Suzanne was flat-out stunned. She might have been the one who took care of Julia at the end, but somehow the ultimate finality of it left her somewhat numb.
Mary Jo had been forced to take charge of the planning, which she did with her own forthright strength. “Standards, good food, and liberal preachers,” she had decided, and when they found a firebrand of a man from the Unitarian Universalist church whose fiery orations from the pulpit made their skin turn to goosepimples. He was booked immediately. Anthony had taken care of the larger practicalities, and somehow they gathered together, Julia’s nearest and dearest.
Everyone who was anyone in Atlanta had shown up; Suzanne had used her political influence to make sure of it. There were wreathes from the Clintons and Obamas, and a tasteful casket spray from a Murphy Brown, an old friend of Julia’s. Payne turned up, hale but balding, to shoulder the casket and blubber over his mother’s grave. He was a mamma’s boy; Suzanne noted that, even now, trying to keep Clayton from double-dipping his Frito into the godawful chili Carlene had brought, shifting by the buffet table while Charlene showed her pictures of Olivia’s daughter.
Well, they were all getting up there – not Suzanne, of course. Charlene and Mary Jo were grandmothers; Allison too, and even B.J. had found another husband. Well, after five marriages Suzanne was done; it was time for her to relax and bask in the attention of Desi’s kids, all of whom called her ‘Blossom’ instead of grandmother.
She watched the dignified proceeding and rolled her eyes. Julia would have loved the order but yearned for a little chaos. If Bernice had been there…
…But Bernice had been gone for years now. Suzanne sat behind a pair of mirrored Jackie O sunglasses, her hands in her lap, scowling at the casket.
“Do you need something, Suzanne?”
Anthony squeezed her shoulder. She flung him a look over her shoulder. “A bottle of Sea Witch and a box of Krispy Kreme donuts.”
He knew she was grieving, and sat down beside her. Of all of them Anthony seemed to be aging the slowest, and being with him was a strange pause in time that took Suzanne back twenty-four years, to pet pigs and maids named Consuela and bundling in her princess pink bed.
“She was a fine woman,” Anthony said.
“Julia was the best of us,” she said. “I couldn’t tell her that while she was alive.”
Anthony squeezed her hand. “I have a feeling she knows.”
“Julia would,” Suzanne cracked. “She always had her nose out of joint about something.”
“’Cause she wanted the best for the world. And I think she got it. Do you?”
Suzanne hadn’t ever thought of it that way. “Yes.”
That really was Julia – a striver who wanted the world to be a better place. Suzanne knew she would never be able to replace Julia in the world, but she was glad for having had her in her life; her stubborn, brilliant, strong-willed, opinionated Julia.
What you've learned
Mary Jo had been forced to take charge of the planning, which she did with her own forthright strength. “Standards, good food, and liberal preachers,” she had decided, and when they found a firebrand of a man from the Unitarian Universalist church whose fiery orations from the pulpit made their skin turn to goosepimples. He was booked immediately. Anthony had taken care of the larger practicalities, and somehow they gathered together, Julia’s nearest and dearest.
Everyone who was anyone in Atlanta had shown up; Suzanne had used her political influence to make sure of it. There were wreathes from the Clintons and Obamas, and a tasteful casket spray from a Murphy Brown, an old friend of Julia’s. Payne turned up, hale but balding, to shoulder the casket and blubber over his mother’s grave. He was a mamma’s boy; Suzanne noted that, even now, trying to keep Clayton from double-dipping his Frito into the godawful chili Carlene had brought, shifting by the buffet table while Charlene showed her pictures of Olivia’s daughter.
Well, they were all getting up there – not Suzanne, of course. Charlene and Mary Jo were grandmothers; Allison too, and even B.J. had found another husband. Well, after five marriages Suzanne was done; it was time for her to relax and bask in the attention of Desi’s kids, all of whom called her ‘Blossom’ instead of grandmother.
She watched the dignified proceeding and rolled her eyes. Julia would have loved the order but yearned for a little chaos. If Bernice had been there…
…But Bernice had been gone for years now. Suzanne sat behind a pair of mirrored Jackie O sunglasses, her hands in her lap, scowling at the casket.
“Do you need something, Suzanne?”
Anthony squeezed her shoulder. She flung him a look over her shoulder. “A bottle of Sea Witch and a box of Krispy Kreme donuts.”
He knew she was grieving, and sat down beside her. Of all of them Anthony seemed to be aging the slowest, and being with him was a strange pause in time that took Suzanne back twenty-four years, to pet pigs and maids named Consuela and bundling in her princess pink bed.
“She was a fine woman,” Anthony said.
“Julia was the best of us,” she said. “I couldn’t tell her that while she was alive.”
Anthony squeezed her hand. “I have a feeling she knows.”
“Julia would,” Suzanne cracked. “She always had her nose out of joint about something.”
“’Cause she wanted the best for the world. And I think she got it. Do you?”
Suzanne hadn’t ever thought of it that way. “Yes.”
That really was Julia – a striver who wanted the world to be a better place. Suzanne knew she would never be able to replace Julia in the world, but she was glad for having had her in her life; her stubborn, brilliant, strong-willed, opinionated Julia.
And that was how she’d remember her big sister.