Page 55 of The River in Spring
The voice snaps me out of my own story. The million pieces that are floating in my head dissolve. Back to earth.
15
Nobel and Maudie
I take the blanket from Dove and tuck it around Maudie. There is an elevated state that reveals itself in a dog’s face. A kind of holiness. It redefines usual descriptions of what constitutes beauty. It is more than that. We are lifted higher with their loving gaze.
She’s so still. Except for the breathing. It has become more labored. Puffs of air come out of her snout and there is a shallowness to them. When asked, the vet told me what to look for if death was close. I thought I was asking prematurely, but I was not. Things have progressed. It has come too quickly. Thought we might have another six months at least. Fuck. No matter how I spin what is happening, I return to the same conclusion and undeniable truth. She’s dying. My sweet girl is dying.
It’s strange what you wish for when time runs short. It’s not anything grand. It’s not a run in the field or a splash in the river. It isn’t a thrown ball I want to see her retrieve. It’s only a little time, the vanishing commodity. I want another day, even just half of one. I’d sit with her and let her have my sweater as a blanket to rest a head on. She likes the smell of her human.
I would look in her eyes and try to describe the color and shape. Then I’d write it down so not to forget important details. Scratching those big ears, I’d go one minute longer than I ever had before. Maudie never tired of that. It would be me who would quit every time. I would say I love you in dog speak and listen to every conversation she offers with her tail and body language.
It has become clear something beautiful in my life is about to become a memory. It doesn’t matter that it is in the form of canine as opposed to human. Real love cannot distinguish the difference. I will go to my own grave believing it is true.
If these are the final hours, my prayers beg for a gentle journey. The gifts she brought to my life deserve reward in her dark hour. Could she just fall asleep and when her eyes open be in Paradise? What can I do to help make that happen?
“Want me to get us some tea? Or maybe you want a whiskey?”
“No babe. Just bring me a water, okay?
Dove moves to the kitchen and I resume petting my girl. I want to hold her paw. Very carefully, I pick it up and cup it in my palm. I hope she knows I am with her.
Little soft sounds rise in Maudie and her eyelids flutter. I don’t think it’s pain. It is more like a response to some scene playing out in her mind. Like when she dreams. Is she running with Boo through the trees? Is she watching the sunset from the porch? Does she see me there with her? Or are the animals we loved before gathered in excitement on the Rainbow Bridge awaiting her arrival and she can see them? An almost imperceptible wag of her tail is the last movement she makes before her heart quiets. I begin to sob.
16
Nobel
The priest directs his pointed comment at Van who happens to be fucking around with Scarlett’s friend Aby, the bridesmaid. They have decided to dance up the aisle to the violin and harp music.
“This isn’t rocket science, just move forward at an even pace people.” He claps his meaty hands in rhythm.
Reverend Ralph has a disgusted look on his face. He does not suffer fools lightly. It may not be priestly, but it is funny. I imagine some future sheet cake with the man’s words spelled out in red letters. My brother, and the woman he currently is targeting for a wedding day hookup, stop the bullshit and get on board. I think Scarlett’s evil eye made its point.
We won’t be punished for any church infraction. My brothers and I have done much worse in here and gotten away with every one. Like putting a condom on St. Peter’s statue. It was a job for The Invisible Man, and totally worth the risk of being discovered. I don’t think I ever made my brothers laugh so much. I gained their respect with that one. They figured I was just as twisted as they were. Invisible or not. The story wasn’t admitted until I was in my twenties. By then no one gave a shit.
My parents are probably reliving their own wedding, when they were married by the Reverend. They were all young then. Younger than we are now by twenty years. It’s hard to picture them as innocents. Father Ralph had just been transferred from another parish and according to the descriptions just as cynical as he is today. Baptisms, confirmations, and every other sacrament we were part of has involved him in some way.
It’s kind of funny only one Lyon kid has stayed in the Church. And it isn’t the bride. Ralph doesn’t need to know what Scarlett thinks about his church. She respects him and family tradition, and that is enough for her. Ironically, it is Van who still attends Mass and considers himself Catholic. Maybe he still likes to cruise women in the congregation like he did at sixteen.
I make eye contact with Dove who sits patiently in a long almost empty pew. She winks. Two rows ahead sit my parents, behind them Teddy and Sam. Parish’s sister and his family are across the aisle. So far the rehearsal has gone pretty smoothly. It’s a happy group.
My sister and her man deserve the joy. That’s how I feel about their traumatic story. I know being a good person doesn’t guarantee smooth sailing in life. But if there is karma or justice of any kind in this world, she and Parish would reap the reward. Scarlett’s sacrifice for Sam alone is worthy of all things good. She put her whole life on hold to make sure he survived his mother and father’s deaths.
The fact Scarlett was processing it at the same time speaks to her strength. It was up to her and she came through with flying colors. Not an easy task for a childless, young woman. She left us to be with Sam and navigate his initial grief after the car accident. Just as Kristen would have wanted. It was a beautiful thing. Kind of holy in a way.
Life is odd, though. In doing that she ended up meeting Parish. Think she saved him too. Because according to him he was living a cliche’. A writer turning into an alcoholic. She is our family’s Joan of Arc and has earned our everlasting respect.
The groom must be feeling emotional as the wedding approaches. The death of his own child is something that is ever present, according to my sister. Just as our loss is. It follows you, whether you are living one of your best moments or worst. It stands silently, always within reach. Think all of us are coming to grips with that.
But I can’t see any of it now. The bride and groom look like an enchanted spell has been placed on them. They are happy as fuck. I like that. Hope over despair. In fact, I have never seen Scarlett so over the moon. He does that to her. Like me and Dove. She does it for me, even though I’m not too happy right at this particular moment. Think I’m hiding it pretty successfully.
After Maudie’s death, she waited a couple of days to lay the hammer down. She’s going to miss the wedding. Every time I think of it I get pissed off. I know there’s hardly a person here who would agree with me. In fact, I would bet they’d think I was being a selfish dick. But, that makes no difference. I am mad at the Universe if nothing else. There’s no order to a life that can take a left turn so randomly. Why do some of us thrive on that? When you can plan for things and make room for small pivots in life it runs so much smoother. There are enough surprises to survive even then.
For Dove, even this rehearsal is going to be cut short. It’s Montana World and we all just live in it. That sounded petty, even in my own mind. I don’t give a damn. It’s how I feel. Couldn’t they have scheduled their band meeting earlier in the day? I mean it’s just to go over things that are etched in their minds. Now Dove is all excited about this Archangel guy. What exactly does he want? Dove was weird when I asked her the question. Maybe the music producer wants a second opinion on the band’s music. Does it work like that? This is just the talking phase, as far as I know. It’s only the beginning of the conversations. God, I sound like an old grumpy man who is pissed the kids are having too much fun. I imagine my eighty-five-year-old self shouting, ‘Get off my lawn!’.
Taking the arm of my aisle mate, Meagan, I nod, and we begin the march. Aargon begged to be paired with cousin Jeri, because it is obvious my bridesmaid has her eye on him. Poor girl doesn’t know he would rather shit in his hat than be pursued by a random woman for whom he has no interest. Too bad, because she seems nice and Aargon needs to have some real fun.
