Chapter Five
was finishing my fourth scotch when Jimmy pulled up in front of the funeral home where my father's wake was being held. I knocked back the last of the liquid courage and stepped out of the car.
I knew my father had been widely respected by his customers and employees, but his funeral was more than I had anticipated. There were limos and town cars as far as I could see, and small groups of people gathered together in the parking lot, sharing cigarettes and flasks as they quietly conversed.
As I walked through the front door, I was met with a noxious odor. It was created by the hundreds of floral displays lining the hallway leading to the room where my father's casket rested. I kept my head down as I quickly moved toward the spot where my mother stood, shaking hands and receiving condolences.
"Mother," I said quietly as I moved in behind her.
"Jackson!" she gasped as she turned and looked up at me. She looked tired, her face ravaged by grief, but she still had an ethereal beauty about her. Her long, grey hair was artfully arranged in layers framing her face, and her makeup had been professionally done in a way that allowed her to cry openly without leaving rivers of mascara running down her cheeks. She was wearing a black hat with a veil, a black knit suit, and black leather pumps. While she looked like the consummate widow, she didn't look like the mother I remembered.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said as she threw her arms around my neck, clinging to me. I could feel her fighting back the sobs as she held onto me. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly as I looked straight ahead at my father's casket.
"I didn't know if you were coming home or not," she choked out as she let go enough to step back and look up at me. I could see the pain in her eyes, but I ignored it.
"I didn't know if I could," I said without emotion. "But here I am."
"I'm so glad you came," she said as she laid a hand on my cheek and smiled sadly. "I know your father would have appreciated it."
"I'm sure he would have," I said flatly as I looked over at the open casket just to make sure it was, in fact, my father lying in it. "He'd have liked one more chance to tell me how much I messed up my life."
"Jackson, please," my mother quietly pleaded. "Not today. Please, not today."
"Fine," I said curtly. "Not today."
"Or any other day," my brother added as he joined the family circle nodding at me. "Jack."
"Lincoln," I said in the same blank tone. My older brother was the star of the family. He was the one who had done everything my father had expected and had, for all intents and purpose, been his right hand man for years. He was two years older than me, but people often mistook us for twins. I didn't expect that to happen today, though, since I'd decided to forgo shaving and had left my tie in my suitcase. I'd done it on purpose, knowing that my father would have been appalled by my lack of decorum.
"Good of you to make it," Lincoln said looking me over and then shaking his head. "Couldn't you have dressed properly for the occasion—or shaved, at the very least?"
"I guess I lack your impeccable sense of dress and hygiene, brother dear," I said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "But then again, I don't have a wife who maps out every minute detail of my life for me and tells me how to function."
"I wonder why that is," Lincoln said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward and added, "It couldn't be because you're incapable of forming any kind of relationship that requires you to stick around longer than 48 hours, could it?"
"No,” I shot back with venom, “but it could be because I never had my head so far up my father's ass that I'd let him pick out a woman for me to marry."
"Boys! Please, stop it!" my mother hissed as she grabbed our arms and pulled us to the side of the room, away from the mourners. She looked back and forth between the two of us, and said, "I don't care how you feel about your father or each other or this family, but I will not have the two of you fighting today. I won't have it! Do you understand me?"
Lincoln and I dutifully nodded as she gripped our arms so hard we both winced. That's how things are done in the Yates family. If you don't get what you want the first time, you use enough force to ensure that everyone eventually complies.
"Fine," I finally conceded. "I need a drink."
"No,” my mother said in a steely voice, “you'll come stand in the receiving line and talk to the people who are here to express their condolences for the loss of your father. Today you will do what I need."
She let go of my arm and ran a hand over her skirt, smoothing away the imaginary wrinkles before turning and heading back to the receiving line. Lincoln and I followed her like obedient puppies and then stood guard on either side of her as she received condolences from what seemed like an endless line of people.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Yates," the chubby woman in the midnight-blue velvet dress sobbed as she grabbed my mother and enfolded her in a bone-crushing hug. My mother patted her back and let the woman hug her for a few moments before stepping back and giving her a brave smile.
"Thank you, Norma," my mother said. "I know Bernard appreciated all the wonderful years of service you gave him. He always said there was no way on Earth he could have been so successful without your help."
"Aww, shucks. He was such a good and decent man!" Norma drawled in a heavy Southern accent. "Y’all know it's not fair that he's been taken from us!"
