I heard her voice before I saw her. It had been a few years since I had seen Julian Rose. I think the last time was three Christmas' ago, so, almost four years. She had been nine then, and her voice high in both pitch and spirit. Now her voice was lower, both in pitch and spirit. I stepped around a corner into the kitchen and saw Rose and Julian Rose sitting at the kitchen table, talking. Rose was on the side facing my direction, so when she saw me she stopped talking and looked in my direction. Julian Rose, whose back had been to me, turned and saw me. At first, I saw a bit of Amy's fierceness in her brown eyes, but that was soon consumed by the look of depression she had inherited from me. She had Amy's eye shape, but it was me that definitely shone out from behind them. She had Amy's nose and chin, but my mouth and eyebrows. Her hair was a rough brown like mine too. If she stood next to Amy, you'd know she was Amy's daughter, but if she stood next to me, the same could be determined. There was definitely my spirit glowing out of her, she even had my sense of humor. But now, for this moment, we just stared at each other, no brilliant words of greeting or urges to hug each other coming to either of us.
"How was the trip?" I finally managed to ask. Julian Rose nodded.
"It was okay," she said in the same low voice that she spoke to Rose with, only now there was an element of shyness to it.
"That- that's good. How are you, Rose?" I asked, moving my eyes from my daughter to my ex-mother-in-law.
"I'm holding up."
"That's all anyone could ask. How are you, Julian Rose?" I asked, a little nervously.
"Confused," she replied and my own confusion grew to such a large degree I could no longer hide it from my face.
" 'Confused?' "
"I'm confused why my father is a neurosurgeon, and my mother dies of a brain tumor!" she yelled and ran from the room. I let out a loud sigh and lowered my head to look at the floor. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, where my skull turned into cartilage. It was definitely me behind her eyes.
I stood in front of my hotel mirror picking tiny bits of lint off my black suit and tie. When we had been married, Amy wouldn't let me go outside unless my clothes were lintless. I know that isn't a word, but I don't feel like coming up with something that is real but makes less sense. I thought, for some reason, that if my suit was clean for her funeral, she'd know I would never forget her, and would try to pass some aspects of her to Julian Rose, if I could.
Julian Rose…. I know very well that look on her face when she said those things to me. She didn't blame me, not at all. I knew that, she knew that. She needed someone to blame though, and her now living with me was pulling her away from her friends, so I was the most likely target. It made sense, it was perfectly logical. In the past four years she's severed enough strings from me to feel comfortable in blaming me for Amy's death. It is a logical thing for her to do, I'm proud of her for coming to that conclusion; it was the best decision. So why do I feel like shit?
It was probably the look in her eyes. I don't mean the me that was behind them, but the Amy that was in front of them. Amy had always contained the ability to look at me, and make me feel like an A-bomb had just exploded inside of me. She must have passed that down to Julian Rose. Why that of all things? Probably because it's the most effective thing I've ever seen. Amy should have become a lawyer; she'd win every case. I'd say the same thing about Julian Rose, but I try not to set up something in my mind that'd I'd like her to become. Whatever she does become, I don't want to be disappointed in it. I want to back her in anything she wants to do, with no hidden disappointments. I suppose some day I should try and tell her that. Dammit.
I glance over at the red numbers on the hotel room digital clock. Clocks like that haven't been made in twenty years. Another sign of Everwood's journey into the present. Amy's wake began fifteen minutes ago. It'll take me about ten minutes to get there, then I'd stay for the funeral, which was in an hour. Jesus, Amy's funeral. That gives me a foul taste in my mouth. She had always been so full of life. Yet, as sorry as I feel for the loss of Amy's life, it's Julian Rose that I feel sorry for the most. Walking in and finding her mother laying lifeless on the ground. That must... what a feeling…. I have no horrible image of my mother burned into my mind, not like Julian Rose. That day will haunt her, forever. I should probably get myself ready for nightmares and random fits of crying. I need to buy a lot of tissues. Nice and soft ones, not the cheap kind.
I walked kind of shyly into the very large room. Despite the size of it, only the front half of the room was occupied, because that's where the open casket was. Incisions had been made on the back of Amy's head where they found the tumor, so when laying on her back, as she was, you couldn't see the informative threads. What do you think about a man who walks into his ex-wife's wake, and the first thought that comes to him is brain surgery?
When a group moved away from the casket, I walked over to it and looked down at her. In four years she had cut her hair so it came down just to her chin. When I first saw her, it had come to the small of her back. That was almost thirty years ago. The makeup that had been placed on her face was the type of makeup she would never wear, and the solemn expression plastered there was an expression she would never wear. I sighed deeply and bowed by head.
"Elmaley rachamim shochen bamromim, Hamtzey menucha nechona tachat kantey hashchina, Bemaalot kdoshim uthorim kezohar Harakeea mazhirim, et nishmat Amy Hart Shehalach shehalcha lolama, Baavur shenadvoo tzedaka Bad hazkarat nishmata, Bgan ayden thay menuchata, Lachen baal harachamim yastireha Bseter knafav lolamim Vyitzror bitzror hachayim Et nishmata, Adonai hu nachalata, vtanuach bshalom Al mishkava, Vnomar. Amen," I said and looked up at her. I sighed again.
"What was that?" a voice asked from next to me. I looked down and saw Julian Rose standing there, looking at her mother's lifeless face, her cheeks red from a thousand tears.
"The Mourner's Kaddish, well, part of it. It asks God to protect her soul," I told her. By now, I was an Atheist, but it was still tradition. Amy was Catholic, not Jewish, but, my mom believed it did something, and I knew it, so it couldn't hurt. Julian Rose nodded her head, still not looking at me.
"I'm sure Mom appreciates it," Julian Rose told me. I sighed slightly, so she couldn't hear it, and looked back at Amy.
"If I had known, nothing could have kept me from helping her. I would have given anything…" I reassured her. Julian Rose bit her lower lip, holding back tears.
"Yeah, I know…" she said. At that moment, a moment that may never come again, all was right between us.