In a haze, I fetch the clean linens. I prepare the sponge bath. By the time I bring the last load into the living room, Dad’s stomach is empty and he’s quiet. I come closer, and he looks away. Sighing, I pick up the giant pile of towels by Fannie’s feet and haul them down the hall.
Fannie finds me twenty minutes later in the laundry room, watching soapy water churn behind the little window and feeling sorry for myself. “You okay, sugar?”
I swipe my cheeks and glance over. “I’m fine. Can I do anything else?”
She pats my arm, ignoring the question. “Aw, sweetie, try not to take it so personally. Your father’s a proud man. He didn’t want you to see him like that, is all.”
I give her a whatever shrug, not because I believe her but mostly so she’ll stop talking. At this point, all I want to do is go upstairs, have a good cry and sleep for a week. No, a month. Fannie takes the hint, and after another gentle arm pat, slips down the hall and into the kitchen.
My bare toe has barely touched the bottom step when I hear him.
“Gia.”
Shit.
It takes every ounce of self-control to force my body to stop. To paste on a neutral expression and lean around the corner. The living room is mostly dark, but Dad is lit up by a floor lamp, shining golden light from behind his left shoulder. “Yes?”
“Kids aren’t supposed to be cleaning up after their parents, you know.” His breathing is labored, but his eyes are clear. Clear and wide and focused on me. “It’s not right. You should be out living your life, not picking up the pieces of mine.”
Fannie was right. My father is a proud man, and I know this is as close to an apology as I’m going to get.
I could tell him he wouldn’t have been the first to puke on me, or that I’ve lived in plenty of cultures where caring for your elders is not only an obligation but an honor. I could even lie and say I don’t mind cleaning up, am happy to pick up his pieces. Instead, I tell him the reason that matters most. “I only want to help.”
“I know you do.” He says it like he thinks it’s a good thing. Baby steps, I tell myself.
“Can I get you anything?”
He shakes his head, and I’m about to continue my trek upstairs when he stops me again.
“You know the other day, when I said I knew you’d be the first to leave me?” He pauses to receive my nod. “What I forgot to tell you is, I also knew you’d be the first to come back. You’re just built that way. Loyal and true. I only wish there was something better for you to come back to.”
I think about the protesters’ constant cries outside our window, about my missing-in-action uncle and my deadbeat siblings, about Dean Sullivan drowning in his lies across the frozen yard. About what’s left of Dad’s wasted life, and his less-than-warm welcome home. My father is right. There’s so little left for me here.
And then I think about Jake, and my heart gives a happy kick. In a few hours he’ll be sneaking up the porch and slipping into my bed, kissing away my worries, loving away my sorrow. “It’s not all bad,” I say, and it’s the truth. When did Jake become the anchor holding me here?
Dad falls silent for a bit, but I can tell there’s more. Everything about him—his intense stare, his parted lips, the way his body fidgets under the blanket—indicates he has more to say. Is he searching for the right words? Is he working up the nerve for a heart-to-heart? I’ll never know, because he seems to give up. His face falls and his shoulders slump, but he gestures to the chair. “Come sit with me for a spell?”
They’re not the words he was gearing up to say, but they’re good ones nonetheless. I make my way across the Rooms To Go carpet, biting back the beginnings of a smile. “I’d like that.”
The way Dad nods makes me think it was the answer he wanted to hear.
As soon as I’m settled, he clicks off the lamp and closes his eyes, and he doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t have to. Knowing my father wants me sitting here in the dark, curled up on a chair beside him while he sleeps, is enough.
26
MY PHONE DOESN’T light up again until sometime after ten as Fannie and I are washing the last of the day’s dishes in the kitchen. My heart flutters when I see the name on the screen.
I hand Fannie the dish towel, excusing myself to the hallway.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say to Jake. “Don’t tell me you’re already done.”
I can barely hear him over Roadkill’s bar crowd. “No, but can you get away for a little bit? It’s Lexi.”
