Excerpt: The Burial Watch

Ghosts and the Ways They Move

On Saturday, October third, Garth had left. He’d driven his aging VW Bug all the way to Santa Barbara, then caught a lift with guys heading to San Diego. From there they were driving into Mexico, as far as Ensenada, from where they were taking a large boat out for two and a half weeks of deep sea fishing. Petra knew few details, only his travel down south and that he wasn’t due back until the twenty-third. Now she didn’t care, telling Rose, Gray, Lovie and Alicia just that. On Saturday afternoon, before The Pool Gurus’ gig later that evening, those band mates and Alicia Hester sat on the Burnett’s front porch watching Emory and Liam blow bubbles. Petra had the wicker chair, Rose and Gray the settee, while Lovie and Alicia had drawn the wrought-iron chairs close. All were drinking, except Rose and Gray.
“Maybe he’ll fall into the goddamned Pacific,” Petra said, sipping her wine. She spoke in a hushed tone, the children not far.
“That’d teach him,” Alicia slurred. She’d had far more to drink than any of them.
Rose only sighed. Lovie picked up the thread, and Rose watched her offspring running through the rose bushes, leaving thin trails of soap on leaves and stems. A few blooms still hung on branches ready for a break, Rose having deadheaded all her bushes yesterday after returning from her walk. She’d roused her sister, then headed into the night that didn’t seem as peaceful as usual. Coming home, it was turning into day, and before she went inside, Rose had snapped a few dying flowers, careful of the ever present thorns.
Garth might become one of those Rose sensed, hearing from her sister bitterness and anger. Part of it was the wine, part was Alicia’s unhelpful demeanor. A small part was the large man who sat between Gray and Rose’s cousin, Lovie not having brought any grass with him. Not this early in the day, not around the kids. But he’d had three beers, and Rose wondered just how was he getting home.
Gray could take him, but then Lovie’s truck would need to get over to the venue. Billy’s Club was downtown, and parking might be a pain. Alicia was spending the night, her keys already in Rose’s possession. Petra would go with Rose and Gray, and from the look on Lovie’s face, his cheeks and eyes turning red, he probably would too.
Rose’s car could hold five, the equipment already in place. How they would get everyone HOME was another matter, but Rose left it, feeling Gray’s hand around hers. In another week she might present him with some good news, which would alter things considerably. No more shows for Rose, in that even inhaling marijuana fumes was something she had avoided with Emory and Liam. The guys might still play, but Rose would be the one doing the babysitting.
But not that night; Lise would watch the kids, and as that thought crossed Rose’s mind, up pulled the young woman’s Toyota, Dane in the passenger seat.
The children flocked to the car, and Dane had Liam’s hand as Emory was all over Lise. Rose saw their youth, all four of them, then looked at those with whom she sat. Alicia was the oldest, and she looked it, Lovie right behind her. Gray and Petra appeared their ages, less than Lovie, and if Rose could see herself, she’d be surprised.
There among those young and not quite middle aged, sat Judith Robinson.

Rose was so similar to her mother, but only Petra saw it, and that afternoon Petra was drunk. It didn’t take much, only four glasses of wine, but Petra Margaret Robinson was a lightweight with either drugs or alcohol. Because she was immune to deep notions, she missed how much her sister was their mother, in how Rose moved, the way she parented her children, loved her husband. Had Judith lived to see this day, she would have noticed it, probably pointed it out to her daughters and those close. Instead, Judith was dead, but never far from her children.
Rose and Petra had no idea their mother floated at their sides, rarely thought of her presence unless a reminder came. Margaret Leinhart’s funeral had been one, but otherwise the plane crash was ten years in the past, and so much had happened since. Petra’s miscarriage, Rose’s children, Lovie and Garth’s roles in Petra’s life. Gray was a constant, but other people had joined, left, stayed. Judith Robinson was an ethereal part of that, as real and fleeting as the bubbles her grandchildren created.
If the Robinson sisters could see beyond their limited view, they’d notice their mother hovering around Emory and Liam, catching those bubbles in her hands, letting them loose, trailing after those slight balls that popped, then were recreated with another wave of a wand, the burst of air though a small plastic stick. Emory and Liam never knew it was their grandmother to churn the air, sending their bubbles high and low, churning and straight. No one knew Judith was even there.
If they had, a woman so much like Rose would be their view. Long, brown wavy hair, and Rose had her mother’s large eyes as well, that warm smile, her no-nonsense approach to organization. Rose was her mother’s daughter throughout, all except her smoking. However, in her day, Judith Hoffman Robinson could knock a few back, from where Alicia got her penchant for drink. Margaret and Judith Hoffman had shared with all three of their daughters various traits. It was from Aunt Margaret that Petra owed her ill health, and from Aunt Judith Alicia liked to get smashed.
Not from a joint, although Alicia didn’t say no to pot either, but she preferred a glass of wine. Or four or five. Since her mother’s death it had been more like six or seven, and that was just in the afternoon. In the evening anther bottle was consumed, the month since her mother’s death most difficult for Alicia Leinhart Hester. An alcohol since before Carl left, Alicia’s drinking had been one of the reasons he left. It hadn’t gotten any better after their divorce.
Judith could do nothing for her niece or her daughters. She only drifted through their lives, close enough to catch bubbles, dead enough to do little else. She caused no turmoil, no pain. Didn’t offer any comfort either, only playing vicariously with her grandchildren, looking so much like her youngest daughter. Not much like her oldest, Petra having taken after her father. But Judith’s presence was not without purpose. For like the child who did resemble her, Judith had also known when people where going to leave her. She’d never worried about Petra, for no sense had ever entered Judith’s mind something final would happen to that child in her lifetime. However for Rose, it would not be that way. Rose’s children would be fine, as Judith’s were. Rose’s sister would not.

