From His Perspective

Chapter 7

James Cantrell stood in front of the mirror mounted on the backside of his closet door. His black suit jacket lay draped over the rail at the foot of the bed, hanging over his freshly polished shoes with the toes underneath the box spring. His face still burned from when he slapped on cologne after he shaved in the shower. He effortlessly worked his tie into a perfect Windsor knot and then folded the crisp white collar from his dress shirt over the tie. He had been wearing suits nearly every day since graduating from law school. Today was no different.

Yesterday hadn’t been any different, either. Yesterday had been a blur. The wake for his wife and son was at Diponzio’s Funeral on Spencerport Road, across from St. Theodore’s church. The parking lot filled quickly. Most of the church lot backfilled. He stood beside his brother, his sister-in-law, sister, mother, and in-laws.

A never-ending parade of people shuffled along in procession giving condolences after hugs and kisses, or condolences before a hug and a kiss. The same question asked by most, “How are you doing?”

“How are you doing, James?”

“How are you doing, James?”

“How are you doing, James?”

If he hadn’t been so numb, he might have screamed. He might have pulled his hair out. He might have just run out of the funeral home and kept on running until he died. He could see himself doing that. Running away from everything. Running away from family, from his career, and continuing to run until he collapsed dead.

“James?” Frank called from the bottom of the stairs. The sound of his older brother’s voice startled him. He knew he’d let his mind wander. What point was there in keeping his thoughts reined in?

None that he saw. He thought the wake might never end. The endless sea of people grew and grew. It never dissipated. The wake was supposed to be from 4 until 7, but Diponzio’s stayed open until 9:00 PM to accommodate the constant line of mourners.

“Yeah. Up here.”

Frank, James’ older brother, knocked on the door frame just outside of James’s bedroom. “Hey, buddy. We’re just about ready to head out. You all set?”

People took one look and they knew James and Frank were related. They were both around five-nine with dark hair. What set them apart was their eyes. Frank’s eyes were a dark brown while James’ eyes were hazel like their father had. They both looked more like their father than they did their mother. Strong chins, muscles without much effort working out, and a charm ladies found difficult to resist.

Frank walked into the room. He wore a nearly identical black suit. He stood behind his brother and quickly adjusted the back collar, covering the lower half of the tie. He picked up the suit jacket and held it open. James stuffed hands into sleeves as Frank lifted the jacket onto his brother’s shoulders. “We have a ton of food still downstairs. There are fresh bagels, cream cheese.”

“I’m good.”

“You didn’t eat anything last night, either.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Frank picked up James’ shoes. He patted the bed. “I know you’re not. It’s going to be a long day. You’ve got to have some strength to get through this.”

“I’ll be okay.” James sat down on the bed.

Frank pushed the shoes over James’ feet and while he tied the laces, he said, “I know you will be okay. We’re all going to be here for you. You know that. Mom, Me, Helen, Sarah … all of us.”

James stared out the bedroom doorway and into the hallway. He saw the soft beige walls, the hallway light switch and just a sliver of the bathroom door.

“James?”

“Yeah, Frank?”

“You heard me?”

“You said something?” James asked.

“I told you that we will all be here for you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” James said. “I know that. There’s something I want you to do for me.”

“Of course. Anything.”

Frank was a realtor. He’d helped James and Linda find this house when they got married. “Sell the house.”

“Wait, what?”

“I want you to sell this house.”

“I can do that. Why don’t we get through today, okay? Then we’ll talk about selling the house.”

“Just get it sold.”

* * *

Sarah, James’ baby sister stood next to their mother, Olivia, at the bottom of the stairs. The women wore black. When looking through photographs during the last few days, everyone commented on how much Sarah looked like Olivia when Olivia was twenty-eight. Blond hair and dark chocolate eyes, thin, with long legs.

Their mom aged well. Bordering seventy, Olivia kept a figure. It wasn’t the same one she had from when she was in her twenties, but signs of it existed. Hips and long slender legs. Short silver hair crowned her head now. She looked both beautiful and just a tad bit regal.

Olivia held out her hand. James stopped on the last stair for a moment. His eyes looked at her hand, and then up at her face. She didn’t hide her tears. He walked into her arms.

“Okay, we’re ready.” Helen, Frank’s wife, came out of the kitchen. Their ten-year-old daughter, Kelly, walked just in front. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

James stood up straight. “It’s all right,” he said. “I guess we’re all ready?”

Silently, Sarah opened the front door. They all filed out of the house. Sarah closed, and locked the door behind her.

A black limousine waited for the family at the bottom of the driveway. It was late September and an unseasonably warm day. The sun glowed in a cloudless, blue sky. Birds chirped, and outside smelled of freshly mowed grass.

