by Catie Rhodes
“Next time my son is in the middle of some drama over there, you send his butt home.” Jolene shook her head as she handed me an ornate wooden box. “Drunk or not.”
“I can’t make Chase do anything. If I could, things would have been different.” I traced the raised carvings on the box. My mind flitted through the highlights of my long relationship with her errant son.
“It would have been yours if you had married Chase. Mama loved you.” Jolene reached across me and opened the box. The recently polished silver gleamed.
“Mrs. Rudie most certainly did not love me. She tolerated me.”
“Well, honey, that’s all Mama really did with everyone.” Jolene threw her head back and laughed, even though her eyes brimmed with tears. “Mama was one of a kind.”
Whatever tolerance Mrs. Rudie had for me died with her body. Her ghost gave me another sharp pinch, this time in the sensitive area near my neck. I bit back my gasp and forced myself to admire the old bat’s silver with her sweet-natured daughter.
“It’s not too late.” Jolene’s brown eyes found mine and held them. “Chase talks about you all the time. He’s hardly mentioned Rae even though he’s dated her all summer. If you want to call it dating.”
“I didn’t end things.” I packed the silver in a cardboard box labeled “dining room” in Jolene’s careful schoolteacher’s handwriting.
“I know that. I just wish…” Jolene broke off and shrugged. “You always want the best for your kids. You’ll see.”
Pushing thirty and still unwilling to be a single mother, I wasn’t so sure. After growing up with neither parent on hand, I wanted to give my child the benefit of two parents who loved each other. Maybe I want too much. White picket fences only exist in movies and children’s books. Even so, I couldn’t give up hope one would show up in my life.
“Mama’s china needs to go, too.” Jolene opened the china cabinet and grabbed a teacup. She wrapped it in a sheet of newspaper and placed it in an empty box. Mrs. Rudie hovered around us, cooling the room better than air conditioning.
Mrs. Rudie’s upset over the dismantling of her life turned the antique-filled room into a damp, unpleasant place. Jolene, if her darting eyes and shaking hands were any indication, sensed it. If asked, she’d have blamed it on nerves—too much to do on a day filled with grief.
“I appreciate you coming out so early and on a Sunday.” Jolene shivered and looked around. “With Mama gone, my sisters want to split things up.”
Why then did Jolene’s sisters head back to Houston and Dallas the day of the funeral? The survival of my business depended on knowing when to keep my mouth shut, and so I did. The whole thing made me angry for Jolene. She had a good heart, and people took advantage of her. She ought to tell her sisters to suck lemons.
Mrs. Rudie hovered near. As I wrapped her prized china in newspaper, a wave of grief came from her. Confusion and sadness over the loss of her life had her stirred up. She’d move on once Jolene closed up her house for good. I knew those things because the spirits’ feelings existed right alongside my own. I learned early to untangle the two sets of emotions and to keep them to myself.
Tears swam in Jolene’s eyes as she arranged the china in cardboard boxes. She swiped at them and gave me a weak smile. This day couldn’t be anything but hard for her. I waited for her to tell me what to do next. I knew from experience she needed to feel in control of this process.
“Look here.” Jolene indicated a plain wooden box with brass accents. She grinned at me expectantly, as though I should recognize it. On the lid of the box, which sat on a cherry wood pedestal, was a monogrammed brass plaque. RM? Then, it hit me.
“This wouldn’t be…” I trailed off in case I was wrong. I needed Jolene’s money. I couldn’t afford to offend her if this thing had belonged to somebody famous.
“Your many-greats grandfather—Reginald Mace. The founder of our little town.” Jolene pulled out a drawer in the pedestal and extracted a skeleton key but stopped short of using it on the box. Staring at the wall above the antique, she wrinkled her nose. “And there’s that damned ugly horseshoe. Mama always displayed both pieces together. Never understood why. Mama’s gone. Let’s get rid of that horseshoe.”