If Judith had any way to alert her daughters to this fact, she wouldn’t. As it was a moot point, she only wafted about, altered to the worsening state of her niece’s own health. Not as bad as Petra’s, but Alicia was a mess. She was a sort of ghost, thin, wispy, living her life as if not within it. Since her marriage fell apart due to her own dependence on booze, Alicia had only her mother for support. Now Margaret was dead, and while Judith might have wished to offer some support, she was useless. Unable to alter either her niece to the gradual, slow passing she was encountering daily, or to tell Rose of Petra’s fate. Judith couldn’t do either, so she only chased her granddaughter, who was looking more like her mother and grandmother every day. It ran in that line of women, as it had with Judith’s mother Ethel, those rangy voices, lush tresses, alluring eyes. Also the knowledge of coming heartache, Judith aware of Ethel’s fatal heart attack four days before it happened. She’d been in early labor with Petra, again more grandchildren unaware of their grandparents. That was only a fluke, for Rose and Gray would be quite lively when Emory, Liam and their as yet conceived siblings (Rose and Gray were going to have more than only one additional baby) became parents. Rose Robinson Burnett would buck the trend by previous women to whom she was related. While her grandmother, mother and sister would all die young, Rose wouldn’t.
Judith was unaware of that fact, only involved with the present. On that blowy, autumn afternoon in early October, she only romped invisibly with the two grandchildren within her company, keeping her distance from Rose and Petra. Judith didn’t know that Rose would live a long time, only that soon Rose would be alone, solitary, the only Robinson left. With no way to tell her, and not much of a desire to either, Judith remained in the yard, moving around rose bushes, occasionally through them. Then, as her daughter came near, seeking to free Emory’s sweater that had caught on an errant thorn, Judith Robinson disappeared.

