Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Twenty-Four (Role Play Edition)

 

You’d managed to beat the worst of the impending snowstorm last night, but not by much. Thankfully, the forecasts don’t expect any more snowstorms for the rest of the weekend. The memorial service doesn’t start for another two hours, but you’re already showered and dressed so you figure you’ll set the table for later.

 

You grab a bunch of paper plates from Gran’s pantry, and you can’t help but notice how they’re vibrating, but only because the hands that are holding them are trembling. Truth be told, you couldn’t get much sleep last night, and you guess you’re still quite a bit shaky from the near accident yesterday.

 

Just remembering the way you felt when your car swerved like that is giving you a serious case of goosebumps. How the hell would you have even explained flipping your car over or swerving into a pole to Gran, and on a day like this, no less? The fact that you almost crashed your car on your way to a memorial is ironic to say the least, and only makes you think of how fickle life can be.

 

You grumble as you set the stack of paper plates on the dining table right next to the pile of gorgeous porcelain china ones that Gran stubbornly insists on having out for the guests. You think it’s completely unnecessary, and will ultimately be a pain in both your asses, but all she keeps saying is special occasions call for special silverware.

 

In her defense, and even though you don’t want to admit it, you guess she is right. Even though you personally don’t think the guests deserve to eat off her valuable china—especially since the set had been one of her prize wedding gifts all those decades ago—but at the end of the day, it’s her china, her house, and the memory of her husband you’re celebrating. She has the final say, so you try to keep your reservations to yourself and go along with it.

 

You look over the table and sigh at just how much food and silverware is all over it. You try not to think about how annoying it’s going to be to clean all of this up after hours and hours of forced conversation with your “guests” preceded by even more hours at the memorial service in the church.

 

You also try not to think about what it will be like when you and Danny see each other. You completely know what to expect from Jennifer so you’re sure there won’t be any surprises there. You still find it interesting that even though they’re both your half-siblings, you’ve never even for a moment thought of Jennifer as your sister. You can’t see yourself calling or even thinking of her as ‘Jen’ the way everyone else does. Danny and you, on the other hand, had been close at one point in time, or at least you thought you had, but that’s obviously changed—drastically—and now your relationship with him is just like it is with his older sister; non-existent.

 

“The original Gallos,” they call themselves. Well, Jennifer does, anyway. You know she does it to spite you and your mother for “stealing” their father from them, never mind that he was your father, too.

 

Danny’s never explicitly said the phrase himself, at least not to your face, but he’s never exactly disagreed with her on the matter, either. Heck, you’re not sure he’s ever disagreed with her on anything—especially anything concerning the “second-hand Gallos”.

 

Whatever the case is between you, you just hope you can all be civil, if only for today. You really don’t want any drama whatsoever, especially not now that you’re contending with this thing going on with your stomach and the financial issues it’s posing. You have more than enough to worry about as it is. You definitely don’t need any more problems added into the mix.

 

***

 

You glance at your watch and it stares back at you, telling you it’s exactly 11:00AM—and also time for the memorial service to start. From the corner of your eye, you see a couple who you’re pretty sure are the last two people coming for the service trickling through the main entrance of the church just as the pastor motions for you to rise. They both nod at Gran and you in acknowledgment as they walk by you, offering a pair of sympathetic smiles just before taking their seats.

 

You look around and see that there are only about twenty or so people in attendance, including the priest. You can’t help but notice how small the gathering is. It’s considerably smaller than you’d expected it to be.

 

You’re kind of surprised that more people aren’t here considering the hundreds of people that had attended his funeral, but to be honest, you’re glad it turned out this way.

 

You also can’t help but notice that Danny and Jennifer aren’t here either, though considering everything that’s happened, you suppose you should have expected it. But, hey, you’re not complaining. Really, you’re not.

 

 To be honest, you’re glad they’re not here. You can use as much peace of mind as you can get right now, and being around those two—especially Jennifer—would only serve to spike your blood pressure. And you sure as hell don’t need that. Not today. Not ever. But especially not today.

 

The service lasts just as long as you suspected it would. They play all his favorite songs and some of his own original works on the church organ and on his second favorite violin. He wanted to be buried with his first, and you’d honored his request at the funeral.

 

Toward the end, all of his friends each say a few touching words and you learn a little bit more about the great Sylvester Gallo through their reminiscing, although Mr. Dickson decides, as usual, to give one of his extra-long, presidential-wannabe-type speeches. He just keeps going on and on and on, and you can’t help but zone out after less than a minute of listening to him. It’s almost like a reflex at this point.

 

He does the same thing at pretty much every single event he attends—from funerals and memorial services, to weddings and children’ birthday parties. He’s one of those people who just really loves hearing himself talk. You’re sure of it. Even grandpa couldn’t stand it when he went on his many tedious, overzealous tangents.

 

You see a few people yawn intermittently, signaling that you’re not alone in your disdain for Mr. Dickinson’s unwanted word-marathon.

 

You absently look around the church again, eyeing all the figures haphazardly scattered across the wooden benches. There really isn’t anyone your age here. Not even close to it. Most attendees are grandpa’s former colleagues and friends.

 

You admit, it is kind of lonely with no one here you can really relate to, but you guess it’s okay. You’re just glad no one has shown up claiming to be his mistress or common-law wife like that disaster at the funeral last year.

 

She’d sworn up and down that her name was Felicity Gallo, formerly Felicity Truman before her supposed marriage to grandpa. You still have no idea if even the former had been her real name, seeing what a lying snake she obviously was, but we’ll just call her Felicity, anyway.

 

Felicity—a pretty, tall, and slender, almost model-esque thirty-two year old woman—had walked up to Gran, politely offered her condolences, and then ever so calmly proceeded to tell Gran that she was grandpa’s wife and had married him the year before, and therefore was legally entitled to all of his money and possessions. She even came lawyered up, walking side by side with a thirty-something year old man who looked much closer to her age than your grandpa ever could. You was more than willing to bet that they were fucking.

 

You’d been standing right next to Gran when it happened, and you almost couldn’t believe your ears. The next thing you knew, Gran swung at her, and ended up getting a real good grip on her hair, yanking it in a hundred different directions. Felicity was screaming, trying to get away from Gran’s unrelenting—and obviously very painful—hold on her.

 

Witnessing that had been one of the most shocking and out-of-this world things you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. A part of you still can’t even believe that it had actually gone down. Gran had been absolutely furious, and in her grief-driven rage almost ripped all the blonde hair follicles right out of Felicity’s scalp.

 

You’d never seen your grandmother so angry before, but it was completely understandable that she would be. She had been angry with and disappointed in herself for losing her composure in front of so many people, especially on a day that was supposed to be about mourning her late husband and finally putting him to rest.

 

You understand that she would be, but again, you couldn’t blame her. You don’t know what you would have done had you been in the same situation. Being faced with a woman making such outrageous and utterly disrespectful claims right after watching your life-long partner being lowered into the ground forever is more than anyone can bear, especially all in one day. I mean, Gran’s only human for crying out loud. Even the most patient and tolerant people have their breaking point.

 

And speaking of breaking points, you’re damn close to having one of your own if Mr. Dickinson doesn’t end his damn speech right this instant!

 

Thankfully, in her usual graceful and tactical way, Gran manages to “help” him wrap things up a lot faster than he would if he were left to his own whims.

Soon after, the service is over, and you all head back to Gran’s house.

 

***

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