Ander - Part 4: Subchapter 35

Story by Contrast on SoFurry

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35

The day was sunny and beautiful, much too beautiful. This was a day for picnics by the river, or a horse ride in the fields, or just for sitting on the porch, watching the clouds go by. Days like this weren't made for double funerals in the dark shadow behind the chapel, with grave markers piercing the ground like broken rows of teeth, and yet here he was, standing among the swaying weeds, feeling like he was stuck inside a never-ending nightmare. Valery clung to his pants leg, all dolled up in her nicest Sunday dress, trying her best to quiet her sniffles while the priest droned on and on about the cycle of life and death. She was afraid of the casket and the giant hole it was suspended over, so James put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed her close, letting her know that he was still here. The boys were trying to be brave, but he could see the suffering in their eyes. He motioned them closer. They came to him, and he could feel the weight of little hands wrap around his waist, needing him, depending on him.

There were so many Foxes standing around with their heads bowed. He could feel their half-hidden stares, radiating pity. He could hear their dampened whispers from behind cupped hands. They thought they understood. Here was a humble carpenter, suddenly left to raise three crying children all by himself.

They didn't know half of it.

James looked over at Markus's group, which was considerably smaller than this one, and he would bet that the few Foxes that did go over there did so not out of remembrance for the stingiest Fox to ever roam the 'Glen, but out of respect for his survivors: Sarah, Michael, Mateo, and most of all...

Laura.

She stood there in her black dress and her elbow length gloves, dabbing her eyes with the same blue handkerchief she's been carrying around all her life while her daughter tried to comfort her. She'd probably come over here soon, and James did not know if he would be able to keep his cool. She had lost a husband, but he could find no pity in his heart, no matter how hard he looked. That woman knew what really happened on the day his Emily was taken away, and she had fabricated some cock and bull story about falling down the stairs. Why? He wanted to pull the truth from her throat.

But not now. Not on this day.

James squeezed his children tightly, taking in just as much comfort as he was giving.

The priest finally finished his sermon, and that was Ruth's cue. She came up to them with a basket of yellow roses in her arms, and they each took one.

"I'm so sorry, James," she said, and James thanked her without really looking at her. Her eyes lingered on the children for a while, clinging so desperately to their father, and then she went on to give Markus's family their roses. It might as well be happening in a different world altogether.

"Come on, kids," James said. "It's time to do our part. We can go together."

They didn't say anything, but they knew what to do. They all went to Emily's casket together and they stood staring at this strange object. It wasn't a fancy casket (not like Markus's), but that's the way Emily would have wanted it. She was a simple vixen. The ropes creaked and the casket swayed over the gaping hole, bordered by deep shadows on all sides.

He wondered who should go first, but that was one decision he didn't have to make. Valery stepped forward all on her own and put her rose on top, just like she was told.

"Goodbye, Mommy," she said, and the sadness in her voice was enough to break his heart. "I'll miss you."

Timothy went next. He put his rose down next to Valery's, and he said, "Goodbye, Mom. I'll..." He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'll be good, so you don't have to worry, okay?"

When he turned around, James could see he was barely keeping himself together. There was snot running from his nose, and his eyes were shiny and glistening. If he broke down now, then Valery would, too, and then Luke.

"Come here, Tim." James fished a handkerchief from his pocket and held it up to his son's nose. "Blow."

Tim gave a feeble little snort, but that was enough for now. He nodded his head, even though James hadn't asked anything, and went back to holding his hand. He was such a brave little boy.

Luke stepped up and put his rose next to his siblings'. Three yellow roses all in a row.

"Goodbye, Mom," he said. "We'll take good care of Dad while you're gone."

James smiled. It felt strange on his face, but it almost felt good, too. Luke came back and he ruffled the boy's hair, just like he used to.

And then it was his turn.

He stepped up to the casket. It was Cedar, a good wood. He looked down at the rose in his hands, such a bright yellow. The thorns had all carefully been removed, but it still hurt to hold.

It had only bloomed halfway before it was cut down.

"I'll keep my promise, Emmy," he said and carefully laid his rose down with his children's. "I swear to you, I'll keep my promise."

*

Time flew by in a crazy blur after that. There were dozens of comforters, offering their condolences, reminding him of how wonderful Emily was and how empty the world would be without her, trying to make him feel better. James nodded and mumbled his thanks, not seeing half of them. Emily was always the social one, the one with all the friends. He didn't even know most of the people shaking his hand, acting like they knew what he was going through. After a while he just wished they'd leave him and his family alone.

The days after the funeral were even more drawn out.

Foxes came to his door from all over the valley, and just about all of them brought food. It was like some unwritten rule he was never aware of until then. If someone dies, bring her widower some food. Most of them he hardly even knew, but they still brought food. Chicken, lamb, pies, fruits, vegetables.

