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I put my arm around my sister and began to comfort her again. Since Papa’s death, she would break out into crying jags and then howl with pain whenever there was any mention of Papa’s passing. Every condolence phone call was like an electric shock. She would barely eat and wandered from room to room, expecting to find him. Every night, she called to him in her sleep, and every night, I ended up sleeping in her bed with her, her head on my breast, her tears dampening my nightgown.
“You know what? This is insane. I can’t believe I’m even discussing it,” Arden said, and he marched angrily out of the living room, his arms stiffly at his sides, his hands clenched in fists.
We hardly said another word to each other until the funeral. I had my hands full caring for Sylvia anyway. I was terrified of how she would behave at the service,
but fortunately, she was in more of a state of disbelief than one of mourning. She even looked surprised that we were there in the church listening to the sermon and the eulogy. Every once in a while, she would gaze around the church, searching for Papa, especially whenever his name was uttered.
There were many businessmen in the Tidewater area who knew and liked my father very much. And of course, there were many community leaders who also knew him, so we anticipated a big attendance.
“Where is everyone? How can they not pay Papa the respect he deserves?” I asked Arden when I saw that no one else was coming and the service was about to begin.
He turned his amber-colored eyes on me. They were sparkling, but not with tears, the way I was sure mine were. His looked more excited than sad.
“Many of his friends and older clients have died. Besides, people always think, ‘The king is dead. Long live the king.’ ”
“What does that mean, Arden? You’re the new king, so they don’t care about Papa anymore?”
“Something like that,” he said. “After all, he can’t do anything more for them, but I can.” He patted himself on his chest.
Then he smiled, and for the first time, I realized that Arden wasn’t as upset about Papa’s death as I thought he should be. He was the head of the household now, and he thought he didn’t need anyone else’s permission to do whatever he wanted.
Then Arden surprised me by getting up to say a few words, honoring Papa for building such a successful business and promising everyone that he would do his best to uphold, protect, and further develop what Papa had begun. The speech ended up being more of an assurance to our customers that he would keep the business successful than it was an homage to Papa.
When he was finished, he walked back to his seat beside me, his eyes searching my face for admiration and obedience, but instead, I turned away.
“You could put aside your grief for a moment and compliment me,” he whispered, “especially in front of these people. I am your husband, the head of the household, dedicated to protecting you and Sylvia. I deserve respect, more respect, now.”
“Today is Papa’s day,” I said. That was all I said, but it was enough.
He turned away and didn’t even hold my hand at the grave site. I had my arm around Sylvia, who finally began to realize what was happening.
“Audrina, we can’t leave Papa down there,” she said when we were about to leave the cemetery.
The funeral workers would fill the grave after we all left. It was far too painful for me, and for Sylvia, to watch that. Arden had thrown the first shovelful of dirt onto Papa’s lowered coffin. Although it was meant to be symbolic, it seemed to me he did it eagerly, even joyfully.
I could feel Sylvia’s body tighten. She whispered, “Nooooo,” but I tightened my arm around her and kept her from charging forward to stop him or anyone else from covering the coffin.
I practically had to drag her away and at one point looked to Arden for help, but he was too busy shaking hands with those who had come to the burial. He was behaving as if he was conducting just another business meeting. I even heard him mention some investment to Jonathan Logan, one of Papa’s oldest clients, claiming that before he died, Papa had told him to tell Jonathan about it.
More people came to our house than to the church or the cemetery. I overheard that Arden had Mrs. Crown contact clients to give them the details of the funeral, but also to make sure they knew that if the church service conflicted with something they’d rather do, they were more than welcome to come to the house instead. He was treating it more like a party. I knew that people needed to avoid excessive grief and needed hope more than depression, but the way Arden was organizing things, I was almost expecting a band and dancing girls to show up.
Arden’s boisterous conversations and continuous laughter stung. The whole thing confused Sylvia, who sometimes looked as if she might attack someone for smiling. I thought it best to get her up to her room, telling her to change and then lie down.
“You don’t realize how tired you are,” I said.
She looked afraid to close her eyes, but eventually she did, and she fell asleep quickly.
When I went back downstairs, I was confronted again with loud laughter and conversation that had grown more raucous. More people had arrived. Arden had arranged for a bartender and two maids to serve hors d’oeuvres. I was determined to be polite, not festive. Many of the men greeted me with quick condolences but, thinking they had to, moved instantly to assure me that my husband was capable of carrying on.
“After all, he was trained by an expert,” Rolf Nestor, one of Papa’s high-net-worth clients, told me. “You can be very proud of him.”
Others said similar things to me, and when Arden, standing off to the side, overheard them, I could see his pleased, arrogant glare. Eventually, too physically and emotionally drained to remain, I excused myself.
“Of course, darling Audrina,” Arden said, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. “You’ve done more than enough for any father to be proud of you. He died knowing you would be well cared for, and you will be,” he vowed.
I saw the way the women were looking at him admiringly, and the men were nodding. It was not too different from the way they would look at Papa when he was younger and more energetic. Ironically, Arden was becoming more like Papa, the man he supposedly despised now.
I said nothing. My heart was heavy. When I went upstairs, I checked on Sylvia first. She was dead asleep. Out of habit, and maybe because I wanted to convince myself that this was not all a terrible nightmare, I opened the door to my father’s bedroom and stood there full of wishful thinking. I imagined him propped up with two of his oversize pillows, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, reading some economic charts or some company’s profit-and-loss statement. In his final years, although he was working less, he’d kept up the research and preparation to make sure that Arden made no significant blunders in his absence, the way he had in the beginning. In fact, now that I thought about it more, I could understand why he had wanted to keep Arden from galloping off with the company and thought that perhaps having the majority of the company’s shares in my favor would make Arden more cautious. Papa always chose to be more conservative with other people’s money. He hated to be blamed for losses.