“Mommy!” Emory shouted. “I’m stuck!”
Rose stood, stretching her arms over her head. Even for as drunk as Alicia was, it had been a pleasant afternoon. Stepping around her cousin and Lovie, she squeezed both their shoulders, heading to the upheaval.
“Don’t move Em,” Rose said, that sweater one Margaret had made for Emory last Christmas.
“I won’t. Mommy, is Lise staying with us now, or is she gonna come back?”
Rose looked to the porch, Dane and his girlfriend standing on the edge near Petra. “I’m not sure. Probably come back. We’re not leaving until after dinner.”
“Oh.”
Using gentle fingers, Rose unsnarled the soft yarn, red, blue and green with flecks of yellow. Once Emory was free, Rose only pulled the loose strand back where it belonged, then motioned for the kids to come with her.
“Why don’t you guys go out back?”
“Cause you’re all out here,” Emory said.
Rose smiled. “Okay, well, what if we go out back too?”
Both children nodded, and as she took their hands, alerting the rest to the change in location, Rose felt a small chill while passing her cousin. Alicia smelled of liquor, not only wine. She smelled of sadness too, loss, deep aching sorrow. A scent Rose knew, but couldn’t remember from when.
They all assembled in the back yard, where lawn chairs were hastily set up, no wicker furniture out there. The kids ran around on the grass and Dane joined them, as did Gray. It was only women and Lovie, and he was now seated in the middle of Petra and her cousin. He dwarfed them both, his laugh loud and ringing.
Rose felt that chill return, watching Alicia reaching for her drink. It was nearly empty and she’d said it was her last one. Rose wondered if that was true. Alicia had been drinking since she arrived, as if she’d not stopped since the reception after Margaret’s funeral. Rose had never considered her cousin had a problem, but that afternoon it hit her like a slap. All the phone calls; Alicia probably hadn’t realized she was calling so often, and Rose tried to remember if her cousin had sounded drunk for those conversations. Not before Margaret died, only afterwards.
“Anyone home?”
Rose stood, Michael’s voice unmistakable. “Back here,” she called.
He came around the side of the house dressed in his evening attire, which were black jeans, a long sleeved dark blue t-shirt and black tennis shoes. This was his autumn look, and Rose kept her smile restrained. “Hey Michael. What’s up?”
He stood stiff, nodded to Gray who continued to run around with the kids and Dane. Michael gave a nod to all there, then stared at Rose’s cousin.
“Not much. Just wondering what time we’re getting over there.”
“Take a seat,” Lovie said, pointing to the one open chair.
Michael did after a few seconds, as if it was all his idea, as if sitting with them was some favor he could provide. The free seat was on Alicia’s left, and she looked up at him, smiling.
“Michael, you remember my cousin Alicia? Alicia, this is our other guitarist Michael.”
Not rhythm or extra or spare, but other; Rose’s voice had been even, gracious.
They exchanged pleasantries, and when asked if he wanted a drink, he shook his head. “I’m driving. God Lovie, I hope you’re not.”
“Nope. Gonna ride with Rose and Gray.”
Rose noticed how her cousin engaged with Michael, her speech coming more clearly, less wrecked. Petra and Lovie chatted, ignoring Michael, and Lise was involved in that conversation for a few minutes, then stood, joining her boyfriend, Gray, and the children.
On her own, Rose noted the interactions between one couple from years ago, and another new. Was that the chill she’d felt, Michael and Alicia? Rose’s stomach felt slightly sour, all sensations she’d known with Colin, with her mother. With those approaching the end.
Standing, Rose made an excuse. She didn’t even look to her husband, going inside for a glass of water. It didn’t help, and instead she felt even more woozy. Sick, and she ran back to their bedroom, falling on her knees in front of the toilet. Rose didn’t throw up, but she wanted to.
Another thought passed through her mind. Was she pregnant? Rose hadn’t felt any symptoms with Emory or Liam until after she’d known, well into the second month. Nausea, fatigue, mostly fatigue. She’d been exhausted in the first trimester with both kids, but not all that sick. Wishing it was that, instead she stood, and returning to the party, was met by Gray in the dining room.
“You okay?” he asked, reaching for her face. “You look awful.”
Rose laughed. “It’s one of three things. Either I’m pregnant, Michael and Alicia are going to get it on or someone’s gonna die.”
Gray chuckled, setting his hand on her belly. “I know which of those I’d prefer.”
Rose kissed him, then looked out, seeing her back yard full of her adopted and actual family. “God me too. Don’t know which of the other two would be worse.”