I said nothing as she dragged a chair from the table and pushed it against the wall underneath the horseshoe. I agreed about the horseshoe’s lack of attractiveness, but I wondered if Mrs. Rudie had a more practical reason for keeping the two pieces together. The bottle tree in front of Memaw’s house, though pretty, was there to ward off ghosts. I had a half-formed memory of folklore having to do with iron and ghosts, but couldn’t quite recall it.
“Would you climb up and get that ugly thing, shug? I’d do it myself, but I’m too fat.” She patted her behind and gave me a sheepish grin. “Mama can’t scold me now for getting rid of it.”
Oh, if only she knew. I climbed onto the chair, bracing for Mrs. Rudie’s retaliation. This reeked of bad idea, but damned if I knew a sane reason why. I pulled the horseshoe off the nail easily enough and stepped off the chair. While I hovered off balance, Mrs. Rudie struck, slamming me into the wall. Jolene’s shriek scared me more than the short fall.
“I’m all right.” I got to my feet and examined a scrape on my arm.
“Are you sure?” Jolene tossed the horseshoe into a garbage can and approached me, clucking over the scrape. I waved her off and made a big show of emptying the garbage can, still feeling I’d done the wrong thing. By the time I got back, she’d unlocked the box but had not opened it. She wanted to share this with me. I pasted an interested expression on my face and stood beside her.
Jolene lifted the antique box’s lid.
A dark shadow rose and floated toward the ceiling. The shadow swirled and coiled in a corner; so dark it obscured the hand-carved molding. Its energy spread through the room, clammy and dreadful. The air grew heavy and close. I fought the urge to leave the room, the house, the city. What the hell?
Even Mrs. Rudie’s formidable spirit retreated from this old nasty. I decided that iron horseshoe must have kept the ghost at bay and knew Jolene and I had screwed up. Was this dark shadow my long-dead, reputedly crazy ancestor? If so, he had some bad mojo.
Jolene and I peered inside the box. It was as plain as the outside and featured a flat surface covered with tattered green material and two inkwells with dried ink in them. The box rang with bad vibes. Why did Mrs. Rudie hold onto it all these years? I’d have sold that thing first chance I got. Forget that iron horseshoe. I wouldn’t have this in my home. A tremor worked its way through my body, and I shivered.
“Isn’t this a beautiful writing slope, shug?” Jolene’s habit of calling all women shug instead of sugar made her sound less like a retired teacher and more like a southern belle. “A gentleman like Reginald Mace would have taken this on his travels.”
Jolene tactfully didn’t rehash the story of how Reginald Mace went from being the richest man in town to a penniless lunatic. My ancestor lost his mind after his only son, William, joined the Alaska Gold Rush. Some folks believed he squandered his fortune trying to entice the boy to come home. Others theorized Reginald hid his fortune for William to find and went too crazy to remember where he hid it. Through the latter group, the Mace Treasure legend remained alive and well years after Reginald was dead and buried.
Jolene’s family likely bought the writing slope in the early nineteen hundreds when Burns County auctioned off the entire Mace estate for unpaid taxes. People who considered me mentally ill—a great number of people in Gaslight City—theorized I inherited my “mental instability” from Reginald Mace. Oh, I’d heard all the whispers. A famously crazy ancestor and a family treasure added an extra layer of unpleasantness to my childhood, repressing any interest in the treasure or researching my family tree.
I swallowed the bad feelings left over from my childhood and smiled. I couldn’t lie to save my life, but sometimes politeness didn’t require a lie. “It has to be close to one hundred-fifty-years ol
d. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Do you think we could fit it in a box? I’d hate for it to get scratched up in my SUV.” Jolene removed the writing slope from its pedestal and handed it to me.
A painful current of energy burned through my arms as soon as it made contact with my skin. The dark shadow floated down from the ceiling and swirled around me. My head swam. The air around me grew so cold, my breath puffed out in clouds of vapor. I couldn’t understand how Jolene didn’t see it. Maybe she didn’t want to. Cycling like a whirlwind, the dark shadow floated back into the writing slope. I bet Jolene doesn’t keep this thing a week. I know I wouldn’t.
