Wish You Well(6)

lost soul of her father. She knew Jack Cardinal was a good man, a wonderful writer and

teller of tales. She knew he would be deeply missed. No choir, no man of the cloth, no

god needed to tell her these things.

The singing stopped, and the priest once more took up his ramblings, while Lou picked

up on the conversation of the two men behind her. Her father had been a shameless

eavesdropper in his search for the authentic ring of conversation, and his daughter shared

that curiosity. Now Lou had even more reason to do so.

"So, have you come up with any brilliant ideas?" the older man whispered to his younger

companion.

"Ideas? We're the executors of an estate with nothing in it" was the agitated response

from the younger man.

The older man shook his head and spoke in an even lower tone, which Lou struggled to

hear.

"Nothing? Jack did leave two children and a wife."

The younger man glanced to the side and then said in a low hiss, "A wife? They might as

well be orphans."

It was not clear whether Oz heard this, but he lifted his head and put a hand on the arm of

the woman sitting next to him. Actually, Amanda was in a wheelchair. A wide-bodied

nurse sat on the other side of her, arms folded across her flop of bosom; the nurse was

clearly unmoved by the death of a stranger.

A thick bandage was wrapped around Amanda's head, her auburn hair cut short. Her eyes

were closed. In fact, they had never once opened since the accident. The doctors had told

Lou and Oz that their mother's physical side had been mostly repaired. The problem now

apparently was only a matter of her soul's having fled.

Later, outside the church, the hearse carried Lou's father away and she did not even look.

In her mind she had said her good-byes. In her heart she could never do so. She pulled Oz

along through the trenches of somber suit coats and mourning dresses. Lou was so tired

of sad faces, moist eyes catching her dry ones, telegraphing sympathy, mouths firing off

broadsides of the literary world's collective, devastating loss. Well, none of their fathers

lay dead in that box. This was her loss, hers and her brother's. And she was weary of

people apologizing for a tragedy they could not begin to understand. "I'm so sorry," they

would whisper. "So sad. A great man. A beautiful man. Struck down in his prime. So

many stories left untold."

"Don't be sorry," Lou had started saying right back. "Didn't you hear the priest? This is a

time to rejoice. Death is good. Come on and sing with me."

These people would stare, smile nervously, and then move on to "rejoice" with someone

else of a more understanding nature.

Next, they were to go to the grave-site service where the priest would no doubt say more

uplifting words, bless the children, sprinkle his sacred dirt; and then another six feet of

ordinary fill would be poured in, closing this terribly odd spectacle. Death must have its

ritual, because society says it must. Lou did not intend to rush to it, for she had a more

pressing matter to attend to right now.

The same two men were in the grassy parking lot. Freed from ecclesiastical confines,

they were debating in normal voices the future of what remained of the Cardinal family.

"Wish to God Jack hadn't named us as executors," said the older man as he pulled a pack

of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He lit up and then pressed the match flame out

between his thumb and forefinger. "Figured I'd be long dead by the time Jack checked

out."

The younger man looked down at his polished shoes and said, "We just can't leave them

like this, living with strangers. The kids need someone."

The other man puffed his smoke and gazed off after the bubble-topped hearse. Up above,

a flock of blackbirds seemed to form a loose squadron, an informal send-off for Jack

Cardinal. The man flicked ash. "Children belong with their family. These two just don't

happen to have any left."

"Excuse me."

When they turned, they saw Lou and Oz staring at them.

"Actually, we do have family," Lou said. "Our great-grandmother, Louisa Mae Cardinal.

She lives in Virginia. It's where my father grew up."

The younger man looked hopeful, as though the burden of the world, or at least of two

children, might still be shed from his narrow shoulders. The older man, though, looked

suspicious.

"Your great-grandmother? She's still alive?" he asked.

"My parents were just talking about us moving to Virginia to be with her before the

accident."

"Do you know if she'll take you?" the younger man eagerly wanted to know.

"She'll take us" was Lou's immediate reply, though in truth she had no idea at all if the

woman would.