The Dearly Departed

Trigger warnings: Grief, death, murder? 

It’s the day before Halloween as 31-year-old, single, attractive Andrea Hawthorne, dressed all in black, drives along the Connecticut Interstate in route to Sherwood, a quaint town outside of Riverside.

       As the traffic comes to a screeching halt, Andrea is forced to slam on her brakes, disengaging the cruise control. Ear piercing sirens zoom past her. She inches forward, shielding her eyes from the near-blinding display of lights as emergency vehicles attend to the overturned semi blocking all but one southbound lane.

      Andrea glances at the clock on the dash. “I don’t have time for this,” she says through clenched teeth, both hands, gripping the steering wheel. 

     A few feet ahead is EXIT 54. Hoping it leads to her destination, she signals her intentions and exits the Interstate, coming to a stop sign with three arrows pointing in three different directions; three different towns. She follows the arrow pointing to: Sherwood, 16 miles.

        Andrea drives along the desolate but scenic country road admiring the beautiful orange, brown, and gold foliage, finding the tranquility not only relaxing but enjoyable as well. Unfortunately, nature’s serenity encourages contemplation, forcing her to remember where she is going and why; her eyes flashing to the passenger seat where the newspaper article of her grandmother’s obituary tags along.

      “No Gams, I can’t, won’t believe you’re really gone until I see for myself!” she cries out loud, brushing tears off her cheeks. What do ‘natural causes’ mean anyway? she wonders.

          Mildred ‘Millie’ Hawthorne, whom Andrea lovingly calls, ‘Gams,’ is widow to the late Benjamin Hawthorne, III, a very successful oil tycoon, known around Sherwood as Big Ben, but Andrea knows and lovingly remembers him as ‘Gamps.’

        Entering Sherwood city limits, Andrea follows her car’s GPS to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Running late, through no fault of her own, she pulls into the first available parking spot and runs toward the church; the October wind unleashing a few strands of hair from her honey-colored bun before she can make it inside.

          After signing in on the guest register, Andrea slithers into a pew in the ‘Reserved for Family’ section, doing her best to blend-in with her so-called, ‘family’ who are already seated and already, shunning her.

      Andrea approves of the white lily selection the florist chose to decorate both sides of her grandmother’s pink casket. I hope you like the white lilies, Gams. They look lovely.

         The Pastor approaches the pulpit and without using a microphone makes an announcement…

       “Attention everyone. We apologize for the delay but we’re experiencing audio and technical difficulties that we hope to have resolved very soon. Thank you for your kind patience and understanding.”

        Andrea searches the pews for her Great Aunt Mable Honeycut, her grandmother’s twin sister whom Andrea fondly calls, ‘Maple Mable’ but sees no sign of her.

         “Richard, where’s your grandmother?” she whispers to her cousin, sitting to her left.

         “Didn’t you hear?”

         “Hear what?”

         “Grandma Honeycut had a nervous breakdown,“ he said, a sad expression on his face.

        “Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry to hear that. Have you at least gotten to see —”

        “No, I haven’t. Heard she’s still in the hospital, not accepting visitors,” he says, then points to the pink casket. “Now, this. It’s all too much. I can’t imagine losing a twin sibling and not being able to attend their funeral, can you?” he asks, choking back tears.

        “No, I can’t, but as an only child, I can’t imagine even having a sibling, let alone losing one,” Andrea says, remembering the day she was orphaned at the age of twelve. She will forever be grateful to the Hawthorne’s for taking her in. For raising her. For loving her. It was bad enough when Gamps died, Andrea recalls, looking at the pink casket. I’m an orphan, once again.

To take her mind off her loss, she surveys what’s left of her family:

       Sitting to Richard’s left is his wife, Monique. Next to her are Richard’s parents, Johnathon and Shiela Honeycut. Next to them are Richard’s siblings, Victoria and Jessica.

      Sitting in the pew behind is the dearly departed’s best friend, Opal McFadden, Andrea fondly calls, ‘Opie.’ 

     Sitting next to Opal is a man with salt and pepper hair, wearing black rim glasses. Andrea recognizes him as Mr. Woods, her grandmother’s attorney.

     Sitting alongside Mr. Woods is Dr. Martin Swartz, longtime physician and friend of the Hawthorne family, whom the dearly departed called ‘Marty.’

