During the service, Josh suffered. His wool jacket was fine for Denver summers but not Nashville in August. Under the weight of his seven-year- old daughter, Grace, he could feel the heat trapped under his arms, down his back, and on his chest and stomach. Looking around, he seemed to be the only one in such a state. The club was air-conditioned. Not one person used the program as a fan. Not one jacket removed. When he lived here, years ago now, nobody seemed to mind the heat but him. Josh came from the north to play football for Vanderbilt. He turned out to be a disappointment, largely, he believed, due to the heat.
Next to him Patsy sat with their youngest on her lap. Tully was fast asleep, draped over her mother like a poncho. Patsy was a Nashville native, though she lost her accent after college. Never teased her hair, no jewelry and very little makeup. Her Aunt Lucy had already told her several times that she looked like she was dying, which only meant she was fit. The Tegels were a big family. A big deal in Nashville, and physically big. Back when he met them, Josh’s size was his ticket in. He was six-two and filled doorways. Plus, he was a football player. The Tegels liked football. And they liked Vandy. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t any good; they told him so all the time.
Tully hardly moved, she was that fast asleep. It was odd; she was so curious about this place, all the people, the death of her grandfather. Patsy had to feel the heat; she was wearing the beige suit that lived back here in her mother’s closet for this type of occasion. Not that people didn’t die out west. Although actually, you felt a certain immunity living out there, a mile above the earth. As if you existed above illness.
Patsy felt his gaze; her eyes flashed up at him then fell to his wrists, to the small, ugly cufflinks that were causing so much trouble. They were eighteen karat gold rectangles, hand made in the eastern part of the state near the national park. Ninety minutes ago, Aunt Lucy invited Josh to wear them. The initials BT sat proudly over a shipping barge. The Tegels’s fortune was made in shipping. That first Ben Tegels, a state senator, wore the cufflinks to every function, business or family, as did his son, who had the foresight to sell the shipping business just before the TVA bought up the valley, rerouting waterways to generate power. To this day the cufflinks were worn at every Tegels event. Baptisms, holiday parties, debutante dances. At weddings, they were loaned to grooms. “But you never got to wear them,” Lucy said with three significant blinks. She was alluding to Josh and Patsy’s elopement after they graduated, when they still thought they could get away with anything.
Josh was wary of Aunt Lucy’s offer. Patsy had taught him about Southern aggression. The women were never nicer than when they were working you. Patsy was a great mimic, could imitate her mother’s straight back, her sugary drawl, and the sweet way she could say something cutting. You do look comfortable in that outfit! she’d say, meaning you were underdressed. “No public displays,” Patsy explained. “You’re touring the French Quarter and you have to pee. You hold it. No asking for the bathroom. No announcing needs, no putting anyone out. No pissing and that’s final!”
In those early stories, Patsy detailed the Tegels’s code of ethics, intricate tales, illustrating more than she could ever simply tell him. She had to go back in time, explain who everybody was. Late at night in her dorm room, his eyelids would droop, his body aching for sleep, but he wouldn’t let her stop. Tell me more about the cousin who went to jail at fifteen for shoplifting, and the medieval lashing he was given after being bailed out. Or the car left in neutral that rolled off a cliff into the river. He’d leave her dorm room feeling untethered, as if he’d been through something. He couldn’t name just what it was about her stories or her family that made him feel greater than what he had been. Josh’s people prided themselves on reticence. Humor was found in the idiocy of others; jokes were one-line observations. Most kids went to college and fell prey to booze and partying. For Josh, it was stories. He was drunk on them. Everybody down here had the gift, professors, roommates, even the football players. Stories poured out of them as naturally as breath.
•
The minister was leading them in a prayer, which had to mean the service was coming to a close. He moved Grace to the other leg and pulled open his jacket. He should have told Aunt Lucy no. I couldn’t. Wouldn’t feel right, he rehearsed in his head. He would give them back at the reception. Undo his faux pas. His left hand twitched so hard that Grace grabbed and held it without looking up at him. When they rose to sing the final hymn, he felt her hand in his like an anchor to the earth. He didn’t look at Patsy but could hear her; she loved to sing but was tone deaf.
Something had shifted between them since the girls were born. Patsy’s insistence on giving Tallulah her Southern name, for instance. Josh didn’t mind it; “Tully” suited her. But Patsy was so adamant. She wanted them to take yearly visits to Nashville. Her parents wouldn’t come to Denver like his did. Recently Patsy had suggested summer camp for Grace—two weeks away from home. Perhaps most noticeable was his wife’s increasing inability to laugh at her parents after their Skype calls. After watching the girls play piano, Mrs. Tegels had asked who did their hair for recitals. Josh and Patsy shared a glance, but she didn’t mimic this moment later. Never mentioned it.
