I’m a little prickly about my parents’ behavior, for sure. My brother was indeed a great hockey player and a good person, and I miss him so much. But those blindingly overarching compliments are nothing but a slap at me. My father never misses an opportunity to raise Brooks up to try to knock me down at the same time.
My eyes remain dry throughout the entire service, just as they’ve remained dry since the moment my father called me a week ago with news of the crash. Too many emotions pulling me in a dozen different directions to even process the finality of what’s happened.
I’m resentful of my brother, and it’s because my father has made me that way. Over the last few years, my father managed to single-handedly destroy my relationship with Brooks, and he’s apparently removed my ability to grieve or mourn his loss. I know that’s some psychological, twisted, fucked-up nonsense, but there you have it.
I’m relieved when the church service concludes. I would leave now if I weren’t a pallbearer for my brother’s coffin. So I do my duty and carry him to the hearse. I ride silently in a black sedan along with my parents to the graveside. The entire time they clutch onto each other and stare blankly ahead without even bothering to look at me.
Not once have they offered me any solace. Not even a hug when I arrived home here in Ithaca to be with the family at this terrible time. Not even an acknowledgment that I lost something too.
When we arrive at the cemetery, I help carry the coffin to the waiting grave. The priest and other mourners file around chairs lined up in front of the casket for the family. I choose to stand at the outer edge of the crowd, counting down the minutes until this is over.
The priest offers a brief prayer, and my father has a dramatic breakdown during the words meant to comfort.
Just before the casket is lowered, people file by to lay red carnations on top. I may have been mostly estranged from my brother, but I knew him well enough to know he would hate this.
My mother flings herself on top of the coffin and wails, and my father capitalizes on the drama by grabbing her from a semi-faint. All the while, the TV cameras are rolling because my father invited the reporters to this part of the service as well. I’m sure he’ll watch the footage tonight to make sure they got the best angles on his grieving face.
It’s all more than I can handle right now, so I pivot to leave. The day is cold and the brown, frost-covered grass crunches under my feet. I don’t bother heading toward the sedan that brought me here but intend to walk out of the cemetery and pick up an Uber for a ride back to my car at the church. I have to get back to Cleveland as we have a game tomorrow, and I’ve missed too much ice time as it is.
I make it no more than a dozen paces from the crowd when I feel someone at my side. A hand slips into the crook of my elbow, and I glance down to see my aunt Bethany. She squeezes my arm and does nothing more than walk along with me silently.
When we reach the main paved road, I stop because I know she’s not going to walk all the way out.
She tips her head back, and her kind blue eyes stare at me. “Are you sure you won’t stick around for the gathering at the house?”
The look I give her is one of gentle chastisement. “Why would I want to suffer that?”
Bethany’s smile turns sad. But it’s also understanding, because she, better than anyone, knows the mental abandonment I’ve suffered from my parents over the last few years. “Because you love your parents, despite the way they are, and you loved your brother more than anything, despite what your parents did to the two of you.”
She’s not wrong about that. Sometimes I wonder how I still have care in my heart for two people who don’t seem to have it in return for me. Deep down, I know my brother never wanted any of this and is not to blame. And yes, I loved him more than anyone in this world, just as much as I resented him.
“I can’t.” I glance back at the crowd for a moment and see that my father has managed to get my mom settled back in the chair. “This is probably the last time I’m coming home.”
She nods and sighs. “Then I guess I’ll just have to come visit you in Cleveland.”
“The door is always open for you.” I bend down and kiss her cheek before wrapping my arms around her in a bear hug.
While I forgive her for being my father’s sister, I also understand why she plays the middle ground. Regardless, she’s been a surrogate parent for me, and there’s not much I wouldn’t do for her.
Except stay.
“I love you.” I release her from the hug, and we stare at each other for a moment. “And I’m lucky to have you.”
“You always have me, Stone,” she replies, patting me on the cheek. She then turns and heads back to the grave site while I walk as quickly as I can toward the cemetery exit so I can leave this all behind.
♦
Yawning, I rub at my eyes. Only another forty miles to go until I get to my apartment in Cleveland. I chose to drive the five hours to Ithaca rather than fly for many reasons.
There was no connecting flight, and it would’ve taken me longer to fly than drive. I also didn’t want to be at my parents’ mercy for transportation, and I wanted my car available in case I needed to bail.
And admittedly… my brother just died in a plane crash so I’m a little jittery about flying.
Given the emotion of the last week, the funeral services today, and the long drive home, I’m exhausted to the bone and starving as well. I can’t remember what food I have in my house, but I’m too tired to stop by the grocery store. I also know if I get home and there’s nothing there, I’m going to have to go back out.
The choice is fast food now, or do I take my chances and go home to empty cupboards?
Before I can make the decision, my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but it’s from the Pittsburgh area code.
For a moment, I think about ignoring it, assuming it’s someone from the team to offer condolences. I know they’ve reached out to my parents on a few occasions offering to help in any way they can. My dad gladly accepted the organization’s offer to pay for the funeral expenses, even though I’m sure Brooks had insurance so that burden wouldn’t fall to them.
It was just another way for my dad to capitalize on the fame from this tragedy, proven when I saw a short interview he did with the local news about the generosity of the Pittsburgh Titans.
I connect the call, more to keep me awake during this last leg of my trip than anything. “Hello?”
“I’m looking for Stone Dumelin,” says a man with a deep timbre, unrecognizable to me.
“You got him,” I reply, trying to suppress another yawn.
“Stone… this is Callum Derringer.” That perks me up, and I sit straighter in my seat because Callum Derringer is a name everyone knows—former general manager of the Ottawa Cougars who was fired for failure to produce a winning team. “It’s not been released to the news yet, but the Titans have hired me as their new GM. I’m working closely with Brienne Norcross and a new coaching staff to put together a team to get back on the ice.”
I’m only momentarily shocked by this news. The plane crash was but a week ago, and many people are still mourning. We just buried my brother today.
But there’s a part of me that’s not surprised by the organization’s quick movement. I know the professional hockey industry well. While I might currently play in the minors for the Cleveland Badgers, I used to play in the majors. I was drafted from college to the Boston Eagles at the age of twenty-one where I played for a handful of years, even winning a Cup championship with them when I was twenty-three.