Pam of Babylon by Suzanne Jenkins Page A

baskets in the laundry room. He decided he wouldn’t wait for the cleaning lady to come; he started the washer right then. Later, he told his mother it felt so good that he actually looked forward to doing his own laundry after that. There was something about cleaning up, washing everything, that spoke of new beginnings. Lisa helped her mother rid the kitchen of any leftovers. Several bouquets of flowers were tossed, and all the sympathy cards were packed away.
    They scurried around, cleaning and straightening with the music on the radio turned up loud. Then they got into the Lexus and went to Shore Pizza and ordered a large pie, two-dozen hot wings, a greek salad, and a pitcher of Bud Light for Brent and Pam and a Diet Pepsi for Lisa. They talked and ate until midnight. When they got home, Brent dragged the twin mattress from one of the guest bedrooms and placed it on Pam’s bedroom floor. They needed to be together tonight. It would be the last time the three of them, what was left of their family, would be under the same roof for a long time. No one mentioned it, but they also wanted to be close to what was left of their father, his clothing and personal belongings all right there in the bedroom closet.
    In the morning, Pam got up and made breakfast for her two children. She and Lisa would drive Brent to JFK later in the afternoon. She could hardly stand the thought of it. While they ate, they tried to stay off the topic of Jack, but he kept popping up, and when he did, someone was bound to cry. Pam kept the coffee coming. Rather than reminiscing, this time around they spoke of the things their father would miss—college graduations, marriages, and grandchildren. It was this sadness of unmet expectations that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
    Finally, it was time for Brent to leave. He had to be at the airport by two. There wasn’t much left to say, so they turned up the radio and sang along, laughing at made-up lyrics. It was just the sort of thing their father would have done. They arrived on time, not parking and walking in with him, but dropping him off and keeping it brief. Pam didn’t think she could take a prolonged goodbye.
    Getting Lisa to Newark was harder, Pam wanted to take her, but six hours round-trip on a good day might be too much for her. She decided to take her back to JFK and hire a limousine. By Thursday afternoon, Pam was alone.
    When she returned to the house, she parked the Lexus back in the garage. The mail had come, and there was a paper on the porch. She wanted all loose ends tied up. She didn’t want to think about having one single thing to do. She locked the front door behind her and put her purse and the mail down on the kitchen counter. Then she proceeded to go through the house shutting every shade or curtain that faced the front or could be looked upon. She wanted privacy. She needed peace. She shut the shades in the unused rooms and the children’s rooms and closed the doors. If there was anything of Jack left in the house, besides the bedroom closet and the garage, it was the den. She couldn’t deal with that yet. Let it be . But she closed the shades and door to that room as well.
    The house was secure, and it was relatively neat. She went into her room, pulled the shades in there too, got into bed, and stayed there for the rest of the week.

14
    M arie gave her mother, Nelda, an ear full on the way home from Pam’s house. She was livid about the way she had been ignored at the funeral, like a nonentity, not given the opportunity to speak, and then afterward tossed aside like a chauffeur, not invited to stay with the rest of the family as she had all of her life. She hated being there anyway. It was obvious to her that Jack had left years prior to his death; there was nothing of him in the house now, nor had there been for years.
    Her mother was mortified. It was clear to her some jealous streak that lay dormant was rearing its head in death. Why now? Why it took