Elizabethtown

Missing scenes by Ecri

It was the third day of my two-night stay when I finally admitted to myself that this was going to take a little longer than I'd thought. The plan was being altered, but there was still a plan.

These people were my family, and, though I'd given them no reason to think I might ever see them again, none of them were giving me any last looks. I could not remember ever having met them, yet they acted as if they knew me. They acted as though this were another in a long line of visits. Maybe they knew me through him. They made reference every so often to things they could only know if my father had talked about them, and they acted as if they loved me—and maybe they did, for my father's sake.

I could make no sense of it.

Failure clung to me like a second skin, warm yet clammy, uncomfortable, yet familiar. I was consumed by it, and yet, they somehow didn't see it. They thought I was successful. The entire world thought that and would think that until Sunday.

They seemed to know so much and some of it was right; that my father had taken me fishing when I was nine and I'd caught twice the fish he had. Some of what they knew was wrong; that we were from California.

These people were my family, yet I didn't know them. There were pictures on the wall of my father that I'd never seen. Pictures with the familiar figure of my father, Mitch Baylor, yet in unfamiliar places and with unfamiliar people. I didn't know my father, not the way these people seemed to. I couldn't recall the last time I'd been home for my father's birthday, Father's Day, Christmas. What had I gotten him for Christmas last year? Why couldn't I remember?

So my list of failures grows. I am a failure as a son.

Am I a failure as a brother? I am certainly one as a nephew, a cousin, and uncle. I also came to realize on the plane ride, between visits from Claire, that I was a failure as a suicide. Why had I answered the phone? Why hadn't I just gone ahead with my plan?

I shook my head. Didn't matter. There was still a plan. I would succeed in killing myself as soon as I sorted this last thing for my father.

Drew Baylor sat in Aunt Dora's kitchen feeling like a stranger and yet also like family. Uncle Dale, Charles Dean, and Bill Banyon had just stepped onto the porch with their beers after a long night of arguing the details of the memorial service. He wanted to leave, to go back to the hotel, to call Claire…and yet, he didn't have the energy to do more than just sit there.

"Don't pay them any mind, Drew, honey. They're just trying to help." Aunt Dora slipped into the chair beside me and placed a plate of sticky buns in front of him. He laughed, but it wasn't a joyous sound. "Why are you always trying to feed me?"

She smiled. "It's what I do. Food and family add up to memories. I want you to remember us when you go, Drew."

"No worries, Aunt Dora. I'm not likely to forget these days."

She put a hand over his and he looked at her surprised at the hint of tears in her eyes. "You won't forget these days because of your daddy. I want you to remember us. Will you do that?"

"I wouldn't forget you, Aunt Dora."

She smiled at him. "Listen, honey, I know it hasn't hit you yet that your Daddy's gone, but it will. When it does, I want you to remember you can call us anytime to talk about him and you're always welcome to visit…" She stopped. Her words just faded as though she hadn't the wherewithal to continue.

He could see she was choked up, but he had no words, so he did what he thought his father would do. He smiled, leaned toward her, and hugged her tight, like he would never let go. In that moment, he thought he might not. In that moment, he was six years old and in need of some comfort of his own. His mother was having a meltdown in Oregon. His sister was trying to cope with that on top of her own grief and a baby who didn't understand what was going on. He had tried to call Ellen, but she was obviously through with him. Claire was all he had right now. She had talked to him. She had come to his rescue. She was on her way to Hawaii.

Even though he loved speaking to her, she was even more a stranger than this house full of family. He needed his mother. He needed his sister. Yet, even they had no idea…if Heather had called a few minutes later, he never would have gotten that call. A shudder, almost violent in its intensity, moved through him, and he pulled back from Aunt Dora in embarrassment.

Her eyes were moist, but she stood quickly and poured a cup of coffee for him. "I hope you'll stay for dinner tonight. I'll fix anything you like. I'll make macaroni and cheese, and Chili dogs…" at his puzzled look she asked, "Isn't that your favorite?"

"It was when I was 9."