All evening Rose made up for her lackluster performance of the previous show, Petra backstage offering small strengths, Alicia too. For three songs Alicia joined the band, her presence one of bolstering the woman’s fragile sense of self. Rose held her hand as well as the rest of her, but their voices balanced in what Rose heard as a sort of send-off to Margaret, who did not sing, but had appreciated her own sister’s voice. After a few minutes’ backstage, the group reappeared, one by one, as Rose sang We’re So Close, Alicia coming out with Rose and Lovie for the beginning. Before, years before Rose had followed that tune with Never Been Gone, and as Gray strummed notes for Another Way To Die, Rose approached her husband, whispering in his ear.
Rose then did the same to her cousin, and Alicia nodded, the women having sung that song as children and teens, as Rose’s mother had taught it to them. The intro was a quiet collection of hummed voices, which Rose initiated. It was lost to the crowd, who wouldn’t be apt to recall an old Carly Simon tune not performed in a decade, but the rest of the band knew exactly this collection of notes, and within seconds Lovie’s piano began, the only instrument, save Rose’s voice.
She stood center stage, completely sober. Her queasiness hadn’t returned, and unsure if she was pregnant, if nothing else Rose was filled with a memory, that of standing on a similar stage, learning a painful truth. Her mother was going to leave her, her mother and her father. They wouldn’t return from their vacation, and as the song ended, all seven voices came together, Alicia still at Rose’s side. That cousin was crying, but humming, and Rose stared out, seeing faces in awe, perhaps a few long time fans who might know that tune, might remember that far back.
The words had come easily to Rose, shocking her. Alicia too knew them all, and Rose only nodded to the rest of the band, leading her cousin off the stage. It seemed a strange way to end the show, but nothing else would be appropriate.
Rose heard cheers and applause, then the footsteps of the band. She’d not expected them to follow her, and once Gray stood beside her, she told him so. “Go back out there.”
He smiled, stroking her cheek. “Honey, how in the hell are we to follow that? Besides, they’re leaving. That was really it.”
“Oh shit,” Rose sighed.
“No, it’s okay,” Buster added, joining them. “Rosie, that was stunning.”
She only nodded, still not aware of what she had done. The vocals had poured from her, was it some sort of final goodbye to her mother, something for Aunt Margaret, some introduction of what she and Gray were hoping to conceive? Rose had no idea.
“Thanks Buster,” was all she could muster.
“Baby, I love that song,” he smiled.
As they packed up for the night, Rose still felt unsettled. She allowed it was that last tune, also the way Michael had his arm around her cousin. Petra had left with only a few words, too choked to speak. Rose wound cables around her bent forearm as Lovie carted his keyboards out to the back of her car. They would take him home, Buster to haul whatever wouldn’t fit in Rose’s small SUV.
She didn’t think that perhaps it was one of her last gigs, only that her cousin had needed some closure. Not for her recently deceased mother, but maybe for other things, her failed marriage and whatever had started Alicia’s drinking in the first place. Those were issues Rose wasn’t going to touch, and another stared at her, as Michael had Alicia’s hand in his. “Listen,” he said. “I’ll get Alicia home, to your house. That way you can get everything pack up tonight.”
“Oh, okay,” Gray said, looking puzzled. “But Buster’s gonna take the rest of it in his truck.”
“Well, I’ll still get Alicia home.” Michael’s voice was unbothered.
“Well, don’t make it too long cause she doesn’t have a key on her,” Rose said, as if her cousin was too drunk to pay attention.
Was Alicia too inebriated to realize with whom she stood? Rose saw exhaustion, also elation. Was it only from what they sang, or the man beside her?
That gave Rose a chill, and she had a inward smile, now aware of what made her want to vomit earlier. Michael with her cousin, and Rose forced that grin to her lips.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Michael said.
“That’s great,” Rose answered.

In the parking lot, vehicles were full of bodies and musical instruments and other equipment. Gray drove Rose’s Ford Escape, Lovie in the back seat. Michael had Alicia in the front of his Audi, Dane waiting in his Honda Civic. He would follow them to Rose’s to get Lise.
Buster sat alone in his truck, then got out, walking towards Gray. The window was cracked and he only offered that if they wanted him to take Lovie, there was room.
“Oh, I think he’s not gonna be moved again until we dump him off at his house,” Gray laughed, small snores coming from the back seat.
“Okay,” Buster chuckled. “Just wanted to offer. I’ll see you guys later.”
Rose waved, then saw someone approach Buster’s truck. It looked like a woman for the figure was small, not that of a man.
Lovie was snoring, but Rose didn’t need to hear what Buster was saying to who appeared to be more than a fan. As the woman stood, arms around herself, she then twirled around on her toes, a small pirouette with which Rose was familiar. “Gray, I think that’s Gloria.”
He was starting the car, Michael’s headlights behind them. “What?”
Rose pointed as the woman then set her arms away from herself, letting them hang at her side. “Gray, it’s Gloria!”
To Rose, she looked as a ghost, some figure from the mist. The night had been cool, some clouds obscuring the stars Rose had peered for, but had not found. Only a flat sky, and there, in the dark, Buster and his ex-wife, Rose was sure, embraced. Or someone was hugging Buster.
Gray pressed the accelerator, and as the couple was on Rose’s side, she rolled down her window as Gray slowly drove past. With a glimpse, Rose was correct, Buster’s face only nodding their way, his arms around Gloria, his head then falling into her shoulder. Rose continued to stare at them until Gray turned left, and they were out of sight.