by E. C. Bell
I parked in front of the house Rosalie pointed out, in one of the newer areas of Fort McMurray. Pretty enough yard, and the place looked well-maintained. It looked nice. Innocuous, even.
I wasn’t expecting that. For some reason, I’d had a vision of Norman Bates’s mom’s house in my head. But nope. All I saw was a nice little bungalow, and not even on a hill.
“I’m excited,” Rosalie chirped, finally shutting off the radio. She bounced up and down on the seat beside me until I wanted to slap her, just to calm her down. “This is going to be so much fun!”
“Arnie just died,” I said. “Rosalie, they’ll be in mourning.”
Thinking about his parents behind that door, mourning the death of their only son, made me wish I’d said no to Rosalie. Made me wish I’d talked her into waiting until another day, another time. We weren’t being fair.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I started, but she ignored me and leapt out of the car, skipping up the well-maintained walk to the front door. She actually skipped.
“Rosalie!” I called. “Stop!”
She ignored me and pressed the doorbell. As she waited for Arnie’s parents to answer, she smoothed her hair.
The man who opened the door looked used-up, as though life had sucked every bit of anything good from his very body. “Who are you?”
“I’m Rosalie,” Rosalie said, with her vacuous smile and dopey brown eyes. The man frowned and gripped his side of the door a little bit tighter.
“So?” he said. “I don’t know you. Do I?”
“I’m Rosalie Jacoby. Arnie’s girlfriend,” Rosalie said. “I’ve come to be with you in your time of mourning.”
The man stared at her, pop-eyed, as I wondered where the heck she’d stolen that particular line. It sounded like something from an old-fashioned romance novel, and I looked down, embarrassed for her.
The man bellowed to the interior of the house.
“Myrtle!” he called. “Did you know Arnie had a girlfriend?”
“No!” A woman’s voice echoed from somewhere within the house. “I don’t think he did.”
“You’re mistaken, little girl,” the man said, and made to shut the door on both of us. “Arnie didn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh, he does!” Rosalie said brightly, and pushed past the man and into the front foyer of the house. “Or he did, didn’t he, Marie?”
“Yes,” I said miserably, wishing I was absolutely anywhere but there. “I guess he did.”
I tentatively put my foot on the door jamb. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, and reached for Rosalie’s sweater, to pull her out of the house.
“Did you say Marie?” the man asked.
“Yes,” I said, still grabbing fruitlessly for Rosalie’s sweater. “I’m Marie Jenner. We’re just gonna go.”
“No,” he said, and took me firmly by the arm. “No, you should stay. His mother would like to finally meet you.”
He turned, still clinging to my arm. “Myrtle, you gotta get out here!” he yelled. “Marie Jenner’s here, to pay her respects! With one of her friends!”
I looked past the man, who I guessed was Arnie’s dad, and caught Rosalie glaring at me. If looks could kill, I would’ve been dead. She tried to cover it up when she saw I was looking at her, but the rage stayed, just under the surface.
“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Myrtle said. She scuttled into view, wiping her hands on an old-fashioned apron tied around her waist. “Arnie spoke so highly of you.” She held out her hand, and when I weakly took it, she shook it frantically. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
“And you,” I said, my lips feeling decidedly frozen. What had Arnie told them about me? “I’d like you to meet Rosalie,” I said, pointing in Rosalie’s direction with my free hand. “She was dating Arnie when— when—”
“When he died?” Myrtle asked. Her voice went oddly flat, as though the words didn’t mean anything to her. She glanced at Rosalie. “He never talked about her.”
Rosalie’s face slackened. “Not once?”
“Not once,” Myrtle said. She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“You gonna handle this?” Arnie’s father said. “I’m missing my show.”
“Yes,” Myrtle said, and turned back to us. Or, more to the point, to me. She ignored Rosalie completely. “Can you come in for a drink?” Myrtle asked. “I’d like to talk to you. Arnie was quite taken with you, you know.”
Quite taken. That was one way to describe it.