Her face fell, and he chided himself for not going along with it.

"…and I'm feeling really nostalgic."

Dora smiled. "All right then. Comfort food it is."

He returned her smile, and as she set to cooking, he helped. Slicing, dicing, misunderstanding, laughing, and swapping stories about his father…As they laughed over a story she'd told in which his father, helping Dora make breakfast, had managed to toss the egg shells in the pan while tossing out the eggs, his eyes snapped to hers, and he had to say it. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You were right. Food and Family add up to memories. Thanks for this one." He was surprised to realize he meant it.

She smiled back at him. "That's the nice thing about memories. Everyone gets to keep the same one if they want it."

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle grief. I wasn't sure where I'd heard that, but I wasn't sure if I was even handling this grief at all. Everything had a temporary feel to it…a delayed sort of surreal dreamlike quality. My father's death had saved my life. I'd thought that on the plane. Now, it just feels like he needed me to perform one last duty. Live up to one more obligation. I can't help but think I'm messing this up, too.

Mom and Heather are coming. I was supposed to handle this for them. Bring him back so we could grieve and move on. Now, they're coming here…to a town where Mom never felt welcome and where Mom's pictures were conspicuously absent from the walls of the family archive that was Aunt Dora's bedroom.

As I waited in the lobby of the Brown Hotel for their taxi to pull up, I kept thinking about Claire. She'd said she'd come to the Memorial if she could make it. If she could make it. Those words were an escape clause. If she couldn't make it, she wouldn't even have to call me to explain because she hadn't promised to be there. So…she probably wasn't coming.

The thought sent my heart sinking down to my toes and I wondered at that. It had been up and down so much over the last few days, I was feeling more than a little unbalanced, but I couldn't help but wonder at this new puzzle.

If I were really going to kill myself, why would the thought of never seeing Claire again devastate me? Not that I was devastated…

Maybe I was. It's so hard to tell.

Mom and Heather arrived then, and we fell into our own little world talking in the short hand of long acquaintance and hugging like we wouldn't let go. I led them to the room they'd share, filling them in on the arrangements, listening to Mom's fury over Bill Banyon's involvement tainted by a decades long distrust and dislike of the man. I assured them that I'd been treated well, admitted to a few oddities among the Kentucky branch of the Baylor family, but really didn't dwell on anything I thought might stoke the flames of Mom's discomfort.

They had time to freshen up and change before we adjourned to the ballroom. I knew I'd have to bridge the distance between these two women in my life and the rest of the Baylor family. I could only hope I wouldn't fail at this, too.

Standing in the ballroom, soaked to the skin as the rest of the family runs for the doors and the smoking remains of what I suppose was a free bird, I felt a twinge of failure…until I caught sight of Claire. I couldn't help but smile at her as she shook her head and all but laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

Heather, too, was smiling, looking up at the falling water as though a cleansing rain were falling rather than a sprinkler system deluge putting out a preventable fire.

I was glad I'd left Claire's "unique map" out by the door. The ordeal was almost over, and I could use that map to escape. Escape the Brown, escape Chuck and Cindy…escape everyone thinking I'm some great success.

It wouldn't be long now.

Running through the Second Largest Farmer's Market in the World scanning the crowd for a red hat and a familiar blonde head, I realized for the first time that there was something to live for. Really, a lot of somethings. Claire was the first step to putting my life back together, thought it wouldn't be a reconstruction of the life I'd had. It would be new. It would be a life and not an occupation. My only problem was I couldn't find her.

I moved faster and faster, knowing I ran the risk of missing her completely, but unable to slow down.

It was when I saw her…saw the smile…that whatever had been going off track with my life—unnoticed—for literally years before my fiasco finally clicked back in place. I mean I really heard it and I felt it, and somehow I had her in my arms and I knew death was not a choice. This was about Life. My life was undergoing a metamorphosis. The Drew Baylor that had flown into Louisville, KY was not the same one who had arrived at the Second Largest Farmer's Market in the World. I was free, and I'd never felt more so than while spinning around with Claire held firmly in my arms, though that was nothing compared to what I felt when we kissed.