There was something off about this whole event. The fanfare, the BMWs, the designer suits felt self-important to him. Where he came from there would be a funeral home with thirty people and a minister. Didn’t matter if you were the mayor or a plumber; you were dead. Grief was something that must be endured.
Here, they notified the world. They arrived at the church an hour before the service and were not the first. Parking lot the size of a football field. His mother-in-law stressing about the reception at the club, where double the number was expected. Over-dressed people weeping, touching their faces, throwing their arms around one another. So much noise! How did one feel anything?
In the month leading up to this event, Josh felt a rising panic. He didn’t want their life to change. He worked at a kids’ summer camp and spent the off-season fund raising. They lived in a little house in the suburbs. What Josh loved most was lying on the floor of the girls’ room while Patsy read Peter Rabbit in her low voice, the faintest hint of drawl that would creep in when she was tired.
His first thought after hearing that Mr. Tegels was dead had been, This is going to ruin our life. He would not miss the man. The girls barely knew him. His father-in-law spent most of his time on the golf course when they visited. In fact, he died on the golf course. His death was treated like the passing of a king.
Before the ceremony began, a slim, effeminate man—a funeral planner?—had ushered them into the basement like he was protecting royalty. There they stood, Tegels children, cousins, and in-laws, mingling around tables covered in trays of crudités and juice. No booze, which only meant flasks were hidden in purses and pockets. The slender man took Patsy and her siblings to a private room for rehearsal, and this was when Aunt Lucy made her move with the cufflinks. Lucy was the youngest Tegels, still in her forties. She was divorced. The fact that she had the little case ready, that she had waited until he was alone to approach him, seemed significant. But he saw no way to refuse.
“I’d be honored,” he said.
Aunt Lucy winked, dropping the cufflinks into his palm.
For the next hour, Josh felt like he wore clock-faced diamonds on each wrist. He kept waiting for people to notice them, found himself not reaching for food, avoiding contact. It was ridiculous, the bizarre pride he felt, mixed with inadequacy and embarrassment. Grace wanted to look at them. They sat on a couch and she ran her forefinger over the smooth surface. She asked why Lucy gave them away.
“She only loaned them, hon,” he said. “To remember Grandpa.”
He didn’t believe this. His suspicion felt ridiculous. He was making too much of this. His wife appeared and Josh led Grace over. He wanted to say something to Patsy, to touch her shoulder or squeeze her hand, but Tully was in her arms, rubbing her eyes. Tully wasn’t a hugger; she must be ill. He reached out to take her and Patsy saw the cufflinks. She turned away, dodging his offer. This was shocking. She always handed off the girls. Her eyes narrowed, looking from the cufflinks to his face. Josh began to grin, holding up his wrists like Wonder Woman, thinking they’d laugh it off.
“Lucy gave them to me to wear,” he said.
“To remember Grandpa,” Grace added.
Unsmiling, Patsy tugged on the bottom of her suit coat. “Lucy gave those to you? Does Mother know?”
“I don’t think so,” He lowered his arms, pulling down his jacket sleeves. “Why?”
The little man returned, was opening the doors to the hall, ushering them out for the service.
“They’ve been missing for two years,” Patsy said, tossing her head, trying to smile, but it was too late to pretend this was no big deal. “It’s weird they’d show up here, on your wrists.”
“Pats, I didn’t steal them,” he said, trying again to lighten the mood. Patsy glanced around her. “Of course not,” she said quietly. “We can talk about it later.”
•
When the service ended, Josh moved again to take Tully from Patsy and this time she let him. “Let’s head to the parking lot,” he said, needing air. He found a side door and made his way towards their rental van. The dead weight of his daughter was disturbing; he was sure she must be getting the flu. He buckled her lifeless form into her car seat. Grace buckled herself and Josh got behind the wheel, shut the door and started the engine, blowing the air conditioner in his face.
When Patsy joined them, she looked ten years older. Her eyes were dry but tired, and her shoulders drooped. She stared at the dashboard a moment then directed him to pull out behind her mother’s car, driven by her brother. The cars lined up, over fifty of them leaving at once, headlights shining like hot little eyes.
“Is Tully OK?” he asked as they pulled onto Belle Meade Avenue. “She’s fine.”
“She never sleeps through—”
“I said she’s fine,” Patsy snapped. She looked over at him. “Now, tell me how you got those.”
His guts seized. He grinned, ignoring his fear. “I’ve had them in my dresser drawer, under my boxer shorts. Thought I’d sell them on eBay.” She stared at him.
“This is some kind of joke to you, isn’t it? Mocking my family?”
Josh looked in the rearview mirror at Grace, quiet in her seat,
listening. Briefly she met his eye. Grace had spectacular eyes. Stormy gray, they turned down at the outer corners, giving her a wise, almost sad look.
