Where we appreciate a few tears of laughter, too

I’m used to associating the sound of heels on the back deck stairs with special occasions of the refrigerator corsage, photos in front of the fireplace, breath-a-lizer variety. Because when else did I wear heels? I feel older when I hear that sound. I’ve been feeling older, in an unsettling, exhausting way, all week, after hearing from Jill that her dad died, making plans to go home for the funeral, realizing that I’d have to sit by myself at the church.

I made the no-mascara call before I’d even gotten out of the shower, but I’d also passed up one of those pocket-sized packets of tissues—the ones I go halfway through and then save in a drawer somewhere forever. I couldn’t find the drawer full of half-used tissue packages, so I rushed out the back door without any sort of drop cloth for my face.

I heard my own shoes on the deck and I thought about going back because I felt the nerves in the roof of my mouth trembling. I paused on the last step, pinching one eye shut, biting down on a chunk of my cheek, trying to tell if my nose would start to run, wondering “what was I thinking, no tissues?”

I got in the car anyway, after a moment. I don’t know how to attend funerals. I guess that’s lucky.

The ‘older’ feeling settled and faded later, at the Rumpf’s house. I felt like I was taking a dare when I splashed rum into my Coke. We studied a picture of our Girl Scout troop at our last meeting, our senior year of high school. I swear it seemed like I was looking at a photograph of something that hadn’t happened yet, because all the five years since then haven’t changed anything.

(Nothing important, at least—I’m glad I’m not still straightening my hair to the quick.)

I’d forgotten how quickly time passes in that house. Hours go by and I just assume that all the clocks are wrong because it can’t possibly be 5 or 8 or 11 already. I could hardly remember what all had gone on, I just knew that I’d been distracted, delighted, thoroughly warm despite that chilly thermostat setting for . . . hours, apparently.

By the very, very end, when I hugged and held on to Jill and her mom and then her brother at the door, I felt like my own clock had been reset. I sort of patted myself down, assessing my emotional state. Still older and still a little sad, but absolutely settled. Jill and her family and her home have always restored me to me. It’s comforting.

As I felt my way down the driveway, toeing for the path in my dress shoes, I thought, “didn’t I come to do the comforting?”