Here Lies a Father. Mckenzie Cassidy
disapproved of Catherine’s decision. Uncle Neil didn’t seem to mind, but he also could’ve been lying to keep the peace. By that point it didn’t really matter anyway; the deed had been done.
The three of us entered the cemetery and took a paved, well-manicured path to the hilltop that would be Dad’s final resting place. Our shoes got wet as we stepped onto the soggy grass and trekked up the hill. Without the headstones the landscape would have looked like a golf course, the sort of place to relax on a lazy Sunday morning. I looked out over the property. Newly installed headstones were laid out proportionately. Farther away were crumbling spires dating back hundreds of years, the names of their eternal guests barely legible. I thought about how the diggers must’ve toiled over spacing out the dead in such a finite space. Sooner or later the entire cemetery would be full and they’d have a problem on their hands.
Once at the hilltop, we waited patiently beside a shallow hole. Without a casket there had been no reason for the diggers to go deep. Uncle Neil scanned the horizon as a sailor would on the deck of a ship, and two blurry figures emerged through the distant cemetery gate. Two women came into focus, skipping over shallow mud puddles on their way toward us.
“We’re over here!” shouted Neil, as if they hadn’t seen him. He waved.
Except for us three, the cemetery was empty.
One of the women was short and stout, with a tight silver perm and a pointed nose that reminded me of Dad. She also resembled Neil, so I assumed she was a Daly. The other one was tall and thin with long, midnight-black hair and tanned, leathery skin. They followed the same route we had taken to the hilltop and when they arrived we all stood awkwardly, waiting for somebody to make the first introduction. Finally, the shorter one introduced herself as Dad’s sister, Marie.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you finally,” said Marie. “I just wish it had been under better circumstances.”
I smiled.
“We feel the same way, believe me,” said Catherine. She nudged my arm.
“Yes, great to meet you too,” I added. “Thanks.”
As Marie spoke I glanced at the other woman, clutching her leather purse and waiting anxiously to be introduced. Her gigantic purse was black leather with gold rings. She stood a few feet back and nodded at everything we said. Marie paused briefly from her introductions and studied my face.
“You look like him, you know,” she said. Everyone turned to verify, but said nothing further. “Thomas, your father. I can see him in you.”
“I see that too, Marie,” said the other woman, reminding the group she was still there.
Her compliment should’ve made me beam with pride, but instead my stomach turned. I didn’t want them to see the look of disgust on my face, so I stared at everyone’s shoes. Uncle Neil wore scuffed penny loafers, Marie stood flat-footed in white walking sneakers, and the other woman leaned to the side in black high-heel ankle boots. I couldn’t explain why I reacted the way I did to Marie’s observation, yet once the day was over I’d push the thought out of my mind forever.
“Oh, how rude of me,” said Marie. “This is Carla.”
The dark-haired stranger, Carla, stepped forward and shook our hands loosely with her two longest fingers and thumb.
“Nice to meet you,” said Catherine. With a pointed glance, she demanded that Marie explain why this strange woman was present at our father’s funeral. Not being able to wait any longer, she started fishing for answers. “So, Carla, are you a member of the family or a friend or …?”
“Not exactly,” Marie answered casually. “Carla is Thomas’s ex-wife.”
Catherine’s face turned crimson, she scrunched it up questioningly, and she tipped her head to one side. “I’m sorry, I misheard you.”
“Thomas, your father,” said Marie, slowly. “Carla was his first wife.”
Catherine searched desperately for the truth in each of the faces gathered around Dad’s grave. I looked up to the sky, imagining I was anyplace else but in that cemetery. Back when I used to play outfield for the Wellbourne junior baseball team, I’d place my leather glove over my face like a mask and watch the game unfold through the stitch holes. The crowd in the bleachers used to scream at me when I missed a pop fly or struck out at bat, but I persisted because I wanted so badly to be a part of something, to make friends with the other players. I just couldn’t focus long enough to learn the fundamentals of the game. Eventually I quit the team.
“His first wife?” repeated Catherine. She had heard what Marie had said, but she wanted to give her mind time to process.
“His first wife,” said Marie.
Tears filled Carla’s eyes. She blinked and they streamed down her leathery cheeks, leaving a moist trail of orange spray tan. “I’m so sorry,” she said, sobbing. “I was afraid this was going to happen.”
“Afraid what was going to happen?” asked Catherine defensively.
“I was afraid you two wouldn’t have known about his other marriages. That he never told you. I shouldn’t have come. I’m so, so sorry.” Carla slung her oversized purse back over her shoulder and turned to leave.
“Stop. Stop. Don’t be crazy,” said Marie. She put her hand on Carla’s back. “You have as much a right as anyone else to be here. You were married to the man, for Christ’s sake.”
“Thank you,” said Carla, sniffing. “But … this just isn’t appropriate.”
“You got that right,” said Catherine.
Carla retrieved a balled-up tissue from her purse and dabbed her tears.
Marie turned to Catherine and me, and I could tell she was concerned. “Are you telling me your parents never mentioned any of this?” she asked.
“Other marriages?” said Catherine in a strained voice. She was an English major in college and knew the difference between plural and singular. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Marriages. Yes. Your father had a few,” said Marie, smirking.
Not long after Marie dropped this bomb, Carla also dropped the shy-and-withdrawn act. “Thomas and I had two children together, Mark and Ashley, before he left me. They’re much older than you, as you’d probably guess, and they have lives of their own now, but they’re your half siblings.”
Marie clearly had no idea of how this shocking news would plow through our psyches, leaving craters the size of volcanoes. Speaking openly about our personal lives didn’t come easy for my family. Before leaving town Mom and Catherine had specifically told me not to give them an inch, to keep my eyes and ears open about whether any of those backwoods kooks were trying to profit from Dad’s death. If there had been money floating around, Mom said, we’d better figure out if they’d fight over it or not. Money was funny business in my family; we refused to admit we cared about it, but there was never a time when it wasn’t the topic of conversation.
“Is this a prank?” asked Catherine, struggling to crack a smile to show she was in on the joke. Considering Dad’s dark humor, it was fair to assume he got it from his family. “My father did not have other families or other children, and if this is a joke I’d appreciate it if you all stopped carrying on with it. It’s not the time or place.”
Marie, unruffled, responded calmly to Catherine’s outburst: “I’m sorry, sweetie. I wish it was a joke.”
Catherine and Mom never included me in the important matters of the Daly family. As if I’d been bestowed a nonessential status, it wasn’t important for me to know what was happening or why they had made certain choices over the years. They excluded me because they wanted to protect me from the harsh realities of this world. How could I fault them for that? But now I was hearing something live, at the same time as Catherine, and we were left to figure out whether it was true. Dad’s family had no reason