I, Gracie

by Sharon Sala

  She had a few Cokes left and snagged one of them, then she carried her food to the kitchen table and sat down in front of the fan, turned on the TV, and watched a talk show as she ate. She was almost finished when she happened to look out the kitchen window and froze.

  There was a lone coyote standing just inside the fence separating the prairie from the back yard, just staring at the house.

  "What the hell?" Gracie muttered.

  Coyotes weren't known to be active in the daytime, and to have one come this close to an inhabited house was suspicious. She hoped to God it wasn't rabid. That's all she needed.

  She stood, and when she did, the coyote saw her movement inside the house and tensed. She walked to the open door. With only the screen door between them, she still felt challenged, and it pissed her off.

  She pushed the screen door open and stepped out. When the door slammed, the coyote jumped and ran sideways toward the barn, then stopped and looked back.

  "What?" Gracie yelled.

  The coyote didn't move.

  She walked to the edge of the porch.

  "Get your mangy ass off my grass," she shouted, and raised her arms up over her head.

  The coyote tucked tail, ran under the fence and out across the prairie, disappearing in the dry grass.

  Gracie stomped back into the house, the screen door slamming behind her to punctuate her shock. And even though it was hot as hell, she shut the back door and locked it. Logically, she knew no coyote was going to try and break into her house, but she was unnerved that this had happened.

  She cleaned up her lunch dishes, and as she did, she began to rationalize.

  This damn place was all but empty.

  There were no animals on the property.

  And people rarely, if ever, ventured beyond the back porch.

  With her mama gone, the nightly crazies had ended, and lights were out early. With Gracie coming and going so much the last two days, they could be excused for thinking the place was unoccupied.

  It was curiosity, and nothing more, but it tempered the high she'd been riding—an omen of what would evolve here with the coming abandonment of their home.

  After putting her load of laundry in the dryer, she carried all but one of the suitcases to the front door.

  The only thing hanging in her closet was her new dress and shoes to wear to the funeral. She would wear a new pair of shorts and a t-shirt for traveling. Beyond that, she had no other plans than to get out of Sweetwater. Wherever she lived, from this day forward, there would be green and trees and water in abundance. She would be cool in the summer, warm in the winter, and do as she wished, when she wished.

  She'd been thinking to go northeast, toward Missouri. It had mountains, and forests, and rain—lots of rain. Maybe to Branson. There should be jobs galore in a place that thrived on tourism. She nodded. That was her new plan.

  Daphne arrived at her motel in Sweetwater a little after 2:00. She would have arrived sooner, but she’d had to stop and throw up halfway there, and then pulled into the next truck stop afterward to get Seven-Up to calm her stomach.

  Nerves.

  She'd been this way her whole life.

  If she had a crying fit when she was a child, she threw up afterward.

  If she was anxious, or upset, she threw up.

  And here she was again, not even the day of the funeral, and already losing her fucking mind. Lord, Lord, Lord, what sins she had wrought, her belly was paying for.

  When she parked and got out, the heat enveloped her. She'd forgotten this—the feeling of being smothered—and made a beeline inside with her bag in hand.

  As luck would have it, the clerk checking her in at the front desk was someone she'd grown up with. She braced herself for the recognition.

  "Daphne Dunham. I have a reservation," she said, and slid her credit card across the counter.

  "Well hello, Daphne. It's me, Andy Walker. I haven't seen you in years. My sympathies to you. We all heard about your mama's passing."

  "Thank you," Daphne said. "I don't suppose James or Mamie are here yet?"

  "I'll look," Andy said, and typed their names into the computer. "They both have reservations, but they haven't checked in."

  Daphne nodded. "I'll see them later, then. I just want to get to my room."

  "Yes, of course," he said, then ran her card and gave it back. "You'll be in room 420. Here's your room key. Our breakfast buffet hours are on your paperwork. Good to see you again. Enjoy your stay."

