Heaven’s Gate
92 The River
I wasn’t sure yet that I trusted Amy. Jessica had been so positive that she was the only person who could have taken the pictures over so many years. But the woman who sat at our counter with Rose and me was distraught and torn with grief.
“I should have been there. I should have protected her. I should have died with her,” Amy sobbed. I understood that. I’d felt the same way until my family pulled me into their embrace and held me until the ghosts had vanished.
“Who else could have done it, Amy?” Rose asked.
“That’s what I wanted to know, too,” she said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t gentle with the slimy dog who published those photos. He thought I was a party favor a friend sent him. I beat the shit out of him and told him that his friend wasn’t that fond of him. He finally told me that a man had brought him the photos and paid him $50,000 to publish them.”
“Wait. He paid the man for the photos? That’s more than her bounty ever was.”
“No. The guy with the photos paid the publisher to print them. It was a rinky-dink outfit. He’d been publishing out of his basement and grabbing images from the Internet. He couldn’t afford to turn the magazine glossy and print twenty thousand copies. The photographer paid him to get them printed.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It didn’t until he described the anonymous benefactor,” Amy said. She took a deep breath. “It was that fuckhole manager of hers, Conrad Dole. And if I find out he didn’t die in the Twin Towers, I’m going to kill him.”
The one person Jessica was most vulnerable to but was always protected from by her mother or Amy. The man who had secretly bought out her business partners so he held a major share in the company they were taking public. The manipulating, scheming, slimy… Amy was going to have competition when it came time to kill him.
“Papa talk,” my son said as we worked Friday morning. “You’re hurting the bread.” I realized the vigor with which I was kneading was probably going to result in a tough loaf. I wadded the dough up in a big ball and threw it in the waste basket.
“You are right, son. I should let the mixer do the next batch.” I put the ingredients in the bowl and watched the machine smoothly work the dough. He sighed.
“We probably could have used that to make fried dough,” he said as if he was lecturing a small child. “We can’t afford to be wasteful in this business, Papa.”
“When did my ten-year-old son get to be thirty?” I laughed. I pulled twenty dollars out of my wallet and put it in the till. “There. I’ve paid for the waste I created.” I sat and watched him roll out the dough, butter it, and sprinkle it evenly with cinnamon and sugar. His movements were precise and… All I could think was that they were filled with love. The kind of love that Hannah and I had for cooking when we were kids and got our first cookbook. The kind of love that had drawn me back to baking after a short but profitable career in television.
“A month ago, I was possibly the happiest man on earth,” I mused as the boy continued to work and to listen. I wasn’t talking to him. He could hear, but Hannah had always been my sounding board early in the morning. Our special time together, even if we were apart.
“I was holding my baby daughter in my arms and looking into Cassie’s eyes. I was completely filled with love. I love my children so much that sometimes I don’t think my chest will contain my heart. I want to spend all day holding them and loving them and protecting them from all the bad things in the world. I know I can’t do that. They’d never grow up and become amazing, remarkable adults. They’d never have a chance to make their own mistakes and learn from them like we did.”
I could see that not only was Matthew listening to me, he was also occasionally whispering something. Like father, like son.
“I don’t want to admit that Jessica is gone. I want to believe Amy. It’s always been easy to hate Conrad. He’s such a weasel. Well, maybe he’s a goner now, too. We can hope that something good comes out of this tragedy. Listen to me, I’m talking like a television newscaster. Dani and I wouldn’t even let people use the words tragedy and massacre when we were interviewed after the shootings. I remember her asking ‘What do you call the next time? A nuclear explosion?’”
The next time. You can bet there will be a next time. There is no enemy we can fight that will make it a safer world. We’re just used to dragging our losses out on foreign soil instead of having them all at once at home. The price of freedom isn’t the soldiers’ lives we spend. The price of freedom is being vulnerable to attack. I have visions of Poe’s “Mask of the Red Death”. We’ll wall ourselves in until we can’t escape.
“They lowered the estimates last night when I watched the news. They think now maybe only three or four thousand people were killed. Only. I guess that’s better than the first estimates of six thousand. It’s just that there is one I never really thought I’d lose. She was my next-door neighbor and my protector from everything evil in the world. Which mostly meant her brother and my sister.”
“Papa?” Matthew said. He had the big tray of cinnamon rolls ready to go in the oven, but it was too high and too heavy for him to do without help. Well, that’s something a father can do for his son. I put the tray in the convection oven and went back to sit down. Matthew turned the next batch of bread dough out on the floured marble-top and began weighing and forming it into loaves.
