All Creatures Great and Small

And so another issue is temporarily tabled and life as we know it continues.

I get home that night and engage in the normal routines. Dinner is in the oven courtesy of Hil following the directions in my note. Pat is almost done with a project he wants me to look over before he prints it. Trinket is flying around the house in her usually happy-to-see-me fashion. And then Lars calls.

He speaks with each child as I begin to check phone records for prior calls. I doubt that he has learned much. And then, he asks to speak to me. Oh, joy of joys. What now?

I greet him like it's a business situation. (That is not actually far from the truth.) He begins to act all weird and secretive. Asks if the children are nearby and can hear me. (Yes, moron, Hil just handed me the phone. How far away can she be?)

I walk away and tell him I am at the top of the basement stairs with the door closed behind me. He has no idea this is where I used to sit with coffee and boo-hoo about my unraveling life with him to my mother, sister, girlfriends, telemarketers, etc without being heard by him.

I tell him I am in The Cone of Silence. He has no idea that I am making a joke at his expense.

I am wondering what all the secrecy is about. Cat's out of the bag that he's engaged. Maybe Liza is pregnant. Dear God please let's not let it be that. One more spawn of Hell itself and surely the world will stop spinning on its axis. OMG, maybe his mother is dead. Immediately "Ding! Dong! The witch is dead!" begins to run through my head. But really, he's much too composed for THAT to be it. When his mother finally bites the dust, that is when the shit will hit the fan in all the colors of the rainbow. All the unfinished business and unresolved issues and various emotional landmines will all fly into the atmosphere creating a mushroom cloud for all of us to choke on.

No, maybe it is her recovering alcoholic, don't-hate-me-because-I-was-physically-and-emotionally-abusive-to-you-as-a-child-and-forcibly-wrenched-your-mother-from-your-life-while-you-still-needed-her second husband. Perhaps he went down for the dirt nap? Now that would be loads of fun to experience. What would his mother do with her double-wide and no Driver's License in the Highway Capitol of the Nation, California?

Maybe Liza and Lars have call it quits? The children have practically wagered bets on the shelf life of their marriage.

No. Sadly it is none of those juicy, front page of the Star stories. Instead, it is Mr. Whiskers. Hil and Pat's pet guinea pig. He evidently passed away over the weekend. The kids will be heartbroken.

I ask what happened. I have met Mr. Whiskers. As guinea pigs go, he was darling. Very personable and very engaging. A fat little squeaker who joyfully welcomed you to the room, even if you weren't bearing gifts of timothy hay or green pepper.

Lars says he'd not been feeling well and died the day before. I am instead imagining that he left the cage open in a stupor and his dog or Liza's dog sized him up as a snack. I supposed I'll never know the truth. And he's already buried the evidence.

Lars wants to know if he can pick up the kids and tell them. He's willing to abide by our agreement and let it wait until they return to him on Friday. I can only imagine Hil returning from school to find Mr. Whiskers' cage empty. Of course I acquiesce. Of course, they have no idea why Lars would be picking them up, and have absolutely no interest in going. I tap dance around the change of heart.

They go and have a lovely graveside service for Mr. Whiskers. Hil paints a seashell blue and paints his name and a cross on it. He is buried in the backyard where they can visit him often. Lars bought some flowers and the kids said a prayer. All the hallmarks of closure are achieved.

But this is just the beginning for Hil. Her grief for Mr. Whiskers seems to spill into a larger more profound grief, and we begin a week filled with tears, the origins of which I will spend weeks trying to understand.