“White Lillies” by Mark Isaiah Phillips

White Lilies.

“That’s a stretch,” Gregg whispered to himself.

His sister had planned all the floral arrangements. She spent all week laying the groundwork for the service. The venue. The bulletins. A seating chart for the reception after. Gregg didn’t understand why there was a seating chart. It wasn’t a wedding. People didn’t need to hang around. Give them some snacks and drop the dirtbag into the ground where he belonged, for all he cared.

“Gotta have your fingers on everything,” he said. Louder than he thought he had.

“Sorry?” someone responded. An older woman sitting in the pew in front of him. She looked brittle enough to collapse under the weight of her black dress. Her hand trembled as she stretched it out and said, “Susan Knight.”

“Gregg Newton.”

“Oh, you’re Albert’s boy.” She smiled her condolences and pointed Gregg’s name out in the bulletin. 

“I am.”

“He was such a delight. We all sorely miss him.”

Gregg fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man had been a vicious drunk until five years ago. He could’ve shown scars to back that up but reminded himself that in less than two hours he’d be buried and gone. For good this time. No chance of popping up unexpectedly to be involved in Ben’s life the way he hadn’t been for his own children.

A decision Gregg wrestled with for some time before allowing his son to spend a few afternoons a month with his grandad. Under strict supervision. Nothing more than ice cream or a minor league ball game. 

“How did you know him?” Gregg reluctantly asked. He wasn’t nearly as interested in Susan’s reply as he was in breaking the awkward smile she wouldn’t let go of. The corners of her mouth quivered from the arduous task. 

“I think we met back in…”

He tuned out. 

Thirty-five minutes felt longer. Pastor McGowen read his message at the speed it would’ve taken Gregg to learn braille. Stammering his speech the whole time. 

If truth be told, Gregg thought, two words would sum up the man’s absent life. Single malt. And if those wouldn’t suffice, then heartless bastard would. 

After McGowen stepped away a procession line formed so everyone could get their last viewing, and send the man off with a few final words. Gregg had nothing to say. He lifted Ben so he could peer into the white casket.

“Is he sleeping?” Ben asked.

“I thought we cleared this up last night,” Gregg said. “Grandad is dead. He’s in heaven now, remember?”

Ben nodded but clearly didn’t understand. His concept of death lacked permanence. It was nothing more than a lost teddy out there somewhere in the great beyond. Stretching into forever on the other side of the fence.

“Let’s talk about it when we get home. Okay, kiddo?”

“Okay,” Ben said. His little fingers wrapped themselves around his reptile book. 

Gregg kept his eyes to himself, avoiding any conversations. Knots churned in his lower intestine. Was it the finger foods, or everyone’s ridiculous obsession with memorializing the dead even when they’d been horrible in life? Whatever it was crept closer to a point of no return, which would undoubtedly require half a roll of toilet paper. Not something he wanted to share in a public restroom. 

He left through a side door and cut through the grass to his blue sedan. Ben was buckled into his car seat. A three-step process Gregg had burned into his subconscious. Left strap, right strap, lap strap. 

Ben went to bed early. Gregg wasn’t far behind. Light rain bounced off of the roof throughout the night. Because of this Gregg couldn’t open the bathroom window when the inevitable gut storm came around midnight. His sister’s proud catering slid out like river sludge. 

In the morning Gregg got Ben ready for his mother. Haley was uncompromising. It had been the very quality that had initially attracted him to her, but eventually driven them apart. Gregg admitted it was better after the separation. He wondered if they were always meant to be friends.

She showed up late.

“I’m so sorry Gregg. I know I always yell at you for doing that. This idiot wouldn’t put his mask on and we had to sit at the gate forever.”

“What happened?”

Haley flared her nostrils and said, “They arrested him. Idiot.”

“Well it’s no big deal. We played a board game.”

“Not Monopoly, right? I swear you can have him for good if he ever asks me to play that stupid game. I just know they made it while laughing at the idea of families coming to blows on game night. Ugh. That awful suburban boredom.”

“What are you guys going to do this weekend?”

“Work. That’s what I’m doing. It’s stressful this time of year.”

“I’m sure Ben will love that,” Gregg playfully stabbed.

“I’m sure Ben will get all the ice cream he needs, won’t he?” She reached her hand down and rubbed his head. “Sugar-free, of course.”

Gregg waved his hands as if washing the responsibility away. 

“How was the service? I’d say sorry, but I know you. Probably sulked through the whole thing and didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“And say what? You’re all full of it?”

“What are they full of, Daddy?” Ben asked.

“Nonsense,” Gregg said. 

“My therapist says redemption is real, you know. So is regeneration. We all have darkness, Gregg. You know that. I know that. It’s amazing what a little therapy can do. Addiction is a daily battle. Hourly in some cases. Most cases. But it’s doable. People can change. And for the better.”

“I saw too much of his darkness to believe in any light a few years of church might’ve brought him.”

“I wasn’t talking about your father. I’m talking about you.”

Gregg twisted his face and jerked his head back.

“You’re bitter. When are you going to realize the chains you carry around aren’t even locked. You can walk out of them whenever you decide to.” She mimicked him.

“Well, my old man tied me up in them.”

“Yes,” Haley admitted. “He did. But you’re the one who won’t drop them. We didn’t work because you’re too afraid to admit you’re afraid. You blame a man you haven’t really spoken to in over a decade. Saying ‘great catch’ at a double-A baseball game doesn’t count. He showed up. He ate crow. Every day. For five years. And now you’re blaming a ghost.”

“Not enough rain to wash the sins out of his past.”

“That’s it. Keep thinking that way. I’ll show you, I’ll hurt me!”

“Man I just don’t know why we didn’t work out.”

Haley drew her head back infected with laughter and took Ben’s hand. She leaned in and kissed Gregg on the cheek saying, “I love you. Really do. You’re good, Gregg. Real good. You just have to let go. Let go, damn it.”

“Mommy said a bad word.” 

“Yes she did,” Haley said to Ben. “No ice cream for Mommy.”

“Love you too.” Gregg nodded and pulled his lips down. 

“Alright, Benny boy. You ready to watch Mommy work on her laptop for two days?”

Gregg smiled and closed the door. 

He could see his father sitting in the living room. Drinking down brown liquor. Yelling at whoever was close by. Neighbors. Referees on TV. Mom. Dinner was too hot.

“I’ll burn my tongue!” he growled. 

Then smack. Another hole in the wall. Bottles towards the TV. God forbid the Broncos lost, especially to the Chiefs. The old man had it out for Kansas. Raising a glass at every report of an F4. 

Gregg sat down next to him. He stared at the stains on his shirt. Sweat. Drink. God knows what else. All of it festering on the old man’s skin. Irritating his sides until he scratched at them like Poison Oak. His nails yellow and caked with years of picking at scabs. Fingers callused past the point of burning. 

Gregg felt heat rising in his veins. He wanted to reach out and strangle him, but he couldn’t. All he could do was remember. And he admitted he could never stop doing that.

About Mark Isaiah Phillips
He/Him/His

Mark Isaiah Phillips was born in Nashville, Tennessee. He has since lived in England, Japan, Zambia, and is now back in the US. He is an avid boxing fan who grew up in Colorado Springs, where his father pastored a small church. He loves the snow and hates the beach. Colorado will always be his home.