My heart thuds to a stop, then goes from zero to sixty in less than a second. “Did something happen to her?”
I hear a puff of air as Jake sighs. “Tequila happened to her. Not mine, for the record. She was loaded when she got here. I’ve cut her off and confiscated her keys but...” There’s a shrill shriek I recognize from my sister’s pom-pom days on the edge of the football field, then a burst of raucous laughter followed by another sigh from Jake. “Oh, Jesus. I think you better hurry.”
And then the line goes dead.
I give a quick update to Fannie, who finds the situation a whole lot more amusing than I do. She smacks a meaty thigh and cackles. “That sister of yours sure is a firecracker.”
“Dynamite is more like it. I just hope she’s passed out in a corner by the time I get there. She’s a lot more pleasant lately when she’s unconscious.” I slip on my coat and dig around in the pocket for my keys. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call me if you need me.”
“I’ll do that, sugar.” She stops me with a holler as I’m running out the door. “Oh, and bring me back some more of that chili.”
When I push through the door at Roadkill ten minutes later, I don’t immediately spot the blonde, ex-beauty queen I’m looking for, but I know she’s there. I know this from Jake, who looks up from the beer he’s pulling, makes a face and gestures with his head to the far back corner. And I know this from the wall of backs to my right, at least fifty of them in everything from Levis to dark suits to dirty work clothes, sucking on beer bottles and grinning, watching the show.
I shove my way through the crowd, not bothering to apologize for jabbed elbows and stomped toes, not stopping to respond to the snickers and whispers and murmurs of “Hey look, there’s her sister.” I force my way through the bodies until I come out the other end, into a semi-circle clearing of twenty feet or so with, at its center, my sister, standing in her favorite place on the planet: the spotlight.
Her back is to the crowd, both hands propped high on the flashing jukebox, her designer-denim hips swinging to the beat, her high and honey-sweet voice singing along, loudly and off-key, to “Friends in Low Places.”
How appropriate.
“Lexi.”
She pivots on one of her pumps, losing her balance and almost falling over in the process. “Gia!” She holds out a sloppy arm in my direction. “Dance with me, sistah friend. I think they’re playing our song.”
Next to me, Terri Lynn Williams snickers. I toss her a glare that freezes the grin on her lips.
I reach for one of Lexi’s hands, jingling her arm full of bangles. “Come on. Time to go.”
“What?” Her face falls, and she wriggles her fingers out of mine. “No, I don’t wanna go. This party’s just getting started.”
It takes all my willpower to not clamp a hand over her mouth, throw an arm around her neck and drag her out of here by her bleached blond hair. But Lexi has a good five inches and almost twenty pounds on me, and I know she could extricate herself with very little effort. Besides, this evening is embarrassing enough without turning it into a girl fight.
I step closer, giving her a stern look I copied from Cal, and lower my voice to an insistent growl. “This isn’t a party, it’s an embarrassment. You’re embarrassing me, and you’re embarrassing yourself. And now I’m taking you home, before y
ou make it any worse.”
“Worse!” Lexi pitches her upper body forward, doubling over at the waist and clutching her stomach, and I take a hasty step backward to avoid puke spatter on my shoes. It’s only when she peeks up at me through her hair that I see she’s laughing. Laughing like she smoked an entire joint, all by herself.
She straightens, and everything falls effortlessly back into place. The sharp part in her stick-straight hair, the perfect folds of her silk blouse, the trio of silver necklaces hanging around her neck. If she weren’t my sister, I would hate her for it.
“Please tell me how this could possibly get any worse. Because I’m already living in a fucking nightmare.” Her last two words shoot out in a hysterical shriek, and conversation in the room all but falls away. “Don’t look now—” she giggles and points over my shoulder “—but I think we have an audience.” She waves like she’s just been crowned prom queen.