I concentrated on keeping my poker face and packaged the antique into a cardboard box and duct taped it closed, hands trembling. My skin crawled and tingled with the need to get it far away from me. A hand closed over my shoulder, and I screamed and spun around.
***
Chase stood behind me with a dumb grin on his face. I searched for evidence of his night of debauchery with Rae but found none other than bloodshot eyes. He smelled of soap, deodorant, and shaving cream. His hands were steady as he took the box containing the freaky writing slope from my hands and set it on top of our growing box pile. As soon as I released my hold on the box, the tension drained away so quickly my head swam.
“I see y’all waited on me.” Chase’s baritone voice didn’t have even the hint of a slur. It sounded just as beautiful as when we were kids, back when Chase swore he’d be a rock star. Even though his partying long ago superseded the music—and everything else—his voice still curled female toes.
Rather than answering, Jolene rushed to him and wrapped him in a grateful hug. Chase hugged her back, winking at me over her shoulder. I shook my head at him and glanced out the window to see his old truck with a flatbed trailer attached to it.
“Daddy’ll be along in a few hours.” Chase released Jolene and looked around the living room. “He took some folks fishing.”
“Oh, it’ll be late afternoon before he gets around to messing with this.” Jolene planted her chubby hands on her ample hips.
“Don’t matter. Me and Peri can get most of this stuff loaded. I’ll call him and he can meet me at the storage place.”
Jolene harrumphed but said nothing. Chase poked me in the ribs.
“You ready for a workout, Short Stuff?” Without waiting for my answer, he studied the room’s furnishings, probably calculating what I could realistically carry. Chase had helped me with many heavy-lifting jobs over the years.
“Don’t call me Short Stuff.” I protested for form only. I knew I was a shrimp. “I think the only thing I can’t pick up is the dining room table.”
“Wimp.” Chase made a pained face as he studied the solid oak monstrosity. “Want to start with the living room?”
Chase and I did our share of grunting and straining as we loaded the couches, chairs, end tables, and the grandfather clock onto the flatbed trailer. When we took a break, Chase lit up a cigarette and offered me one. I shook my head and he chuckled.
“How long this time?”
“Two weeks.” I made a face at him. This was only my third quit that year.
Chase laughed harder. “Is that a record?”
“No. Last year when I quit for two months was a record.” I watched my old friend out of the corner of my eye. Though only a year older than me, working construction in the unforgiving Texas sun had aged his fair skin. Deep lines creased the skin around his eyes and mouth. He still looked good, but in a weathered, rugged way. Since he and Rae became an item, a tired, defeated air hung about him. It scared me. “This morning’s drama. Is it really worth getting a piece of ass from her?”
“I thought we agreed a year and a half ago that we would never be more than friends again.” Chase finished his cigarette and ground it out under one of his work boots. “That means my love life ain’t none of your business.”
“This isn’t me trying to butt into your love life. This is concern over what you’re doing to yourself. Your body isn’t going to tolerate this kind of abuse forever.” I put my hand on his back, wanting to hug him but not wanting to give him the wrong message. He was right. We could never be a couple again. But that didn’t erase our bond. “I love you and worry that she’s going to get you in trouble.”
Chase shrugged, keeping his eyes averted. “You’re the only one who gives a shit.”
I snorted. “Spare me the self-pity. Nobody forces you to run around playing trailer park stud.” I squeezed his arm to make him look at me. “Your son needs you to be a father to him. Do you want him to grow up thinking you don’t care enough to do that?”
“Don’t matter if I try or not.” He shook his head when I tried to interrupt. “Last time it was my weekend with Kansas, Felicia sent him fishing with his stepfather. Haven’t seen him in months.”
My chief tormenter during my school years, Felicia Brent, convinced Chase to dump me and take her to the prom a million years ago when we were all teenagers. I charged into the dance and beat the snot out of Felicia in front of everybody. Chase and Felicia bonded over the drama and shared a brief marriage, which produced Chase’s only child—a boy named Kansas. They divorced soon after his birth.
