Chapter 77
We Who Remember

Every morning for nearly two weeks, Maya had awakened, early as ever, had spent some precious time with Elliott, had breakfast with Lucas and Pappy Joe, and then her grandmother had come to collect her before they headed to the hospital to be by her father's side as he lay on his deathbed. It had taken very little time for it all to become a routine engrained within her, so much so that when she woke again on Monday morning, for a brief moment, she forgot. She forgot about the day before, as though it was a thing anyone could forget about. How did one even forget that their father had passed away?

The memory came to her now, and so she allowed herself to lie back down after having lifted herself up just enough as to press her hands into the mattress to support herself and her center of gravity as it was nowadays, her belly rounded with eight months and some dust. Lying down again, her hand lightly tugged at her shirt until she could press, skin to skin, feeling under her palm and her fingers… She needed it, needed contact with her sweet Bee… as near to it as she could get for a few weeks still. How long she had yearned and feared for this little being, and just now it felt as though she had never needed it more, never needed to feel its movements as she did now.

She started to hum, nothing in particular, just something that might have brought her baby to stir, to make itself felt, and as the seconds drew on, a melody rose up from her vocal chords, still a hum, but… That lullaby again… She'd sung it to her son the night before, she remembered, but it was like she'd only been half there at the time, and now she was so present in her mind that the sound of those notes brought other memories, memories of her father, and suddenly it all came rushing out. She had been too focused on everyone else the day before, she couldn't… she wouldn't… But it was just her now, in her bed, and the tears, oh… they came like a flood.

Lucas had been across the hall, changing Elliott's diaper, and when he'd finished he'd set his boy down in his crib. They'd slept with him in between them the night before. It had felt like the thing to do, their family united so they might pass on what they could to Maya, hoping she'd find sleep, find rest. But then morning came, and Lucas had wanted to ensure that his wife slept on as long as she could, so he'd crossed the hall with their son. He was looking down at him, sitting up in the crib and reaching his little hands up at him, when the sound of Maya's crying reached him. Sparing one look back to be certain that Elliott was secure, Lucas moved back into the other room, sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms in what felt like a single, uninterrupted motion.

He'd known this would come, it had to, and still it broke his heart to feel her so torn up like this. There was nothing to be done for it except to keep holding her, to let her know that she was still safe, on solid ground, and he would not leave her to fly away.

She spent herself in tears, and sniffles, hiccups, until all she had was a breath in need of catching. In time, it did feel like the world was returning. It came in the feeling of her husband's hand on her back, in the press of his cheek atop her head. It came in the feeling of her unborn child moving in her belly and the sound of her son babbling away somewhere nearby. Her eyes searched for him.

"He's back in the nursery," Lucas quietly informed her, kissing her forehead. Maya turned her head up to look at him, and he brushed at those tears who'd yet to dry. Her face was a bit of a mess from crying, but it didn't bother him in the slightest. "Do you want me to go get him?"

"No, not yet," she replied, her throat feeling hoarse. "I don't want him to see me like this, and you…" she leaned to him and he understood. She didn't want him to leave her, so he wouldn't. "What time is it?"

"Just after nine," Lucas reported.

"I… I should…" she blinked.

"You don't need to do a thing, not today. Today, you need your rest, for your sake and the Bee's." She looked down, her shirt still halfway off her belly. She lifted it up again, set her hand there, and Lucas added his own. He wondered if their boy felt in any way distressed in there, for his connection to his mother. If that was the case, then hopefully he felt comforted now, as his parents sat almost huddled around him.

"Alright…" Maya had no choice but to agree.

"Are you hungry?"

"Getting there."

It wasn't long that Pappy Joe had come around, and once he did, breakfast was soon under way. He would probably have gone so far as to bring it up to them in their room, but Maya was compelled by the thought to finally get out of bed and head down to the kitchen after stopping in the bathroom to deal with her face. Soon, she was at the table, and Lucas brought her Elliott. She held their boy in her arms, their precious guy, and the feeling of him so alive against her… It was everything she could have needed in that moment. When he smiled at her, it rattled her heart and shook off some of the weight laid upon it.

