A Death in the Family

A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

Mom knocked on my door early.

I was already awake, thinking about school, and looking out the window. There was frost on everything, the trees, the brown wood shingle roof next door, the dark, rusty, the chain link fence that went around our yard. I liked to climb on the fence—it was six feet high—even though Dad said that I could die from tetanus if I got cut on it. I had a shot for tetanus. I think Dad was just trying to scare me.

“May I come in?”

The door was already open before I could answer, and Mom was standing on the hardwood floor between the door and the faded, dusty rose carpet. It had been laid in strips, each about two and a half feet wide. The light beige lines of its seams stood out where it was most worn.

“I’m up.”

“No, I want to talk with you.”

“Sure,” I said, making a point of looking out the window. I wanted her to know that I was doing something when she came in, and I would have to stop to talk with her.

“You know I’ve been away visiting Granny and Gramps.”

“Yeah.”

“I told you that Gramps was sick?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he was very sick. I didn’t want him disturbed with you kids—”

“So?”

“That’s why I didn’t take you . . . and . . . you’ve got school.”

I knew she was trying to trying to tell me something. The sun poked through the clouds, low through the trees, and sparkled into my room. I liked watching it, like fireworks exploding into thousands of red, blue, gold, and white dots. I could never actually watch one dot; I tried, but they disappeared when I tried to focus on them.

“And, I am going to go back.”

“How come?”

“Because . . . because Gramps died. And there will be a funeral for him.”

Every time Gramps visited, he brought candy and gum, mostly gum, shaped like cigars. They were always pink or yellow. Mom yelled at Gramps when he gave me any of it, so we would hide it from her. He would sit for hours at the breakfast table, with his leather satchel next to him, and the table covered with thick train schedules, each one had rubber bands around clumps of pages. When I would come in he would reach into the satchel and pull out a handful of contraband.

“Hide this somewhere,” he would say. And I would look around the small room, my hands full of treasure. He would cheer me on. “Yes, there, that’s a good place.” He’d make me promise not to have any of it when she was around.

“Your father will stay here with you and your brother,” mom said.

“Yeah.”

“Do you understand what happened to Gramps?” She looked like she was going to cry.

“Yeah.”

“You understand that you’ll never see him again.”

“Yeah.”

She sniffled, wiped her cheeks.

“Well, it’s getting late, hurry and get dressed.”

Granny and Gramps used to spend Christmas with us. We could only open the presents when everyone was ready, after breakfast, after everyone had gone to the bathroom, and then, one at a time. After most of the presents had been opened, Mom would say that she wanted more coffee, which had to be made, and Gramps would announce that he had to go to the bathroom. It took forever. Then Mom would come in with a pot of coffee, and yell for us to look out the window. Coming around from the back of the house, across the drive, was Gramps, dressed like Santa Claus. He was a thin, short man, and I knew that although he could probably have fit down the chimney, he wasn’t Santa. The white beard never stayed in the same place for more than a few seconds, so he had to keep pretending to scratch his face, while adjusting it. Over his shoulder he had a white laundry bag with presents in it.

I don’t remember if he had presents for everyone or just for me and my brother.

“Santa, would you like some coffee?” Mom would ask when the bag was empty.

“No, thank you. I’ve other stops to make. . . . Ho, ho, ho.”

I knew it was Gramps, but I wondered if he knew the bag was empty when he said that.

I liked getting the presents, but it was kind of silly if they thought I was fooled. I guess all the grownups thought it was fun.

When Mom said that Gramps was dead, I knew I’d never see him again.

* * *

The house was big, and it had a dressing room with a fire place, two walk-in closets, and a porch of the master bed room. Sometimes, even in the morning, they’d light a fire, using the gas jets. David had lit one while Pauline had been talking with the kids, telling them their grandfather had died. She sat down in the green stuffed chair in front of the fire.

“How’d they take it?” David asked.

“Fine,” Paulilne said, crumpling a handkerchief in her hands, and dabbing at her cheeks.

“Okay.”

David sat down next to her. He felt guilty that he wasn’t going to the funeral, although he hadn’t wanted to go, and was relieved to be staying, even if it meant staying with the children.

“Should I get the coffee?” he asked.

“No, I’ll make it. I just need a few minutes.”

David got up to put his tie on. He looked at the clock on his dresser. The meeting wasn’t until nine fifteen; he didn’t have to rush.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I don’t think they understood, not really.”

“Should I talk with them?”

“No!” Pauline looked up at David. He had turned around from the mirror, his hands frozen in the middle of their ritual. “I just mean that I think they are too young, no matter what you or I say, they won’t understand.”

David turned back to the mirror. He couldn’t remember exactly where he was with the tie. It looked like it wouldn’t come out right, the thin end would be too long. He undid it, pulling the ends up and down, finding the right place to start over.

“Well, I can . . . maybe tonight . . . I’ll talk to them.”

“Don’t scare them.”

“Hey, I was a kid once.” David said, looking through his leather covered jewelry box. He couldn’t find the tie clip that matched the cuff links he had put on. “Damn, I’ll bet—”

“What?”

“Sorry,” he took a deep breath, “just having trouble finding things. Anyway, I can remember when my father told me that my grandfather had died. I understood the way he explained it. We’ll do just fine.”

“Promise you—”

“I won’t scare them. Promise. But they need to understand. Death is an important part of life. Better they learn about it now.”

David adjusted his collar in the mirror. “Perfect,” he thought. He put his wristwatch on and check its time against the clock.

“Can you get the coffee ready. I’ve got to pull some papers together before I leave, and I’m starting to run late.”

Pauline left the room quietly, while David folded the handkerchief for his coat pocket. He had learned his rookie year as an account executive just how important appearances were.

He was closing his brief case when he smelled the coffee. He checked that he had everything--copy, layouts, projections, statistics--and stood up to go down stairs. The fire was still on. He knew Pauline was likely to forget it. As he stooped to turn the gas off he remembered last Christmas, when Pauline’s father had dressed up as Santa Claus. Gramps was already ill, but he insisted on doing Santa anyway. David smiled at the image of the lumpy Santa, trudging through the snow.

“The kids will miss him,” he thought.