“I’m going to miss my dad. I do miss him. I wanted him to retire and to have as much enjoyment of his grandchildren as I had. I wanted to see him and Moms every day, loving each other and kissing even when they knew the kids—that’s us—might see them. You know, Dinita is just as upset as Mom and Anna. I always wondered if they all had a little something extra going on. I guess Moms spent the day with her yesterday. I’m going to give every kid on the ranch an extra hug today. I love you.”
I looked up and Matthew was whispering as he started a batch of cookie dough.
“Are you talking to your compañera?” I asked.
“Yeah. After listening to you, I called to her and told her I needed her to come so I could give her a hug.”
“And does she answer?”
“Papa, you know we hear these things in our hearts, not our ears. But… yeah. She comes when I call.”
The door to the bakery opened and kids started filing in to do their little chores and get ready for breakfast. It was five-thirty. Ellie went straight to Matthew and gave him a big hug. Matthew looked at me over her shoulder and grinned.
“It helps to know when to call.”
By Sunday, our hope had faded. They were no longer finding living people in the rubble. Now it was all remains. Judy, Monte, Ross, Rich, and Larry had worked almost around the clock, digging in ‘the pile’. Judy had posted Jessica’s picture on the wall of the missing. No one had seen her.
The hotel boxed up Jessica’s belongings and labeled the box. Hers was not the only room in the hotel that appeared abandoned. Others had not returned. The boxes would be held for the police to give to next of kin.
Our five volunteers returned home Sunday morning after driving all Saturday night. They were coated with debris dust and headed straight for the outdoor showers where we gathered to make sure they each were bathed and shampooed and welcomed home.
Late Sunday afternoon, the village gathered with most of the tribe as well to scatter my father’s ashes in The River of Life.
“Papa Hayden has come home,” Rose said as we walked in the River. “I remember the first time Brian introduced me to his parents. I won’t say Hayden stared at my boobs. I’d have to say he kept making a conscious effort not to. I was fourteen and in a bikini at Crystal Lake. I think all of us girls were pretty proud of our equipment. It was flattering to see him struggle to control his eyes. Anna Mom used to say that when all the girls were over to spend the night with Brian, Hayden seemed to be inspired to give her and Marilyn Mom some extra special attention. Of course, I remember more than once, either Marilyn or Anna suddenly grabbing Hayden’s hand to drag him off to the bedroom after they’d seen one or more of us kissing Brian, so I guess it was inspiring to everyone.”
Mom and Anna kissed each other while holding Dad’s ashes between them.
“You were always evil children,” Mom said. “What were we to do with so many pheromones floating in the air?” We laughed.
“What we will all remember, always, is that Papa Hayden had time for each of us. Whether overwhelmed by all the girls or not, he had caring arms if we needed a hug. He had open ears if we needed to talk. He was a willing conspirator when we wanted to surprise Brian. Brian, I don’t think anyone ever told you, but before your eighteenth birthday, when you were preparing for your handfasting with Samantha, Papa Hayden called together a delegation of girlfriends and took us car shopping to choose the right vehicle for your present. He was going to get you a racy little sports car, but we all convinced him that you needed that big Suburban,” Rose said.
That was too much! I had no idea and even now I wasn’t sure if Rose was telling the truth or having fun at my expense. We’d determined before the service that we’d keep things light, like we had for Doug’s memorial. Dad had really liked the way we handled that and I’d often heard him start singing ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy.’
“Today we’re bringing our Papa Hayden’s ashes to scatter in the River of Life,” Rose continued. “He will always live in our hearts, and we will visit him often as we do Lexi and Doug.”
With that, Mom and Anna took turns scattering the ashes in the River while Hannah, Jen, Courtney, and I raked them into the gravel. Warren started drumming and others soon joined in the raking and dancing in the River.
We were returning to the house, laughing and remembering, intending to start a bonfire when my arm was gripped so tightly I cringed. Turning to my left, I saw Sarah. She was staring ahead and pointed. A figure stood at the edge of the pasture, staring out toward us, unmoving. Everyone else stopped moving. I didn’t dare take my eyes off her for fear the apparition would vanish as suddenly as she’d appeared. Sarah and I continued until we were a step away.
“Jessica?” I whispered.
Heaven collapsed into my arms.
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