For all this, it did not make the day suddenly and entirely without pain. It might have been that she could have gotten through it more easily if she had been able to move around, to do something more than to sit there, but it was as Lucas had said, and as she'd agreed. She needed to take this moment, take a breath. On one side of here there was everything which had come before, with the hospital, and all the time she'd spent with her father back when he'd been home still. And on the other… On the other side, there were her siblings, her family, who would need all the support they could get as they went through this next part.

The funeral… The thought of it was enough to send shivers down her spine, the thought of being out there, feeling her grief at its most public and then have people hovering about, looking at her, likely thinking 'poor thing, and about to have a baby, too…' It would suffocate her, but there was no way around it. The others, it would be so hard on them, too, the kids most of all… They'd planned it already, long ago. Kermit and Abigail had concluded that addressing it with the kids, making decisions with them, might help in the long run… for what little it would give. Any help would be welcome, wouldn't it?

Of course now that it was all going to be real, that the plans had to be put into action, how would that go? After having spent the day resting, Tuesday morning there had been no question about it. Lucas, Maya, Elliott, and Pappy Joe headed on over to the Hart house.

By the looks of it, the kids had found out their sister was on her way, as they barely made it through the door that they found both Wyatt and Eliza sitting on the bottom steps leading to the second floor. Wyatt shot to his feet and hurried over to Maya, who hugged him at once, as glad to see him as he was to see her. She looked to her little sister, still sitting there, looking smaller still than her nine years as she stared back. She was just… lost.

"Hey," Lucas greeted her quietly, after having passed Elliott over to his great grandfather. He moved up and crouched before the short blonde, who stared back at him with such a quiver in her face, every feature down to the smallest set on a trembling frequency. Lucas didn't even know what to say to her, didn't know what could possibly set her at ease. So, he just turned and sat down on the step, next to her, where her little brother had been a moment ago. It was good enough for her.

"Where are the others?" Maya asked her brother and sister. Wyatt pointed off toward the kitchen. Eliza pointed up the stairs. "Right…" Maya breathed, sharing a look with Lucas and Pappy Joe. How were they going to split this?

"I think this guy needs a new diaper," Pappy Joe informed them, tipping his head to Elliott. "I hear you're very good at that now, is that true?" he asked Wyatt, who confirmed it at once. "Alright, you want to show me?" And off they went.

"I'll go see if they need any errands run," Lucas went on, moving toward the kitchen. After a moment, Eliza stood and followed him silently.

"Yeah, okay…" Maya breathed, starting a slow ascent up the stairs in search of her other siblings.

She only found the one, as it would be found that Sam was downstairs, with his mother, his aunt, and his grandmother over in the kitchen. She did spy her cousins, as the Chen girls sat huddled on the guest room bed, watching a movie on what looked like Sam's laptop. Finally, she reached the door to her sisters' room, and there was Cara, lying on her bed, her back turned to the door. Maya tapped her knuckle to the frame, and when the girl didn't turn around, she went up and carefully sat on the bed before laying herself down at her side, draping her arm over her. For a few seconds, they stayed this way, and then finally she felt Cara take hold of her hand.

Cara had always been so similar to her. The easy first comparison came in their looks, in how the little sister resembled the big sister so much, and then there was their love of music. More and more now, as they'd been dealing with their father's illness and his impending passing, Maya had been left to see one more thing they shared. Of all her young siblings, she was the one who would feel it the most as she did, and there was no doubt in Maya's mind that even Cara realized it. Possibly, she had spent all of the day before waiting for her to come, and finally she was here.

