Here's the next installment:
“Dad? Are
you okay?” Hot was startled by the interruption and saw that Phillip finally
found the time to be next to him. Sure, he just flew in an hour ago, but he had
spent the entire time with his sister and on his phone busy as ever. Hot got a
brief hug and then was whisked off to the funeral home, where he continued to
be ignored by his only son.
“Oh, sorry son. Kinda lost in my thoughts.”
“Stands to reason…it’s terrible. I
miss Mom so much. I wasn’t ready for this. And for you, she was everything for
you.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Hot saw that Phillip
had been doing a lot of sobbing. In fact, his eyes had watered up again.
Phillip and Lottie were close--much closer than he and Phillip. Well, the
girls, too, were much closer to Lottie than with their dad. Hot did love them.
He did. But kids couldn’t help gravitating to Lottie’s warmth and her intense
interest in their affairs. Lottie connected--with her kids, with the community,
with even his side of the family while his parents were alive. But expression
of warmth and affection were not in Hot’s wheelhouse. He looked in his son’s
eyes and wished he could reach over and embrace a suffering human being--his
own blood--without it coming across as contrived and awkward. At best, he could
squeeze his son’s arm and nod silently.
“It’s the most awful thing in the
world. Are you okay, Dad? Margot and I--we were just not ready for this. Mom
was so alive. She was going to speak at my announcement event. It meant
everything to me. Can you make it,
Dad?”
“We were married for 31 years. Then
suddenly it’s over. It’s hard to say how I feel. I’m numb and there is so much
to do. People everywhere. You kids.” Hot’s elbows were on his knees, his face
in his hands. “I’m not ready for this, either. Why don’t you go take care of
your sister; I need to think.”
Thinking took place in front of
Lottie. For once to see her silent and still. She was the person he needed now
to take charge. To tell him what to do. He stood before his dead wife--thinking
of his own needs. It was shameful. Hot was ashamed of himself. But he had to be
ashamed of himself somewhere else, because Mr. Mondesi, who was head of the
funeral home, said it was time to leave.
Hot nodded and thanked him and
promised to be ready at 9 o’clock sharp for the burial tomorrow.
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