A Curve in the Road(21)
At the same time, I sense that the excitement is too much for him, and I suggest that we leave him alone to rest.
Besides, we have a lot to talk about. There’s going to be much to do over the next few days. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through it all, and I feel tired again, as if my body weighs a ton.
After Maureen returns to Halifax, Zack, Mom, and I get through the day together, leaning on one another through all the decisions and painful tasks that must be dealt with—visiting the funeral home and choosing a casket, speaking to the minister at our church, and setting a date and time for the service and burial.
We then return home and are content to eat the casserole and pie Maureen cooked. I’m so grateful for it. After a brief rest, I begin to make phone calls to family and friends to let them know about Alan’s funeral. I call Alan’s father first, and he informs me that he already bought his plane ticket. I try not to get worked up about it because he’s not my favorite person in the world, but it’s his son’s funeral, and he has a right to be there.
The rest of the phone calls to friends and colleagues are equally difficult, especially when I’m forced to listen to expressions of shock and dismay over what they had seen on television the night before. Apparently, video footage of Alan’s car wreck was broadcast on all the local news programs and the internet, and it was revealed that Alan—a prominent, respected Halifax cardiologist—had been driving under the influence. It’s a dark and dirty scandal I can’t bear to stomach.
Though everyone I speak to is sympathetic, I’m deeply ashamed of what occurred. I want to shield Zack from what’s being said about his father in the news, but it’s not possible unless I take his phone away from him, and I don’t want to do that. I need to let him face this and do my best to talk him through it. But that’s not easy, because I have no idea why Alan did what he did or what he was doing on the road that night. The question eats away at me, on top of everything else.
Later that night, my sister, Carla; her husband, Braden; and their two young daughters arrive from New Brunswick.
Carla and I have always been close, and as soon as our eyes meet in my mother’s foyer, we step into each other’s arms.
“I’m so glad you’re finally here,” I say.
“Me too.”
A short while later, we manage to steal a moment alone together in my bedroom, away from the children. I tell her everything about the accident and the excruciating and impossible pain of watching Alan die and being helpless to stop it.
“I don’t understand how it happened,” I say, bowing my head and slowly shaking it. “How could he have gotten behind the wheel if he was drinking? I never imagined he would ever do something like that.”
Carla rubs my knee. “I know. It’s a shock. But there’s got to be some sort of explanation.”
My eyes lift. “But how will I ever know? He was alone at the time, and no one expected him to be on the road to Lunenburg. I’ve searched through all my messages, and I’ve checked his phone. I’ve talked to his colleagues. No one knows why he was coming here, let alone why he was drunk on a Sunday.”
I lean toward the bedside table to pull a tissue from the box and blow my nose. “I’m so angry with him right now. Part of me hates him for what he did to us. For what he did to our family.”
Carla says nothing. She simply nods and provides the sympathetic ear I so desperately need.
“At the same time, I don’t want to think about him that way—as the drunk driver who ran me off the road. I want to remember him as the wonderful father and devoted husband that he was. That’s how I want Zack to remember him too.”
“He will, and you will too, when the shock of this wears off.”
After we’re finished talking, Carla and I prepare the spare bedroom for her and Braden while Mom opens the sofa bed in the den for Zack and makes beds for the children on the floor in the family room. Carla chooses a movie for them to watch, and I make a pot of coffee so that she, Mom, and I can sit down at the table and take care of some practical details about the funeral.
Later, despite having drunk two cups of brew, I fall into a deep slumber as soon as my head hits the pillow. Still, I wake often during the night, with fretful dreams about the accident. I dream that I can’t get out from under the dash and no one comes to rescue me. I scream for help and thrash about. I pound my fists against the steering wheel. Then all the dashboard lights go out, and I’m alone in the dark ravine. Winston is gone. He doesn’t come back. But I don’t want to give up. I tell myself that the sun will come up in the morning and then it won’t be so scary. I pray that someone will find me. My heart pummels my rib cage, but I try to hold on and make it through the night.
When I pull myself out of the dream, though, and reach across the bed in search of Alan’s warm, sturdy body, I can’t help but think that my present reality seems just as dark and hopeless as the dream, and I wish there were a way to wake from it too.
The next day begins with a task far more pleasant than planning funerals. Zack and I head over to the veterinary hospital to pick up Winston.
Ruby brings him out into the reception area, and the moment I see him up on his feet, walking and swishing his tail, I feel a ray of hope. Zack and I drop to our knees and greet him with hugs and kisses. He sniffs and licks our hands and faces and whimpers with emotion.