My sister told me my mother had been crying off and on all day. Her ex-aunt-in-law hit a deer about six in the morning and was killed. She probably hadn’t seen the deer until it was too late because of the thick fog like pea soup. There were no skid marks, only tire tracks off the road, through the shallow ditch, up the embankment, and into a stand of pines.
Aunt Gracie (we still referred to ex’s as aunts and uncles) was on her way to the bread factory, a place that emanated a yeast smell throughout the region, and where she’d worked for thirty-five years, not because of the pay, but because of the health care. The large doe had destroyed the front end of her Impala, was thrown up on the hood and went through the windshield, and poor Aunt Gracie never stood a chance.
All that detail had been shared with mother, along with the fact that Gracie was at the funeral home waiting on her only adopted daughter to drive in to confirm arrangements. Fortunately, Gracie had a funeral policy that covered everything, or she wouldn’t have had a casket, funeral, or an eternal resting place at the cemetery. In fact, it wasn’t clear what would have happened had she not had the insurance because her daughter couldn’t afford to pay it being a single mother, her working and trying to make ends meet as best she could. Perhaps, they would have simply cremated her, tossed her ashes out behind the funeral home by the swelling mound of soil from dug graves.
“Mother, why are you so upset? She divorced your uncle thirty years ago and moved off. He remarried and had children by his second wife”.
“Because the last thing I said was ‘Get the hell out of my house, you crazy bitch.’”
“Why in the world would you have said that?”
“Because your brother was a toddler and bit her daughter. Then, that crazy woman bit your brother. A grown woman reacting like that. She should have known better. I would have popped him for biting her daughter, but I didn’t even have time. Then she said to your brother, ‘Well, how do you like that? That’ll teach not to bite somebody.’ He was a toddler for Pete’s sake.”
“Well, I’ll admit that’s a little off, but why are you feeling guilty about it when it was forty years ago?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry for my behavior, but a mother is going to look after her child, no matter what.”
“I’m sure she moved on and forgave you.”
“Well, knowing Gracie, she forgave me, but she never forgot it.”
“You going to the funeral?”
“I doubt it. I’d have to rearrange my teeth cleaning and my hair appointment. You just about can’t rearrange because they are so busy.”
“I know.”
Niles Reddick is author of a novel, four short fiction collections, and two novellas. His work has appeared in over five hundred publications including The Saturday Evening Post, New Reader Magazine, Cheap Pop, Flash Fiction Magazine, Citron Review, Hong Kong Review, and Vestal Review. He is an eight-time Pushcart nominee and three-time Best Micro nominee . His website: http://nilesreddick.com/.
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