Empty Shell

by Ashley Fontainne

  Regina smiled and took a hefty sip of coffee. “Okay, enough of this kind of talk. I believe all this mushy mumbo-jumbo is what got us all into trouble last night. And I’m way too old to try to repeat it again tonight. So, let’s say we shelve the ruminations of the past away and deal with the now. What’s on the agenda for today and how can I help?”

  “We, how can we help,” Kendal said.

  Regina and I jumped. “Jesus, Kendal. It’s just not proper to sneak up on people like that! Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?”

  “Yes, Regina, as a matter of fact, she did. She taught me it was rude to interrupt a conversation and to wait until the parties finished yappin’ before you spoke your peace.”

  Regina pointed at the coffee pot. “Looks like someone else woke up with a hangover. Get you some coffee, son, and have a seat. Mel is about to tell us what our jobs are today.”

  “Okay you two, enough. And quit talking so loud. My head is already thumping enough. Gosh, there is so much to do I don’t know where to start.”

  “Let’s eat this elephant one bite at a time, small nibbles first. I’ll clean up the kitchen and start breakfast—which you will eat some of, missy—and Kendal, what—”

  “I’m sorry, you two, but I’ve got to head into work today. I’ve been putting off a big bid that’s due tomorrow. I should have it finished around three or so and then I need to make a quick trip by my house. If I don’t do a bit of cleanup the city might condemn it as not fit to live in. Then I’ll be back. Want me to pick up anything on my way back over here after work?”

  “Oh gosh, Kendal. I’m so sorry. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is jobless like me,” Regina said, pink staining her cheeks.

  “I thought you hired a cleaning lady to come in once a week?” I asked.

  “I did Mel, and she was great. Kept the place clean as a whistle. But she hasn’t shown up the last two Sundays and I haven’t had time to call the service and request someone else.”

  “Listen, Kendal. You just take care of what you need to and I’ll take care of Mel,” Regina reassured him. “And if you want to give me the number of the service, I would be more than happy to—”

  “Guys, look,” I interrupted. “I appreciate every single thing that you both have done for me. I was just telling Regina earlier that I could never had made it through the last two weeks without you both. But really, I’m okay. Sad, but okay. I know life without Jack will be hard, but I’m not the first person in this world to lose a spouse. I’ll get through it, day by day, perhaps only minute by minute, but I will make it. It took me losing my love to get my faith back and I’m not about to veer away again. There will be days I cry and days I laugh, maybe both at the same time, but I will survive this. And not just because I have you all, but because I have Him. So Kendal, go—get back to your daily routine, just like I will eventually do.” I blinked back the tears in my eyes and saw droplets brimming in their eyes also.

  Regina broke the teary silence. “Wonder Woman has spoken and we, your humble servants, shall stare in awe at your wondrousness and heed your instructions. The shower awaits Kendal to rid him of the stench of booze before he spends a long afternoon crunching numbers, and I shall retire to the kitchen to prepare a feast. My lady, go do what wondrous things Wonder Woman does. Now, off we go!”

  A few quick hugs ensued and then we all went our separate ways, nibbling on the metaphorical elephant.

  I’d been crammed inside Jack’s office for four hours straight, digging through the mess left from the police. It took me one full hour just to find the file that contained his life insurance policy and another hour to find the folder with his employee benefits package from the college. Once I found the correct mailing addresses to send his death certificates to, I wrote out a few cover letters and prepared the envelopes.

  A few times I had to stop and catch my breath to fight back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me. The first letter I had to scrap because my tears stained the paper as grief overcame me.

  Nibble by nibble, Mel. Nibble by nibble.

  Once that huge task was accomplished, I made phone calls to all our creditors, informing them of Jack’s death and promising to send payments for the bills that were behind. Satisfied that I’d kept the collectors from knocking down my door, I stood up and stretched. My shoulders, back, and fingers ached from being perched in the same position for so long. I decided I needed to get out of the house and get some fresh air to help clear the pangs of sorrow that seemed to continuously stab at my heart.