  Daphne took the key and headed for the elevator. As soon as she reached her room, she dumped her bag, then went back down to her car and drove straight to the Sonic for a cold drink. She was afraid to eat for fear she'd throw up again. But she needed to settle her stomach before she went to the funeral home. There were things she needed to say to Mama that she didn't want overheard.

  A few minutes later, she was sitting in a stall at the drive-in, sipping a cherry limeade, and absently watching the coming and going of customers, wondering why she felt it necessary to go to the funeral home to spill her guts. Her mama already knew what she'd done.

  She took another sip of the sweet-tart drink and sighed. The truth of it was she needed to see Delia Dunham's face. To know she didn't have the wild, crazy look in death that she remembered of her in life. She needed her last sight of her mama to be something she could live with.

  Finally, she'd had enough of the cold drink to ease the roll in her belly and left the drive-in. She didn't remember exactly where Decker Funeral Home was, and missed the first turn, but quickly found it when she retraced her steps, then parked and went inside.

  A man she didn't know approached.

  "Hello? How can I help you?" he asked.

  "Which viewing room is Delia Dunham in?"

  He pointed.

  Daphne took a deep breath and crossed the lobby, signed the guest book, picked up a memory card, then walked in, grateful there was no one else there.

  The casket was surrounded in flowers. She saw the arrangement she'd ordered at the foot of the casket, slowly approached, and looked down in shock.

  Her mother's hair was completely white! When had that happened? And what the hell kind of dress was she—

  "Oh my God. Her wedding dress. Gracie was burying Mama in that old wedding dress!"

  And then she stopped. She'd lost all right to complain about anything, and when she looked at Delia again, she began to cry.

  "Sorry, Mama. That's not why I'm here. I came to apologize. I let you down, and I let Gracie down, and I can't change any of that. I was an ungrateful daughter, and a horrible sister to Gracie. I will say the same thing to her, but you needed to hear it first. You look beautiful. Say hi to Daddy for me. I miss us all...the way we used to be."

  And then she turned around and walked out. She made it back to the car, grabbed what was left of her drink, and downed it. She felt like shit. Then she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and sighed. She also looked like shit. West Texas had just melted the makeup right off her face.

  Chapter Six

  Mamie and Joel pulled into the city limits of Sweetwater just after 3:30.

  "What's the address?" Joel asked.

  Mamie entered it into his cell phone, and then popped it back in the stand in their console.

  "Is there a plan for this evening?" Joel asked.

  Mamie shrugged. "I'm assuming James and Daphne will join us for dinner later."

  "What about Gracie?" Joel asked.

  Mamie teared up on cue. "I don't know. I haven't spoken to her. She only notified Daphne about Mama and said to tell us."

  Joel frowned. "What the hell? Why?"

  She shrugged, carefully dabbing her eyes so she wouldn't smear her makeup.

  "I guess Mama never did write down ours or James's cell phone numbers after we got rid of our land lines. Just Daphne's."

  "But didn't you ever call Gracie?" Joel asked.

  Mamie teared up again. "I don't guess I did. The time just got a
way from me and I—"

  Joel gasped. "But honey! What the—"

  "Joel! Don't fuss at me," Mamie wailed. "I'm just so sad about all this misunderstanding. I guess I thought if Gracie needed us, she would call."

  Joel was grim-lipped and silent, trying to process the horror of what he was just now understanding.

  "So, you're telling me that you haven't spoken to her since Christmas seven years ago."

  Now was the time to sacrifice makeup. Mamie threw back her head, covered her face, and started sobbing.

  "I guess that's my answer," Joel said. "All I know is you should be ashamed. And, while she's not my sister, I should have asked about her. I should have called. I just assumed you would be in contact when you sent them money."

  Mamie wailed even louder.

  The skin suddenly crawled on the back of Joel's neck.

  "You did send money...didn't you? We talked about it. I just assumed..."

  Mamie was bawling louder, and Joel's stomach suddenly turned. He was looking at his wife in a whole new light.

