The Resurrection of Joleigh-Anna Kelmann

Goodbye, Matt-3

Behind us, Aunt Wanda, the Grand Duchess of The Club and Aunt Willa’s twin, declared self-righteously, “I hope JuliAnna and Jorden learn something from this experience!”

“Oh, I’m sure they have! I know I have—haven’t you?”

“Because, you know, if they’re not careful, that little Jarrett is going to be another Matthew Martin Kelmann!”

“What an honor that would be!” I chirped at the same instant my aunt charged, “What a shame that would be!”

“Joleigh! Quit!”

Recognizing she was in serious distress, I relented. “I’m sorry! Look, you want to move someplace else?”

“Where?” Lannette demanded with an emphatic gesture that swept the whole room. “We’re sardines in here already!” Then her eyes filled up again, and she ended, “I’m not moving! We cared about Matt; they didn’t!”

We’d been standing close by Matt’s casket since we’d first arrived. A little to the side though so we could be as out of the way as possible when others came up to pay their respects. Every spare spot in the room was occupied. We could go outside, but that’s where the smokers of the family were congregated. Didn’t want to be out there. The air was bad enough right where we were.

Aunt Willa proceeded to sully it some more. “It’s a wonder their hair isn’t pure white! Mother’s was at thirty-five because of Buck and Jorden and Mitchell! But then, nothing those kids have ever done has ever fazed them! Such monsters they were back then! Why, they were always hiding on Tina, picking on her and making her cry!”

“She wasn’t the only one, Willa!” piped up Wendy, one of Uncle Todd’s daughters. “They spared none of us!”

“Well, that was the fun of it!” Lannette uttered darkly. “Besides—Tina was bad. Still is! Wendy . . .” She wiggled her hand. “Depends!”

“Personally,” I opined, not able to let it alone, “I think our dads did Gram a favor! She looks much prettier with snow-white hair, don’t you think? I think—”

A pair of hands settled, one upon Lannette’s shoulder and one upon mine, at once startling us yet making us stand very still. “You’re going to give everyone the wrong impression, girls!” Gramma Kate Kelmann whispered in our ears.

Oh . . . busted! She’s always been good about sneaking up on people—hearing what you didn’t want her to! “Ah, Gram, they already have that!”

“Then change it. You’ve the power to do that!”

“Oh, sure! Assuming we did do that, what good would it do? They don’t have the power to see you’re not bald!”

Lannette snickered, and Gramma Kate gave her a playful shove. Then she patted my shoulder, saying, “Well, someday I’ll point that out to them! Although they are aware there were moments when I had wanted to rip my hair out! Some of this is true, you know! Behave, both of you! Remember where you are!”

She moved away, and I said to Lannette, “Like we can forget?”

“Jorden and Mitchell were just like them though—always teasing us to tears!” Aunt Willa bored on. She slapped a hand to her cheek and then made a gesture. “They weren’t teasing when they ran off with Lynore and JuliAnna—remember Wanda? I bet you my best sweater they’d have children from Hell! Allying themselves with that family, how could it be otherwise! Although, as I say, Jace has managed to turn out fairly well.”

She gazed off to her left where our parents stood in a receiving line. “Lynore looks positively near collapse! Poor dear, I’ll be so glad when this is over for her!”

As if it’d be all better tomorrow; like it all could be healed with just a hug, kiss and a bandage.

“What do you mean that family?” Aunt Dorene looked ready to do some battle over the issue. “You talking just Lynore and JuliAnna, or are you saying if I were to get married, my kids would be Children from Hell—me being a Merriwether?”

“Don’t you open those lips!” Lannette hurriedly warned me just as I began to. She was already in a fair way to busting a gut having an excellent idea of what I’d meant to say. Killed me to spare her but I did.

Aunt Willa reached out to lay a hand on Dorene’s arm. “Oh, my dear, you’re so unlike them both that I forget you’re related!” in a tone that left one wondering how she really meant that. Then in altogether a different one, she said, “I can’t imagine why you’re taking offense. You agree with us!”

“Well, Auntie dear, you oughta recognize two faces when you see ‘em—you wear more than one yourself!”

Lannette dug her fingers into my ribs making me jump and give a little startled cry. Out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed the look our aunts cast us. At once, we both swung around to face Matt’s coffin again.

Which cast us back into our sad despair. Like fingers of icy mountain air, it was. And it touched my brain, numbing it. My heart squeezed with pain and cried for mercy—but none was granted it.

Seeing him lying there . . . knowing he’d never be with us again . . .

For a minute, I wanted to faint, but I fought it, breathing in deeply, struggling to stay with it. That’d be the last thing Lannette needed. She’d go to pieces and collapse herself. Wasn’t what our parents needed to deal with right now. And then, of course, there’d be The Club.

So, I clung to the corner edge of the coffin to keep myself upright. Fingering the frame of the photo of our last win at Mt. Washington, I tried to focus my mind on it and the events of that day.

From it, my gaze wandered to other mementos. Photos of his favorite cars were arranged on tables among the bouquets nearby, pictures of the two of us in the Super Beetle after the Cherokee Trail race propped at his waist and a model of a 911 Porsche in his hands. The car he’d just bought with Irvy’s help.

Krysta’s parents had come earlier, and they’d tucked a picture of her and Matt down beside him. Such a waste! He and Krysta had seemed so right for each other.

When Lannette began dating Dante DiSilva, another friend of Matt and Irvy’s, we joked about having a triple wedding. Only Jace remained unattached. I think that’s another reason why The Club held him in such esteem. Such a chaste young man! Lannette and I, however, hadn’t lost much sleep over knowing they believed we never had been. Although from time to time, we wondered if it was fair of us to be making liars of them all.

