A Special Kind Of Family

Both protested only mildly before sitting down at the table. Gin gave thanks to God for the meal, and there was lively conversation as they ate. Everyone was relieved at the report of successful surgery, and optimistic about Gram’s recovery.

Only once did anyone mention Rob’s profession this time. He glanced toward Jana before replying, “I should get used to people wondering what kind of person chooses to become a mortician instead of a doctor or lawyer or automobile salesman or short-order cook. Y’know what happened when I first told Vanessa I’d decided to do this?”

She felt heat rising in her face and knew they must see her heightened coloring as he announced, “She laughed at me, that’s what!”

He had never referred to that before, and she’d hoped he had forgotten. “That was incredibly rude of me,” she admitted, looking at everyone except him, “but it was such a surprise. He’d talked for years of becoming a family practitioner or a physician’s assistant, or perhaps a physical therapist. And for a while he even considered becoming a minister.

“Any of those would have meant intense involvement with living people, and then there he was, speaking of working with…” she stammered, unsure how to finish the thought without mentioning corpses or bodies “…with people after they’ve died.” She forced herself to look at him and was relieved to see him smiling.

“It’s okay, Van.” His right hand seemed to be reaching toward her, but came to rest on the table’s edge. “I shouldn’t have teased about it.”

Vanessa didn’t know if Gin was deliberately maneuvering the conversation away from that topic when she told of two late-afternoon calls from people asking about Gram, but Vanessa was glad for the change of subject!

Rob soon explained that he had to leave, and she walked out with him and down the steps. “Thanks again for bringing Miz Aggie’s wonderful meal.”

His little nod was probably in place of saying You’re welcome, but his words were, “Do you always call her that?”

She chuckled. “She was my Sunday School teacher when I was maybe five or six. Gram and other ladies her age called her by her first name, so I did, too, until Gram corrected me. But Mrs. Seaforth said I could call her Miz Aggie—well, that’s what I understood, though she probably said, Mrs. Anyway, she’s been that to me and many others ever since.”

He stopped on the sidewalk. “She speaks very highly of you, Van, and is impressed with your moving right in here—taking care of the girls and everything.”

“Gram’s very concerned for them, and so am I. What’s remarkable is that other people are doing so much.”

He looked back toward the house. “I told Mrs. Redding that I could stay this afternoon until you got here, but she insisted she wanted to.”

Her shoe scuffed against the leaf-strewn flagstones. “In order to get this facility up and running, a number of conditions had to be met, one being that at no time can there be unsupervised visiting by a male.”

“I hadn’t thought of myself as a ‘visiting male.’” His mouth twisted into a smile. “But I can see that my motives could be suspect.”

“Several times men or boys have called, wanting to visit or to go out with one of the girls, so it is a necessary rule.” She grinned up at this man a good six inches taller than her height of five-eight. “There was no way of foreseeing that a nice, good-looking young mortician just might want to be helpful.” Is he wincing a little? It seems as though there’s a flicker of—what?

“I was already a man, Vanessa, even before becoming a funeral director—I was an individual before a professional.” His words seemed more subdued than usual, and there was something like pain in his eyes. “I still am.”

She glanced down at her shoe again, scraping back and forth in telltale discomfort. Transferring her weight to the offending foot, she looked back up into his deep-brown eyes, so near she could see herself in them. “I know.”

Rob hoped she really did think of him as a man; his regard for her had nothing to do with her efficiency as manager and executive secretary of the plant started several years before by Andi and her electronics-genius father. He wanted to continue the conversation with some casual remark, but before he could do so she returned to the previous subject. “Miz Aggie must have been relieved at your willingness to bring the meal she fixed.”

“It was my privilege. And I thank you for the invitation to stay for dinner.”

“It was the least we could do. For both you and Gin.”

Was she aware of his feelings and deliberately trying to remind him that it was not just he who’d been asked to stay? She started back toward the porch, but he noticed that she didn’t go up the steps until he waved as he pulled away. She appeared to be moving more slowly than usual—could it be his wishing that made it seem so?

What did he really know of the Vanessa McHenry of today? She was so beautiful he could still hardly keep from staring at her, like he used to in senior high. That perfect, light-complexioned, heart-shaped face above the classic column of her neck; the long blond hair with just enough wave to emphasize its softness and catch the sunlight or moon-glow—or fashioned into French braids, as she sometimes wore it….