“Rosalie would like to talk to you,” I said, pointing at the poor girl, who looked like she needed to sit down as quickly as possible. “She was going out with him—”
“When he died,” Myrtle finished, barely giving Rosalie a glance. “Yeah, you already mentioned that. I guess she can come, too.”
“Thank you,” Rosalie said, her lips white on her ashen face.
She followed Myrtle and me to the kitchen, and dropped into a kitchen chair without being invited. She looked like she wouldn’t have been able to stay on her feet one second longer, no matter what Myrtle said. Myrtle ignored her.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked. Me, of course. “I have rum, whiskey, a box of wine. Red, if you like that sort of thing. Maybe a beer?” She gestured at the door leading to the living room, where I could hear a game show playing on the television. “I think he has some, if you’d like that. I don’t, but—”
The last thing in the world I wanted to do was drink alcohol with Arnie’s parents. I’d seen what it did to their son, didn’t need to watch where he’d gotten his habits from.
“That sounds great, but I’d really like some tea,” I said.
“I’ll take a glass of wine,” Rosalie said at the same time.
“Tea?” Myrtle said, again ignoring Rosalie. She shook her head as though trying to wrap her head around someone wanting to drink anything non-alcoholic. “I think I got some tea. Somewhere.”
“Can I have a glass of wine?” Rosalie asked. “Please?”
“Box is on the counter,” Myrtle said briskly. “The glasses are above the sink. Help yourself.”
Rosalie blinked in surprise, and I quickly rose. “Why don’t I get that for you?”
There were no wine glasses anywhere, so I took out a juice glass and dribbled it half-full of wine from the box on the counter. It smelled horrible, but Rosalie downed it in one gulp.
“Another?” I asked. She nodded and I got it for her. As she drank that, I was glad to see some of the colour return to her face.
“What did you want to talk to them about?” I whispered to her. “Maybe I can get things going for you.”
“I— I wanted to see his room,” she said. “Where he grew up.” Her lips quivered. “You know. The usual.”
“Oh, we moved here after Arnie left home,” Myrtle said. She set three cups and saucers on the table. “I think we still have a few boxes of his things in storage, but he never had a room here. I’m not much for keepsakes. You know?”
“Oh,” Rosalie said. Her voice quavered, and she looked around for a tissue. Saw the box, grabbed two or three tissues, and pressed them to her eyes. “Oh.”
Myrtle glanced at me. “Did she really go out with Arnie?” she asked.
“Yep,” I said.
“What happened to you?”
“Arnie and I haven’t dated in a long time,” I said.
“Huh.” Myrtle busied herself with the tea, and then poured Rosalie and me a cup. In her own cup, she poured a liberal dose of whiskey. She waved a can of cola over it before drinking deeply. When she put down the half-empty cup, she turned to Rosalie.
“What did you say your name was, child?”
“Rosalie,” Rosalie sniffed, holding onto the juice glass for dear life. “Rosalie Jacoby.”
“I’ve heard of your family,” Myrtle said. I thought I detected a hint of disdain in her voice. “Want some more wine?”
“Please.”
“Marie, pour her another glass,” Myrtle said.
I blinked and nodded, and poured Rosalie another half-glass of the poisonous-smelling stuff.
“We should go,” I whispered. “Shouldn’t we?”
“Not yet,” Rosalie said, after she downed the wine and sighed deeply, as though that third glass had finally made her lungs move. “I want to see his stuff.”
“I wasn’t kidding, girl,” Myrtle said. “It’s all in a couple of boxes in the garage. I don’t know that I’d even be able to find them for you.” She half-smiled and took another sip of her whiskey. “Unless you want to take it all away. I could sure use the space.”
“I’d love to,” Rosalie said. “Please.”
“All right,” Myrtle said. She turned her head and bellowed down the hallway. “Ralph! Any idea where Arnie’s stuff is?”
“I’m watching my show!” Ralph bellowed back.
“Do you?” Myrtle yelled.
