Abide, Abide, Abide

Chapters 11-13 of Snowbirds, a serialized novella-in-flash by Margo Rife

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After the funeral, Aunt Doretta, dressed in pink and lime Lilly Pulitzer, sells Mother on moving to Florida. My aunt sets this in motion by replacing our Plymouth with a Chevy Impala convertible, though Mother is not the top-down type.

When my sister hears of the move, she locks herself in the bathroom. She has a boyfriend up North.

I don’t expect to fit in with beach living because I can’t handle the sun—two ugly peeling burns already. How can Mother expect me to give up fall? There’s no burgundy in Florida.

My aunt picks us up for church. She favors the fashionable Evensong service at Bethesda-By-The Sea. So here we are—forced to be fashionable. I miss our old neighborhood church where Dad was in the bowling league.

Father Don greets us with twinkly eyes and a perfect tan. Oxblood dress loafers peek under his black robe. I head to a back pew and hear him express condolences to Mother in his soft southern accent.

After the eucharist, I sneak out and climb the bell tower. The view is spectacular. Below there is a reflecting pool with orange koi. The perfect lawns at the nearby Breakers Hotel are lit up. The sky over the ocean is indigo. On cue, the bell tower medley plays a familiar hymn.

“Fast falls the eventide, the darkness deepens, Lord abide with me.”

Abide. I’m not sure what that means but it instantly calms me. It sounds solid. After my dad’s death, our lives have been like walking on sinking sand. Abide sounds patient. Fast falls the eventide as one little star winks at me in the darkening night saying: abide, abide, abide.

Deep End of the Ocean

I tuck my dad’s ashes into my Tinkerbell backpack and ride my bike to Lake Worth Beach. The sand is still hot as I sit and wait for the Florida sun to set. The ocean is calm and no posted shark warnings.

I slowly wade out past the sandbar. When the ocean water reaches the bottom of my backpack, I unzip it and retrieve the sealed baggie with its solemn contents.