Heaven's Light

Prologue Christian Rivers was seven when he saw his first dead body. His Aunt Betty had died of complications with emphysema at the end of summer in 1988 at the ripe old age of seventy-eight. It was the last time he’d see her grand old smile and snowcapped hair. Her eyes were the color of lime green bottles. He went to her funeral with his parents. He struggled to fit into a pair of corduroys and dress shirt. His mom, Lori, wanted him to wear a tie. It was his father Henry’s brown striped checkered that he’d bought at a thrift store in the center of town. Christian looked like a geek. “It is too long,” he’d told his father. “I look silly.” “Stop griping,” Henry said, tugging and folding the ends of the fabric to make it look presentable on young Christian. “You’re growing into a handsome young man,” Henry said, winking. His smile was as wide as a clown’s that morning. It reminded Christian of Aunt Betty’s ear-to-ear grin. She was always in a good mood, always smiling, telling him how much she loved him, and brushing her ring-encrusted fingers through the cowlick in the center of Christian’s head. She called him Little Rascal. Christian stared down at the floor to avert his father’s gaze and the smell of hash browns and sausage on his breath, his normal morning breakfast. Christian remembered his father telling him how “all grown-up” he looked, patting him on the top of his head like a puppy. “Aunt Betty would be proud of her favorite nephew,” Henry said. “I miss her,” Christian said. “She misses you, too.” “How do you know?” “She’s watching you from upstairs.” “Upstairs? She’s here? Where? You mean she’s not really dead?” Christian pulled away from his father and raced through the den and living room to the bottom of the stairs. He stared up the fourteen steps to the top of the landing. Warm afternoon light spilled along the walls, across his face, the heat of the sun soothing. He heard his father’s heavy footsteps coming up behind him. “It’s a figure of speech, son. Aunt Betty—” “She’s really gone?” Christian whispered. “Isn’t she?” Christian felt his father’s solid hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him. He pulled him back into him, holding his son tightly. His head came up to Henry’s waist. “I don’t want to see Aunt Betty dead,” Christian said, and he wanted to cry, but not in front of his father. It made him feel weak, showing emotions in front of other people. “You have to pay your respects,” Henry said. “She loved you.” “I miss her.” “Come on, son. Let’s get our coats. We don’t want to keep Mom waiting.” * * * * Christian recalled the quiet one-way street on the corner of Pine and Lily where Hillman & Eden Funeral Home stood like a castle. The funeral home was a large building tucked between an empty lot for sale and a dentist’s office. Leafy, lush purple and white lilac trees lined either side of the street, fragrant and blooming during the summer months. Christian and his mom would take long morning walks along the residential streets, past the newly renovated stone architecture of the United Methodist Church, the golden sun glinting off the top of its bronze bell tower. Christian told his father that he wanted to move their house to Pine and Lily Street. “Why?” Henry asked, shutting the car door behind him and ushering the three of them to the sidewalk in front of the funeral home’s main doors. “I want to be close to Aunt Betty,” Christian told him. Christian heard his father mumble something about Aunt Betty going to heaven and not staying around the area. Henry waved to Uncle Willy on their way into the funeral home. Uncle Willy was dressed “to the nines,” Christian heard his mother say to his father. When she hugged Uncle Willy, her short, thin arms were unable to reach around Uncle Willy’s big waist. Uncle Willy was thick as a tree, and the most pleasant person you’d ever meet. Uncle Willy and Henry didn’t get along well all the time, and Henry told Christian one night, before Henry and Lori tucked their son into bed, “Your Uncle Willy is colorfully different for a reason.” Christian didn’t know what ‘colorful’ meant at the time. Later, when he found out that his Uncle Willy and he had a few similarities, Christian wished they’d had more time together, to talk and hang out so Christian could learn more about his uncle, before Uncle Willy died of a massive heart attack during Christian’s senior year in high school, leaving Christian alone, asking more questions.