    Andrea sends Dr. Swartz an accusatory stare. Natural causes, my ass!

      The Pastor approaches the pulpit and using a working microphone announces…

     “The funeral service and celebration of life for Mildred ‘Millie’ Hawthorne will now commence…

       And what a lovely and emotional service it is, evidenced by the clump of wet tissue in Andrea’s hand.

       As the service concludes, guests, then family file by the casket to show respect and say farewell to Mildred ‘Millie’ Hawthorne.

      Andrea is glad she’s last to say goodbye for she needs some time alone with the woman who raised her after her parents died.

     In slow motion she approaches the open coffin and peers inside. She looks at the familiar and loving face with silver curls framing it. 

    “Gams, it’s Andie. I’m here. But I can’t believe you’re there,” she says, blotting her eyes with the wet tissue. “But I must say, you look peaceful. You look beautiful. In fact, you look better dead, than I do or feel alive,” Andrea says with a strained chuckle, tucking the loose dangling strands of hair behind her ear.       

           “Thank you for loving me, for taking care of me. I love you and I’m going to miss you so much. Tell Gamps, mama, and daddy that I love and miss them, too,” she cries, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Now you don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine,” she says, adjusting the collar of her grandmother’s pink satin blouse. A mole on the side of the dearly departed’s neck catches her attention. “Ooh, now that doesn’t look good; can’t believe I never noticed it before,” she says out loud.  Not that it matters now.     

        Funeral attendants approach and rush Andrea’s goodbyes. “Just another minute, please,” she begs, but her pleas go unheard. The attendants offer their condolences, but close the casket anyway -for it’s time for the dearly departed to depart.

     Andrea bursts into tears and flees from the sanctuary. She can’t get back in her car fast enough before the brisk October wind unleashes a few more strands of honey-color hair from her bun do. “I’m sorry, Gams, but I won’t be in the procession line or at the cemetery. I want to remember you looking beautiful, laying peacefully in your pretty pink ‘Cadillac’ casket, surrounded by my white lilies - not being lowered in the ground and covered up with dirt,” she cries, watching the hearse and procession line pass by. 

        The next morning, Halloween, Andrea receives notice that her presence is expected at the reading of grandmother’s will. Once again, she arrives late, but this time, it is her fault for she is still in denial.  

        The clicking sound of her blue pumps echo in the court-like building. Once on the elevator, she pushes the number 8 button.  In the corner dome mirror she inadvertently catches her porcelain-looking reflection and gasps…  My God, I look like a ghost! she thinks, adjusting the collar of her crisp white blouse. “Well, it is Halloween,” she chuckles, then looks at the mirror and says… “Boo!”.

         As the elevator stops on the eighth floor, she exits, and finds 816. The nameplate on the door reads: Mark Woods, Attorney at Law. Andrea takes a deep breath then enters. Once again, she recognizes the older man with salt-and-pepper-colored hair and black rim glasses as her grandmother’s attorney. 

      “Ahh, Ms. Hawthorne, so glad you could join us; we’ve been expecting you,” he says sharply, pointing to the seat to his right.  

       Andrea is forced to walk around the table where her estranged family and her grandmother’s best friends, Opal and Dr. Swartz, are seated; once again, Andrea is greeted coldly by all in attendance. Oh how I wish my Great Aunt Maple Mable were here. She wouldn’t treat me like this, Andrea thinks, holding back tears.

      Mr. Woods stands and commences the reading of the will. The-who-gets-what grows more and more meaningless, monotonous, if not, incomprehensible as Andrea studies the familiar and stern faces with itchy palms, and greedy souls...Don’t they see that financial gain and material things can’t replace people. Can’t replace the love of family and friends? Or do they even care? she wonders, loudly strumming her pink chiffon-colored nails on the long conference-style table.

     “Are we boring you, Ms. Hawthorne?” Mr. Woods asks, his gaze piercing above his black rim glasses.

     “No, I’m sorry. I’m just really tired, really sad,” she says, locking her hands together, tears spilling out of her eyes.

        “Alright then, if no one objects, that concludes this part of the meeting in regards to Mildred ‘Millie’ Hawthorne’s last wishes, so you all, with the exception of Ms. Hawthorne here, are free to leave. Thank you all for coming and for your kind attention,” announces Mr. Woods escorting the family, Opal, and Dr. Swartz from the office.

