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“Well, she needs to go to this funeral, and she needs to be dressed appropriately.” Barbara swept up her purse, headed toward the front door, stopping to examine her reflection in the hall mirror. “We should get there early, so chop-chop. Time to get Chloe dressed. And you, too,” she added, eyeing Elizabeth’s bathrobe.
In a controlled voice, Elizabeth said, “You go on ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
“What about Chloe?”
“I told you. I’m not taking her.”
“Oh, please, Elizabeth. Court would want her there.”
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened and she almost blurted, “Court didn’t want her at all, if you want to know the truth,” but managed to stay her tongue.
“Go get dressed, and I’ll get Chloe,” Barbara said, heading down the hall toward Chloe’s room.
“No.”
Barbara turned her neck to give Elizabeth a look, but kept moving forward.
“I said no, Barbara. She’s my child and she’s going to preschool,” Elizabeth stated firmly as she tamped down her outrage at her sister-in-law’s high-handedness. “I’ll meet you at the funeral later.”
Barbara stopped short and heaved a huge sigh. “Do we have to have this drama?”
“Nope. That’s why you’re leaving.” Elizabeth walked to the front door and held it open.
Barbara hesitated.
Elizabeth waited.
“Oh, for the love of God. I can’t believe you’re doing this. This is so childish.” Barbara reluctantly walked back toward Elizabeth.
“I’d agree with you on that.” Elizabeth was firm and as soon as Barbara was across the threshold, she closed the door hard.
Good riddance, she thought, closing her eyes slowly. She counted to ten, releasing her anger, reclaiming whatever bit of equanimity she could grasp. It wasn’t the time to let her emotions run wild.
Finally calm again, she walked to her bedroom, rifled through her closet and found a dark gray dress with a matching bolero jacket edged in black piping, her most somber outfit. Once she was dressed, she helped Chloe pick out pants and a shirt for school, along with closed-toe shoes, a preschool requirement, then bundled her into the Escape.
They drove to the school in silence for most of the trip. As they turned into the parking lot for the school, Chloe announced from the backseat, “I don’t like her.”
“Who, honey?” Elizabeth asked, though she guessed.
“Aunt Barbara. She’s mean.”
A bully. “I don’t like her much, either,” Elizabeth said, and met Chloe’s eyes in the mirror. The tentative smile on her daughter’s lips was the first she’d seen in a long, long time, and Elizabeth grinned back.
“I’ll go if you want me to,” Chloe said. “To Daddy’s funeral.”
Elizabeth’s heart cracked. She had to blink back tears. “It’s up to you.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then go to school,” Elizabeth urged and cut the engine. As she helped Chloe out of the car seat, she said, “I’ll tell you all about it later, if you want to know.”
“I love you, Mommy,” Chloe said, taking Elizabeth’s hands as help for the first time in weeks. Glancing up and squinting, she wrinkled her nose, then swung her mother’s arm as they walked toward the front doors of the preschool.
“Love you, too, pumpkin.” Elizabeth answered, trying to remember the last time her independent daughter had held her hand, let alone told her she loved her.
Seated next to Barbara in the front row at the funeral home and throughout the director’s long and sonorous recounting of the life of Courtland Ellis, Elizabeth could feel waves of anger emanating from her husband’s sister. Court hadn’t been a man to forgive easily and apparently Barbara wasn’t a forgiving woman, either.
Several rows behind her, one of the women who worked with Court sobbed as if her heart were broken. Hearing that, Elizabeth assessed her own feelings and knew she felt sadness, numbness, and a sense of total displacement. Still, she wouldn’t have been able to manufacture a tear if her own life depended on it, and sh