“I suppose.” Ralph’s voice took on a decidedly dejected tone, and I suspected he never won a contest of wills with this woman.
“Go find them and bring them out, on the commercial.”
“All right.”
“And I’m listening to make sure you do.”
The pause was significant and palpable. “I will,” he finally said.
I thought I heard the volume of the television go down, but wasn’t sure, because Myrtle cackled once, sharply, and finished her drink.
“What are you going to do with his junk?” she asked Rosalie.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rosalie said. “I just want to see how he was when he was young. You know.”
“He wasn’t much,” Myrtle said. When Rosalie glanced at her, aghast, Myrtle smiled. “Just being honest.”
“He was a wonderful man,” Rosalie said. The quiver in her voice had returned. “A wonderful man.”
“Glad you thought so,” Myrtle said. She turned to the doorway and bellowed Ralph’s name. “Commercial,” she said. “Get those boxes. The girls have to go.”
“But—” Rosalie began. Myrtle shook her head decisively.
“Time for you to go,” she said again. “I have things to do.”
In the silence, we could hear Ralph slam his way into the attached garage.
“Won’t take him long,” Myrtle said. “You girls wash your dishes before you go.”
I was going to say, “No way,” but Rosalie meekly nodded and picked up her juice glass. So I did the same, and soon we had the glasses and cups rinsed and dried and put away.
Myrtle poured herself another whiskey and pointed at the door. “You remember your way out, don’t you?”
“Can I visit?” Rosalie whispered. “Some other time?”
Myrtle looked at her appraisingly for a long moment. “I suppose,” she finally said. “Want to help me with the meal after the funeral?”
Rosalie’s face whitened. “Arnie’s funeral?” Her voice had taken a flat tone, as though she was almost ready to faint. I touched her arm, but she pulled away from me roughly.
“Really?” she said, taking a step toward Myrtle. “You’d let me help?”
“It’s not going to be much, but hey, we have to eat,” Myrtle said. “Right?”
“I’d be honoured,” Rosalie said. “Honoured.”
“What about you?” Myrtle asked, looking at me.
“I’ll probably be gone,” I said. My voice sounded faint and weak, even to me.
“Oh, too bad,” Myrtle said. “We could make a real party of it. All Arnie’s women, together in one place.” She laughed humourlessly. “I imagine we’ve all got some stories to tell.”
Before I could answer, she turned to the hallway and bellowed Ralph’s name once more. “Where the hell are you, man? It shouldn’t take you this long to find two stinking boxes!”
Ralph kicked his way out of the garage, two legal-sized boxes stacked in his arms. “Got ’em right here, Myrtle,” he said, and set them down beside the front door. He slouched his way to the television and turned up the sound, loud.
“Time for you to go,” Myrtle said, and waved her hand in the general direction of the front door. “But I expect you here tomorrow,” she said to Rosalie. “We have to plan the meal.”
“I’d like that,” Rosalie said. “Very much.”
Myrtle nodded without speaking and drained her teacup.
I grabbed Rosalie by the arm and pulled her into the hallway. “Let’s go.”
I picked up one of the boxes Ralph had retrieved for Rosalie and hefted it into my arms. It was woefully light, and I suspected that most of Arnie’s childhood had been lost to the ages. I pointed at the other one and, before Rosalie bent to pick it up, opened the door and made good my escape.
A blast of fresh-smelling air hit my face, and I realized just how musty everything had been in that house. It looked well-kept on the outside, but I got the distinct feeling nothing had been moved or cleaned since they’d moved into the place.
I put the box in the trunk and waited impatiently as Rosalie took her sweet time saying goodbye and joining me by the car.
“Aren’t they wonderful?” She sighed as she gently placed the second box beside the one I’d dumped into the trunk of the car. “I mean, truly wonderful. Letting me help with Arnie’s funeral. And they don’t even know me.”
“Yeah, wonderful,” I said.
“But they knew you,” she said. “Didn’t they?”
