Irises, Page 2

  “No.”

  “Do it now! Never mind, I’ll do it! I’ll be right over.”

  Mary hung up the phone. She examined Kate’s words carefully, the way she examined an object she was about to paint. Why didn’t it occur to her to call 911 right away? Why hadn’t she panicked when she saw that her father was not breathing? There, by his side, she felt that his soul needed time to leave his body quietly. She was sure she had acted the way Papa would have wanted. But would Kate understand?

  Kate arrived as the paramedics were trying to resuscitate her father’s body. She held Mary’s hand while one of them jolted her father a few inches off the bed with the shock of the defibrillator. After a few more tries, the paramedic shook her head and began to pack the equipment. “His body is still warm,” she told them. “We might have saved him if you’d called us earlier.”

  Kate glanced quickly at Mary and released her hand. She walked to her father and touched his forehead with the tips of her fingers. A wave of sorrow settled in her throat but did not materialize in tears. Surely, the tears would come later when there was no one looking.

  Kate left the room to call Dr. Rulfo and the funeral director. She glanced again at Mary, who was now holding their mother’s hand. Why hadn’t Mary called 911? Why had she let Father die? She was immediately glad that she had not asked Mary those questions. She could feel some weird chemistry taking place in herself, transforming sadness into blame.

  “Simon!” she said when she saw him in the hall. She hugged him, and he wrapped his strong arms around her.

  “I’m so sorry, Kate,” he said, stroking her hair.

  “Can you get me a glass of water?” she asked him. He left her to go to the kitchen. When he returned, she took the glass and went to her room to look for Dr. Rulfo’s phone number. Her address book was not in her desk drawer where she had left it, and it occurred to her that Mary probably took it when she called Simon’s house. She was amazed at how well her mind was functioning.

  It took Dr. Rulfo only ten minutes to get there. Dr. Rulfo had been the family doctor forever. After the accident, when the hospital notified Father that they would terminate Mother’s life support unless he was able to find another health provider for her, it was Dr. Rulfo who accepted responsibility for her at Father’s request and arranged for her to be taken care of at home. He visited Mother every week.

  Dr. Rulfo examined Father’s body. “Your father’s heart simply stopped beating,” he told Kate when he came out of the room. “I don’t think an autopsy needs to be performed. I’ll talk to the medical examiner.” Dr. Rulfo suddenly stopped and his eyes moistened. Kate reached out and touched his arm.

  “You were always good to him,” Kate said to Dr. Rulfo.

  “I’m going to miss him,” said Dr. Rulfo.

  Mr. Lopez, the funeral director, and his assistant were outside waiting for Dr. Rulfo to sign the death certificate. As soon as the doctor left, Mr. Lopez sat down with Kate and Simon. There were decisions to be made. Burial or cremation? Wake? Open or closed casket? When would the church service take place? In a way, it was good to have things to think about. Kate could feel grief and uncontrollable thoughts waiting for her, ready to invade as soon as there were no more details to arrange.

  When they finished discussing the arrangements, Mr. Lopez asked Kate and Simon if they wanted to go in and say good-bye before he removed the body. Simon deferred to Kate, and Kate nodded. She realized for the first time since Dr. Rulfo arrived that Mary had been in the room with their father all this time. Mary may have been the one to find Father dead, Kate thought, but at least she had been the last one to speak to him.

  She stood up, disturbed by her own thinking. What was happening to her? It was crazy to feel competitive with Mary over their father’s death. She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand and tried to wipe the thoughts away as she walked to the bedroom. Mary was sitting next to Mother, still holding her hand.

  “Can I have a few moments alone with Father?” There was kindness in Kate’s voice. Mary smiled and slowly left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Kate stood next to her father. Not more than three hours ago they had been talking in the backyard, or rather, he had been talking and she had been barely listening. She remembered how she had looked at her watch, and she felt a burst of tears in her chest ready to explode. She took her father’s hand gently to her lips and kissed it. The image of her father delivering the children’s sermon that morning came to her. The children had been captivated by his simple words.

  Then after a while the uncontrollable thoughts continued their attack. Now you are free, they said to her. You can leave El Paso. You can go to Stanford.

  Kate ordered them to go away. She focused again on the conversation with her father. I wanted to fortify your heart against sorrow. I believe I succeeded, but I might have been overzealous. That’s what Father had said. Was her heart so fortified now that she couldn’t cry?

  She walked over to Mother’s bed and sat on the edge, just as she had found Mary sitting when she entered the room. She took her mother’s hand and remembered.

  It was the summer before her freshman year. She and Mother were visiting Aunt Julia in San Jose, California — the trip Mother had promised her. Kate had been the best student in her class for the past three years, and this trip was a reward for all her hard work.

  One morning, Mother woke her up earlier than usual.

  “Come on, lazybones,” she said, shaking Kate awake.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise!”

  Aunt Julia had already left for work. They caught a bus to downtown San Jose. Then they climbed on the Caltrain, got off in Palo Alto, and took a shuttle to Stanford University.

  “Why are we going to Stanford?” Kate kept asking as the small white bus made its way through the palm-lined streets.