When she finally turned herself around to face her sister, the twelve-year-old showed that resemblance again, in puffiness and red eyes that showed she'd been crying. Feeling an echo of earlier, at home, with Lucas, Maya cradled her sister's face in her hand, brushed at wet spots with a delicate finger. Cara seemed to recognize the signs of her earlier tears, too, and it landed somewhere between reassurance and resurgence, her eyes looking to well up again.

"I know…" Maya whispered, feeling a rise of her own, especially as her little sister bowed her head to embrace her nearer, holding on to her. "I know…"

The days that followed could only remind them of all those hospital days in the end. Even though they knew where it would all go in the end, they were less focused on this and more on just getting through from morning to night. Now, they were doing everything that needed doing in anticipation for the funeral, all the while seeming to push aside any notion of actually being at the funeral. It all felt very much like an endless chain, day after day, so much so that there was one night where going home just felt like too much, and so the young Friars spent the night at the Hart house.

When Elliott woke up in the middle of the night, Lucas took him up in his arms and headed down the stairs, sitting with him in the living room. As much as they kept telling themselves that he was so young, that he would never remember any of this, it didn't prevent him from sometimes looking as though he almost realized that something was amiss, and he just couldn't piece it together. The emotions in the house were so tangible these days, it felt impossible for him not to feel the slightest bit of contact sadness. Lucas would take it upon himself to ensure his son didn't linger so long in this spirit, even as he would do his best to achieve the same for his wife. And then…

"Eliza?" Lucas whispered, upon spotting the girl peering into the living room. "What are you doing up?" he asked as his young sister-in-law walked over to the couch and sat next to him. "Can't sleep?" She shook her head. "Yeah, neither can he apparently," Lucas told her, looking to Elliott, who at least looked happy to see his aunt. Eliza gave his foot a light shake in greeting. "Come here," Lucas lifted his free arm, and she came to rest against him. As he worked now to get both kids to sleep, it dawned on him that he didn't remember the last time he'd heard the young Hart girl speak.

After a time, he found that she'd gone to sleep, and he looked to his son to find he was just about there himself. Quickly debating how he might handle the situation, he carefully extricated himself, allowing Eliza's head to rest on a cushion without waking her before getting Elliott back upstairs. He returned again and found the girl still slept, so he lifted her into his arms and carried her up as well, back to her own room and her own bed, where he set her down and tucked her in. He was just about to leave, and then there was one blue eye open and staring back.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered, crouching and then sitting on the ground by the bed. "I'll wait." Eliza nodded and closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them again, like she wanted to make sure. So, Lucas reached over and set his hand on the mattress next to her. Eliza placed her hand on top of his and closed her eyes. Slowly but surely, he felt her grasp release as she drifted off to sleep once more.

Now Lucas wasn't sure how he was supposed to pull away without waking her another time. He couldn't spend the night here, could he? What time was it? He could just make out the clock over on Cara's nightstand. It was almost four in the morning. He looked back to the sleeping girl. She may not have been as much of a lookalike of Maya as Cara was, but there was definitely a strong family resemblance. He didn't know if it played a part in any way, all he knew was that he made no effort to dislodge his hand.

He woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows and opened his eyes to find he remained seated on the ground, sort of leaned to the side of the mattress for a pillow. His hand had fallen into his lap to join the other, but Eliza slept on. Meanwhile, there was Sam, standing in front of him with a look like he wondered why his brother-in-law sat there but had half an idea already.

"She couldn't sleep," Lucas whispered, pointing in Eliza's general direction before moving to stand. His sleeping position had done him no favors, and he was reminded of this at every small movement on his way to his feet. Looking at the time again, he could see it was barely seven, so he pointed toward the door and he and Sam headed into the hall. "Checking in?" Lucas guessed. By now he knew at least that Sam would get up early, the better to start on breakfast for everyone, even before his grandmother would get down there to do the same.

"Last couple mornings, I went downstairs and Eliza was asleep on the couch, so when she wasn't there this morning, I thought maybe she'd made it through the night in her room," Sam explained.