  "We're almost at the hotel, so I suggest you suck it up. You're gonna look like shit walking into the hotel with mascara on your upper lip. Better dig out your sunglasses, girl."

  "Joel Freemont! That is the most hateful thing you have ever said to me, and when I am at my saddest! I just don't know what to make of you. You have broken my heart," Mamie said.

  "I doubt your devastation is in any way comparable to Gracie's," Joel said shortly, and pulled into the parking lot of the motel.

  Mamie reached for a handful of tissues and began wiping her eyes and the mascara beneath them. Then she blew her nose and dug through her purse for the sunglasses. She'd never seen Joel like this. It was going to take more than a blowjob to smooth this over. It was time to go on the defense. A cold shoulder and a good dose of the silent treatment, coupled with a continuance of silent tears, should do it.

  And if it didn't, well, then she had her share of the sale of the family home coming, and Joel Freemont could just kiss her ass and fork over monthly alimony if that's how he felt.

  She pushed the sunglasses up her nose, then got out and, without waiting for Joel, walked inside.

  Joel grabbed their bag and followed, equally pissed at what he'd just learned.

  James pulled into the parking lot just in time to see Joel entering the motel.

  He parked, grabbed his bag, and hurried inside to catch up, wondering as he went if Darlene would be staying here. He hoped not. It would make everything that much more tense, but he had no say in what she did or where she went.

  Joel was at the registration desk when James walked up, and it didn't take a genius to figure out Joel and Mamie were fighting.

  Mamie had her nose in the air and was wearing sunglasses. Her lipstick was slightly smeared, and she stood with her arms crossed and her back to Joel. He didn't know who to speak to first, but blood was thicker, so he chose his sister.

  "Mamie, darlin'," he said, and put down his bag and hugged her.

  Mamie fell into his arms, sobbing.

  "Oh, James. It's all just so awful," she said.

  "I know," he said, hugging and patting her.

  Joel picked up their room keys and then turned around.

  James extended his hand. "Joel, I hope you had a safe trip?"

  "It was a long one," Joel said, and picked up their bag, leaving James with his hand out. "Mamie, are you coming?"

  "We'll talk later," Mamie said, and followed her husband to the elevator.

  James checked in without comment, took his key, and headed for his room. So, here they were, back in Sweetwater to bury their mother, and face the judgment of their sins.

  Basically, the next two days were going to suck.

  Darlene had a reservation in Sweetwater at the Best Western Plus. The suites were nice but lacking in what her ex-in-laws would expect. She was absolutely positive that the Dunham siblings would be at the La Quinta Suites because it had a pool, and pool or not, Darlene didn't want to sleep under the same roof with James Dunham, even if there were hundreds of other rooms between them.

  The only one left in that family she cared about was Gracie, and as soon as she checked herself into the motel, she went straight to Big Boys Barbecue and got takeout for both of them, bought a six-pack of Cokes, then headed out to the farm.

  She knew Gracie was hurting. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other, but they'd never lost touch. She wasn't going to wait until tomorrow. She would, by God, see Gracie now. They would share food, and cry, and whatever else it took to help Gracie get through this last long day before they put Delia Dunham in the ground.

  She headed out of Sweetwater, knowing Gracie had been struggling to keep a roof over their heads and keep Delia in one piece, but even she wasn't prepared for the sight.

  The old farmhouse was sorely in need of paint. The corrals were rusty. The cattle, the tractor, and the farm truck were gone. Except for the backend of Gracie's car parked behind the house, the place looked abandoned.

  "Oh, honey," Darlene whispered, then pulled up out front, grabbed her purse, the food, the present her kids sent for Gracie, and headed for the front door.

  She knocked, then waited, listening for footsteps. Then knocked again. Moments later, Gracie opened the door. The screen door was between them, and then Darlene let herself in. She put her things on the hall table and wrapped Gracie up in her arms.

  The heat inside the house was sweltering.

  The aging furniture and limp curtains looked as sad as Darlene felt.

