Chapter 6 Mom just won’t talk Art: One evening after supper, the five of us sat around the kitchen table looking over some of the two hundred or so photographs Bob and I had spread out as part of the articles of arrangement. We all laughed and pointed to some of our favorites, even after all these years; time couldn’t wrest them from our minds. Suddenly, Bob says, “Mom, what’s wrong? You haven’t uttered a solemn word since I brought you back home.” I thought he spoke rather harshly and gave him my evil eye. Arlene sat sobbing with her head drooped and her wavy auburn hair hiding her sullen face. I felt sorry for her, but probably, I didn’t know the whole story. Abruptly, Bob slams his fist on the table, rattling bones not his own. He stands quickly straightening his legs, thrusting his chair backward thumping it against the worn vinyl floor; ditching us in a fit of rage. It was so unlike him to storm off like that. I followed; I had to question him as to what was going on. I said, “She is your mom for crying out loud. You upset her! Remember she is the whole reason all three of them are here. You wanted this; to see them, talk with them, and even love them again. Now, this is a whole new circumstance you didn’t plan on, I hope you have an answer.” Bob: “I just wanted all of us together one last time. I thought mom would claw at the chance to come back home to be with her mom and dad… and me; but I don’t even know her, and she hardly remembers me. I thought she wanted this! She appeared to me in haunted dreams, and I even caught a whiff of her perfume as I sat in this very kitchen, steeped in prayer night after night. Maybe it’s just the shock of this weird and absurd situation, hopefully it will get better? You’ll see she’ll adjust; she’ll have to. I can’t return them, the state police are closely watching the cemetery, it would be impossible! Besides, Grammy and Pappy like it here, so they avow. I know just what to do. I’ll carry Mom up to her room and position her on the bed, covering her with the hoary quilt. It will give her time to hash things over, albeit in an empty skull, but that should solve our problem. What more could she ask for, right?” Art: About two hours later as I was passing by Arlene’s bedroom, I overheard muffled sobbing coming from underneath the quilt Grammy had stitched years earlier. It was beautiful. A true keepsake and a colorful piece of artistry; I must say… it reminds me of the relics which we collected and scattered across our kitchen table. It has odd pieces of clothing patchwork embroider on to it, extracted from everyone in the family. It has fused these family members together once again. Later that evening, a cloud of doom enveloped our house of dread. Being the panic-driven soul that I am, forced me to seek out the safest room of the house, the kitchen. That’s where I finally ran into Bob… talking and joking with Grammy and Pappy. I told him how his mom was behaving. He said that he had an idea. “Meet me across the road on 973 east early tomorrow morning. There is a small 1700’s cemetery located on the hill by the woods. We will dig three fake graves and place headstones on each one. It will buy us more time with the authorities. They will think that I just wanted the family members buried closer to home.”