The Dark Light of Day

by T. M. Frazier

  able to be one at all under the circumstances. But when it came right down to it, I couldn’t bring myself to kill someone who didn’t even know they were the product of a hateful act, especially after he or she had been created despite the horrible condition my body was in. This baby was a fighter, a survivor like me.

  We were already kindred spirits.

  It was because of, not in spite of, the life growing inside me that I was able to move forward, a little at a time.

  I had the chance to have a real family, for the first time in my life.

  I was going to try my damnedest to protect it.

  FOUR YEARS LATER…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  IT WAS SEPTEMBER WHEN MR. DUNN’S already weak body gave out and was crushed under the heavy weight of his addictions.

  Leave it to the people of Coral Pines to turn what should have been a small simple service into an event that could rival their annual mullet-toss festival.

  Every meddling church lady and bored husband within twenty miles dressed to the nines to pay their “respects” to a man they didn’t really know, and certainly didn’t respect.

  A group of chatting woman smiled and laughed on the top step of the church before the service started. They all clutched handkerchiefs as if letting everyone know they were capable of springing a leak at any moment. Although a lot of people had cared about my Nan, more people had come to her service as an excuse to finally dust off their best mourning outfits and compete in a Who’s Sadder competition than to celebrate her life.

  This felt just like that had.

  Mrs. Garrith, a woman with white blonde hair and bright pink nails, was getting ready to jump into the fray as I approached the steps. “And when he lost his sweet Marlena I made sure to bring him a casserole every day for a month. I could tell he really appreciated my gesture of kindness... told me so himself. Those casseroles were a lifesaver to that man.” She adjusted the fingers of her short black laced gloves.

  “Well, bless your heart, Mary,” Mrs. Morrison added. Everyone knew it was Southern slang for Go fuck yourself. “Did you know that Franklin asked me to go steady with him in high school? Practically begged me, really, before he and Marlena became an item of course. That boy was sweet on me, I tell ya.” She fanned herself with one of the funeral programs handed out by choir boys.

  I took a program from one of the boys and pushed passed the crowd into the church. Loud whispering had always followed me wherever I went, and today was no different.

  Mrs. Morrison might as well have been speaking into a microphone. After she spotted me, the comments about my inappropriate funeral attire began. She leaned in close to her cohorts and whispered, “I think that Abigail Ford and Franklin had a ‘special’ relationship.” She had the balls to quote the air when she said the word special. “It turns out the girl helped plan this entire service. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  That statement was met with gasps and exaggerated sighs from the clones that surrounded her. The group added their own speculations, fueling the rumor. It was like listening to creation itself in the beginning, where it all started, with these dumb bitches poisoning the water.

  I don’t know how Nan ever got along with those ladies. It never seemed to me that she ever really fit in with them. Nan was someone who would show up to a funeral wearing her brightest floral colored sundress instead of a black funeral gown. I don’t know how she did it all without drawing all the negative attention I seemed to attract, or maybe she did draw negative attention and I just never really noticed. Maybe, I was too wrapped up in my own self-pity and bullshit to notice that these ladies hurt her, too.

  I’d thought about her a lot when I got dressed that morning. Her funeral was the last one I attended, over four years earlier. It was in her honor that I wore a bright coral colored spaghetti-strapped sundress that crossed in the back with a long-sleeved white cardigan over it and wedge sandals instead of the black mourning uniform of the gossip mafia.

  Not because I was ashamed or afraid anymore.

  I just thought it was more appropriate for church.

  It was those people, those nasty two-faced women who preached their impossible morals about town to whoever would listen, that pissed me off the most. Those women didn’t live the lives they preached about any more than the people they shunned for it. They just knew how to hide it better. The more I heard them talk, the more I realized they weren’t speaking about Frank’s life. All their stories or revelations were about their attempts to associate themselves with him. They wanted to paint themselves into the picture of his life for the attention only.

  The truth was that, even with all his problems, Frank Dunn was someone who would be missed, even if it was only by me. The know-it-all church ladies on the steps were just selfish bitches.

  Those were always the worst kind of bitches.

  So, I was going to have a little fun with the ladies.

  I squared my shoulders and walked back out of the church and right to the center, where the coffee klatch from hell was taking place. Before they could pick their jaws up off the floor or squawk out a fake greeting, I spoke first, laying on my Georgia accent much thicker than usual.

  “Why, hey y’all,” I started. I smiled at the two ladies who seemed to be the leaders of the group. My voice dripped so much false sugary sweetness, I probably made their teeth ache. “Thank you so much for comin’, I know that Mr. Dunn would have appreciated his dearest friend—” I gestured toward Mrs. Garrith. “—and his high school sweetheart—” and I gestured toward Mrs. Morrison. “—goin’ out their way to pay their last respects.”

  Mrs. Garrith looked me up and down like I was wearing fishnets and nipple tassels instead of a simple sundress and sweater. She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

  “Honestly, toward the end there, he didn’t know if y’all would show up. Especially since the three of you have such history together.”