The trials and tribulations of adulthood changed most of us, beat the arrogance out of us. Felicia just got meaner. It didn’t surprise me she used Kansas to hurt Chase, but the injustice of it infuriated me.
“Can’t a judge enforce the custody ruling?”
“Judge told me to straighten out and come back.” He slumped forward, digging his elbows into his knees and resting his chin on his knuckles. “Plus, last time I took them to court, Scott started harassing me. Wrote me three speeding tickets in a month. My insurance went up higher than a cat’s ass.”
Scott Holze, Felicia’s second husband, worked as a Burns County Sheriff’s Deputy. His father, the Sheriff, ran the county whatever way suited him. Scott executed his job duties the same way. My heart ached for Chase, but babying him would only encourage his mood. I scooted closer and leaned my shoulder against his.
“Listen to me. Kansas is the most positive thing you’ve got going for you. Do whatever it takes to get in his life.” I gave him an extra squeeze for emphasis. “I’ll beat Felicia up again. See how she likes that.”
I’d wanted to make Chase laugh, but he slumped again, frowning.
“Maybe he’s better off just knowing Scott as a father.”
I looked at the sky and held out my hand, rubbing my thumb and forefinger together.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll play. What’s that supposed to be?”
“World’s littlest violin playing my hurt pumps purple piss for your pitiful ass.”
Chase draped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me against him. We sat in silence for several minutes, basking in the comfort of our long friendship. Without warning, Chase tightened his grip and used his other hand to muss my hair. I flopped and wiggled and finally jerked away.
“You just wait. When you least expect it, I’ll get you back.” I smoothed my hair down with both hands.
“Sometimes, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He met my eyes and held them.
“Same here.” I planned to convince Rae she wanted to dump Chase. Even if that meant slipping her a few bucks.
“Long as we’re solving the world’s problems, what was wrong with you when I got here? You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” Chase had known about my link to the spirit world since we were children. Back then, I didn’t know better than to tell people. That got me accused of being everything from a devil worshiper to an untreated schizophrenic over the years, but Chase never treated me any different.
“That box I had when you first came in?” I looked at Chase for confirmation he knew what I meant. After he nodded, I said, “Convince your mother to get rid of it. She doesn’t want it in her house.”
Chase frowned but nodded to confirm he’d do what I asked.
Jolene pick
ed that moment to hustle outside with a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses. Chase and I turned our conversation to lighter topics. The three of us sat in the steadily increasing heat, sucking down cold, sweet tea.
“What else needs doing?” I set my tea glass back on the tray. As much as I enjoyed Jolene and Chase’s company, I wanted to get home. Anticipation of negotiating a favor with Rae gnawed at me. She would ask for the moon and act cheated if I couldn’t deliver. I wished time would speed up and the whole thing blow over without any high drama. About as much chance of that happening as a pile of hot garbage picking itself up.
Jolene rubbed the corner of her mouth with one finger, her face creasing into a frown as she thought. My cellphone rang. Jolene jumped, and Chase laughed.
I frowned at him as I removed the offending instrument from its dorky belt holster and checked the caller ID. Memaw. I cringed. She wouldn’t call just to say howdy-do. Drama was afoot, and no doubt, Rae danced at its center.
“Yes ma’am?” My imagination helpfully supplied every horrible event that could have taken place. Rae burning down the travel trailer. A drug dealer or other shady type knocking on Memaw’s front door.
“She’s playing her music loud again.” A sad lilt polluted Memaw’s husky voice.
This wasn’t a real catastrophe. Memaw, however, was at her wit’s end. Maybe we need to kick Rae off the property.
“Aren’t you going to your Sunday morning devotional? You love Pastor Gage’s stories about his missionary work.” I didn’t like it when people tried to divert my anger, but this situation helped me see why they did it. Memaw’s best course of action—get away from Rae. If she went out to gripe at Rae about the music, it would end up ruining her entire Sunday.
“I am, but that’s—”
“Not the point,” I finished for her. “I know. Let it go for now. Rae and I have an appointment to talk when I get home.”