As James walked this walk with everyone close beside him, his mind wandered. He couldn’t go through with this. There was no way he could say goodbye and bury his wife and his son. Not today and not on any day. He knew what was unfolding was not real.

It was a nightmare. He expected at any moment he would wake up.

Before they climbed into the limousine, a sleek red sedan pulled up to the curb in front of the house.

James reached out a hand. Frank took him by the arm and steadied his brother. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Frank whispered.

Linda’s parents, Catherine and Paul, climbed out of the car. “We are sorry we’re late,” Paul said. He moved around the front of the car to escort his wife toward James’ family. They were a good six, seven years younger than Olivia. They had been over late the night before. Neighbors, family, and friends dropped off food. There were casseroles, pasta, cakes, doughnuts, chips, soda … more food than could be eaten in a month’s time. Linda’s parents left around ten. James was sure they didn’t get any sleep. He knew he didn’t sleep at all.

Catherine wore a black veil over her face. She took slow, careful steps. Her one hand held onto a handkerchief. She raised it and dabbed away tears. He could hear her soft sobs. He wished things were different. Linda’s family had always treated him well. He hated seeing them suffer. They weren’t alone. Everyone here was suffering. What he wouldn’t give to change all of this, to put things back to normal.

That wasn’t possible. Seeing his mother-in-law in black made … this … real. The reality hit him hard. He needed a way out. There had to be some dark corner where he could run and hide. He wasn’t ready to embrace any of what was happening.

Was Linda’s mother mad at him? Did she blame him? Did anyone blame him?

It didn’t matter. He blamed himself.

She wrapped her arms around her son-in-law. James held her tight. She cried into his chest. He thought her tears would mix with her makeup and stain his white shirt. “I’m not ready for this,” she said.

“Neither am I,” James replied.

* * *

James felt alone in the church. People came up and shook his hand. They hugged him. Some tried talking to him. He can remember nodding a lot and offering up half-smiles. There were candles burning. He smelled incense. His mouth felt so dry that he did not think a gallon of water could moisten his swollen tongue.

Mr. Bortelli, one of the partners from the law firm was there. He told James to take all the time he needed. They would hold his position. James thanked him.

His mother stood beside him as they walked down the center aisle toward the altar. Ahead of him were pearl-white caskets, a full-sized casket and one not much larger than a sofa loveseat.

His mother squeezed his hand. It felt as if cinder blocks had been strapped to his feet. He looked down, making sure he still wore the shoes his brother had put on him. They were his shoes. The laces in perfect bows. He almost smiled at the absurdity. Of course he was still wearing his shoes, but funny things that didn’t make sense often happened in dreams.

Pallbearers escorted the caskets toward the front of the church and set them up side-by-side in front of the stairs in front of the center altar. The pews were filled with family and friends. There were people from the firm, as well as even more people from the hospital where his wife worked. Had worked. There were also a lot of people James didn’t recognize at all.

Had Even more people stood along the wall, under the Stations of the Cross, and in the back of the church. The balcony above the back entrance was full. There was quite literally over a hundred people in attendance for the service.

James sat down in the first pew. His sister had handled most of the arrangements, the readings, the songs. She kept a hand on him at all times. Contact was rarely broken. He felt her support, and while he was thankful, a part of him felt crushed by it as well.

He could not take his eyes off of the caskets. There was no way his four-year-old son was stuck inside such a tiny box. Matthew hated the dark. He not only slept with a Star Wars night light on, but he insisted on his bedroom door being left open and the hallway light left on as well.

At bedtime, they followed a silly ritual: checking for monsters.

James would open the closet door and rifle through clothing on hangers. He always made a big show of the search. Bent forward and tentatively sticking a hand between hung shirts, he’d then quickly slide the clothing from one side to the other before jumping up and saying, “Yep. Just as I thought. Nothing in there!”

“Under the bed,” Matthew would then say.

James would drop to his knees like a giant cat or dog. He would proceed on all fours. Stopping now and then, he’d c**k his head to the side as if he might have heard something. James would then cross the room. At the bed, he would throw up the blanket and crawl under the bed and emerge a split second later free and clear on the other side. “Uh-huh, uh-just as I thought!”

“What? What, daddy?”

He would say, as he leaned in close to his son, “There is absolutely nothing under the bed.”

James would first tap the tip of his son’s nose with a finger, and then brush the hair off of his son’s forehead before giving his boy a gentle kiss goodnight. “Now it is time for you to get some sleep.”

Now it is time for you to get some sleep.

Now it is time for you to get some sleep.James shook his head. Frank patted him on the back. “We’re going to get through this, okay?”

On the other side of him, Sarah gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

I don’t want to get through this, James thought.

I don’t to get through this