I hear a few giggles to my rear, but I don’t turn around. I know they’re there, watching us like we’re some kind of fairground attraction. My back burns with the force of their stares, sharp as swords slicing into my shoulder blades.
“It’s because you’re giving them a goddamn freak show.”
Lexi rolls her eyes so hard she staggers. “Me? I’m the freak show? No, darlin’, I’m the daughter of the goddamn freak show. Which is exactly what you are, too.”
Jake saves me from a response by coming up behind me, pushing through the crowd. “Why don’t you two ladies continue this discussion in my office? It’s a lot quieter back there, and you won’t be disturbed.”
Lexi curls her lips into one of her beauty-pageant smiles. “Pour me a smidgen of something good and strong, hot stuff, and I’ll consider it.”
“I don’t think you should—”
“Pour it!” Lexi shrieks, then glares until he fetches her a glass with a good three fingers of clear liquid. Lexi swipes it from his hand and throws it back, chugging more than half of it. “Water, Jake? I expected better of you.”
But she doesn’t seem to consider giving up center stage.
“So tell me all about dear old Dad. How is the old buzzard?”
Fresh humiliation shoots a surge of blood to my cheeks and adrenaline through my veins. “Seriously? This is how you choose to finally have this discussion?”
Her forehead crumples in mock confusion. “Why not? You said if I wanted to know any more I had to talk to you in person, so let’s talk. What was it you told me about Ella Mae?” She snaps her fingers and sways, then plants her feet wide to keep from falling. “Oh, that’s right. About how Dean Sullivan knocked her up.”
There’s a collective gasp from behind me, and I wince at our audience of blabbermouths. This was not how I’d imagined dropping that little bombshell on the world—I’d prefer a more conventional channel than by way of Rogersville’s rumor mill—and this was certainly not how I’d imagined discussing the details of my conversation with Dean with my sister.
“Only I don’t understand how that’s supposed to make me believe Dad didn’t kill her. You do realize Ella Mae’s affair makes him look even guiltier than he already is, right? It doesn’t change anything.”
I step closer and lower my voice. “Can we please talk about this somewhere else?”
“Tell me!” she shrieks, right as the Garth Brooks song ends. The room plunges into silence. Silent enough to hear my sister’s hitched breathing and the hum and whirr of the jukebox as it makes the next selection.
I toss a glance at Jake, who gives me a might-as-well shrug. I consider the implications of telling Lexi amidst a roomful of gossips, and it doesn’t take me long to decide he’s right. They’ve already heard the part about the baby, and better to go ahead and give them all the information than to let their imaginations run wild. Besides, I’m pretty sure at least one person behind me is filming this fiasco, so what do I have to lose? Certainly not any more of my dignity.
“Think about it, Lex. Ella Mae’s lover was also the prosecution’s star witness. Nobody would have believed a word he said if they’d known he was sleeping with the victim. Dean Sullivan had just as much motive as Dad, and just as much reason to lie about what happened the night Ella Mae was murdered.”
My sister’s face turns to parchment, pale and stretched tight, and she closes her eyes for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, my voice softer now. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
Her eyes pop open, and they flash with an emotion I hadn’t expected—fury. She steps forward, jabbing a finger between my breasts. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t jet out of here all those years ago to God knows where and leave me here to deal with all the mess. And you can’t come back here now, feeding me some bullshit story about Dean and Ella Mae. It’s too late. I’m not buying it.”
“It’s not bullshit,” Jake says. “I heard him. I was there. And Gia and I will be happy to tell you all about it, if you’ll just come with us into my office.”
Lexi’s gaze bounces from me to Jake and back, landing, finally, with an almost audible thud on Jake. “Gia sure has worked some kind of spell on you, hasn’t she, Jakey? She’s got you wrapped up so tight around her pinky finger, I’m thinking she must really put out good.”
Someone behind me chuckles. Someone else mutters, “Runs in the family.”
