Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [2]
Now that day—the day that they had meticulously planned, but that somehow found her so very unprepared—was here. Van Morrison and Louis Armstrong were lined up in the portable CD player and the organist had his sheet music open at “Jerusalem.” Just that now it wasn’t funny anymore. Lisa sank down into the hot water, so that it splashed around her nostrils, and squeezed her eyes shut. If only, if only, if only Andy were here.
Jennifer
Stephen said he was parking the car, but he’d done that. The driveway was full, with Mark’s car, Mum’s Polo, and Lisa’s VW Beetle—she’d said, when they’d spoken the previous morning, that she was going to stay the night. So he’d driven a little down the street and expertly parallel parked. She could see him, for God’s sake. He’d switched off the ignition and wound the window down a little. Now he’d picked up his BlackBerry and was staring at it intently. Today was terribly inconvenient for him. She’d gotten that message. He had these clients, passing through London on a trip from somewhere. They’d only had today to see him. They were important. He’d made sure she understood that. Not more important than her, obviously, since he was here, and not there. But it was close. And he hadn’t been gracious about it. She hadn’t needed to know, after all, anything about any clients, or meetings, or power lunches. She was burying her mother today. It shouldn’t have mattered. He was her husband. Everything about his demeanor, all the way here, had been irritated. The reception got fuzzy on the radio. He’d switched if off viciously. The line for a coffee at the service station was too long. He’d sighed dramatically and bought a Coke. And now it was too hot. He’d hung the jacket of his black suit on the hook above the back passenger door, but he’d unbuttoned the neck of his shirt and loosened the black knitted tie. She stood at the end of the driveway for a few minutes. She realized she was embarrassed to go into the house without him. They should be together. He should want to be with her, shouldn’t he, today of all days?
Stephen hated funerals. He’d confessed to her once, long ago, that coffins terrified him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the body inside them. Wondering how it looked, how it smelled, how it would feel to the touch. He remembered losing it completely, when he was about eight years old, at his grandfather’s funeral—having to be taken out of the funeral home, screaming.
He was right about the weather, at least. It was too sunny for this. It was what Mum would have wanted, but it seemed wrong to Jennifer. It was like the day those two planes flew into the World Trade Center. The sky behind them as they made their final descents into hell was too impossibly, perfectly blue. It wasn’t the right backdrop. She wanted a slate gray sky, and drizzle. She wanted to shiver with the chill. Not this beautiful day. Not today.
The door opened, and Mark stood on the doorstep. “Jen?” Jennifer shuffled from one foot to the other, feeling like she’d been caught out. She waved, gestured toward Stephen. “We’ll be in in a minute. Stephen’s just…” But Mark was coming toward her. He wasn’t dressed—not for the funeral. He had on a pair of linen shorts, and a scruffy pink T-shirt, and he was barefoot. He didn’t speak when he got to her, just opened his arms and drew her into a tight embrace. Jennifer felt herself stiffen momentarily, then relax and lean into the man who had been her stepfather for the last sixteen years. God knows she needed the hug.
When he drew back, he put his hands on either cheek and looked into her face intently. He smelled of soap and coffee. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“I’m trying.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She got the weather she ordered, hey?” Jennifer nodded and smiled weakly.
Mark looked behind her, at Stephen. “He coming in?”
“He’s just got to check a few things…there’s a lot going on, you know, at work, and…”
Mark took her hand and the squeeze said, “Don’t explain him, don’t defend him.