“I don’t get you,” Patsy continued. “It’s a funeral. My dad’s funeral.”
Josh exhaled. She was right. It was appalling to be making jokes. He thought of his own father up north in Ohio, alive, running the plumbing department of a Home Depot.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Lucy offered them to me.”
“That wasn’t her place.”
“She wanted me to wear them.”
“She said that?” Patsy shook her head, interrupting herself. “Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t her place.” Her voice was rising and she began gesturing with her hands. “Mother should have chosen. Mother’s wondered where they were for years. Daddy wore them to a party and they went missing. All this time she thought she lost them. He gave them to her to put in her purse. She’s been sick over it.” After a moment her heard her mutter, “Fucking Lucy.”
“I’m sorry,” Josh said. “I didn’t know. I had no idea—”
“It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t all right. Aunt Lucy had played him, sensing his desire to be a part of this. After all these years he still wanted in on it. The Tegels. Nashville. Something. He hated it about himself, how impressed he was and how obvious it must be if Lucy could see it. Until this very moment, had he seen it himself?
Josh took a hand off the steering wheel and began removing one of the cufflinks.
“What are you doing?” Patsy asked. “You can’t take them off! How would that look? People need to think Mother asked you to wear them.”
He looked at her, waiting for her to grin, some indication that she was kidding. She turned to look out her window. He checked the rearview and saw Grace reach toward her sister. Tully’s head had fallen forward like a doll’s.“Jesus, Patsy, what is wrong with her? That is not natural.” “It’s OK,” she said without turning. “I gave her something.”
Josh’s head snapped towards her. “You gave her—what?”
She didn’t turn. “Just Benadryl. It’s harmless.”
“Look at her! It doesn’t look harmless. My god!”
He threw the car in park and started to open his door.
“Joshua Hartman!” Patsy cried. “Do not get out of this vehicle!”
He froze, gaping at his wife in horror. Her short blonde hair, her tiny, perfect features were utterly strange to him. He recognized nothing about her except one thing: her power. His chest constricted and his vision blurred. He was suffocating under the weight of this story. The Hartmans were a fiction. What they had in Denver was no more real than any of this Nashville bullshit. They had run away and pretended to be all right not belonging anywhere. They lived among middle class orphans who didn’t know or care how to act, what to wear, where to be, what to do. Everybody seemed like everybody else. Nobody had a family history, at least not the people they knew. They had stories, sure, what they left and why, what they were fighting against, what kind of statement they were making, living on the frontier. But that wasn’t the same thing as belonging and they knew it.
“Go forward, Josh,” Patsy said. “Catch up with Mother.”
He blinked. Several feet of space had opened between their van and his mother-in-law’s BMW. He looked in the rearview. Grace had tipped Tully’s head back; now her mouth hung open. As he watched, she closed her lips and swallowed. He looked over at Patsy’s stern, beautiful face. He hated where she came from, what she’d never be free of.
“Go,” Patsy said.
Josh put the car in gear.
•
At the reception Patsy took the girls to a room upstairs set up for children. A different mood possessed the crowd now. They’d been through something; the performance was over. Ties were loosened, coats came off. Josh wasn’t the only one with sweat stains under his arms. People were not crying but smiling, chewing, and talking.
“Oh, the ships!” said Uncle Jake. They stood beside each other in line at the bar. Josh studied the man’s eyes and mouth, looking for resentment. Shouldn’t he be wearing them?
smile.“Good for you!” he cried, shaking Josh’s hand, nodding with a warm
The man clearly couldn’t care less. He ordered his bourbons and was swallowed by the crowd. Josh asked for soda water, then worked his way to the patio doors overlooking the lawn. Outside the tables shimmered. The sky was cloudless. In the woods at the far side of the golf course, the cicada drone would be rising in an afternoon frenzy, a rhythmic, consistent tide.
When Josh turned, he saw Patsy’s mother. In spite of the set of her jaw, her face held hints of beauty. Like Patsy she wore a suit. Even in heels she was shoulder-high to most people. She was flanked by family, but Josh stepped closer, leaning towards her to ask, “How are you holding up?”
She put a hand on his forearm, smiling everywhere but her exhausted, determined eyes. He had the terrible feeling that she wasn’t sure who he was. Just as she was about to speak, her gaze dropped to his wrist and froze.
“Where did you get those?”
Again and again, Josh would replay this moment, trying to understand what exactly about this exchange cut him so deeply. The stunned accusation in her tone made him feel guilty, as if he had stolen from her. In a way, he had. “Lucy asked me to wear them,” he said. “I hope I haven’t overstepped.” She gripped his forearm harder; instinctively, he flexed against it. Her nostrils flared slightly as she exhaled, but her eyes did not soften. Lucy was going to get it, he thought as she released his arm and turned away.
