40

The morning after I returned from Sicily, I woke before dawn in my father’s empty house thinking about my own funeral. The death of the universe was too big. It would have to wait. Instead, I’d made a new promise to myself to keep my worries in the realm of things I could control. Thus: my funeral. There were so many options, though. That’s what had me thinking in the predawn hours. And my current ideas were too varied to be of any real help.

I could be incinerated into dust, for example.

Or made into nutrients in the soil.

I could be fireworks in the night sky.

Or particles in a memorial reef on the ocean floor.

There was even a company pressing people’s ashes into vinyl records, so someone could play a Beatles record made out of me, and sing along to my tiny bits. I could be embalmed and placed on a motorcycle like a man in Michigan. Or be posed in a boxing ring like a guy in Mexico. I could be frozen. I could be shattered and planted beneath a tree. And this was all just the first step in the process. There was so much to consider.

I walked downstairs and found my father gone, I didn’t know where. He had barely spoken to me since I got home. I’d been waiting for a reaction from him since I first dropped out of school, and now I finally got one. Stony silence. He didn’t say much at the airport. Or at the baggage claim. It was only on the car ride on the way home, where he temporarily opened the floodgates.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not angry about this, Tess,” he said. “Because I am. I really am.”

“Really?” I said. “I could hardly tell by your brooding.”

He gave me a look that told me sarcasm wasn’t going to be a good strategy here.

“But mostly I’m just hurt,” he said.

I looked at his tired face. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days and his jaw was shadowed with stubble. He’d told Grace he hadn’t slept while I was gone.

“I thought we were fixing things,” he said.

He blinked into the early morning sunlight.

“I thought you were actually going to tell me what was going on in your life. I wanted to be that person. I was ready. But I guess that’s just not going to happen with us, is it?”

I was starting to prefer his silence.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he said, “I get that. And I know you think I sabotaged our family. But it’s not that simple, Tess. You don’t know everything. You’re old enough to understand some complexities.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“It’s not worth talking about.”

“Then how do I know you’re not lying?”

He sighed.

“Look,” he said. “There were certain indiscretions.”

“Dad,” I said. “Will you stop speaking in code? If you want to tell me something, tell me.”

“Your mother was having an affair,” he said.

I felt my mouth close tight.

“With that guy she’s seeing now. And I wasn’t entirely in denial, the way you think I was.”

He opened the lid on a thermos, and the smell of his burnt coffee filled the car.

“It’s easy to imagine that since I was so checked out, but the truth is I was in mourning. There’s a difference. I knew my marriage was dead, and I couldn’t help grieving for it. It swallowed up everything else, and I walked around in a fog. For years I guess.”

“But you were trying out all those jobs . . .”

“A distraction,” he said. “A way to get away from home.”

“God, I can’t believe her,” I said.

He took a sip of coffee.

“It wasn’t just her, Tess. You don’t need to make her your super villain. I wasn’t the world’s greatest husband.”

I looked in the rearview mirror and watched the road disappear behind us.

“She didn’t even come to get me,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“In Sicily. I thought maybe she’d show up to bring me home.”

My dad was quiet a moment.

“That was never going to happen,” he said.

“Why not?”

He took another loud sip of coffee.

“Because I never told her you were there.”

“Oh,” I said. I paused to let that sink in.

“How do you think it makes me look?” he said. “The one time you’re with me in the last two years and you flee the country. I knew there was some tension between us, but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

“It was for a funeral,” I mumbled.

“I know,” he said. “That makes it even worse! Funerals are what I do!”

“Dad . . .” I said.

“I don’t want to hear anything else now. I just want to let you know I’ve made a decision. And I’m afraid it’s a final one.”

“What decision?”

“I don’t think we should work together anymore,” he said.

He said it low and quiet, like it was hard to get out.

“It was an irresponsible idea to begin with, and it has now run its course.”

I expected to feel nothing after he said this. After all, I had been helping him. I was doing the favor. But there was a pit in my stomach after he spoke, and I felt it all the way home. I felt it when I went to bed that night. And I still felt it when I woke up thinking of my funeral.

When my dad finally came home, I found him making business calls at the kitchen table. After he got off the phone, I asked him if there was a new funeral he was planning, but he didn’t answer me.

“C’mon,” I said. “What is it? A funeral for a stray cat? A marmoset?”

Silence.

“Just give me a hint.”

More silence.

Eventually I went upstairs and called Grace. I asked her if I could come over for a little while. Surprisingly enough, she told me to pack a bag and stay for the weekend.

“Your dad just needs more time to get over it,” she said.

“Over what exactly?” I asked.

“His heartbreak.”

“Oh,” I said.