Free A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents by Liza Palmer Page A

cone—mint chip, I think—saying something like, “Aw
shucks, Ray… you ain’t foolin’, are you?” And with that, Ray musses up the boy’s graying red hair and says, “Naw,
son
. I ain’t foolin’.” And then they throw a ball around until Connie calls them in for dinner. Meat loaf. Her grandmother’s
recipe.
    I shift my weight onto the other foot and notice that Leo has focused back on his laptop while Abigail is typing something
out on her cell phone… painstakingly slowly. Adults attempting to keep up with modern technology always look so bewildered.
I rest my hand on the metal pane of the glass wall. The cold metal feels good under my fingers as I start to tap out “Head
Over Heels” by the Go-Go’s. Mom used to bribe me with sheet music from the hits of the time to get me to practice. Therefore,
my piano training is heavily based on the hits of the 1980s. I try to get lost in the beat and the intricacies of the melody.
It’s not working. I pull my other hand back and play the harmony, going so far as to tap out the big climax. Abigail narrows
her eyes at me from across the room. I clear my throat and try to act as if I had been about to stop on my own… at just that
moment. The room zooms back.
    Watching Dad fight for every breath sends a chill down my spine. Not because I think he might die, but, frankly, because over
the years I
wished
he’d die. Standing here in the same room with his rumbling coughs, those thoughts haunt me… shame me. It’s not like I really
wished on him something like this.
    For once, there’d be a good reason why we never heard from him.
    We stand at the perimeter of the room like visiting, friendly neighbors making way for the real family.
    “Where’s his wedding ring?” Dennis asks. I look past Connie’s frail body and spy Dad’s left hand. Nothing.
    “I took it off when we got here. I just didn’t want to take the chance,” Connie explains.
    “Where is it now?” Dennis asks. I look over at Abigail and Leo. They’re riveted.
    “I gave it to the head nurse to put with all his other belongings. Wallet, keys…” Connie says, her voice cracking. They’ve
forgotten we’re in the room. The conversation isn’t meant for us.
    Wait a minute—why
are
we here?
    Connie turns to us. “It’s so funny how every little thing becomes important,” she says, her voice cracking. We all nod.
    How did Abigail even find out about this? I thought maybe Connie called her, but now I’m positive that Connie didn’t call
anyone. She’s far too upset. I try to catch Leo’s eye. The weak link. Always the weak link. I don’t know exactly how to get
his attention… throw a bag of blood at him?
    “Leo?” I say, as quietly as I possibly can. He looks up, as does Abigail.
    I continue, “Weren’t we going to go out and see the twins and Evie?” I ask. Abigail studies me. It is weird, I admit… I’m asking
Leo to introduce Abigail’s children to me. Well, because I can crack Leo. Abigail?
Never
.
    “Oh, sure. Sure,” he says, shutting down his laptop. He stands, putting it on his chair, saving it. Abigail’s eyes narrow
as she watches this unfold.
She knows I’m up to no good.
    Connie doesn’t look up from Dad as Dennis checks the monitors. Abigail stays put, concentrating on Dad, trying not to stare.
I look up at the clock just over the door outside Dad’s hospital room. It’s not even noon yet. Wait, what? It was 11:37 when
I signed in—I remember the time exactly. It hasn’t even been half an hour? Leo walks out of the room and into the ICU nurse’s
station. I follow. I’ve got to act fast.
    “Second wife?” I ask.
    “Apparently, Dad married her pretty much days after Mom died,” Leo says, as we wait for the buzzing door. I marvel at the
ways we’ve all dealt with Mom’s death: the twins, remarrying, teaching jobs and second PhDs, drowning in nothingness. Have
we all been so lost? Why couldn’t we turn to each other?
    “Who is