"No, I was there with Elliott when she came down so I brought her back up," Lucas explained back.

"Okay…" Sam slowly nodded. Lucas held his gaze, up until he looked away. He still struggled to let himself be what he was, to let himself be a fourteen-year-old boy whose father had just died.

"How about you? How did you sleep last night?" Lucas asked, and Sam looked back up. The circles under his eyes suggested an answer already, but it felt important to hear him say it. Instead, Sam just shrugged.

"I need to start the pancake batter," he moved past him and went down the stairs as Lucas looked on.

Letting out a breath, stretching out stiff limbs, he made his way back to the guest room to find Maya sitting in bed, holding Elliott while their boy looked back at her and kept prodding at her face with his little fingers. She looked pleased to let him keep doing this for as long as he desired it.

"I heard Sam out there?" she asked, making to 'eat' one of Elliott's fingers, which made him laugh and made her smile.

"He's going to make pancakes," Lucas nodded. He must have had his concerns in his voice for how she looked up at him. What could he do, right? What could any of them do, on this day of all days.

The funeral was the next day. Today… today, people would be coming over.

There had been some thought of returning to New York for the funeral, as many of the people who had known Kermit in recent and not so recent years lived up there, but then Maya couldn't fly, as late into her pregnancy as she was, and they weren't about to lock her out of her father's funeral. So, it would all be here, in Austin. Many of their guests had been flying in over the past few days and staying up at a hotel. One, of course, had been here slightly longer than the rest, though save for that one afternoon they had not seen him again, so there was no saying for sure if he hadn't just gone home.

But then just as they were finishing breakfast that morning, the doorbell had been heard, and when Sam had returned from the door, he was escorting his grandfather. Charles Hart had put on what was clearly his best suit, his church suit.

Silence hung over the room, neither side looking too sure of how to start. The old man continued to have a look about him that said he was making a genuine effort to be something other than what he'd been, much as it continued to be something of a work in progress. Now he had shown up, so early, which sort of suggested he did not want to make a scene, and even though he wished to be here today, as people gathered for Kermit, he was deeply aware that his presence might not be desired, and that it was likely to bring little more than disturbance, something he would not stand for. So, if they didn't want him to stay, he would say his part and he would be on his way. They would see him briefly at the funeral, and then he would disappear, back home, perhaps never to be seen again.

"Oh, Charles, just sit down," Elizabeth finally addressed her ex-husband, her voice loaded with the emotions she'd been trying to manage in the days since her son's passing. Here as before, back at the hospital, she could not bear to say everything that came to mind when she looked at the father of her children after all this time, but there was no doubt that it was all there, on the tip of her tongue, so it had best not be tempted out of her, not today.

Maya had been fortunate enough that she had not been to many funerals or wakes in her day, although this did not keep this day or the next from being the most strangely charged days she had experienced. A lot of people came and spoke with her, others would give her mournful looks from across the room… In time, it did get to feel like categories developed though. There were those who knew her most, and thus made her feel at ease, like her family and friends. Then there were those she didn't know all that well personally or none at all, and those tended to split off one way or the other. Some were very nice, entirely proper, while others… Some of them clearly thought themselves to be well intentioned but ended up saying things that left her searching for the best way to respond while remaining polite. Others made little to no effort to hide what they felt on certain subjects, enough to make her wonder why they'd bothered to show up at all.

By the time they all sat for the service, she was just exhausted, mentally, emotionally… She wanted nothing more than to go home. But they had to get through this part still, didn't they? Abigail went and spoke, as did Elizabeth, and Maya, and Luna, and Sam, and Cara, who ended up reading her own words and Eliza's, who wouldn't go in the end.

