Free A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents by Liza Palmer

I ask.
    “
Grace
,” Abigail warns. The nurse turns away, doing her best to ignore me.
    “Four of them, four of us,” I add, under my breath. The nurse trades an empty bag of clear fluid for a full one.
    “You’d be the Edmund,” says Leo, snickering. Abigail smiles as we watch the nurse.
    “What?” I ask.
    “Huston is the Peter, Abigail is the Susan… that makes you the Edmund,” Leo says.
    “And
you
the Lucy,” I point out.
    “I’d rather be the Lucy than the Edmund,” Leo whispers.
    Abigail titters. “Didn’t Edmund betray everyone?”
    “I’m not the Edmund,” I sigh breezily, trying to seem as un-Edmundlike as I can. Abigail harrumphs over in the corner.
    “Your mom was here earlier,” the nurse says. She nonchalantly checks Dad’s oxygen mask, re-situating it on his nose.
    “I’m sorry?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
    “Our mom died,” Leo says, almost in apology.
    “Oh, I’m sorry. She said she was Mr. Hawkes’ wife. I assumed—”
    “No—Connie is Dad’s second wife,” Abigail explains.
    “Connie? Connie who?” I whisper. What. Is. Going. On?
    “Later,” Abigail warns.
    “Right… then, Mr. Hawkes is fine, he’s settled,” the nurse continues, patting Dad’s restrained hand. The nurse turns on her
squeaky white heel and heads out of Dad’s room. “Oh, well, here she is now! One big happy family!” she announces, scooting
past what must be this Connie person and another man as they sweep into Dad’s hospital room.
    Abigail, Leo and I turn to face the woman.
    “So good you could all be here for Ray,” Connie says, approaching Abigail and taking her hand. This woman looks like everyone’s
grandmother—stark white hair, dressed in resort wear, impossibly frail.
    “We’re so sorry,” Abigail says, consoling Connie.
    “There are more of you than before,” Connie notes, her voice quivering.
    “This is Grace, my younger sister,” Abigail says.
    “The
Edmund
,” Leo jokes, under his breath.
    “Shut up, Lucy,” I whisper back, shooting him a look as I approach Connie and extend my hand.
    “Grace. Sure. You still play piano?” Connie asks, her hand tiny in mine.
    “Yes, ma’am,” I answer.
    “Ray talked about you guys all the time,” Connie says. I steal a glance at Dad. In the bed. So weak. So… old.
    “He’ll love that you guys made it,” the other man offers.
    Abigail, Leo and I look at the man. Uh… and who might you be? I don’t say this out loud. I’m positive I can feel Abigail relax
because she thought I would.
    He continues, “Oh! Silly me, I’m Dennis Noonan, Connie’s son. From her first marriage—obviously!” He extends his hand to each
of us.
    “Your mother was a lovely woman,” Connie adds.
    “Thank you,” we all mutter.
    Was
.
    “There are so many of you,” Dennis exclaims. Leo sits back down in the chair by the window and looks straight ahead, leaving
the laptop on the floor.
    There is an awkward silence. There are three of us in the room.
Three
. First we’re the Narnia kids and now this. It’s not like there are so many of us we could be the road company of
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
. You can count us on one hand. With fingers left over.
    “Yes, we’re quite a brood. And Huston’s still to come—” Abigail concedes, offering Connie a chair next to Dad’s bedside.
    “Oh, thank you, dear,” Connie says and sits, reaching over to grab and clutch at Dad’s hand. Dennis stands on the other side
of Dad’s bed.
    Abigail finds a seat next to Leo. None of us look at each other. Could this Dennis guy be more of a child to Dad than we got
to be?
    I stand next to the glass wall, crossing and re-crossing my arms over my chest. Connie is his wife now. Dennis has been in
his life for years. And yet…
    I can’t help imagining Dad taking a middle-aged Dennis out for ice cream. They’re having a heartfelt discussion about how
Dennis should call him Dad. Middle-aged Dennis is licking his ice cream