Lannette moved closer. Reaching out, she touched Matt. Her fingers suddenly grasped the fabric of his suit, and she gave him a rough little shake. Rough as if it would bring him back, little because she knew it wouldn’t. Too, there was a good deal of resentment in her eyes—resentment that he’d done something so idiotically stupid. Something that’d left her brotherless.

I couldn’t touch him. If I touched him, I’d lose it quicker than hipless Aunt Wanda loses her flowered bikini in the thundering waves at the beach every year! Which would start that chain reaction mentioned earlier . . .

As guests arrived, they trekked up to say goodbye in their individual manner, hugged us warmly, uttering a few words of condolence. They’d then made their way down the mourning line, commiserating with the family. Some stayed with them; others went off to join another group elsewhere.

Still others simply weren’t very good at this sort of thing. After the obligatory hug and a mumbled “Sorry for your loss!” they fled the funeral home. I wished I could. My whole being felt as tense as a giant coiled spring. One that wanted to let loose and bounce all over the place. I just wanted this to be over. Wanted to be alone to sort it all out.

Or, no—no, I wanted Matt to get up out of there and laugh his face off, like it was all a big joke. Wanted him to tell everyone just what he thought of them. Shock ‘em all worse than he’d ever shocked ‘em before! We’d yak at him for having scared us so bad, but then we’d praise his awesome audacity and go celebrate it with a pizza.

It’d be the prank of the century! Totally worthy of him!

Ah, but his roguish laugh we’d only hear on family movies from now on. An echo in memory.

I had just made this miserably sad observation to Lannette when jumbo arms separated us, clamping us in a smothering, perfumed embrace.

“Well, Joleigh-Anna, Lannette,” Aunt Willa said in her habitual disapproving, yet patronizing tone, “if you’ve learned something by this unfortunate accident, his death won’t be completely for nothing! He had his whole life ahead of him! So very sad! Such a pretty young lady he’d found for himself too!” Heaving one of her gusty sighs, she tightened her hold on us for an instant. About broke our ribs. “But he’s in a better place now, so I suppose we shouldn’t speak harshly of him.”

As if she’d ever actually stop!

I must’ve worn a look that revealed my feelings in a more comical way then I knew, for Lannette met my gaze across Aunt Willa’s ample bosom and immediately hid her face in it—succumbed to the giggles again. Aunt Willa clucked in her mock sympathetic way, begging her not to cry so hard.

Her clumsy consolations to Lannette finally got to be more than I could listen to without squirming. I was ready to scream, “Shut up! Will you just shut up! Yes, he’s dead, but nothing’s ever going to make us miss him less!”

I’d’ve liked to have said it and more, but I bit it all back—out of respect for my parents and Aunt Lynore and Uncle Mitch—and Matt’s memory. Yapping off would only make them sigh all the more at how thoroughly Matt had corrupted me, and how badly my parents had failed in their duty in bringing me up better.

So, I extricated myself from her hold . . . only to be instantly embraced by Aunt Wanda’s bony arms. No bosom at all to cushion sorrows. And her prosaic utterances didn’t make up for it either. Logic doesn’t help at such an emotional time. Plenty of people don’t realize that . . . nor ever know how much salt they’ve rubbed into a wound because they don’t.

But . . . for all those reasons I hadn’t told Aunt Willa to shut up, I tolerated Aunt Wanda’s show of affection as well. Or whatever it was. They were family after all.

Although, this blood is thicker than water stuff seemed like double talk to me. When I’m thirsty, give me a drink of water! I had friends who’d be there for me quicker than most of my relatives. No questions. No finger pointing.

At length, they released us and linking arms, they refocused on those in the receiving line. I glanced over at Aunt Lynore and my mom, feeling exquisite pity for them to have to endure a second round with those two. But then an acquaintance of theirs snagged my aunts’ notice and engaged them in some chatter that presently had nothing to do with Matt or any of us, so Mom and Aunt Lynore gained a decent break.

“Good grief,” I heard Turdy utter to Wendy and his clingy girlfriend, “Behold—The Whale and The Eel! Those two look more like twins!” Meaning Lannette and me.

“A whole lot prettier, too!” murmured Uncle Jedd, not censoring him for saying anything so disrespectful, nor Wendy for laughing.

“Ooo, a compliment!” I uttered to Lannette. “I’m gonna faint!”

But whatever they wanted to say about my aunts’ physical looks, The Whale and the Eel were as identical as they could be on the inside! They saw things out of the same eyes—even though one pair’s hazel and the other’s mud brown! Had tongues as sharp as butcher knives too and hearts about as indifferent as a dreary November day! Okay, maybe not toward everyone, but those they particularly disapproved of.

I said so to Lannette and concluded, “Looks don’t mean a thing! They’re twins no question!”

“Joleigh—Gramma Kate’s looking at you!”

“Ah, so what? Everyone tolerates them and each other just for appearances! Makes me nuts!”

My uncles, Ralph Stark and Aldo Stanley stood away from us all, not putting any limits on their busybody spouses. They weren’t the ones wearing the pants in their families, that’s for sure! Uncle Ralph, a tall beanpole type, claimed Aunt Willa as his while Uncle Aldo, somewhat stouter, had married Wanda. We always joked about how they’d’ve made great cartoon characters, the four of ‘em!

Uncle Aldo caught my eye, and he gave me a smile and a little wink. Uncle Ralph smiled too and might have come over to chat a second had not Frankie, Tina’s husband, joined them.

How nice Frankie got along with his in-laws—more or less. He even called Aunt Willa, Ma.

I’m sure I couldn’t hear myself calling Mrs. Woodworth anything but Mrs. Woodworth. No warm feelings were ever likely to flow between us. Just a wary apprehension on my part and a cool tolerance on hers.