Nostalgic
After his mother’s memorial service, Frank meets his family at a nearby restaurant.
Diner-style with woodsy influences, the Coyote Café isn’t one he recognizes – probably for the best. It’s been an emotional day for all of them, but especially for Frank. He’d been at his mom’s side for the final months of her life and, while he does not regret that precious time with her, the experience left him empty and haunted.
Truthfully, none of them are ready to go back to the house – their childhood home – and face the memories there. Doesn’t matter if Frank has been there all week – cleaning, packing, setting things in order… It feels different now, more real somehow, after spreading her ashes.
As he parks, Frank notes his oldest sister, Erika, is already standing out front. She holds her 18 month-old, Clark, on her hip while he busies himself trying to pull her necklace off.
“Just us so far?” Frank asks as he approaches, even though he already knows the answer.
“Yeah,” Erika gives a small nod, patiently removing her necklace from Clark’s eager hands, “Mel said they’d be here soon, but you know how that goes. No wait to be seated right now, if you want to go in.”
“Nah, you know I’d rather brave the wait with you and Clark Kent here.”
Erika rolls her eyes at her brother, but there’s no actual malice behind them.
Yes, her son’s middle name is Kenton – after his father (and Erika’s ex-long-term-boyfriend) Kenton Carson – but it will forever plague her that she didn’t recognize the reference to the famed DC superhero initially. And it’s no secret that Frank finds this tidbit absolutely irresistible.
Frank grins back at her, taking his watch off and wiggling it in front of his nephew. Delighted, Clark squeals and grabs at the watch; Erika has to shift slightly to accommodate his movement.
Their father, Zach, arrives before Melody, which nobody is very surprised about. They’re not upset either, though. Their family has always been relatively accepting of one another; a characteristic which has only grown stronger in recent years. For this, Frank is grateful.
Frank embraces his father warmly, and Zach pats his back with a heavy sigh. By the time he’s moved to greet his daughter and grandson, Zach has fresh tears in his eyes.
Even though they’d been divorced for the better part of thirty years, Dolores and Zach never stopped loving each other – not in the way that counts, at least.
After his mother married Frank’s late step-father, Randy, she never spoke poorly of Zach, nor did she try to hide the role he played in their lives. She would just smile, kiss Randy on the cheek, and say, “I love your father, but I’m much happier with Randy. Your father will be happier with someone else too.” Frank did not understand the knowing twinkle in his mother’s eye until some years later.
“Someone else” comes in the form of Jeff Jacoby, with his robust smile and kind, rosewood eyes. Frank can’t help but feel a little blindsided at the time, even if first meeting his dad’s partner brings a lot of things into perspective.
But a long time has passed now and Frank regards Jeff as family, squeezing him into a hug as he appears from the lot. Jeff’s son, Steve, trails just behind, holding the funeral program up to block the afternoon sun.
“Steven.” Frank nods at him, straight-faced.
“Franklin.” Steve shoots back dryly.
Then, they break out in their usual cheeky grins and hug tightly in greeting.
Frank watches his other sister’s white minivan pull up about ten minutes later. Five more minutes and Melody appears with her daughters – Emily, ten and Tiera, seven – in tow. She’d been running slightly late to the funeral service as well, so this is the first time they’ve seen each other today, apart from while accepting condolences from the funeral guests. Melody’s husband, Duncan Griffin, brings up the rear and takes their children’s hands as Melody pounces on her younger brother.
“Frankie!”
Frank jogs to meet her, and Melody is already an absolute mess of sniffles and sobs in his arms.
“Hey Mels.” Mid-embrace, he feels reactionary tears spilling down his cheeks. Nearer to each other in age than Erika, Melody and Frank have always been close and are both relatively gentle, sensitive souls.
“I-I j-just can’ b-belief she’s gone…” She buries her face in his shoulder, voice a muffled whisper.
Even though everyone in their party is now present, nobody rushes inside the café. They gather around Frank and Melody in a tight-knit huddle, allowing the two to cry for as long as they need.
–
Aside from Mel’s girls, who polish off a four-stack of chocolate chip pancakes, nobody really eats much at the café. It’s more about the experience – being together and supporting each other in a time of great loss. And, despite the undertones of grief, there is happiness as well.
It's a rare occasion when their family is altogether in one place.
Now that she's released her initial sorrow, Melody can't stop laughing – she shares "isms" their mom used to say, and the things she misses most, and unforgettable memories too – like that time in the second grade when she was supposed to bring fudge to share with the class, but she "taste-tested" so much the night before, she was home sick the next day.
"No one makes fudge like mom," Melody breathes, her smile bittersweet. Frank, Erika, Zach, and even Jeff nod in agreement. “And she made it for everyone – our doctors, teachers, clubs and sports teams…”
And then, for fear the waterworks may switch on again, Melody shifts too, "Hey, remember that time dad found out Frankie was sneaking off to see some boy instead of going to soccer practice?"
Now it's Erika's turn to laugh, "Remember it? I’ve never seen dad so furious in my life!"
She furrows her brows in feigned anger, sitting up straighter in her seat, "Franklin Isaac Brightman! Coach Lizbeth says you haven't been at practice for TWO weeks!" Erika holds up two fingers emphatically.
Even though she keeps her voice well below an actual yell (and they are the only customers in the café,) Zach groans audibly, burying his face in Jeff's shoulder. Jeff, in turn, pats his head; however, it's fairly obvious that he and Steve are snickering.