He listened to the phone ring wondering if he'd feel better if the machine picked up or if someone actually answered. Just as the fifth ring started, it was snatched up and a breathless voice called out. "Hello?"

"Hi...Aunt Dora? It's Drew."

The change on the other end of the line was instantaneous, and Drew smiled as his mind's eye conjured an accurate picture of what was going on.

"Drew, honey, how are you?"

Drew imagined her taking a seat at the kitchen table...in his memory she was always in the kitchen. He could see her smile, cheerful and contagious.

"I'm f..." he hesitated over the words that seemed hard to say since his fiasco. He swallowed. "I'm fine. I..."

"Drew, is something wrong? Are your mamma and sister all right?"

"Yes," he assured her hastily. "They're both just...fine. I...look, I know it's been awhile..."

"Honey, you just say whatever's on your mind. No need to feel awkward. We're family."

Family. He'd thought a lot about that. Especially recently. "I was wondering if you'd heard about my..." what? Fiasco? "The sneakers...I was wondering if you'd heard about them. I didn't want you to think I was keeping secrets or anything..."

The moment of silence unnerved him, but when she spoke, he heard something he didn't expect: love.

"Yes, we heard about that. All Lena and I could think was that it was a wonder you held up the way you did with all of that going on."

Drew laughed, but there was little humor in it, and it felt watery and tear-filled. "It was sort of surreal, I admit. I didn't want you to think..." he stopped for a minute unable to continue. What didn't he want her to think? Why had it troubled him so much that they might think he'd lied to them? He didn't know, but it did. "I mean...I wasn't intentionally lying to you all. I didn't want you to think I was a fraud."

"There's no way on earth I could consider you that, Drew Baylor. No one here considers you a liar or a fraud. Let me tell you something, you handled yourself with dignity and integrity, and there's nothing for you to be ashamed of. And if anyone ever hints at such a thing in my hearing, they will get an ear full from me! You are nothing but a dear, sweet man who's had a bad time of it lately." He could imagine the concerned look on her face. He could see her shaking her head. "I don't know how you managed. I know we're strangers to you, honey, but we're family."

The way she said the word, you'd think family was the answer to everything. Maybe it was.

"Thanks, Aunt Dora."

He wasn't really sure what to do. When he'd called, he'd had it in mind to say what he'd said, but he knew even then it was an excuse. He wasn't sure what had happened to him in Kentucky. He suspected it had something to do with Claire, but it could also have had something to do with his frame of mind. He hadn't told anyone about his plan to kill himself. Not even Claire, though he'd broadly hinted. He didn't know how he was going to rebuild his life. He didn't know how he was ever going to go on a job interview again, aside from practical considerations, (he'd thrown out most of his clothes!) there was also the fact that he couldn't face it. Everyone knew what he was...what he'd done, or rather failed to do.

The silence was obviously a concern to Dora as well. "Honey? Drew, are you still there?"

"Yes..."

When she spoke again, it was in hesitant, soft tones. "Did it hit you yet?"

He smiled and sighed at the same time. "Yes. On the way home. Somewhere in Missouri, I think."

"Oh, honey, I wish you hadn't been alone when it happened."

"I wasn't. Dad was with me."

He heard her smile.

"I'm sure he was, darlin'."

"Aunt Dora, I was wondering, maybe I could stop by sometime..."

As though it were all she was waiting to hear, Dora jumped on the suggestion. "Yes! You're welcome anytime! We'd love to have you. Whenever you can work it out! You can stay here at the house..."

Drew laughed, and this time, there was a hint of happiness in it pushing through the sorrow. "Thanks. I'll do that. I have to find a job first, but I'll do that." He debated telling her about Claire, but that was too new, too fresh. He hadn't even told his mom, but she suspected anyway. "I'll call you soon, Aunt Dora. I...don't want to lose touch." He wasn't sure what his mother and sister would say, but this was for him, and with Claire living so close to Elizabethtown, he was sure he'd see a lot of his father's...of his family.