A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [137]
Ty gave the eulegy. He said that Pete was a hard worker and more fun sometimes than a farmer was supposed to be. He said that Pete liked to sing on the job, and knew a lot of songs, and that anyone who had had the chance to hear Pete play any of the six instruments he knew was a lucky man. He said that Pete loved his wife and his daughters, and they loved him, and that he, Ty, felt lucky to have known Pete.
Henry Dodge said that the sort of accident that had claimed Pete could claim any one of us, and we should take it as a warning. He thanked God that no one else had been involved. He said, too, that Pete was a good man and loved his wife and children, and wouldn’t have wanted to leave them like this. He asked, on behalf of Rose and Pammy and Linda, for the wisdom to understand this apparently meaningless death. He offered his own personal hope that this tragedy would show our family the way toward reconciling our differences.
Later, leaving the church, two or three of the older women did find something to be grateful for, and that was that Pete’s own parents hadn’t lived to see this.
It was exhausting. I was asleep by nine-thirty. Ty was gone somewhere. He was next to me, and sleeping heavily, by one-thirty, when the phone woke me.
Rose’s voice said, “Can you come down? I need to talk to you.”
I started talking before I remembered our new circumstances. I said, “Where’s P—” Then I remembered. She said, “I’d be glad to come there. I’m crazy to get out of this house, but Pammy keeps waking up and calling for me. Last night she woke up about every forty-five minutes. I can’t sleep anyway.”
“Aren’t you exhausted?” Even though I whispered, Ty, disturbed, rolled over. I slipped to the floor from the edge of the bed.
“Way beyond that. I think I could stay up for days at this point.”
I cupped my hand around the speaker. “Okay. Okay.” I put the phone on the hook and rubbed my hands over my face. After the cancer diagnosis, she had stayed up for days. Three, to be exact. I felt for my sneakers under the bed.
38
EVERY WINDOW IN Rose’s house was lit. Every one in Jess’s house was dark.
Rose threw open the door and said, “Want a drink? There’s plenty left over.”
I took a vodka and tonic, the same as Rose. She said, “Drink it to Pete. He would have done at least that for you.”
It was rare to see Rose intoxicated, but reassuring in a way. The vodka made me sneeze. I sat down on the couch. The living room was immaculate, the real Rose. Apparently she had been drinking and cleaning. She saw me looking around and said, “You should see the kitchen cabinets. I wiped all the jars with soapy water and put down new shelf paper. Edged in black for widows. The funeral home has a concession. Shelf paper, drawer liners, inflatable sweater hangers, dusters made from raven’s feathers, everything for the house wife-widow.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, Ginny, you’re so literal-minded.”
“No, I’m not. I just don’t have much of a sense of humor right now.”
“You used to.”
“When?”
She sipped her drink, looking at me, then said, “I can’t remember.”
I smiled.
She said, “Where’s Ty?”
“Asleep.”
“I’m sorry I woke you, but I knew you would be in bed, and I made up my mind to call you anyway.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea, drinking if you have to tend to her?”
“I told her I was going to.”
“You did?”
“Well, sure. I didn’t want her to be surprised or scared if I seemed weird to her, so I said I felt like getting a little drunk and she said that would be okay as long as I didn’t take the car anywhere.”
“How are they? I feel so bad for them.”
“You’ve seen them. They’re shell-shocked. I hate Pete for that.” This she spat out. Then she called out, “You heard me, Pete. You really fucked up this time.”
I sat forward. “Shhh!