Julie Hyzy - Eggsecutive Orders

My mom always had a way of looking at the positive side of everything. Even when I didn’t feel like it. I couldn’t shake the sadness, but I wanted to let her know her efforts were appreciated. I traced a finger around on my table top. “Thanks.”

“I would like to take that trip to Arlington, though.”

I glanced up. “Of course.”

“Now you have plenty of time to show us around Washington.” Her eyes were bright and her smile just a little too fixed. She knew how much their trip meant to me. She sensed my disappointment and felt sorry for me. And that made me feel even worse.

Taking care of others always worked for getting my mind off my troubles. If I couldn’t control the White House kitchen, I could at least take steps to improve my mood. “You got it,” I said, standing. “Let’s grab Nana and go.”

Nana took that moment to come into the kitchen. Wearing blue jeans with turned-up cuffs, a black fanny pack, and a sweatshirt that read I ♥ WASHINGTON, D.C., she looked from my mom to me. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”

We took the Metro to the Arlington National Cemetery stop and made our way to the bright visitor’s center. Sunlight poured in through the skylights, spilling onto the floor around us, and dappling the potted ficus trees. I was willing to bet they designed this place with extra cheer to help dispel sadness. It worked-to an extent.

“Let’s take the Tourmobile,” I said, grabbing an information brochure. “It’s pretty reasonable, and we can get off and reboard wherever we like.”

My mom placed a hand on my arm. “Will it take us near…?”

I nodded. “I know just where Dad’s grave is. We could probably walk to it,” I said, “but I’m sure you’ll want to visit some of these other sites as well.”

“Don’t think I can manage it, do you?” Nana asked. She smiled, but I sensed a tiny bit of hurt in the question.

I pointed in the direction of Arlington House. “I know you want to visit President Kennedy’s grave, but that’s an uphill walk,” I said. “That, and the fact that there are more than six hundred acres to explore are just too much for me. But if you really want to walk it…”

Telling her I had a hard time making the trek up to Arlington House was stretching the truth a bit, but I knew we had a lot of ground to cover. Literally. The Tourmobile would allow us to enjoy the journey and maybe even learn a little bit from the narration as we traveled.

About fifteen steps away from us, a young man stood, staring out the windows by the front door. He worked his jaw. Handsome guy, from what I could see. Something about his profile seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I was very good with faces, but I knew that until I got a direct look at him, I wouldn’t be able to make the connection. I wondered if he was here to visit a grave, or just to sightsee. I bit my lip. I sensed a familiarity, but at the same time, a vague negativity. Whoever he was, he reminded me of something unpleasant. I turned away.

Nana spoke. “No, we’ll take that bus of yours,” she said with a grin. “I wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself.”

My mother studied the pamphlet I’d given her and eyed the information desk in the center of the room. “Do you think they’re having any funerals?”

“ Arlington averages twenty-eight funerals per day,” I said.

They both gasped. “That many?” my mom asked. “Will we be in the way if we take the tour? I don’t want to intrude on anyone’s grief.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said. “Let’s just not take any pictures of people visiting graves.” I turned toward the east wing. “How about we hit the washroom before boarding?” I asked, moving that way. “There won’t be any others on the tour except-”

I stopped short when a woman emerged from the washroom. She was instantly recognizable: Ruth Minkus. She made eye contact with me as she skirted past and I couldn’t help but notice the hot, red rims makeup couldn’t hide. Ruth gripped a paper tissue in one hand, holding it close to her heart, and I held my breath, hoping she didn’t know who I was. Instinctively I turned to watch the young man who had been staring out the window walk up to her. He took her arm. “You okay, Mom?” he asked.

Joel Minkus and his mother looked exactly as they had on television last night-except yesterday they’d seemed smaller, and somehow less real, less flesh-and-blood. And as much as I had been worried about Carl Minkus’s death, and felt for his family, I had been insulated-at home, away from the immediacy, the fierce reality of their grief.

My mom touched my shoulder. “Ollie,” she said in a whisper, “isn’t that-?”

“Yes,” I said, turning away from the twosome. “Let’s move over there by the trees. We’ll be out of the way.”

Nana had bypassed us to disappear into the ladies’ room. “Damn,” I said, then addressed my mom. “You wait here for her, and I’ll meet you…” I looked around, trying to decide whether I should say something to Mrs. Minkus. I didn’t want to apologize, because I knew I wasn’t responsible for her husband’s demise, but as one of the players in this drama, I felt almost compelled to offer my condolences.

But what, exactly, should a person in my situation say?

My mom hadn’t left my side. She whispered again, “I think she recognizes you.”

I turned. Ruth Minkus was staring. The red-rimmed eyes now blazed with anger.

“Oh, God,” I breathed, turning back. I gripped my mom’s arm and guided her toward the washroom. “Go on,” I said. “Take care of Nana. I’ll find you.”

I attempted to slink to out the side doors, keeping my face averted, but an exclamation behind me caused me to stutter-step. “You!” Ruth Minkus shouted. “You’re the chef!”

Her voice echoed loudly, and I wasn’t the only person who turned to see her pointing at me. I closed the space between us, hoping she would lower her voice-hoping the horde of tourists milling about the visitor’s center wouldn’t recognize us. Hoping they would turn their attention away from our imminent and, undoubtedly uncomfortable, conversation.

“Mrs. Minkus,” I said, offering my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She backed away from me, horror-stricken. “You killed my husband.”

I don’t know whether I was more shocked by her accusation or more relieved that she’d at least spoken quietly. I answered fast. “No,” I said. “That’s not true. I didn’t.”

“Mom,” Joel said, stepping between us and keeping his voice low, “Please.”

Ruth whirled toward him. “She killed your father.”

“Nothing’s been proven yet.” He shot an apologetic glance toward me, then placed his hands on her shoulders and made her look up at him. “Let’s not make a scene. Please? Dad wouldn’t want that.”

Her posture slumped as her gaze dropped to the floor.

Joel stole a look at me. “I’m sorry,” he said, shifting to stand next to his mother. He kept one arm protectively around her. “We’ve just come from visiting the site where my father… my father…” He faltered, then cleared his throat. “Where my father will be buried. My mother wanted to see it. To make sure…” He cleared his throat again, then shook his head slightly, as though berating himself for providing explanation. He turned to Ruth. “Come on, Kap is waiting for us outside.”

Ruth grimaced, still looking at the ground. I couldn’t tell whether she was reacting to Joel’s mention of the grave site, or of “Kap.” To me it seemed the latter. I was about to make a hasty exit, expressing condolences once again, when my mom and nana appeared, flanking me.

At almost the same moment, an older gentleman stepped up to take Ruth’s free arm. He was tall and fit, with deep crow’s-feet at his eyes, and a full head of white hair that picked up glints of light from above. While he was clean-shaven, he had the look of a man who probably needed to use the razor more than once per day. I put him at sixty-five, but good-looking enough to turn the heads of women of all ages. “You were in here so long, I was worried.”