  The smiles from both their faces melted into frowns. One of the other ladies from the crowd questioned this new found piece of information out loud. “History?”

  “Oh sure. You know that these ladies and Mr. Dunn go waaaaay back.” I winked.

  “Not really.” Mrs. Morrison protested while smoothing the collar of her dress before looking down at her feet. She knew what was coming next. I knew all their secrets, and now they would know that I was the wrong person to fuck with.

  “Oh sure, he said that in high school the three of you had quite the connection.” Their faces paled, and Mrs. Garrith looked down right gray. “Oh, don’t be modest, ladies. It’s perfectly natural to want to experiment at that age with your alternative feelings.”

  Alternative feelings was a phrase the church ladies made famous when speaking about the immorality of homosexuality.

  Frank had let that bit of information slip to Reggie one day when Mrs. Garrith had come in for an oil change. I just happened to overhear.

  “Abigail!” Someone faked shock and shame, though her voice said very clearly that she was truly entertained by this bit of information. I kept my smile big. Laying into those parasites was more fun than I’d thought it would be.

  I was about to finish them off with some inside information about Mrs. Garrith using store bought orchids for her entry in the flower festival —which, believe it or not, would probably have been considered the biggest secret of them all—when the reverend opened the doors of the church and told us it was time to find a seat. The service would be starting.

  I went in first, but not before looking back over my shoulder at the visibly shaken women. I turned to go in, satisfied that Nan would have scolded me for chastising the church ladies in public, but I also knew she would have been holding back a laugh.

  I sat in the first row marked ‘Reserved for Family’, but since Mr. Dunn didn’t have any that would be attending, I figured it was a space that needed to be filled. There were quite a few whispers directed at my bold seating decision.

  The re
verend tried to speak about Mr. Dunn, but I could tell he was struggling to find anything positive to say about a man he barely knew. Frank rarely left his house, and when he did it was only to work at the shop. Even then, he kept mostly to his office, keeping the blinds shut and the world out. It wasn’t as if he’d even needed to be at the shop, but he made it a point to come in when he wasn’t sinking too low. I paid his bills, both business and personal, and between me and Reggie, we had Dunn’s Auto Body running like a...well, like a well-oiled machine.

  The reverend began speaking about life and death and the rewards waiting in heaven for those who lived their lives by the light of God and the good book. It made me wonder: even if I did believe in God or religion or the power of the “good book” did I know anyone who qualified?

  Not in Coral Pines.

  The reverend asked for a moment of silent prayer, bowing his head and folding his hands in front of him as the crowd followed suit. I did, too, but my mind was not on prayer; it was on what I was going to have to do next.

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs. When the reverend said “Amen” and the crowed echoed him, he gestured to me. I took out the piece of wrinkled yellow notepad paper from my pocket and ironed it out on my knee before heading up the steep steps to the pulpit.

  It was a packed house, and all eyes were on me. They were probably wondering why the hell I was up there.

  I cleared my throat and stared at the paper in front of me. My opening paragraph was about why I was the one up there, explaining the nature of my relationship with Frank.

  Suddenly, I didn’t feel the need to explain anything to these people. This wasn’t about them. It was about Frank, a man who, over the last few years, helped me in more ways than I could have ever repaid him. I had written the words in front of me and had even practiced reading them aloud at home, but for some reason, I was having a problem reading them now. Instead, I decided to tell them about the Mr. Dunn I’d known.

  Straight from my battered and broken heart.

  I cleared my throat again and took a minute to gather my thoughts. Every small movement from the silent audience caused the old wooden pews to creek and groan. I took a deep breath and started to speak, the squealing feedback from the microphone caused a few shocked noises from the congregation. I waited for another moment before continuing. This time, the sound system cooperated.

  “I’m not going to stand up here and say Frank was a saint, because it’s not true,” I started. “He was a troubled man. He turned to his addictions to numb his pain when he thought he had nothing left. There were plenty of times when, after not seeing him for days, I would go over to his house and find him passed out on the floor. I cleaned him up, put out the cigarettes, emptied the ash trays, and threw away the empty bottles. I wouldn’t yell at him. I wouldn’t tell him how badly he was messing up. Instead, I told him how much his help meant to me, what a difference he made in my life. Then, I would beg for him to find his way out of the fog. And he would, for days at a time, sometimes even a few weeks.”

  I paused and smiled.

  “Those were some really great weeks. There were plenty of other times, actually, when he shouted at me and cursed me to the devil for trying to help.”

  I laughed nervously and the audience laughed with me. The double doors at the back of the church opened. A petite blonde woman entered, and some of the standers parted to let her by. She held the hand of a little red headed girl with long braided pig tails. All my nervousness dissipated.

  “But he had a good side. A great side really.” I smoothed my hair behind my ears and grabbed both sides of the podium to steady myself. “Mr. Dunn—”

  My heart twisted in my chest.