  “You’ll see,” her mother answered.

  When she stepped off the shuttle, Kate was awestruck. Stanford had everything El Paso lacked. It was green and colorful, not dry and brown. She loved to study, and here was a place brimming with an atmosphere of learning, of curiosity. She saw the aged red roofs of the buildings, the students speeding to class on their bicycles, and she felt at once a sense of belonging. This was the place she had always dreamed about.

  “You want to be a doctor, don’t you?” Mother said.

  “Yes,” Kate answered.

  “Well, here’s where you’re going to study to be one.”

  “Here? At Stanford? This is one of the best universities in the whole country. How do you know about it?”

  Her mother smiled. “When we were growing up in San Jose, your grandfather worked here as a gardener. He loved Stanford. On Sundays, he and Grandma would sometimes bring your aunt Julia and me to spend the day here, even though he’d spent the whole week working here already. It was his dream for Julia and me to come here someday. We would be the first ever in the family to go to college. But Julia wasn’t interested in college, and I married your father right after high school. Besides, I don’t even know if I could have gotten in. You have to be real smart to get into Stanford. Smart like you.”

  “But it’s so expensive. . . .”

  “You’ll need to work extra hard to get a scholarship.”

  “Papa’s never going to let me come here. He’ll want me to go to UTEP.”

  The smile on Mother’s face disappeared. She grabbed Kate by her shoulders and turned her so that they were facing each other. “You are so smart,” her mother told her, looking deep into her eyes. “That kind of intelligence is a gift that you have to develop. If you want to come to Stanford, then we’ll figure out how. God wants you to be as smart as you can, to hold nothing back, to be the best doctor you can be so you can help others. This is the kind of place where you can be the very, very best. You have to promise me you’ll work very hard in the next four years so you can come here if you want to. Do you promise?”

  Kate touched
her mother’s hand. “I promise.”

  “Do you think you’d like to come here?”

  Kate laughed, excited. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “You must keep this a secret between us until the time is right. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Not even Mary.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. See, now you have a dream that will carry you through. No one can keep you from your dream unless you let them.”

  “Why would I let them?”

  Mother was quiet for a second, and then she said softly, “Because you love them.”

  “Is that why you didn’t try to come to Stanford? Because of your love for Papa?”

  The only answer was a silent smile.

  Mother moaned and Kate snapped out of her reverie. For a moment it almost seemed as if Mother had squeezed her hand, encouraging her not to forget the promise she’d made. She let go of her mother’s hand quickly and stood up. Such things were impossible.

  But she stood for a moment looking down at Mother. Despite what had happened to her mother, Kate had followed through on her promise. She had the best grades and the best SAT scores of any senior at Riverside High School. Ms. Pauli, her counselor, had told her she could go to any university she wanted. Kate knew her father had expected her to attend the University of Texas at El Paso, but she had also applied to Stanford without telling him. She thought the best strategy was to wait and see if she was accepted and if she got a scholarship, and then present her case.

  And now he would never know. She watched her father’s face and she was surprised by the gentleness of his features. She had held him up to be stern and unmoving so many times in the past. Had she gotten it all wrong? Had she misinterpreted his love? She walked over to his side again, lifted his hand, kissed it again, and held it to her cheek, and then finally the tears came.

  Reverend Soto came the next morning. He wore black pants, a black jacket, a black shirt, and a white collar. Mary shook his hand and was struck by the sorrowful expression in his eyes.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “I tried to come yesterday, but I was out of town visiting my mother and I didn’t get the message until very late. How are you holding up?”

  “We’re okay,” Kate said.

  “Your father was an amazing man. He was the soul of this church, of this community.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said softly.

  The ladies from the church who had come with breakfast went into the kitchen. Kate and Mary sat side by side on the sofa, and Reverend Soto sank down in the armchair in front of them. Mary lifted her eyes and studied him carefully. He had a deep, quiet, soothing kind of voice today. It wasn’t his intense, energetic sermon voice. Today he sought to calm and console.

  “Okay,” Reverend Soto said. He took a black notepad and a silver pen from his coat pocket. “Let’s go over some details for this coming week. I understand from Mr. Lopez that you want to have visiting hours at the funeral home on one evening only.”

  “Yes,” Kate answered without hesitation. “Tomorrow.”

  “And you want to have the funeral and the church service the day after tomorrow?”

  “We would like to.” The ladies of the church had objected that the rushed schedule did not give people enough time, but Kate was firm in her decision, and although she had not been asked for her opinion, Mary agreed. She felt that Papa would not have liked to have his body exhibited longer than necessary.

  Reverend Soto wrapped his hands around his right knee. “Are you sure you don’t want to have two evenings of visiting hours? You want to make sure that all of the church people —”

  “They can all go tomorrow.” Kate cut him off. “Many of them have come to see us today already.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “Everyone knows about it by now. It’s not that big a church.”

  “What about family from out of town? Don’t they need time to get here?”

  “There’s no one coming,” Kate replied.

  Mary spoke up. “Our aunt Julia lives in California, but she won’t be able to make it to the funeral. We called her and she’s coming in a few days to be with us.”