Last of all, Charles Hart stood. They could hear a pin drop as he went up, his cane clicking along in the quiet. As he came before those gathered that day, he looked understandably ill at ease for a few moments. Of all the things Maya had been hearing that day, from that inappropriately vocal subset, while a lot had to do with how Kermit had abandoned her and her mother all those years ago, other whisperings were going around regarding Charles Hart and his son, some of them looking to side with the father's decision, others condemning him for it. On any other occasion, Maya believed, Charles would never have stood to speak before anyone, would not have wanted to make a show of himself, especially with people talking about him. But… this was the occasion, and this one demanded something of selflessness. No matter how sad or awkward any of them felt, they had to stand, for Kermit.

He reached into his jacket pocket, from which he pulled the small notebook, the very object which had brought him almost clear across the country to be here today. His hands gave the slightest tremor as he opened it, there to find one page in particular. He reached again in his pocket, now retrieving a pair of glasses he slipped on to his face before clearing his throat to speak. This took another moment still, as he seemed taken with his son's words on the page, his handwriting. With a breath, he read aloud.

"I've been thinking a lot, Dad. I've been thinking about one day in particular. It was the day I found out I was going to be a grandfather for the first time. I'd already been ill for a while. It came and went, but every time it came again, it felt like the world was trying to tell me something. For as long as I was a father, all I ever wanted was to be the best one. I didn't always get it right, but I tried. Fatherhood was the best thing and the scariest thing that ever happened to me. I'd let people down before, and that was one thing, but the idea that I could ever let my kid down, the way I was let down by you, I never thought that would be me. For the longest time, I couldn't look my own daughter in the eye, and because of that I missed out on so much of her life. I wanted to make up for that, while I still could, but I didn't know how. What could I ever tell her that would let her trust me again?

"And then one day I learned that my daughter was going to have a child of her own. And I remembered the day I found out I was going to be a father. And I remembered the day I told you that you were going to be a grandfather. Whatever expectations I may have had of how you'd react, you forcing me out was not one of them. We'd had our differences, you and me, we argued, but you were my father and I loved you, and I knew you loved me. I never questioned that, not until that day. And that look in your eyes, it was burned in my mind. It came to me, when I would least expect it, and it scared me in ways I couldn't explain. Most of all, it made me afraid to think that might be in me, too, that I could ever be like that, to my own kids.

"But I was going to be a grandfather, and whether I had earned the title or not there would be this little boy or girl out in the world and it finally gave me the push I need, to suck up my pride and go to my daughter, to congratulate her, and maybe find a way back into her life.

"I will have gotten a little over a year back with her by the time I'm gone, and I hope she knows that, even with the sickness, with my death hanging over my head, it was one of if not the best year of my life. I have never regretted the fifteen years I missed half as much as I did in this time. Twenty-two years. That's how long you missed, and if you ever read this, it will probably be after I'm gone, so you won't get your miracle, not like I did. I fought for mine, but I don't know if you'll ever reach for yours. I know you thought so little of me, that I wouldn't make anything worthwhile with the life you gave me. But I did, Dad. Maya, Sam, Cara, Eliza, Wyatt… Whatever I was or I wasn't, especially to them, these kids are what I am proudest to say I helped create. The fact that you don't know just how great they all are, that's on you. That's your loss, and you don't even know."

As the words echoed to an end, silence regained the church, save for a few whispers here and there, and near the front a few barely contained sobs. If the letter had not been enough, to find it spoken in the voice shared by both father and son could only heighten the moment.

"I don't do so good with public speaking," Charles Hart now went on. "If something was important to me, I wrote it down." He paused, looking to the book in his hands. "I got to see my son before he passed, because I was sent these… his words. He was right. He was right," he repeated, like a confession, a burden surrendered. "There, and in every other thing he wrote down on these pages." He stole a look to his granddaughter, sitting in the front row with a protective hand atop her belly, held her tear-blurred gaze for a moment. "I saw him, one last time. I didn't know what to say to him. He couldn't speak. But he reached for my hand, and I gave it to him. I didn't earn a thing, not a damned thing, but he gave it anyway. In spite of having me for a father, my son was a good man, to the last."

TO BE CONTINUED

See you next week! - mooners