And he said, “I love you too, Grandma.”
Now, standing next to her casket, he was glad he’d said it back, even though at the time he wasn’t sure he truly felt that way. In the short period of time that he’d known her, he’d become totally immersed in her life, past and present. He cared about Pearl, but saying he loved her may have been a stretch. But really, did it matter to what extent he loved her? The important thing was that he’d wanted her to feel loved. In the end, that was all that mattered.
Joe’s parents and Linda arrived first, wearing their Sunday best. Joe was relieved they were there, especially when the residents of Pullman began to pour through the door, all of them presumably to pay their respects to Joe, and also to his father, Bill. As his father began working the crowd, Joe realized with a shock that of course his father knew people. Pullman had been his hometown; this was where his father had grown up. He seemed beloved. One man called out “Bill!” from across the room and ran up to clutch him in a bear hug. Several people told Joe they’d known his dad in high school, and one of the older women said she had been a neighbor from down the block.
Linda, overwhelmed by all the attention, attached herself to Kathleen, who didn’t mind at all. “I just love your little sister,” Kathleen said to Joe, and he nodded. It was clear the feeling was mutual.
And when a group of people, three generations, walked in, Joe caught his breath at the sight of the youngest of them, a curly-haired girl no older than four. The spitting image of little Daisy. When the eldest woman in the group approached Joe, he said, “You must be Pearl’s sister Daisy.”
Her hand flew to her chest in amazement. “How did you know?”
He smiled. “The little one looks just like you when you were a little girl. I’m Bill’s son, Joe.”
His great-aunt Daisy gave him a big hug. She apologized for her sisters Helen and Mae, who weren’t able to make the trip for the funeral but sent their condolences. Daisy introduced him to her family—her husband, two children, their spouses and children. In turn, he introduced Linda and Kathleen. “This is Kathleen, my girlfriend. She’s also Edna Clark’s great-niece.”
“Well, isn’t that nice,” Daisy said. “I always liked Edna. She was my sister Alice’s best friend.”
“I know,” Kathleen said. “Edna told me about Alice. She sounded like a lovely person.”
“Oh, she was. I was very young when she died, and I remember not quite understanding why she wasn’t around anymore. She used to make up little songs just for me, and for a long time I thought if I sang them at night in my bed, she would come back to tuck me in.” Her eyes got misty and her expression reflective. “I still remember one of them, all these years later. Isn’t that something? I sing it to my granddaughter Julia.” Her hand rested on the little girl’s head.
“What do you sing to me, Grammy?” Julia asked, her chin tipped upward.
“Our special song. You know, the one I call the Alice song,” Daisy said, and she began to sing softly: “Little, little darling child Sweetest flower, small and wild Fill me with your love and light / All my days’ and nights’ delight.”
Kathleen listened, incredulous. As the little girl joined her grandmother in song, Kathleen mouthed the last few lines along with them.
“Nothing will keep us apart / You’re always there in my heart You are still my baby girl Dearest one in all the world.”
Somehow, Kathleen thought, Alice had made her presence known right then and there. Alice had been there for her little sister Daisy at the beginning of her life, and through her song, she’d stayed with her all the way through. She’d been only nineteen when she died, but her life had made such a difference. And, Kathleen reflected with a smile, Alice had ultimately brought her Joe, which was no small thing.
No small thing at all.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
1983
When Kathleen walked into the Pine Cone during the lunch hour, Joe was in their usual booth, her drink waiting. On her way in, she paused to say hello to Miss Whitt, who was sitting at the counter. Ever since it came out that Miss Whitt had let Ricky stay at her house, Kathleen had gone out of her way to assure the old lady there were no hard feelings. “You had no way of knowing,” Kathleen had said when Miss Whitt had tearfully confessed. Today she and Miss Whitt had a brief exchange. From where Joe sat, it looked like it concerned the soup of the day.
After leaving Miss Whitt, Kathleen came to join him, sliding into the other side of the booth with a smile. Her hair was down, soft and curled, and she wore narrow pants and a cashmere sweater, like Laura Petrie on The Dick Van Dyke Show. Her wardrobe was vast and varied but never boring.