"Why doesn't your friend support you from the bleachers, instead of robbing the team of their star player?!"
Long-past a time when these memories can reopen any wounds, Frank laughs as well.
Yeah, he’d been good at soccer (the running part, mostly,) but not “star player” level or anything to write home about. Problem was, he just never particularly enjoyed it – having to slow down in order to juggle a ball between his feet. Even if he had, he was on the bench for most of the actual games (due to inattendance.) Frank never minded it much; he'd been more than content to watch from the sidelines, doodling his teammates in a hand-held sketchbook.
Though he values his physical fitness (and would later feel right at home on the high school track team,) Frank has always been more of an artist than an athlete.
Erika, having finished the Oscar-worthy performance, settles back into her chair and finishes off her glass of wine.
Melody, on the other hand, gives Frank one of her signature shit-eating grins; the kind that tells him he's not out of the woods just yet. "To be fair, this stinker didn't even tell me what he was up to, all snuggled up in the neighbor boy's clubhouse! Coming home this week make you all nostalgic?"
When Frank wrinkles his nose at her and grazes his middle finger across his eyebrow, Melody just grins wider and sticks her tongue out at him.
After the service – when Bill had approached him much like a tentative deer staking out a watering hole – Frank almost invited him to join them at the café. Almost. But he’d decided against it for this very reason…
Bill wouldn't have taken kindly to his family's teasing. Even after so long, Frank can tell Bill hasn't changed too much. The way he'd conceded to Frank's zealous embrace – not helplessly, but with astonished relief.
Frank can’t get the encounter out of his head. It reminds him of –
“STOOOOP!”
Emily screeches and yanks her head away from Clark, leaving a tangle of hair behind in his fist. Now crying, she slides under the table and soon reappears in Melody’s lap. Erika sighs heavily and lifts Clark out of the highchair; he’s crying now too, spooked by Emily’s yell. Tiera scribbles away on her paper menu while their mother comforts her distraught older sister.
Zach stands and excuses himself to the bathroom. After a beat, Jeff does the same.
Duncan offers to hold Emily. When Melody declines, he goes to check on Tiera instead.
Steve shrugs and makes a B-line for a claw machine near the restaurant’s entrance.
Frank seizes the opportunity and heads to the front to pay.
Except, Jeff is already there.
He gives Frank an artful grin and tucks the receipt into his jacket pocket. When Frank pulls out his wallet, starts sifting through his cash, Jeff shakes his head, “Don’t even think about it; tab's already paid.”
“Come on, Jeff – ”
But Jeff just holds his hand up. “Put it away.”
Frank huffs in discontentment, even as he stuffs his wallet back into his pants pocket.
Chuckling mildly, Jeff places his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “You’ve taken care of everything up to this point. It’s okay to take a break; lean on us for a while.”
“Yeah, I hear ya…” Frank slumps a bit, his eyes glinting with developing tears.
Jeff pulls him into a tight hug. “We all need a little help sometimes.”
–
The sun has just about set by the time Frank pulls into the driveway of his childhood home. Backlit by the eerie glow of dusk, the house’s faded-blue paint looks more like a dingy gray. Part of him – a larger part than he cares to admit – regrets not taking Erika up on her invitation to crash back at the hotel.
“You sure? There’s an extra bed, and Clark’s been sleeping through the night for a while now.” She'd tried, “I don’t like the thought of you all alone in that house, Frank.”
“I’ve been there alone all week,” He'd reassured her, “I’ll be just fine Erika, really. See you tomorrow. Okay?”
Frank switches the car off and lets his head sag back against the seat.
He’s not feeling so fine now.
There’s a heaviness to his limbs, an ache that he recognizes as fatigue. But Frank feels his heart dancing in his chest, and he knows sleep will not come easy tonight. As the remnants of sunlight disappear from the sky, the darkness summons all of his raw, bitter anxieties to the surface.
And Frank knows that his sister had been right – he can’t be alone; not now, not tonight.
He starts to turn the key in the ignition, but hesitates… looks up instead.
Bill’s house is dark in the distance.
They’d agreed on tomorrow.
But the exchange was brief, they were both so distracted. Frank realizes they hadn’t talked specifics, didn’t even exchange phone numbers.
He welcomes this new anxiety in, diverting his thoughts from darker places.
It dawns on him that Bill must be expecting him to knock on the door in the morning. They are neighbors, after all. If Frank knocks tonight, he may be imposing. Or perhaps, Bill is not even home.
Franks sits another moment, weighing his options. Surely, Bill won’t mind if he stops by for a few minutes, just to confirm time and place for tomorrow. If he even answers the door, that is.
And if Bill doesn’t answer the door, well… Frank can still just call Erika.
He slides out of the rental car and locks it, eyes glued to the neighboring house’s familiar silhouette.
Since he’s not planning to sleep anyway, Frank figures there isn’t any harm in trying.
He’s quick to make it to the house and climb the porch steps. However, instead of knocking immediately, he hesitates again.
Frank looks at the door, absentmindedly fiddling with his hands. The frame seems so small and (even though he knows it’s him who grew, not the door that shrank,) the experience feels surreal.
He takes a breath.
Unclasps his hands.
He lifts his arm and knocks in decisive determination.
And then –