  “Frank was a person who made great mistakes—too many mistakes, and he knew it. He was also a man who crumbled under the weight of tremendous grief.” I took a deep breath. “But only because he had experienced tremendous love. When you experience a love as great as he did, it’s easy to let the sadness and anger consume you. It’s easier to turn away from those you still have left and give yourself over to the numbness. He invited the pain in because it helped him remember, and he numbed it with whiskey when it all became too much. He once told me that he was afraid he would forget what Marlena and Mason looked like if he ever tried to move on. Sometimes, he talked about them as if they were in the very next room.”

  Everyone knew who I was talking about.

  “Now, y’all have had your own experiences with Frank. Some good, some bad... some God awful.”

  More chuckles from the congregation. The blonde woman walked up the aisle and sat herself and the little girl in the first pew. Her bright smile urging me to continue. I smiled back at her.

  “I can only tell you about the Frank I knew. He was a man who put a roof over my head when I didn’t have one. He was truly the only person besides my grandmother who never judged me and never assumed the worst of me. He never made me explain myself, even when I owed him an explanation. In his own quiet way, he accepted me into his life without question. In some ways, I think he was trying to make amends. He saved me because he couldn’t save his wife and son from death, and he couldn’t save his relationship with his living son. Frank never asked me questions he knew I didn’t want to answer.”

  I took a deep breath, my eyes filled with tears as the memories started to flood into my mind of the last four years.

  “But his tremendous love wasn’t gone. It didn’t die with his wife and son. It survived, in the way he felt about the son he pushed away, and in the way he cared for me…for us.”

  There was a shuffle in the back of the church when the doors briefly opened behind some standers, but I continued on.

  “His biggest regret was not the loss of the dead, but the loss of the living. Frank loved his son, Jake, but pushed him away because he reminded him of his loss, and he didn’t know how or where to channel all the pain.”

  I held in the tears. These people needed to know about Frank, they needed to know he was a person who should be mourned in death, not made into a freak show legend. My voice was raspy, but I pressed on.

  “I’m not making excuses for him, and I’m certainly not saying drinking himself into oblivion was the right way for anyone to handle anything. But, it’s what happened. It’s his truth. Frank died full of regret but certainly not alone. He was a man that you may have known as Ol’ Man Dunn or Mr. Dunn or Frank... or even ‘Bubba’, for those of you who played football with him in high school.” More laughs. “In the end, though, you didn’t know him at all.”

  I noticed that some of the church ladies were pressing their hankies to the corners of their eyes, their tears looked real. I was glad to see I’d gotten my point across.

  “Franklin Dunn was a troubled man who lived a troubled life. To me, he was a friend, a father figure in his finer moments, and someone I wanted to help when he was in the throes of his agony.”

  I paused for a breath.

  “I couldn’t save him,” I said. I was holding back the sobs that threatened to come out after every sentence. “But, I like to think I offered him some sort of comfort in these last few years because he sure as hell gave me the same.” There were a few gasps at my use of the word “hell” in church. But most people seemed to understand the point I was trying to get across.

  I looked again toward the little girl who was beaming in the front pew, her coppery red hair swinging over her shoulders with ever move of her little freckled head. Her sundress was the same coral color as mine. After I had gotten dressed, she’d insisted we match. “Actually, I like to think we offered him some comfort.” I looked directly at her.

  At the mention of we, she crawled over the blonde’s lap and spilled into the aisle. She dashed up to the pulpit, took a running leap and flung herself into my arms. I gave her a squeeze and set her on my hip. I looked at her and asked “Because what did we call Frank, baby girl?”

  “Gampaw Fank!” she exclaimed. The whole church laughed at my excited litt
le girl.

  “That’s right, baby girl. We called him Grandpa Frank. Did you love your Grandpa Frank?”

  “Yes, mama,” she said timidly, earning oohs and aahs from the crowd. She’d melted my heart every day of my life. These people were lucky to even get a glimpse of what she was capable of.

  I turned my attention back to the congregation. “I think we should remember Frank for who he was, not for who he wasn’t. He was as much of a Grandpa to my little girl as she’s ever going to get. He was a friend to me when I needed it most, and he was a father who loved his family enough to let their loss destroy him. He loved his son Jake more than anything.” My heart skipped a beat when I said his name, even after all this time. “And he lived with regret every second of every day, right up until the day he died, for not fixing what they once had. Frank may not be missed by everyone here.” I looked at my little girl and planted a kiss on her forehead. “But my daughter and I will sure miss him. Won’t we, Georgia?”

  “Yup!” she shouted and clapped her hands together.

  Before I could set Georgia down and walk back to our pew, there was another commotion at the back of the church. Both doors swung wide open and the blinding light of midday invaded the small space of the dimly lit church. I covered my eyes with my free hand to block out the light. My daughter buried her head in the crook of my neck.

  I caught a glimpse of the person who made the dramatic exit. An awareness washed over me. I could only see his back because he was already halfway down the front steps. What I did see stopped the very breath in my chest.

  The familiar site of blonde hair and black leather was all it took.