At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)(45)

How she wished she had said these things to Del.

She had been right to ignore that moonlight encounter she had spied between Noah and Gracie a few years ago. Whatever else it had been, it hadn't been permanent and for that she was grateful. Not that she would have minded Noah being interested in a smart girl like Gracie. She couldn't imagine a better young woman for her son. If only Gracie weren't Mona's child... Even now, so many years after her death, Mona Taylor still had the power to destroy Ruth's life.

As she turned away from the mirror, Simon entered the room.

"Have you seen my reading glasses?" he asked. He was wearing his cotton pajamas and a light robe and his hair was still uncombed.

"Shouldn't you be getting dressed?" she asked, trying to squelch the note of alarm in her voice.

"To read the Gazette?"

"To attend Del's funeral." Don't let him hear how annoyed you are. That will only set him off. Simon hadn't been himself since the heart attack and she worried about adding to his stress level.

He was rummaging through a stack of books and magazines on his nightstand. "We sent flowers, didn't we?"

"Of course we did, but—"

"That's enough."

"She worked for us for almost twenty years, Simon. We should be there for the service."

"Absolutely not."

"Simon, we owe it to Del to be there for her granddaughter."

"And what about her son? How do you think Ben Taylor would like it if we showed up at his mother's funeral?"

"From what I hear, that shouldn't be a problem. Ben Taylor hasn't been seen since the night Del passed away."

"We're not going."

"I'm afraid I am, Simon."

"I forbid it."

"Forbid?" Her voice escalated the slightest bit, just enough to be noticed. "In forty years I don't believe you have ever forbidden me to do anything."

"I mean it, Ruth. I will not have you attending that woman's funeral."

"The child needs to know that those who loved her grandmother are there for her."

"She isn't our problem, Ruth." Simon turned toward the door. "And she isn't a child any longer."





#





The cops found Ben sleeping off a two-day drunk halfway between Idle Point and Boothbay Harbor. The manager of a McDonald's reported an old man slumped behind the wheel of a Jeep Cherokee in their parking lot at closing time and of course it was Ben Taylor.

They took him into the station and tossed him in the drunk tank for a couple hours until the stink of puke and unwashed flesh got to him and he began to sober up. One of the rookies took pity on him and let him use the shower in the back and by dawn Ben looked almost respectable again. He only had one regret. He wished they'd let him rot in his own vomit back there in the parking lot.

Disappointment burned like acid in his veins, displacing even sorrow. He was a coward, a worthless piece of shit who didn't deserve to take up space in this world. He had failed and failed and failed again, failed until it was practically an art form. The only thing he was grateful for was that Del would never know about this. She had died believing he was sober for good.

"We took in your car," the rookie told him after he was dressed and ready to go. "Two hundred fifty dollar fine. We take Visa and Mastercard."

"Do you take IOUs?"

The kid didn't have much of a sense of humor but he did have a heart. "Listen," he said, "I go off duty in a half hour. Why don't I drive you to the church for your mother's funeral and we'll settle up the fine later."

Ben looked at him for a long while before he spoke. "Thank you," he said over the throbbing pain behind his eyes. "I appreciate it."

As it turned out they were too late for the services. Ben almost wept with relief. He was hung over, bereft, incapable of facing Graciela. "Listen," he said to the young cop. "I'll walk home from here."

Instead the rookie, in an act of kindness Ben didn't deserve or even want, said, "No problem. I'll drive you to the cemetery instead."





#





Gramma Del, you should see the flowers! They must have raided florists from here to Bangor and back again. Roses everywhere you look, the cream-colored ones and those yellows you love. And the freesia! I wish you could smell the air right now, so sweet and fresh. So many people loved you, Gramma, but you knew that, didn't you? And you knew I loved you most of all.