     Family tensions and voices escalate in the hall as does Mr. Woods’ concerns, causing him to lock his door. He joins Andrea back at the table, this time, taking the seat directly across from her. “Ms. Hawthorne, may I please continue?” he asks, once again making eye contact above his black rim glasses. Andrea nods, but remains silent.

          “…And to my granddaughter, Andrea ‘Andie’ Hawthorne, I request that she be the executor of my will and she inherit my home, Hawthorne House.”

          Andrea stares at Mr. Woods but cannot speak. “Congratulations, Ms. Hawthorne, you’re one lucky lady,” he says, jangling keys under her nose.

      Andrea, still in shock, remains silent. Mr. Woods, puts the keys in her hand, assists her from her chair, and ushers her out the door, shutting and locking it behind her. She looks at the closed door…Looks like Mr. Woods’ job is done.

     Family tirades echo throughout the eight floor. Andrea, in no mood for a squabble, ducks into the rest room to splash cold water on her face, hoping it gives the others time to calm down. Time to leave. 

    The arrival of the cleaning crew encourages her departure as well. In her hands are two sets of keys, one to her car, the other to the house she just inherited. What’s little ole me going to do with that monstrosity? No better time to find out, then now.

     The sun goes down as does Andrea’s car window as she soars along the mountain scenic route; the brisk October wind, unleashing many more strands of hair from her bun do. Finding comforting is the sound of tires rolling over crispy fall leaves and the aroma of wood-burning fireplaces. Porch lights highlight haystacks and pumpkins that decorate the homesteads of the upper class division of West Haven Estates as children dressed in their ‘spooky costumes skip along their merry way, high on joy and sugar.

      The dark of night causes Andrea’s tired and swollen eyes to grow weary; not only from the drive but the emotional toll of having to say goodbye to her grandmother. Temporarily blinded by high beams in her rearview mirror angers her. “What the hell, turn off your brights!” she says out loud, directing her anger at the driver following too close. “Go around!” she yells, using her hand to wave them on. Unable to see where she’s driving, she pulls on to the shoulder to allow the dark vehicle to pass by. “Good riddance!” she yells out her window, then pulls back on the road and continues on.

                 Andrea arrives at her destination and pulls into the circle drive, stopping directly in front of a squeaky, dangling sign that reads HAWTHORNE HOUSE.

            She gets out of her car and slowly makes her way up the steps that lead to two tall mahogany doors. Wall lantern-sconces, illuminate the front of the ghoulish-looking atrocity…Looks even creepier than I remember.

      Her mind flashes to the summers she spent there when she was a young child and then when she moved in at the age of twelve after her parents were killed in the auto accident. Andrea stares at the mansion recalling happier times in her life…So many loving memories of you Gams, you Gamps, you Maple Mable, and even though you’re not ‘blood’, Opie, you’re more family to me, than what’s left of mine.

       Andrea inserts the house key Mr. Woods gave her, hoping it would open the door without setting off alarms. But before she could turn the knob, she hears a ‘click’ and the door slowly creaks open, as if someone is in control. Startled, she steps back, and grabs the rod iron railing, glancing back at her car for reassurance, just in case she needs to make a quick get-a-way.

        Suddenly, a head with white hair peeks around the door. Andrea, assumes the head belongs to her grandmother’s best friend, Opal, reacts accordingly…

      “Opie, it’s me, Andrea.”

    The head began to move from the shadow of darkness into the moon’s light, illuminating the owner’s aqua-colored eyes. Andrea gasps…Get a grip, girl, that’s Gam’s twin sisterl. She must have finally been discharged from the hospital, Andrea sighs.

         “Maple Mable. I’m glad you’re alright. So very sorry for your loss. I still can’t believe that Gams is gone, ”Andrea says, moving in for a comforting hug.

        “Were you followed?” the anxious woman asks, surveying the dark surroundings.

        “No, I don’t think so,” Andrea says, but then remembers the blinding headlights that stalked part of her journey there. Her body tenses. Her suspicious eyes search for any sign of a potential stalker as the gray-haired female moves in even closer.

      “My darling, Andie, I’m so glad you’re here,” says the quivering, whiney voice.… Only one person in the world has ever called me that.

    “It’s me, Andie, someone murdered my sissy, Mable.”

END