I nodded thoughtfully.“So, it’s pretty unfair that you can’t wear long dresses, too, huh?”
“Yes,” Shelly replied,wise beyond her years.
“It’s a fair argument,”I agreed. “Maybe I’ll say something to her when I drop you off.”
Her face lit up, eyeswide and mouth gaping. “Really?”
I screwed my face upwith incredulity. “Absolutely. She needs to set an example, and if she’stelling me you can’t wear long dresses, then she sure as heck shouldn’t be—”Just as I was about to twist Lilly’s hair into something maybe resembling abun, my bedroom door opened. The three girls turned to eye Tess as she emergedwearing my t-shirt and boxers, her hair pulled into a short ponytail with a fewfrizzled, straggling strands framing her face. I held my breath as she silentlywalked toward the table, unsure of what to say or do, if anything.
“What are you doing?”she asked, her voice rasped from sleep.
I didn’t know what shewas referring to at first, until I noticed her gaze was pointed directly at myhands, still in my daughter’s hair. “Making a bun?” My voice lifted, as thoughunsure of myself, and why? I’d been doing their hair for three years, forcrying out loud. I knew what I was doing. Sort of.
Tess pushed my handsaway. “I got this,” she said, a whisper of a smile on her lips as she set outto work. She twisted Lilly’s long, unruly hair first into a braid, and then, abun that looked professional in comparison to the messes I’d made of their hairsince losing Beth.
And then I wondered ifthat’s what I had wanted. Had I asked her, unknowingly, to take over? To takecontrol?To be there and make Lilly’s hair look beautiful,today and every day after? To take care of us, the way she already did, andmore?
Lilly lifted her handsto her hair and felt the smooth, tightly wound bun. Her jaw unhinged. “It feelspretty!” Then, as though instantly afraid she had hurt my feelings, she turnedto me. “You do good, too, Daddy.”
“Uh-huh,” I grumbled,unable to take my eyesoff ofher hair.
“Tess! Tess!” Shellyjumped in her seat. “Do mine!”
There were no questionsfrom the girls, not as Tess brushed hair into pig tails or when she helpedAnnabel get her shoes on. They simply accepted it, just as I told Tess theywould, and I found myself pressing my back to the lip of the kitchen counter,and marveling at how normal this felt. Waking up, beginning the day, fallinginto the routine …with her.
It felt so fast. Onemight call it moving too soon. But, the wheels in my head started to turn …Tess was only here to take care of her grandmother, and now that Margaret wasgone, where was Tess going to go? Would she stay in the house? Would herfather, Margaret’s son, sell the place and give Tess no choice but to returnhome? I knew she wasn’t making enough money to live on her own—not yet, anyway,and I was worried she’d have to leave. God, we’d just gotten started, andthings were so good … I didn’t want her to move nearly an hour and a half away.
Whatif she stays here?
It felt crazy. I’d haveto think about it and ask Jeff for some brotherly advice, maybe. Yet, perhapsit was just the excitement of the new relationship talking, but my gut wastelling me it was the right call to make.
I wouldn’t mention ityet. I’d wait until the days of wakes and funerals were behind us, at least.But maybe she could stay here in the meantime. Just for us to enjoy hercompany, while we could, in the event she wouldn’t stay.
***
Tuesday brought the first day of wakes. Iknew I wanted to be there for Tess, and after learning it would be open casket,my mother came to sit with the girls.
Tess’s grandmother wasloved by many but related to few. It seemed that the world was mourning theloss of such an iconic author, andhoardsof peopleand gifts of sympathy surrounded just Tess and her parents.
I was struck withsomething of an identity crisis, when an older man in an expensive suit askedme who I was. Just months ago, I was Jon O’Dell, father of three, widower, andunsuccessful pianist andsong-writer. But today, I wasstill Jon O’Dell, widowed father of three, but I was also someone’s significantother. And I was in the process of recording an album with a world-renown rockstar. For the first time, I felt likesomebodyand not just some guy fading into the background with every passing day.
What a trip.
“Get out,” the manreplied. “DevinO’Leary?” I noddedand swallowed, wishing I had something to wet my throat. Water. Booze. “Youmust be incredible, then.”
I was never one to takecompliments well and felt the heat of my flush rising from the collar of myshirt. “Ah, well … I guess …”
“Don’t listen to him,”Tess cut in, slipping her arm around mine. “He’suh-mazing.”
I puffed with pride.Not for being calledamazingorincredible, but because I was on herarm. Because she was bragging about me. Because, despite the mournful occasion,she found it in herself to smile when I laid my hand over hers.
I did that. I could makeher smile, even if only for a moment, and that was something to be proud of.
The man’s attention wasdiverted, and with a final handshake, he left us. Tess tightened her arm aroundmine and whispered, “My dad wants to meet you.”
I couldn’t help that myforehead began to bead with sweat at the thought of meeting her father. In thatmoment, I was eighteen again, meeting my girlfriend’s parents, and feeling likethe most unworthy excuse of a man to ever walk the face of the earth. I feltthe familiar cold wash of shame settle in the pit of my gut, until I rememberedI had doubled in age since then. This wasn’t Beth, nor was it a meeting withher parents, in their mansion on the north shore, and I coaxed myself to calmmy nerves.
“Okay,” I replied witha nod, letting her pull me toward the head of the room, where her grandmotherlaid on a bed of pale satin.