Patsy was wrong. He ought to have removed them. He did so now, setting his glass on a passing tray. He looked at them briefly in the palm of his hand, then tucked them into his left pants pocket. He rolled each shirtsleeve up past his elbow. Because he was a head taller than everybody, he could see the clearest way through the large, disorganized crowd fanning out from the bar. He saw Patsy in the corner with her brother. She held his gaze, seemed to be trying to tell him something. She made a move to come towards him, an idea he could not bear. He gave a quick head nod and kept going towards the front door, thinking he’d get some air. Through the window he saw that a crowd of smokers stood in the drive; he changed his mind, was about to turn away when the front door opened and Lucy entered, holding a gin and tonic, still exhaling smoke. A man he didn’t recognize stalled behind her, propping open the door with his shoulder.
“Hey there, honey!” Lucy cried as if they were at a pre-game party back in the Vanderbilt days.
A wildness gripped him. He turned his mouth up in a clownish grin and cried, “Hey Luce!” Imitating her bizarre cheer, he stepped closer and added, “I have something for you!”
Josh pulled the gaudy ships out of his pants pocket, lifted them, and let them drop one by one into her drink. Lucy gave a stunned gasp. The unknown man behind her was red-faced with outrage. Still maintaining the wide, plastic smile, Josh turned away without a word.
He made his way to the stairs and took them two at a time, striding down the hall as he yanked off his tie. In the last room a half dozen unlucky children were draped over furniture set up in a half moon around a television. Tully was awake, drinking milk. She had a bowl of dry Cheerios in front of her. Someone had brought up cake. Grace saw her father, stood and came to take his hand. Josh sat on the couch and let her climb into his lap. She turned to look up at him and asked, “When can we go home, Daddy?”
“Soon,” he said. “Real soon.”
The Hartmans were in Chicago before 8:00 a.m. the following morning. They left at the crack of dawn in order to return the rental van. They had nothing to eat and spoke to no one. There was very little talking at that hour, and Josh was thankful when Patsy slept through their first flight. He had left her at the reception, put both girls to bed, and packed their bags before she got home with her mother. When she came to bed, he had his back to her. “Josh, this is all going to fade away once we get back out west,” she had said. He was certain she’d heard about what he did with the cufflinks. She was trying to tell him that she wasn’t mad. He did not turn over. Because their flight out was delayed, their layover in O’Hare was only fifteen minutes. This had become a feature of visiting the East, a mad dash through one airport or another. Josh and Patsy each carried a girl, shoving their way through the tunnel walkway. In his arms, Tully was gazing at the neon lights above. She wanted to stop, but Josh hurried to keep up with Patsy, who moved as if pursued. How had he never noticed this before, the way his wife appeared to be chased? He was going to have to let her run, he knew. Her race was not his race.
At the top of the escalator he finally called out her name, stopping her. They faced one another. It felt like the first time she’d looked at him all weekend.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “They have to use the bathroom.”
“If we miss this flight, we’ll be stuck here for hours.”
She was wearing gym shoes and yoga pants, looking more like herself.
The resistance she felt coming off him killed her a little, he could see. All the same, Josh put Tully down.
“I understand that, but the girls need to slow down.” He held onto Tully’s hand. “You sprint ahead. Get them to hold the plane.”
She brightened. He knew she would like the idea, running, making demands.
“Don’t dawdle, Josh,” she said, putting Grace on her feet and handing over the carry-on bag. “You can’t get food. You can’t buy stuff. Just go to the bathroom and get there.”
“I don’t have to go,” said Grace.
“Stay with Daddy,” Patsy told her.
“Mommy,” Grace cried, but when Patsy looked at her, she was quiet. Josh looped the bag’s shoulder strap across his chest and picked up
Tully. He took Grace’s hand. The three of them were in the way; the press of humanity parted around them as they stood watching Patsy rush through the crowded terminal, dodging the people and the beeping carts. Finally, she rounded the corner by Starbucks and they couldn’t see her anymore.
“Well now,” Josh said, looking down into Grace’s sad, gray eyes. “Who’s hungry?”
Christy Stillwell is the author of The Wolf Tone (January 8, 2019; Elixir Press) and the poetry chapbook Amnesia (2008; Finishing Line Press). She holds an MFA in creative writing from Warren Wilson College and is the winner of the Elixir Press Fiction Prize, a finalist in the Glimmer Train Short Story Contest and the recipient of a Puschart Prize nomination, a residency at Vermont Studio Center and a Wyoming Arts Council Literary Fellowship. Her stories and essays have appeared in journals such as Salon, Pearl, River City, Sonora Review, Sou’wester, Massachusetts Review, literarymama.com, and The Tishman Review. You can visit her online at ChristyStillwell.com.