Taut: The Ford Book

For some reason this graveyard bullshit might be her line. And I might’ve crossed it.

I sigh and take the next exit, get off the f**king freeway, get back on going east, and head back towards Minturn. I look over at her and she’s smug and smiling. “Happy?”

She swings the foot of her crossed leg and her hands are in her lap again. She’s absolutely triumphant.

I backtrack few miles, then get off the Interstate and take 24 towards Minturn.

“Do you know where the cemetery is?”

“It’s Minturn, Ashleigh. It’s like Vail. You can’t get lost. It’s a strip of places along a road. I’m pretty sure the cemetery won’t be hard to find.”

“You small-town people are sorta stuck-up. It’s Vail, Ashleigh,” she says in a mocking voice. “I’m from the city. We have loads of cemeteries and if you take a wrong turn, you might end up dead in one before your time. So excuse me for asking.”

I like smartass Ashleigh, she’s entertaining. So I let her stew in her anger and defiance until I see the cemetery sign. “OK, I’ve had enough of your mouth. Just be quiet.”

I’m nervous, I think. It’s not like my dad is really here, but it’s meaningful to me. And I didn’t have a chance to prepare for it, so it’s all sorta rushing up at me at once. I turn the truck into the lot and read the signs real fast to see if there are rules. There are—no one after dark and that kinda shit. But nothing I need to know since it’s midday. “I don’t even know where he is.” The words are already out of my mouth before I realize how bad that sounds. My own father, laid to rest two years ago, and I have no idea where he’s buried.

“I can help you look if you want. What’s his name?”

I look over at her to see how serious she is, but her mood has gone from smartass to somber in a few seconds. “Rutherford Aston.”

“You’re a Junior?” she asks smiling.

“No, he was the third, I’m the fourth.”

She stares at me and then nods her head. “It’s a great name. I bet if you have a boy you’ll name him Ford too, huh?”

Would I? I have no idea. I don’t answer, just open the door and get out. “You can help look if you want.”

She grabs the baby and we take off in different directions. I head to the headstones that look new, but Ashleigh goes off towards the old ones. I wander around aimlessly for about five minutes and then give up and call my mom.

“Ford?” she asks when she answers.

“You know it’s me, the caller ID says Ford. Why do you always ask?”

“It’s possible you just did a butt-dial, Ford. Your calls are so sporadic, how should I know.”

I laugh. My f**king mom is such a freak. “I only did that once, like six years ago. Anyway, I’m up at the cemetery in Minturn looking for Dad’s grave, and I don’t know where it is.”

Total silence on the other end.

“Mom?”

“Sorry,” she says softly. “I’m just a little stunned.”

“I’m standing next to a giant angel with a trumpet in the center. Where do I go from there?”

She gives me directions and I find the grave a few minutes later and hang up before she starts crying. My mom misses him too and I bet she’s sorry she’s not here with me.

His headstone is not huge like you might expect for a man who was the heir to a massive manufacturing empire. It’s a medium-sized upright slab of polished black granite that is gray on the inside, so the lettering has a high contrast to it. It says Husband, Friend, Advocate on the top line, then FATHER in much bigger letters on the second.

My heart swells a little at this. Because I’m an only child so the stone was lettered this way specifically for me. Why didn’t I come for the funeral?

“Dad,” I say softly. “God, I’m so sorry.” I look up and Ash is watching me from the other side of the cemetery. She gives me a little wave and then turns away and walks back to the truck. “I’m so f**king sorry,” I say it again. These are the only words I’ve ever said to him since the accident. I used to say it a lot, but it’s been a while so it feels necessary.

“What would you say back to me, Dad? If you were here?” I try and picture him, standing in front of me. What he’d think about how it all ended. What he’d think about me not coming to say goodbye. I try to read his mind from across the vast emptiness of death and I’m not doing too well.

“Do you blame me?” I’d ask him that question first if he was here. “Because I blame me.” I stand there as the cold wind picks up and then bend down to look closely at the various things people have left at the grave. There’s a red and green wreath leftover from Christmas that says I miss you. The card is plastic and written in waterproof marker. It’s in my mom’s handwriting. She comes all the time, from the looks of it. How sad to lose the one person in life you loved the most. How does she get through her days?

How can she even look at me knowing that I was the one who killed him?

I let out a long breath and turn away. There are no answers in this graveyard. Just me and my guilt and my sadness. I walk slowly back to the Bronco with my hands stuffed in my jeans and my head ducked into the wind. Ashleigh is in the backseat nursing. I smile at her as I get in, trying to push down the feelings that threaten to overwhelm me. “Someone’s hungry?”