He never felt much like eating, though, and neither did the kids. Most of it they ended up throwing away. They meant well, but it got to a point where the sight of yet another basket coming down the road was enough to make him want to scream: 'I lost my wife! You think pie is going to make me feel better!?' and then he'd feel guilty for thinking such things, and then he'd imagine what Emily would think of all the baskets piled up in the corner, and that would make him want to cry. But at least there was always something for the kids to eat.

It was amazing, how daunting the little things suddenly became, like making food, or cleaning clothes. It was stuff that needed to be done, tasks that always seemed to take place automatically, out of sight, but then the one who used to do them was gone, and all those little tasks that needed doing suddenly fell to him, and then, when he'd actually have to do them, it felt like he was telling everyone that life was just going on like always. He sat down to eat and afterwards he'd clean the dishes and it all felt so blasphemous, like an insult to the one that used to do all these little tasks he used to take for granted. He didn't know what he would have done if it wasn't for Valery. She probably took Emily's death worse than anyone, even her father, but she was right there by his side every day, helping him prepare the meals, wash the clothes, all the little things that needed doing. Maybe it was her own way of coping, helping him out. She needed to feel useful, even if only a little.

Luke was no different. He did his very best to take care of his little brother and sister when he saw it was all becoming too much for his father to bear. Jon would come in and help from time to time, but mostly it was Luke who tied the shoelaces and tended the scraped knees. As the oldest, he felt a responsibility the others didn't. He wanted to keep everyone safe by taking the weight of their worlds on his shoulders. He was such a strong boy, but sometimes he forgot he was just a kid, and James worried he'd end up crushing himself under all the burdens he's so intent on piling on top of himself.

Tim... it was a very confusing time for him. He wanted to help, James could see that, but he wasn't any good at housework or taking care of others, so he brought it upon himself to lighten their spirits whenever possible. He was the one that got Valery to play and smile and laugh again. He'd tell silly jokes and goof off with his brother, and seeing those three happy made James feel happy, light inside, like it was okay to move on.

But there was always something just around the corner, waiting to shatter that feeling into a thousand jagged pieces so sharp they could cut you to ribbons if you even so much as thought about putting them back together again.

Their house had a really big table in the dining room. Pine. James used to sit at one end, and Emily at the other. Luke and Tim would share one of the long sides and little Valery would sit opposite. That's the way they sat to eat every meal since Valery was born. Eight years. Eight blissful years. And suddenly there was an empty chair where Emily used to sit. Empty, but not empty at all. He don't really believe in ghosts, but there was something sitting in that chair, all right, watching them eat. Maybe it was just his own memory of her, or... the absence of her, made real by that empty chair. He don't know how to put it, except that it made him feel sick to eat there after a while, directly across from that empty chair. He'd look up from his food and expect to see her there, giggling, motioning that he had something stuck to his chin, but it was just that empty chair. Empty, except for that ghost of her memory, watching them eat in silence. He'd look away, but then he'd see Valery, and the ghost was there, too, living in her face. He'd get up from the table, the meal only half-over, and go to their bedroom, and her ghost was there, lying on the empty half of their bed. One night James couldn't stand sleeping there anymore and he went out to his workshop to try and get some sleep on his worktable, but she was right there, curiously bending over to look at all the little bits and pieces he was working on, her hands clasped behind her back. He ended up going to Othello's and he drank a whole bottle of cheap wine all by myself, feeling like a terrible father for leaving his children all alone in the house in the middle of the night. The wine didn't even work. He could still see her sitting at one of the tables. She saw him looking and winked. Little flashes of her followed him around wherever he went. The places she'd been, the things she said, the moments they shared. They were slowly killing him. He'd be so happy, seeing her so clearly, back the way she was, so full of life, and then she'd disappear and he'd remember she was dead. It was like losing her all over again, dozens of times a day. Hundreds. And it wasn't just him, it was the kids, too. They were amazingly resilient, but the days were dragging on them and all the little things he used to think were signs of them getting better now seemed more like cruel illusions, stalwart masks put on for his benefit. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe they weren't getting better because he wasn't getting better. It was his job to take care of them, he had promised, but he could barely take care of himself. It was a dark time, the darkest of his life, and he couldn't take it anymore. He had to get away.

But Emily's dying words haunted his dreams, and he knew they'd never leave him alone until he found out the truth. Even if he went far, far away, he'd be stuck in this grey limbo between life and death forever.

He went over to Laura's house many times, but she always had visitors with her, friends and family. But one day he knocked on her door and she was the only one who came to open up. No daughter or grandson sipping tea, no neighbours holding her grieving hand. She was -


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