Empty Tombstone

My father had four sisters. The only one who mattered was Veronica, as she was the only one who ever spoke to me like I was a person. That didn’t mean she was nice. It only meant she recognized I was a human being who ought to be greeted when we met. The word to describe the rest of them was negligent, even before I'd decided to cut ties.

Veronica was the aunt who called me. She told me when the funeral would be and told me that my airfare to attend in Ottawa would be paid for out of my grandfather’s estate. She said I could stay at her house if I wanted to, but if I would feel more comfortable in a hotel, that bill would also be paid for.

Knowing that I would have to go there and see those people really brought back my parents’ deaths. Almost seven years ago, my grandfather had been in a nursing home and no one suggested I become his responsibility. I heard he was so depressed about outliving his son that tears flowed down his cheeks. Those were the kind of tears that only fell when someone died. Grown men didn’t cry.

When I told Rogan what happened, he pulled a wry expression and said conspiratorially, “Maybe it’s better if you aren’t here for a while. Besides, these aren’t your family that have ties to Dr. Hilliar. They are just relatives. You should go.”

In Ottawa, I wore black, even though quite a few of my cousins opted not to. I felt like wearing black was the only thing I could do to show respect for someone who had given part of their life to nurture my father, who in turn, nurtured me. I planned not to cry.

The funeral service was held at a church where there was a sermon given about how he would live again through the power of the resurrection and then a eulogy. My Aunt Veronica gave it. She stood tall and talked about his childhood days, his proud military service in the Second World War, his courtship and marriage to my grandmother, his career and how much he loved being a father. She spoke about the deep pain he suffered when my father died.

“He often said that when he died, he hoped he would meet his son again in heaven,” Veronica said crisply. “I hope he has.” She looked so confident.

At the gravesite, my cousins’ children annoyed me. After the grave dedication, they cheerfully pranced around like ponies. It bothered me that they didn’t have any respect for the dead. I even had to shoo a kid off my parents’ gravestone.

“Get off,” I said monstrously to the eight-year-old scooting her butt off the marble. I shot eye-daggers at her to stop myself from crying. I hated crying in public, so I immediately did what I always did when I was upset—I restored order. Meaning, I cleaned.

My parents only had one gravestone with both their names engraved on it. Birds had pooped on it and the caretakers of the cemetery hadn’t taken care of it. I popped open my purse and produced a water bottle and a tissue. I was wiping it clean when I noticed something unusual—downright weird. My father had no death date. Immediately, I got up off the grass and went to find Aunt Veronica.

I showed her the stone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look. It says when my mother was born and when she died. Then it says when my father was born, but in the space where it is supposed to say when he died—there’s nothing.”

She looked at it, perplexed. “I don’t know. The only thing I can say is that Christian Henderson was in charge of all that. I’ve never seen a single paper about your parents’ death. I’m sorry. You’ll have to talk to him.”

“None of you organized the funeral or anything? Christian did it all?”

She put her hands up in the air innocently. “That was what your father stipulated in his will. He didn’t want us to have anything to do with you beyond occasional visits. He wanted everything he had to go to Christian. We all thought it was intolerable, but that was what the lawyer said.”

“And you just went with what the lawyer said?”

“No,” she said, grasping for patience. “I did not blindly leave everything in the hands of the lawyer. I knew your father was planning on doing that. He told me what was in his will before he died. I thought he was joking, but when your parents passed and everything went to Christian, I wasn’t surprised. Other than custody of you, he didn’t get anything anyway. Why? Are you mad we let Christian take you?”

“I’m not mad. I just wonder why this has been left blank. It doesn’t add up. Christian wouldn’t have let something like this go…”

Just then, over my aunt’s shoulder, I saw someone standing at a grave across the way, someone with red hair. He was looking at me.

Another aunt claimed Veronica’s attention. “You’ll have to talk to Christian about this,” she said as she turned away.

Seconds later, Charles ditched the grave he was pretending to mourn at and approached me. I knew I shouldn’t run. I shouldn’t make a fuss. There were tons of people around for the grave dedication. He wouldn’t do anything crazy. I had to act cool, just like Christian taught me.

He came to a stop beside me. “Is this your dad’s tombstone?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard about your grandfather.”

“It’s okay. He was old. Everybody has to go sometime. Did you know him?”

“No. I never met him,” Charles answered with a shake of his head.

“Then why are you here?” I wanted to know.

“I came to see you,” he said slowly, his voice low like he was telling me a secret. It was almost the way Christian used to speak to me when he explained something as an aside. Charles had seen him do it and was mimicking it.

I glared at him. “You flew all the way to Ottawa to see me?”

“I was having a hard time getting in touch with you in Edmonton,” he explained, his hands in his pockets.

“Yes. Because I don’t want to see you.” I flicked my hair over my shoulder and stormed away at the fastest walk I dared. I heard his footsteps behind me.

“I have something to tell you,” he called.

I kept walking and didn’t turn my head.

I got two and a half steps further away from him when he barked at me, “Your father is still alive.”

I turned around and angry as a wasp, I slapped him across the cheek. His face was ten times redder than normal, and his eyes were so shocked that I refrained from kneeing him in the stomach, which was going to be my next move. “Never show your face in front of me again!” I didn’t wait for him to reply. Instead, I turned around and walked swiftly back to my Aunt Veronica, who ushered me into the back of a car.

Back at my aunt’s, I thought about what happened and how I had acted. I wondered if what Charles said was true; if my father was still alive. It took me about ten minutes to decide that it didn’t matter. The way to find answers was not through Charles. He was trying to trap me, using something I might want as bait, and the tombstone just gave him a handy idea of what to say that would, hopefully, stop me from storming off. I decided that whoever my family member was who was affiliated with the Argonauts, it couldn't be my father.