  Upstairs, Regina was folding laundry in the living room. “Decided to leave the dungeon while it’s still daylight outside?”

  “Needed to stretch my legs,” I said, walking over to my purse on the end table and depositing the envelopes. “Don’t let me forget to mail these today, okay?”

  “But of course. Say, I think Simba wants to stretch her legs, too. She’s been holding that for the last twenty minutes, giving me the ‘please take me outside’ look.” She nodded towards Simba sitting by the back door with her leash in her mouth.

  “Poor girl. She misses her walks. She doesn’t understand why I haven’t taken her,” I said, peeking out the window. “Now that the press is gone, I should be safe. I’ll take her around the block a few times, then be back.”

  “Take your cell phone just in case one sly reporter is hiding in the bushes waiting for you or something. I’ll gladly come to the rescue. Maybe I'll accidentally run them over with my car.”

  I smiled at Regina, my crazy best friend who I had no doubts would do that in a heartbeat and claim she thought she’d run over a snake. She hated the media almost as much as I did. They had been relentless hounds when she was going through her divorce with A.J. It had been local tabloid gossip because of their wealth and the dirty little secrets exposed when A.J. was caught on film in a rather compromising position. The rags splashed their private lives all over the front page, not caring for the feelings of the individuals involved.

  I shook my head at her and excused myself to slip my tennis shoes on, feeling thankful for her wicked sense of humor. I needed her witty banter to keep me from going bananas.

  Ten minutes later, Simba and I were on our second loop around the neighborhood. Even though it pained me to watch my former friends turn their heads and shoo their kids inside as I walked by, like I had some contagious disease or something, the exercise felt good. Refreshing. Normalcy. Until I cleared Jack’s name, stares and whispers would be a daily part of my life and something I would have to get used to. The neighborhood shunning and awkwardness was just a precursor to the fun that work would be on Monday.

  Joy.

  The skies were overcast again, a hint that rain would hit us by late afternoon. The air was thick and heavy and the clouds a dull gray, just like my mood. My skin was coated in a light sheen of sweat from being outside. The humidity had to be close to ninety-five percent.

  A miserable summer for a variety of reasons. Hey, but this is Arkansas. Tomorrow, it could snow.

  Passing Mrs. Preston’s house, I noticed she was out in her garden. As usual, she was wearing her standard gardening frock, the kind that dated back to the fifties. Her frocks always made me laugh. They reminded me of what my Meemaw used to wear around the house. Mrs. Preston had them in just about every conceivable color and wore them even during the dead of winter. I sometimes wondered where in the world she bought them, because I hadn’t seen any for sale in decades.

  I waited for her to turn tail and run for the hills like the others the minute she spotted me.

  “Oh, Ms. Melody! So glad to see you.”

  Well, I’ll be—the last person on the block I expected to talk to me turns out to be the only one.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Preston. Your plants are looking lovely.”

  “Of course they are, dear. With all this rain we’ve been gettin’, they don’t need me to coddle them. Sure has cut down on my water bill,” she exclaimed, sett
ing her gloves and snipers down in the dirt by her roses. She walked across her lush green lawn to the sidewalk where Simba and I stood.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry about…what happened. I was goin’ to come over tonight and express my condolences once the pie I’m makin’ you finished bakin’ and cooled off. Ain’t right to pay your respects to the grievin’ without somethin’ sweet to help ease their sorra.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Preston, that isn’t necessary—”

  She waved me off with a swift flick of her slim wrist. “I won’t hear no more now. I feel just awful not knowin’ about this sooner and comin’ to help with whatever you needed. It just ain’t right! That’s what neighbors is for, to be there in times of need and joy. But, my lack of payin’ you a visit weren’t ‘cause I didn’t want to go. I simply didn’t know. Been out of state you know. When I read the papers that were stacked in my mailbox, my heart nearly gave out, especially when I realized I missed the services.”

