‘What is that?’
Saying yes would be wise, get out of my head, stop thinking about Corabelle. But instead of heeding my own advice, I put Mario off and pulled out my ancient laptop, wondering if a web search might help me locate her.Corabelle Rotheford had plenty of hits, mostly hometown articles. National Merit Scholar lists. A piece on where students were going to college. I saw my name with hers, saying we were going to UCSD, before we realized we couldn’t. The article had been right in the end, because now we both were.
I scrolled through, looking for anything more recent. Corabelle had worked in the admissions office at New Mexico, it seemed. She was quoted in some article about student employees by the school paper. Seems strange she would leave a university where she had such a great job and contacts. I remembered the fear that crossed her face on the first day we talked in the stairwell. If someone there had tried to hurt her, I would hunt them down. Anger flared through me. I had to get to her. Had to find out about the years we lost. We could fix this, I knew it. We were meant to be together.Only one more link was about her, before the searches were for different people.I didn’t want to click on that last one, but I did.
Finn Grayson Mays, infant son of Gavin Mays and Corabelle Rotheford, died on May 9, 2009.My eyes burned. They hadn’t run a picture. Corabelle didn’t want one, since they all had tubes and wires on him, except for the last few, after they turned off the machines.
Finn was born May 2, 2009, in Deming, New Mexico. He is survived by his parents and his grandparents Arthur and Maybelle Rotheford and Robert and Alaina Mays of Deming.
When I saw my father’s name, I closed the link. He’d been at the funeral all right, jovial, relieved, and when he told some member of Corabelle’s church that at least the kids didn’t have to get married now, I asked him to leave.When they were gone, I laid my head on Gavin’s shoulder. Is there something we should say to him? I asked. Maybe something easy?
We love you, Finn. We wish you could stay with us. I picked up his hand and extended the fingers topped by tiny fragile fingernails. Daddy would have taught you how to fix a carburetor.Except that cars have fuel injectors now, Gavin said. Mommy wasn’t good at cars.
I tried to laugh, but it caught in my throat. Well, by the time you were grown, it might have been hover cars.You still would have to have been home by midnight, he said, then kissed my ear. We know all the trouble you can get into after midnight.