me. Smarter than I ever was. I trust you. I'm so glad to see you happy now. It scares me... you and Claire... but not as much as it scared me to see you so unhappy for so long."

"It's not like that..."

"You can't hide fire, Sarah, you can't hide smoke."

"Mom-"

"I see you Sarah Beth. I see her. You can't hide that. I see you together - that, you can't hide that Sarah."

We buried my father that Wednesday. I wore my mother's black dress again. It was a hot sunny day, the grave site was far from any shade. There were only a dozen of us. I sat next to my mother, holding her hand. Kelly and Wes were on her other side. I made sure Aunt Jane sat on my left, holding her hand.