  I found myself stunned by the first person who was being supportive and nice to me in the neighborhood. “It’s okay, Mrs. Preston. We just had a simple graveside service. And no, I didn’t realize you’d been out of town. When did you get back?” No wonder she is being so nice—the cops probably haven’t grilled her yet and the media didn’t pick her bones clean since she wasn’t home.

  “Late last night. Been down at my sister Imogene’s in Louisiana ever since last Monday. Won me almost five thousand dollars at the casino in Shreveport. But, that’s enough of me yammerin’ on about my borin’ life,” she said and paused, her light blue eyes clouding as she gave me a good once-over. “I’m so sorry that you are now a member of my club.”

  Confused, I wondered if she was experiencing a momentary lapse in her neurons firing on all cylinders. Perhaps they had wandered back into her numerous attempts to get me to join bridge club. I cocked my head to one side and asked, “Club?”

  “The Widows Club. It’s a lonely and sad group to be a member of, believe me, I know. Been a member ever since I lost my Stan. Don’t matter what the reasons are behind the loss. Still hurts like hell.”

  The ever-present lump of hot tears popped up again in my throat. “Yes, it is difficult. Taking things day by day, sometimes second by second,” I managed to eke out.

  Mrs. Preston scooted closer and tried to put her arm around my shoulder. Our height difference made it difficult, so her frail limb ended up around my waist. She smelled like White Shoulders, which had been my Meemaw’s favorite perfume, and apples. The familiar scents of my beloved grandmother released a few salty tears from my eyes.

  “Honey, it may not feel like it now, but things will get easier over time. One day, you’ll be able to say his name and look at his picture without cryin’ like a lost kitten. Took me three full years, but it did happen. The livin’ eventually come to terms with dyin.’”

  “I sure hope so,” I sniffled.

  “You will, child. Trust me. God comforts those who ask, even when the tidal waves of life are tryin’ to drown them.”

  I had to get out of there before I drowned myself with my own tears. “Thank you, Mrs. Preston. I’ll look forward to you stopping by later with the pie.”

  Mrs. Preston released me from her warm embrace and bent down to rub Simba’s soft fur. “Let the tears come, honey. Not only do they cleanse the soul, it’s why us womenfolk live longer. Bottlin’ those feelings inside is what causes the men to have a heart attack or stroke so early in life and make us widows.”

  “I certainly don’t seem to have any problem letting them go,” I smiled through my tears.

  Simba licked Mrs. Preston’s fingers, her tail wagging so fast it looked like a boat propeller.

  “Well, you just keep this lil’ treasure close for comfort. I know my kitty Fluffball has been my warm rock. Yes, she’s a good girl,” she cooed, running her fingers over Simba’s head. She stood back up and chuckled. “Please excuse my laughter. I just…well, it was so funny…oh, I’m all a flustered now. Tell you that story later. You best get across that street and back inside. Looks like an unwelcomed visitor is lookin’ for you.”

  I followed her gaze across the street and sure enough, a slow moving black car was approaching us. My gut told me it was a reporter, so without a word, I tugged on Simba’s leash and jogged across the road to my yard. The sleek vehicle stopped in front of my driveway and the morning news anchor for Channel Eight opened the door and tried to flag me down.

  “Mrs. Dickinson! Erin Corpian from Channel Eight. I’d like a word—”

  Simba and I burst through the front door before the nosy wench made it up the walk in her high heels. I yelled, “Get off my property and don’t come back!” and slammed the door shut.

  Safely inside with the door locked, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath.

  Regina bounded down the stairs. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Seems I was wrong about the reporters being gone,” I explained. “That chick from Channel Eight almost caught me.”

  Regina fumed and reached for the door handle. “Let me take care of this.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “No, let her be. She’ll leave when she realizes her trip here was a waste of time. They can’t stand being ignored.”

