By Tess Callahan
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Rather than wrestle a brush through her windswept hair, she lets it be. The church doors are locked, so she sits on the cold stone steps and waits. Since the accident she has lost grasp of time. She asked that the hearse meet her here because she couldn’t bear to go back to the funeral parlor. Finally, carloads of people arrive. They are teenagers mostly, with hip-hugging pants and thrice-pierced ears, yet their faces, shocked and raw, give the impression of children. The funeral mass and the drive to the cemetery pass like someone else’s dream.
He has muttonchop sideburns and smells of liquor. He gives Oliver a skeptical look before crossing the street and lying down on a bench beneath the trestle. Oliver glances up at April’s window once more, hoping he has made a mistake. Maybe he copied the address incorrectly from his father’s book. He doesn’t want her to live here. He retreats to his car. Perhaps she went to a bar, he thinks, the one where she works, or someplace to be alone. The traveler on the train platform opens an umbrella, useless against the mists that drift sideways and upward on currents of air.
They did wonders on Buddy. Except for the subtle waxiness of his skin, April might have thought he was only asleep, and would bolt upright at any moment to laugh at the mistake. ” She jolts. Bernadette stands outside the bathroom. For a moment, April sees only the hound’s-tooth, a pattern that plays tricks with her eyes. “Oh,” April says. ” “No,” Bernadette says. April gathers her purse, glancing around for her brush. She feels completely scattered. Bernadette, on the other hand, strikes April as the kind of person who rarely misplaces anything.
April & Oliver by Tess Callahan