“Send me the form to sign.” Click.
Day Six
“We love you, Michael,” Charla, Cooper’s mother, spoke on the other end of the call. “Oh, honey, I wish we were still across the street from you,” she added. “I just want to hold you right now.”
“Thank you, Charla,” I said, choking up at the first genuine words of comfort I’ve received. “I wish you were here too, but I understand. As it turns out, Mom didn’t want a funeral so there’s no reason to come back.”
“Roger and I would if you need us, honey. Just say the word.”
“I miss him,” I said softly. I knew she’d understand who I meant. “He always knew how to get me through stuff like this.” It felt odd to revert to my boyhood when I spoke to Cooper’s Mom, but she had that effect on me. She was like a second mother.
“Funny you thought of our Cooper,” she began. “He’s been on our minds so much lately. Maybe losing Kathleen and all the memories of our life there have caused us to think about him, but we feel his presence lately.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “He was my everything.” I was shocked the words came out the way they did.
“We know that, Mike. You were his.”
After more small talk and the exchange ofI love youswe ended the call. Cooper’s parents knew their son was gay and always supported him. I believe her comment of‘you were his’was her way of saying they knew how Cooper had felt about me.
I wanted–noI neededanother chance with Cooper, but was I willing to step into Mom’s fantasy world? Could I suspend a lifelong belief that strange occurrences and unexplained phenomena were people’s ways of wishing there were outside forces that might be real? Mom had always encouraged me to open my mind. Could I?
According to Mom and Druzella’sout-thereplan, I had one day left. Day seven at midnight. The clock was ticking and I had a decision to make. Perhaps I should open the box in the safe and see what lies within. If there were assurances that the potion or concoction inside wouldn’t truly harm me, why not humor my mother? After all, I had promised.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Mike
It was Sunday. The seventh day since Mom died and the last opportunity to follow her instructions. I still hadn’t opened the contents of the mystery box. The clock was ticking and I had to decide. Glancing at my watch, I noted that I had little time left to make the strangest decision I’d ever been faced with. I still wasn’t convinced that I could do this.
I’d moved back upstairs to my bedroom and replaced the original furniture in Mom and Dad’s bedroom after the rental company picked up the hospital bed. Dragging the mattress and box spring for a king bed by myself was no easy feat. The headboard and rails had been stored against the wall of their bedroom so thankfully those parts didn’t need carrying in from the garage.
I was surprised at how easily I recalled where Mom had kept her knick-knacks and how she displayed them. The only change I’d made was that I left their picture from the hallway on the dresser where we’d left it the week before. Picking the frame up, I examined the photo closely for any signs of the halo flare we’d spotted around Mom’s head. There was none. The background was the same cloudy day I remembered from when I took the picture over a decade ago. The mysterious light, like my mother’s presence, had vanished. The discovery did nothing to encourage me to follow through with Mom’s request.
Mom had a comforter on their bed that matched the wallpaper behind the headboard. Broad green banana leaves that were similar to those in Blanche Devereaux’s bedroom onThe Golden Girlswere everywhere. Thecomforter set had all the matching pillow shams and decorative pillows. The print was ghastly and if I decided to keep my childhood home, they’d be the first items to go.
The possibility of a move to Idaho Falls had occupied my mind since I’d returned home weeks ago. Why not? I could live anywhere while working remotely and since I was closing in on a divorce, I had the opportunity to come home. But the sad reality was that I had no one left in Idaho except a grandfather who didn’t recognize me.
The mortgage was paid in full thanks to Dad’s life insurance payout eleven years ago, and I had a couple of hundred thousand from Mom’s policy due to me whenever I sent them the death certificate. The thought of financially benefiting from her death did not sit well with me, but I figured I could give most of the money to several of Mom’s favorite charities. Like everything in her will, she had a detailed list of the ones she supported. The list was her way of saying,“In case you’re uncomfortable with the money. . .”
I tried busying myself while I paced around the house. Spending twenty minutes in the hall adjusting and leveling pictures on the wall of family history, but the pending time of no return was marching closer as I procrastinated on the decision. I emptied the dishwasher of dishes from the last few days. Dishes Mom would never use again. Everything I touched, everything I held in my hands were reminders of my childhood. Souvenirs from family vacations, furniture Mom had picked out when I was a ninth grader. From the rugs to the wall art, everything had her handprints on them. If I did stay here, could I live in a museum of my past?
I wandered upstairs and to my bedroom. Mom had never redecorated my room after I’d left for college in Seattle. Even now, memories from high school were everywhere. Stuffed animals given to me by Jennifer, trophies from sports, old Sports Illustrated magazines, and a free calendar from 2013 that was still on the wall by my desk was open to August. I’d never been able to touch the calendar after Cooper had drowned, and I still refused to take it down.
The poster of Tom Brady still bore the darts Cooper and I had thrown at it for years. We were Seahawk fans because of how close we were to Seattle,and nothing had delighted us more than winning a Superbowl and hating Brady. The two darts that lodged perfectly in his eyeballs still remained from the last time Coop and I had taken aim. After two bullseye hits, we never touched the darts again.
My cell phone buzzed with a text. Brandt’s name illuminated the screen so I picked it up.
Brandt: Thinking of you and hoping you’re okay.
Me: The reality is starting to sink in, buddy, but thank u for reaching out.
I watched as the bubbles signaled he was typing a response.
Brandt: Do you need anything? A shoulder? A kind voice?
Me: Can I call?
Brandt: Of course.
I’d only known Brandt for a couple of years but after revealing my dilemma about Cooper and the letter he’d left, Brandt had proven to be a good listener. I’d told him my entire history that night at the bar after Jennifer and I split, and he didn’t judge the hesitancy I had regarding my sexual status. He offered to support whatever decisions I made, even if I chose to remain in a place where I’d be questioning my sexuality forever. He’d been fair and unbiased with his opinions. Of course, he’d encouraged me to be open to the possibility that I may be gay, but he didn’t insist I was. He’d been a good friend that night at the bar and I trusted him. Perhaps he could shed light on the crazy predicament I’d found myself in.