  Sure enough, the knocking stopped and a few seconds later we heard an engine start up and drive off. Upstairs, we peeked out the window and saw the car was now in front of Mrs. Preston’s house. Although I couldn’t hear what she said, Mrs. Preston was obviously giving the reporter what-for, based on her body language and expression. Within twenty seconds Erin Corpian was back in her vehicle, disappearing around the corner. Probably to go find another neighbor who wasn’t so feisty.

  I flopped down on the couch and let out a huge huff. “God, when will they leave me alone? Don’t they have any compassion? I just buried my husband!”

  Regina sat down next to me and put her arm around my shoulder. “Nope. They never do. Vultures, I tell you. Circling the skies looking for a body that’s down for the count to feast on. Makes me sick. But,” she said, offering a reassuring hug, “don’t you worry. If that scrawny bitch comes back, or anyone else for that matter, I’ll make sure they leave with an earful of comments not suited for television.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a minute later with two tall glasses of iced tea. “Now, put that out of your head. We’ll need to be a bit more vigilant before we let you step outside. You just relax a bit. Lunch is almost ready.”

  I tried to smile but it didn’t work very well. The thought of eating food made my stomach roll. Regina had outdone herself at breakfast with a full southern meal, complete with biscuits, gravy, eggs and sausage. I had only managed to eat a few bites, barely making it to the bathroom before those few nibbles ejected from my stomach.

  “Actually, will you just keep a plate warm for me? I’m feeling a bit tired and think I will go downstairs and take a nap on the couch. Will you make sure I’m up before three? I have some phone calls I need to make before five.”

  Regina eyed me with suspicion but didn’t say a word. I stood up, took my glass of tea, and headed downstairs, Simba padding behind me.

  I sat on the couch and Simba joined me. I took the comforter that Jack’s mom made us and wrapped it around me. I had always hated the ugly thing with its mishmash of colors and rough texture. But it smelled like Jack, so I buried myself underneath the scratchy material and inhaled the faint scent of my husband. My tears ran free until sleep overtook me.

  “Mel? Honey, wake up. It’s three o’clock.”

  Regina stood over me, her warm hand on my shoulder. I blinked and tried to get some moisture back in my eyes. I should have taken out my contacts before I crashed; my eyes felt like sandpaper. “Okay. I’m up. Need more coffee.”

  “I think you need food, but what do I know? I’m just your best friend, watching her best friend wither away to nothing. Pretty soon, you’ll be a figment of my imagination.”

&n
bsp; “When food decides to stay down, I’ll resume eating. Until then, it’s just a waste,” I said, standing up to stretch. “Any calls?”

  “Only a few today. One of them was from your office, the other from Mr. LaFont. No random numbers.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing.” Regina and Simba followed me upstairs. I felt like I had an entourage.

  “Oh, your neighbor, Mrs. Preston, dropped by about an hour ago. I told her you were sleeping and to come back around four. She said she would. I hope she does because the pie she had with her smelled heavenly.”

  “She is a great cook. Last year at the July Fourth block party, her pies lasted about as long as an ice cube on the hot pavement. Jack always loved…” My voice hitched, and I stopped for a moment to gather my thoughts and steer the conversation in another direction. “Anyway, I’ve got to return those calls and then take a quick shower before Mrs. Preston and Kendal arrive. Come on, Simba. Let’s go outside.”

  I grabbed my cell off the counter and opened the back door. Simba bounded past me, and I resumed my new favorite spot on the wicker chair and snatched a smoke from underneath the seat.

  Thirty minutes later, I disconnected the call with Mr. LaFont and smiled. Not a fake one, but a real smile. The conversation with both him and Roger had gone well and Project – Justice for Jack was in full swing. Though I had a hard road ahead of me, I could see the proverbial light at the end, and it gave me renewed strength and hope.

  Regina popped her head out the door. “Hey, sweetie. Mrs. Preston will be here any minute. Better hurry and get in that shower. I’m salivating already and can’t promise you I won’t eat the entire pie if you aren’t there to stop me.”

  I squashed my smoke out in the ashtray and headed inside. “Goodness! Lost track of time again. Good thing I have you here to keep me in line.”