  “It must be hard for you not to have any family. Will you be okay financially?” Reverend Soto asked.

  Kate changed the subject. “Are you going to say the eulogy at the funeral?”

  “Yes,” Reverend Soto answered. “The deacons have asked me to conduct all the services.”

  “But you didn’t know him. You didn’t know Papa,” Mary said suddenly, her voice rising up a notch.

  “Mary!” Kate exclaimed.

  “It’s okay,” Reverend Soto said.

  Mary couldn’t believe she’d been so rude, but decided she might as well continue. “Why can’t Father Hogan speak at the service? He was Papa’s best friend.” It was nothing personal, she told herself. She was only expressing what her father would have wished.

  “Well . . .” Reverend Soto tried to move to the edge of the armchair, but the hole created by its broken springs pulled him down. “It’s just that Father Hogan is not of our church. St. John’s is a Catholic church.”

  “Why does that matter?” Mary saw the questioning look that Kate was giving her but kept going. “Papa would want Father Hogan to speak, I’m sure of it.”

  Reverend Soto smiled nervously. He glanced toward Kate for support.

  “Mary, Reverend Soto is now the minister. It’s up to him to say the eulogy.”

  He seemed to be thinking. Then he suggested, “What if I go back to the deacons and ask them if Father Hogan can take part in the service? I’m sure that will be all right.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

  “It’s okay.” He stopped her. “You don’t need to explain. I’m sure your father would want Father Hogan to say a few words.”

  Mrs. Mendoza came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee for Reverend Soto. “Can I get you girls anything?” Mary and Kate shook their heads.

  Reverend Soto lifted the cup to his lips, sipped, and then placed it back on its saucer. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I know it must feel wrong to have a stranger speak about your father. But what I want to tell you is that in the month that I’ve been here, I got to know your father a little. I got to see what kind of person he was. I think I know him as a pastor. But what I wanted to do today is have you share with me some of your memories of him so I can know him as a father, as a person.”

  Mary leaned back on the sofa. She felt her mind go blank. What memories of Papa would she choose to share with the congregation? It was strange to force herself to search for a memory of him. It seemed more appropriate for memories to appear of their own accord than to be willed into existence. She turned to look at Kate and saw in her face a similar struggle.

  “He was a good father,” Kate said, after a long silence.

  “Can you give me an example?” Reverend Soto urged. “Something I can use in my eulogy?”

  Kate thought. “He let me volunteer at the hospital every Saturday for a few hours. It was hard for him because I could have been helping here at home or working at the Red Sombrero, making more money for us. But he knew how important it was to have an extracurricular activity.” She talked as if she were speaking to herself, remembering.

  Reverend Soto didn’t quite understand.

  “For college,” Mary explained.

  “Ahh. That’s good,” he said. “What about you?” he asked, turning to Mary.

  “I can’t think of anything right now.” She was thinking of how difficult it had been to get Papa to let her stay an extra hour after school to work on her painting. Most of her memories of Papa were of him saying no to the things that she and Kate wanted to do. She tried to think of times when she remembered him laughing or even smiling, but she couldn’t.

  “I understand. But if a memory comes to mind before the service, will you give me a call?” he asked them.

 
“Yes,” Kate said. She smiled at Reverend Soto. Mary remembered that yesterday, while they were washing the dishes, Kate had said he was good-looking. Reverend Soto had carefully combed, wavy black hair, and an ample forehead that made him look intelligent. His dark, thick eyebrows gave him an intense look. Cute was not the right word for him. He was attractive, good-looking, handsome — very. He was much better-looking than Simon, if the truth be known.

  He and Kate looked at each other for a few seconds more. “Would it be possible to see your mother?” he asked her.

  “Why?” Mary asked. She couldn’t help the tone of alarm in her voice.

  “I would like to pray for her,” he answered calmly.

  “It’s okay,” Kate said to Mary. “Father would have liked him to pray for Mother.”

  Mary wasn’t sure. Papa might have felt as she felt, as if something very private were about to be exposed. Reverend Soto was here to offer condolences, to plan the service. How did seeing Mama fit into all that? But she stood up reluctantly and followed Kate and Reverend Soto. For some inexplicable reason, she felt as if she needed to protect Mama.

  Reverend Soto stood on one side of the bed. Mary saw him stare at the feeding tube that connected the dangling plastic bag of liquid food to Mama’s stomach. But his face did not have the look she had seen many times when people first encountered Mama — a look of slight terror, as if a corpse had suddenly opened its eyes.

  “How long has she been this way?” Reverend Soto asked.

  “Almost two years,” Kate answered.

  Reverend Soto shook his head. Mary couldn’t tell exactly what the gesture meant. There was compassion in his expression, but there was also something else.

  “And she’s been staying with you all this time?”

  “She was in a coma for a couple of weeks after the accident. Then she entered the state she’s in. It’s called a persistent vegetative state.” Kate sounded tired. Mary wondered why she was being so polite.

  “A persistent vegetative state,” he repeated, as if to himself.

  “You’re familiar with the condition,” Kate said.