AllFreeNovel
Share Us
thirty-five
Daddy’s gravestone was a simple marker on the side of a grassy hill in a quiet cemetery about twenty miles south of home. It read Patrick H. Morrigan. 1SG US Army. Vietnam Veteran. There was a cross between his birth and death dates, and a United States flag planted in the ground above his marker. He hadn’t wanted to be buried in Arlington Cemetery or anything fancy done at his funeral.
He’d just wanted to be next to Mom. Her grave marker, adjacent to his, read Nicole S. Morrigan. Beloved Mother.La Vie en Rose.7 September 1947. 28 May 1993.
Sunny settled on a bare patch of grass, next to them both, and crossed her legs at the ankles. The morning sun was already warm, promising a humid, sweaty day. Constance sank down next to her, arms at rest on her knees.
“Hey, Daddy,” Sunny said. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, Mom,” Constance echoed.Hey, Daddy.For that, she used sign language.
A sudden, cool breeze rustled through, fluttering the leaves in the surrounding trees and giving Sunny a welcome kiss on the face. She watched Constance pluck a flower from the ground, the kind that grew like weeds in dense patches of overgrown grass. Sunny remembered that she used to make necklaces from them as a kid by knotting the stems together, and would come through the back door with sticky sap dried all over her fingers as she proudly presented Mom with her latest creation. Mom would smile, her sunny hair framing her face as she bent down to accept the gift, which she strung around her neck. The necklace hung there, awkward and messy, against one of the colorful blouses she favored. The flower necklaces were one of the few memories Sunny had of Mom.
She watched Constance start to make one of those wreaths, which she did every year on the anniversary of Mom’s death. It was only in that moment that Sunny remembered it was actually Constance who had taught her how to make the wreaths. “I wish you’d had someone to mother you, too,” Sunny said, breaking the silence.
Constance added another flower to her chain. She didn’t look up, but smiled.
“I had you at least. All you had was Daddy. And he wasn’t much on mothering.”
Constance chuckled, signed something to Daddy’s grave, then said, “I told him you’re still sassy as ever.”
A little boy, off in the distance, stared in her direction. He stood beneath a giant maple tree, clutching his mother’s hand. Mother and child both wore nice clothes, like they’d come from a church service.
“I was always jealous of that,” Sunny admitted. “I know you think I was the little sister that got everything easy. But I was always jealous of the things you had that I didn’t. Like more time with Mom.” She nodded at the grave. “And all those special ways you had to talk to Daddy that I didn’t have.”
Constance played with her flower chain, her bottom lip tucked thoughtfully under the upper one. She signed again to Daddy’s grave. “Daddy indulged you way more than he did me.”
The little boy pointed at her. He said something to his mother. The mother put her finger to her lips and pulled the little boy away, heading off in another direction.
“Maybe so, but—” Sunny traced her finger over Daddy’s name on his headstone “—we only had one language. And even that was limited. You and Daddy had so many languages. And then, in the end, you were the only one he let see him suffer,” Sunny said. “That was a language all by itself. I was never welcome to take him for his chemo or radiation. He shooed me away if I saw him weak or sick.”
“You didn’t want to see him like that,” Constance said. “Trust me.”
“I believe you.” Sunny rested her chin on her knees. “But I was jealous of all the ways you had to talk to him, none of which had anything to do with words. Because Daddy hated words.”
Constance sniffed deeply and blew it out in a sigh. “Yeah,” she agreed. “But you were his little girl. The only little girl that he had.” She must’ve seen Sunny’s look of confusion, because she held up a hand. “See, you got to be his daughter.” Constance offered a weak smile. “You got to be a little kid. That bright spot of sunshine who reminded him who he once was, before the war. Before Mom’s death. That’s why he indulged you. You were that missing piece of him. That missing piece of what he wanted his life to be. I couldn’t be his little girl, after Mom died. I had to be something else. He knew he couldn’t raise us alone. So I had to step up. And he hated that. You were so much like Mom—bright and shiny and everything good. I was just a symbol of his weakness.”
Sunny went silent after that. She watched her sister lay the flower wreath on Mom’s grave. A cool breeze rustled her hair, breaking through the humidity. “Thank you.”
Constance looked up with a wrinkled brow.
“For being there,” Sunny said. “For rescuing the dog,” she added. She snorted a laugh. “I still can’t believe you did that.”
The night Constance and Rhett had shown up at her doorstep, after midnight, with the stolen rottweiler mutt from 13 White Fern Road, Sunny had thought she was hallucinating. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” she’d said. “Did my straight-nosed sister suddenly go rogue?”
Constance laughed, too, finally letting go. “I had to rescue Buddy,” Constance said, using sign language at the same time she spoke. If Daddy was in the room, even if he was buried six feet under, Cici would include him. “Not just for him. I had to show you that I was wrong.”
“Wait. What?” Sunny rubbed her temples. “Did my big sister just say she was wrong?”
Constance got up and settled herself behind Sunny. A moment later, Sunny felt the familiar pull of her big sister doing her hair in a French braid. She used to do it before every dance class or cheerleading meet. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you needed to change. You’re perfect the way you are. Every impulsive, fearless, irritating little piece of you.”
Sunny laughed, which quickly turned into a yelp. “Ouch. Quit pulling so hard.”
“You need your hair done,” Constance scolded. “You can’t run with your hair loose.”
Sunny’s stomach squeezed. “I don’t want to run.”
“You’re running.” Constance jerked her hair a little tighter. “People have been raising money all month for you and Pete and the dogs. Now you have to do the workout.”