  But it was what she was feeling beneath the soft fabric of Gracie's shirt that startled her. She was skin and bone, and her back was covered in scars.

  "Gracie Jean...what happened to you?" Darlene said.

  "Mama," Gracie said. "I am so glad to see you. I'm sorry it's hot, but the central air hasn't worked in four years. Come into the kitchen. I have a box fan in there."

  Darlene picked up her things and followed.

  "The kids sent you a present. I brought barbecue. We will eat. And we will talk. I have a room at the Best Western, but I had to come see you before you were surrounded tomorrow."

  "That smells so good," Gracie said, as she got down plates and forks, then unrolled paper towels for napkins.

  Darlene was still on the threshold, staring into the kitchen. There were dark stains in the wood floor that hadn't been there before. Part of the ceiling was blackened, and there were no knobs on the stove.

  "What happened in here?" Darlene asked, pointing to the ceiling.

  "Mama set a fire trying to cook something when I wasn't looking."

  "Holy shit. How did you get it out?"

  Gracie grimaced. "I threw a big pitcher of sweet tea on the ceiling. It put out that fire, and the tea that fell down landed on the burning pan and put it out, too. So...basically, God did it."

  Darlene swallowed. She couldn't—wouldn't—let Gracie see the horror she felt.

  "So, I guess that's why there are no knobs on the stove."

  "Pretty much," Gracie said. "And now it's too hot to cook, so I had no need to put them back on. Come to the table. We can spread everything out here where the air is moving."

  Darlene started across the floor, then paused, looking down at the dark splotches in the wood.

  "Did it catch the floor on fire, too?"

  "No. That's my blood," Gracie said.

  The sack fell out of Darlene's hands.

  "It's okay. I survived," Gracie said, then picked up the sack and carried it to the table.

  Darlene wasn't a redhead for nothing. All of a sudden, her blue eyes were blazing and the flush on her neck had nothing to do with a hot room.

  "What the fuck happened to you?"

  "Come sit with me," Gracie said, and so she did.

  "I'm sitting. Talk," Darlene said.

  "I was doing dishes. Mama liked to put up the flatware, so I laid it on the table for her, then opened the drawer in the sideboard and w
alked away. Next thing I know, Mama is screaming at me and stabbing me with a knife."

  Darlene was wide-eyed and shocked to the point her voice was shaking.

  "What in the name of all that's holy did you do to get away?"

  Gracie shrugged. "Basically, I knocked her on her ass and managed to call 9-1-1 before I passed out."

  "Oh my God! Why didn't you call me? I would have come. I would have come. What happened to Delia then?"

  "I was in the hospital a week, and they put Mama in the psych ward of the hospital for a month so I could heal. I came home, and after I was well enough and strong enough to cope, I started looking for a place to put her. But it didn't work out, so I got her out of the psych ward and brought her home. She didn't remember anything, and after she came back, she didn't really remember much about the farm, either."

  "That's what I felt when I hugged you, isn't it? The scars." Darlene asked.

  Gracie shrugged. "Yes."

  "Do they hurt?" Darlene asked.

  "Not anymore. One shoulder twinges when it's cold. Some nerves and muscles were cut, but I survived, and now she's gone and I'm free."

  "I saw suitcases at the door. You're leaving here, aren't you?" Darlene asked.

  "Tomorrow, right after my siblings and I have our 'Come to Jesus' meeting."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Where things are green, and rain is not a rare commodity. I wouldn't mind some mountains with it. I'm thinking Missouri."

  "We don't lose each other," Darlene said. "Understood?"

  Gracie nodded. "Understood. Now can we eat? I'm suddenly starving."

  Darlene had a thousand more questions, but right now, none of them mattered. Gracie was too thin, and the shadows in her eyes broke Darlene's heart.

  "They sent hot and mild sauces," Darlene said.

  "Hot for me. Always hot," Gracie said, and liberally doused her smoked brisket sandwich, then took a big bite. "Oh my God, this is good. So good. Thank you."