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he turned into the alley, pushed the remote, and watched his garage door rise slowly. He drove in, got out of the car and started through the doorway into his house, almost forgetting to lower the door of the garage.

History does, indeed, repeat itself; you were so sure you could manage it this time—being a friend, just a helpful friend. But you never did get over her.

And you still have no idea what went wrong before, or how to keep it from happening again….

He went through the small utility room; everything was in order there and in the good-size kitchen. He’d promised himself that he would keep things neat when he bought this three-bedroom, ten-year-old brick ranch house.

He knew all too well from college days how easy it was to let things go. His room had always been in disarray and he was constantly searching for things. Well, he’d succeeded by sheer will-power in keeping that resolution; how could he now keep from falling even more deeply in love with this remarkable woman?

The sensible thing would be to keep a distance from her physically, but even considering that was painful.

Walking through the broad archway into the dining end of the large room stretching in front of the kitchen and one bedroom, Rob turned left into his office and pushed the answering machine’s flashing button. The first message was from Elmer Harnish, his partner, asking him to call a son of the man whose viewing was scheduled for the next morning at ten, prior to the memorial service. The second was his mother, and the third had been left by Betty Jefferson.

There was no question as to which callback to make first, as he always enjoyed Mom’s upbeat conversations. Several winters ago she’d been asked by Great-Aunt Beatrice Maroney to spend January and February with her in Fort Myers, on Florida’s Gulf side. They got along so well that they repeated this every year, each time her stay getting longer.

Physically better there, Aunt Bea decided to remain year-round. She was doing well, considering her ninety-two years, but diminishing eyesight meant she could no longer drive, and she wasn’t surefooted enough to walk far by herself.

“We appreciate your letting us know about Gram’s accident, and that she was going through surgery,” Sylvia Corland told him. “We’ve been praying for her, of course, but do need an update.”

He filled her in as much as possible, which led to her asking how Vanessa was making out with the five she, too, referred to as Gram’s girls.

“It’s been tough, Mom, so you might want to keep praying for Van. In addition to an extremely responsible load at work, she comes back at night and has to care for everything at her grandmother’s.”

“I’d think the girls would be able to go ahead with some things.”

“I don’t know for sure just what they’re capable of. Women from the church began what I know you sometimes did—they’re sending in the major meal of the day.”

“Well, good! That at least takes off some of the pressure.”

“But she’s trying to do too much—helping the three oldest with preparations for GEDs, making sure the younger ones keep up with their homework, seeing that each one does her part with laundry, cleaning and other tasks….”

“Does she seem overwhelmed?”

“No, she doesn’t, and I admire her for that.”

There was the briefest of pauses. “Just go easy, dear.”

He shouldn’t be surprised, but hadn’t expected her to sense his—love? Infatuation? “I took food for the first day, takeouts from the steak house.” He chose not to mention staying to eat that night or the next one! “Aggie Seaforth prepared today’s.”

They spoke of a number of things, but near the end she came back to their initial topic. “When you see Gram or Vanessa again, tell them they’re in our prayers. All of them are….”

The call to the deceased man’s son took only a few minutes as Rob reassured him that someone would be directing traffic at each of the two major intersections on Broad Street, so cars in the slow funeral procession would not get separated.

Also, there’d probably be no difficulty adding another person who wished to share memories at the service, but this should be discussed with their pastor right away. And it was, of course, too late to have his name on the printed memorial folder.

He was smiling as he made the third call. Betty was four or five years younger than Vanessa and himself, twenty-five or twenty-six. He remembered her in Youth Fellowship during the last year or two before he left for college, a bubbly, outgoing, bright-eyed redhead involved with every program and service project.

She married Paul Jefferson soon after high school graduation, and they now had a four-year-old son, a two-year-old daughter and an infant. “Thanks for calling back,” she greeted, “though you may be sorry you did.”

He laughed. “I promise to at least give you the chance to tell about it before I hang up.”

“I thought you might—hoped so, anyway. I was talking with Miz Aggie, and she said you delivered her dinner to Gram’s. Right?”