“There you are,” Barb says, coming up from the basement with a basket of folded laundry. Gwen almost does a double take. She can’t remember ever seeing her mother hauling a laundry basket before. At her own house, Barb has always employed a housekeeper. She wonders what it is about Anton’s death that has brought out the domestic goddess in Barb. Her mother was always competitive with her, and this feels like another chance for Barb to win.
“Coffee’s made,” Barb says. “You look like you could use it. And I’ll get you some Tylenol.”
Gwen looks at the black-and-white clock on the wall. It’s the kind where the numbers flip, and that also shows the date, with such large letters and numerals it can be read from across the room. It had been her grandmother’s, who suffered from terrible eyesight, and when she died it was the only thing in her flowery, overstuffed house that Gwen wanted. “It’s almost ten. I can’t believe I slept that much.”
“Hmm,” her mother says noncommittally.
“Where are the boys?”
“A very nice neighbor of yours, Katie something, came by this morning and took the boys for a while.” Her mother puts two Tylenol tablets and a glass of water in front of her.
“Katie O’Brien,” Gwen says before popping the Tylenol in her mouth. “Her son goes to Holy Cross.”
“He seemed like a very well-behaved young man. Called me ma’am. Apparently, her boy’s school was closed, and the two were headed off to a trampoline park. She asked if she could take the boys with her and I said yes.”
“A trampoline park? And they wanted to go?”
“They certainly did. At least George did. I encouraged them. They needed to get out of this house. Especially Rafi, I’m worried he’s becoming depressed. And seeing you mope around here isn’t going to help.”
“Sorry I can’t be more chipper.”
Barb frowns. “I’m going to put away this laundry. Why don’t you eat something?”
Gwen’s own laziness would have horrified her last week. Gwen prided herself on being the first one up in the house, showered, dressed, makeup on, and ready to face the day before anyone else. She wanted her boys to look back on their childhood and remember their mother as full of vitality, so different from her own childhood, when Barb would sleep in and the housekeeper would see her off to school. Gwen does have a cleaning company come in twice a month, but other than that, she cleans and cooks most of the family’s meals. And it isn’t because she bought into some 1950s version of marriage, it’s because these acts of domesticity feel like professions of love. Or they did.
It takes all of Gwen’s energy to drag herself off the counter stool, get a mug, and pour herself some coffee. The woman who bought this house last year is gone. That version of Gwen found antique hooks in a small Kensington antique shop and installed them at kid’s-eye height after she had read in an article that little kids were more likely to pick up after themselves if there were hooks to hang things on.
The old Gwen was convinced that having a perfect family wasstill attainable. That the right house, the right neighborhood would somehow compensate for the rot in her marriage.
That Gwen is gone, and never coming back. Problem is, she’s not sure what the new Gwen is going to look like.
Gwen takes the coffee and a protein bar into the living room and sits next to Sababa on the sofa. For a year, ever since they moved in, the dog was not allowed on the couch, but after Anton’s death, he’s taken up permanent residence there.
Her mother’s low heelsclick-clackinto the room. She doesn’t buy into Gwen’s concept of a no-shoes house.Really, Gwen, grow uphad been her exact words the first time Gwen told her that they didn’t wear shoes in the house.
Barb sits beside her. “Sweetie, I have some updates to share with you.”
“Great.” Is it her imagination or is her mother relishing this whole nightmare?
“First, I spoke to a very pleasant man about retrieving Anton’s body. The question is, have you picked a funeral home? And do you want a burial or cremation? Did Anton discuss that with you?”
“He wanted to be cremated.”
“All right, then. Do you have a preference for a particular funeral home?”
Gwen can’t help but laugh. “No, I don’t have a favorite funeral home.”
“Gwendolyn, I am trying to help. I’d appreciate a civil tone. We still need to talk about where to have the funeral. The obvious choice is a funeral home. My D.C. friends recommend a place called Gawler’s. They’ll try to sell me the whole package, and I think it’s a good idea. They’ll handle everything, and since you and Anton didn’t attend church, well…” Her voice trails off. She doesn’t need to finish the sentence, the judgment is clear. Her and Anton’s lack of a religious life was another mark against them. “I think a funeral home is the best idea.”
“I guess you’re right. Do we have to decide now? Like, this minute?”
“I’m afraid life marches on. And the boys need a funeral, honey.”
“You know there’s an open homicide investigation going on right now, don’t you?”
“All the more reason to focus on the person Anton was. The community will want to come together to say goodbye. Whatever marital issues you and Anton were working through—”
“Marital issues? Mom, he was screwing my friend.”