“Oh, shut up, Steve. Do you want me to tell everyone here that’s really a cucumber in your pants?” Lexi’s revelation drops the smile from Steve’s face like the blade of a guillotine. She holds up a hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart at best, and looks at me with a snort. “Cocktail sausage, and that’s being real generous.”
A snicker runs through the crowd, and Steve turns an alarming shade of purple.
And then she turns back to Jake. “My advice to you, hon, is don’t get too attached to this little sister of mine. Because as soon as the old man kicks the proverbial bucket—” she makes a sweeping motion with her right arm, sloshing a good swell of her water onto the floor “—she’ll leave you so fast you’ll get whiplash.”
A flush of fury at my sister’s personal shot snakes through my body and explodes out the top of my head. “What is your problem?”
Lexi holds up a finger, making me and everyone wait while she drains her glass. She wipes her mouth with the back of a hand, then smacks the glass onto the top of the jukebox hard enough to leave a dent.
“You’re my problem, because you don’t stick.”
“What do you mean I don’t stick?”
“Oh, pardon my hillbilly French—you don’t stay. You didn’t sixteen years ago, so why would you now?” Her gaze flicks to Jake, and I know what she’s implying. Everyone knows what she’s implying. That not even Jake can make me stay.
As one, the heads in the room swing to me, waiting for my reply. Jake included. He gauges me like only he can, and he must not like what he sees because his shoulders fall and he looks away and I know, without either of us saying a single word, that my answer has let him down.
“I never said I would stay,” I say to the room, but mostly to Jake. “I have a job on the other side of the planet, where people are dying from starvation and disease. Where people need me.”
As usual, Lexi thinks this conversation is all about her. “I need you! I need you here, and you keep leaving.”
I don’t know what to say. Lexi has never needed anyone. Besides, she and Jake know how I feel about this town, and that my return here has always come with an expiration date.
Before I can tell either of them this, Lexi plucks a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from a server’s tray, jerks off the cap, sends it skidding across the floor and takes three long swallows straight from the bottle.
And then she pitches forward again. This time she’s not laughing. This time she heaves her liquid dinner over Jake’s boots, a
nd then again and again, into a puddle on the wooden floor. When her stomach is good and empty, her legs give way, and Jake scoops her up before she can hit the ground. She’s a rag doll, limbs flopping, head lolling, in his arms. Her eyes are closed, and hallelujah and praise the Lord, so is her mouth.
Jake swings them both around, gestures with his head for people to move out of his way. “Show’s over, people. Let us through.”
The crowd parts, and Jake whisks Lexi through the bar and into the kitchen, past a couple of cooks and runners who look up from their dishes with a double take. He hangs a right into a narrow hallway without a word, without looking back, without checking that I’m following right behind him.
“Jake, stop,” I say, scurrying to keep up.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow. He rounds a curve and begins the steep climb to his front door. On either side of him, Lexi hangs from his arms, a human deadweight.
I rush up after him, wishing he would turn around so I can see his face, see if he’s angry or not. Then again, the way he’s stomping up the stairs is probably a clear giveaway as to his current emotional state.
“Are you mad at Lexi or me?”
He hits the top of the landing and whirls on his heel. One of Lexi’s arms whacks sharply against the wall. My sister doesn’t flinch. I do, though, at the look of undisguised fury on his face.
“What do you think?”
Me. I think he’s mad at me.
“This isn’t exactly fair, you know. Tonight’s the first time we have this discussion, and it’s in front of the whole freaking town. You’ve never even so much as hinted you wanted me to stay until Lexi—”
“Stay.” His anger fades into desperation, wild and raw, and his expression eats at me. “There are plenty of people here who need your help. Plenty of communities in Appalachia where the poverty is just as staggering as Africa and Asia and all those other places you work. I don’t...I don’t want you to leave.”
His words churn something unpleasant in my stomach, and I grip the handrail to keep from swaying. “Stay in Rogersville?”
The Last Breath Page 20