I glanced at her, because I thought I heard something scary in her voice. Like she was going to turn on me. But her face looked neutral and her big brown eyes looked doe-like, so I figured I probably misheard and jumped into the front seat, gesturing for her to join me.
“Come on,” I said. “I really gotta get going.”
She crawled into the car willingly enough, and even went back to playing with the radio, but she didn’t sing this time. Just hit button after button, until I was heartily sick of the cacophony and not too gently asked her to stop.
I had to think about what I’d just seen, and I couldn’t do it with all that noise.
I didn’t know what I had thought was going to happen at this meet-the-parent event, but it wasn’t this.
They hadn’t kept anything from his childhood. They’d given it all away.
All right, so Mom had removed all the stuff from my old bedroom in her trailer, but I was pretty sure she would have kept a little bit more than two small boxes. And there were pictures of me hanging on the walls. I hadn’t seen one picture of Arnie anywhere I’d been in his parents’ house. Not one.
I didn’t know what Rosalie was going to do with the stuff that Arnie’s parents had given her, but decided it couldn’t be worse than his parents throwing the rest of it away.
It looked as though Myrtle and her husband had cut Arnie completely out of their lives. Was that worse than Rosalie hanging on to him so tightly? I didn’t know.
All I really knew was, I wanted a shower. Hanging around with those people made me feel dirty.
Arnie:
Fixing the Mess
I COULDN’T LEAVE Rosalie’s apartment, of course. I was so pissed, all I wanted to do was wreck that place. Burn it to the ground. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t do a thing but stare out the window and wonder how I was going to fix the mess my death had become.
I saw Roy at the cemetery and decided he could take me to old lady Jenner’s trailer. Marie might have stopped me from touching her, but she couldn’t stop me from hanging out with her mom again.
I imagined Roy would want to hook up with Laurel, even though their first meeting hadn’t gone quite the way he’d hoped. So, I decided to convince him to go, and then hitch a ride, like last time.
Blink, and I was standing behind him.
“Roy!” I said. “Roy, buddy!”
He turned around slowly and glared at me.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I know things didn’t go so good at the trailer,” I said, big fucking smile on my face to show him we were still friends. “But if we go back, we
can both talk to the old lady and Laurel. What do you say?”
I saw the look on his face and felt my friendly-as-fuck smile slip. He wasn’t buying it.
“Come on, buddy,” I said. “I really need your help. Marie—you remember Marie? She found out about a friend of mine.” I gestured behind me, at the apartment complex where Rosalie lived. “A kind of a special friend, if you know what I mean.” I laughed, the way all my buddies at the Blue Ox Inn laughed when I told them about Rosalie and Marie. But Roy didn’t join me. He didn’t even move.
“So I gotta talk to her mother, before she gets home,” I continued. “Just to clear the way. Explain the situation. Know what I mean?”
I smiled at him again, my biggest “come on, let’s be friends and I’ll buy you a drink” smile. But all he did was glower at me.
“I’m not taking you anywhere,” he said. “You lied to me to get me to carry you the first time. That’s not going to happen again. If you want to get there, get there yourself.”
“Aw fuck, Roy,” I said. “Don’t be mad. I had to get there, didn’t I?”
“No,” Roy said. “I don’t think you did. I think you need to stay right where you died, and think about what led you to that sorry state.” He shook his head. “You lied about the woman who owns the trailer, didn’t you?”
I shrugged.
“And the man? The big one, with the black hair?”
“He mighta killed me,” I said. “I really don’t remember. But you have to understand—”
“No,” Roy said, and his voice sounded like steel. “No, I don’t have to understand anything. Stay away from me, and stay away from my wife. Understand?”
“Oh come on—”
“NO!” Roy yelled. “That is enough from you. Leave, and never return!”
Well, that was enough of the nice guy gambit. Before Roy had a chance to do anything more than look shocked, I grabbed him.
“You’re taking me, Roy,” I grunted, as light string after light string flew from me and attached to him, binding me to him, tighter and tighter. “And there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.”
