004 Cleaning up
She hadn’t ever been to Ethan’s apartment until this morning. It’s been a week since the police had found his skeletal remains on the roof of the building tied up to a chair and charred to the bone. Only his dental records could identify him.
The last time that Sara spoke to her brother was about six months ago. Truth is, they never got along. They lived together for 22 years and when their parents died in a boating accident, they both took their inheritance and went in separate ways. Sara got married last year to Peter, who had been considering priesthood until he met her.
Sara is petite, bubbly, conventionally pretty, and at age 29 could easily pass for 21. Meanwhile, the seminary offered a lifetime away from such petite, bubbly, conventionally pretty women as Sara. Despite his strong faith, the choice wasn’t that hard.
Ethan came to the wedding and had visited Sara one more time since, just after they moved into their new house. They were amicable by then. They loved each other even. They just weren’t friends.
The police had done all they could with the place. Sara was there only to clean up. She packed the family photos and whatnot in boxes and put them in her car. The computer and the camera she also took. Searches through his wardrobes revealed little. He lived a very Spartan life. His fridge was practically empty. Only two things struck her as significant.
The candles scattered all over the place (most of them melted down). And the porn. Ethan, as it turned out, had quite an impressive (or decidedly unimpressive, as was the case to Sara) collection of skin mags. Everything from Playboys to hardcore. All carefully filed and stored along the back of his wardrobe behind his clothes.
There must be so much more she doesn’t know about him.
After around an hour there, Sara left having been satisfied that she had taken everything that she wanted. She had also packed all the magazines into garbage bags and discretely dumped them on the side of a road near a park on the way home. She felt better about things.
Later in the evening she went to a group meeting that the detective had recommended to her. It was called ‘Dealing with a loss’. Sara thought privately that ‘Coping’ would have been a better choice of word than ‘Dealing’ but she made no mention of that to the group. The venue was an old church hall in the inner west.
‘Hi, I’m Darren and my mother passed away 2 months ago.’
‘Hi, I’m Nina. My husband died from a car accident a few weeks ago. I don’t like to count how many.’
Most of the group would probably come only a few times. It was just an avenue to reach out, really. Some have stayed much longer. They come every week for months and months to cry and tell the same stories over and over again to a bunch of people they don’t know.
‘Hi, I’m Sara, and my brother was found burnt to death on the roof of his building. The police have yet to find who was responsible. And four years back, both my parents were killed in a boating accident.’
For a few moments, there was silence.
‘And Sara… how do you feel about that?’
When they broke up into pairs, Sara was approached by a solemn-looking man in his late 30s whose sticker said ‘My name is Max.’ He told her about how his sister had died of AIDS. Max spoke so lovingly about her that Sara began to feel a little guilty since she could hardly even let out any tears during Crying time. She was affected, to be sure. She just somehow remained so outwardly unemotional about it all.
‘It’s OK to cry.’ Max said as he was hugging her and stroking her hair. She was more hoping to hear that it’s OK not to.
After everybody else had left, Sara helped to pack up the tables and chairs with the therapist, Max and a man named Kwayne, who had been coming to the group for about six months now.
‘The important thing is to keep yourself busy’, said Kwayne.
Sara was thinking it hasn’t worked too well for him. Then felt guilty about it.
With the doors closed behind them, the therapist and Kwayne waved goodbye and left to their cars. Sara was just about to do the same, when Max stopped her.
‘It was really good tonight talking to you. I really feel much better.’
‘That’s really good to hear, Max. I hope things work out for you.’
‘For both of us.’
‘Yes. For both of us’, Sara said with a smile.
‘So I was wondering if you wanted to talk some more. It’d be nicer outside of the group environment… maybe over dinner or a coffee.’
‘Oh, I’m not really free. But thanks for the offer. I’ll see you around then.’ She turned to walk to her car.
‘Then perhaps another time?’ Max lightly grabbed her arm.
‘Um… I really have to go. My husband is waiting for me.’
‘Oh. Alright then. I guess I’ll see you around.’
Max smiled. A facial expression somewhere between embarrassed and annoyed. And then he turned to leave. Sara hesitated for a moment. She thought up three different possible scenarios for what had just happened before walking back to her car.
At home, Peter had prepared for her a bubble bath. She was glad he hadn’t gone with the scented candles as well. As he was preparing dinner, she got undressed, slipped in and closed her eyes. Sara suddenly became acutely aware of herself. In her own skin. And she was comfortable with that.
They had dinner mostly in silence. Peter told her that he had arranged for the funeral to be on Friday. Sara said to him ‘Thank you.’
The food was delicious, she thought.
‘How was your day?’ he had asked her. She said it was OK. Peter smiled, gently squeezed her hand and left the table to the kitchen.
Sara wanted an early night tonight. And after Peter had finished cleaning the dishes, he followed her up to the bedroom.
‘I’m sorry for putting you through this,’ Sara told him. She was already in bed. ‘You probably don’t even understand why since Ethan and I never even got along.’
‘No. Of course I understand. He’s your brother.’
‘It just feels like God is personally and systematically trying to assassinate my family… oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to…’
‘I wouldn’t let him harm a hair on your head.’
‘You mean God?’
He smiled and got into bed with her.
‘Dear, you’re a Catholic. Are you sure you’re supposed to say things like that?’ she teased.
Peter turned off the night light and turned to her in the dark.
‘I’m your husband. Of course I’m supposed to say things like that.’
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