"No, it isn't," my mother said quietly. "But there are no guarantees in life, and I think Bernard lived as well as he could have for as long as he was with us."
"It’s gonna be like biscuits without butter," Norma moaned into her handkerchief. "What are we going to do without him? Who will run the business?"
"Now, Norma, you know that father had all kinds of things in place in the event that something like this happened," my brother interjected as he pulled the plump woman away from our mother and propelled her down the line. "It'll all be taken care of, so don't you worry about a thing."
Norma moved on to my father's casket where she knelt down in front of it and wept like a child as she murmured words into her folded hands that none of us could hear. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the small brunette standing in front of me.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Yates," she said as she looked up at me with a pair of bright blue eyes, shining with tears. "Your father was kind to me, and I'll miss him."
"Thank you, Miss . . . ?" I trailed off, staring at the spray of freckles that covered her face. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she had a look that was fresh and pretty. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders and curled around her face in a way that made her resemble a Raphaelite angel.
"Leah Walsh," she said holding out her hand. "I work for your father, well, worked for him. He hired me right out of high school and trained me to take over the manufacturing division. He was a kind man, and I'll never forget him."
"Yes, well, thank you, Miss Walsh," I said coolly. There was something unusual about her, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. "Did you know my father well?"
"Yes," she said puzzled. "We all knew him well. He was a great man."
"Ah, so you didn't know him at all," I said flippantly. Leah tipped her head and frowned.
"Is a problem, Mr. Yates?" she asked. "Because it seems to me that you just might. No offense or anything."
"None taken, Miss Walsh," I said grinning. "My only questions are if you've met my mother, Elizabeth Yates, and whether you'd have dinner with me sometime?"
Leah blushed slightly at my questions. She nodded as she repeated her condolences to my mother, who smiled graciously, thanked her, and moved her on down the line. I watched her as she greeted my brother and wondered what job she held at the company and whether I would be able to convince her to have dinner with me sometime. She was a pretty, young girl—just the kind to take my mind off things.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Jack Yates back from his globetrotting adventures," a familiar voice said. I turned and found myself standing face to face with Sloan Morgan.
"Good God, Sloan? Sloan Morgan?" I asked as I stood staring at the gorgeous blonde in front of me. She was tall and lithe, but she filled out her dress like a pro.
"Entirely too long, my friend," she said as she stepped forward and ran her fingers through my hair before leaning in and pressing her lips against my cheek. "I've missed you."
"Have you really?" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She was a stunning woman who embodied all the characteristics of a typical WASP, and my father had been after me to marry her since I was sixteen-years-old. We had history, but I preferred not to let myself think about it. "You look as beautiful as ever."
"Why thank you, Jack," she smiled, and I felt the blood begin pumping through my veins. She knew she looked good in her black, cashmere wrap dress and stiletto pumps. “Always fashionable and always properly attired,” was her motto. She was educated at Stanford and Princeton but found it nearly impossible to get a foothold in the male-dominated business world. Rumors abounded about her sexuality and her involvement with the men she worked with. With Sloan, you never quite knew what the truth was. Despite the rumors, Sloan held her head high and kept working.
"What are you up to these days?" I asked as she moved past me toward my mother.
"We should get a drink and talk," she said as she gave me a suggesting look.
"Let's do it, then" I nodded. "Let me finish up here, and we'll go find somewhere to talk. Wait for me?"
Sloan nodded as she moved down the line toward my father's casket. I watched her and wondered why I had put up such a huge resistance to marrying her. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of my father lying in the casket and felt the familiar rush of shame and anger. I remembered why.
As the last of the mourners moved past my family and paid their respects to my father, I followed them. I stood over his casket and looked at his face. He looked like he was at peace with his eyes closed and his hands folded across his chest, holding a copy of the King James Bible in repose.
"Listen, you old bastard," I whispered as I leaned in close enough so that only he would be able to hear me. "I don't care what these people have said about you. You were a rotten son-of-a-bitch, and I hope you rot in hell for all eternity."
I winced as I half expected him to rise up out of the casket and call down the heavens upon me, but when nothing happened, I breathed a sigh of relief, stood up straight, nodded once, and walked away. As I did, I saw the blue-eyed brunette staring intently at me. I returned her gaze and nodded as I moved toward the back of the room where Sloan stood waiting for me.
For the rest of the night, I felt those blue eyes solemnly watching me as I tried my best to drink my father out of my memory.