by Kris Calvert
“Did you read yours?”
“Just take your time with it, Mac. You’ll know when you should read it. Okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m sorry about the whole Micah thing. I promise you. There’s nothing going on.”
“I know,” she replied as she shut the door behind her.
I placed the envelope on the old desk and turned on the lamp. The thick white linen stationery stood out among the sea of clutter that was the evidence on Hector Quintes. Momma’s letter was a calm in the middle of the storm.
I laughed out loud at how fitting it was that her message should come to me this way—she always did have a way of calming me down.
Miss Celia had left sweet tea for me in its usual place on the silver tray in the corner. I poured the tea and as I sipped took a long hard look at the portrait of my parents that hung over the fireplace.
The first night I brought Samantha to Lone Oak, she commented on it. I told her, it was how I liked remembering them both. It was even truer today.
“Here I am, folks. Right here where you thought I’d eventually end up,” I said to the portrait. “You knew, didn’t you?” I asked, pointing to their images in the oil painting.
Staring into my father’s eyes, I watched him watching me. I’d always felt as if he was right over my shoulder whenever I worked in his study.
I walked the circular room and noticed all the photos, knickknacks from his trips and scraps of paper containing words he wanted to remember. This one room really signified the world my parents built together. It was here all the important decisions in my life were made, and now I used the room for the exact same purpose.
I knew this day would come. The day when everything that the other Callahans had passed on became mine. The responsibility was now mine – not that it hadn’t been since Momma moved into the nursing home, but the finality of death brought it all to light. I’d grown up. I was the one with the wife and children. I was the one with the responsibility.
I was still running on adrenaline from the past week. I’d barely slept, hadn’t spent any time with the children or even Samantha. I was a short rope that was unraveling quickly. How would I get through tomorrow?
Maybe I should read the letter from Momma. Maybe I should get some sleep. I’ll get Moss and we’ll drive around town and look for Hector. My mind was racing and I felt my chest thump loudly with anxiety.
I took a deep breath and eyed the bourbon on the bar table. I needed a drink. I wanted a drink. I wanted anything that would take my mind from where it was heading.
“Mac?”
“Come in,” I shouted.
“Baby,” Miss Celia smiled. “I know it’s been a long day, but you need to eat. Now, don’t tell me no, cause you know I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I gave her a half-hearted smile. “What’s for dinner anyway?”
“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”
“Why are you so good to me, Celia?” I asked as I took a long drink of my sweet tea and loosened my tie.
“Because you’re my baby, baby.”
“I thought Dax and Katy were your babies now.”
“You’re all my babies.”
I sighed.
“I worry about you,” Celia said.
“It’s nice to have so many people worrying about me.”
“Your sweet wife worries something awful about you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And that girl – the one from your office?”
“Micah.”
“Miss Samantha heard her on the phone trying to make a hotel reservation and insisted that she stay here.”
“Really?” I asked. “Well, I’m not surprised by the grace and hospitality of my amazing wife.”
“She is amazing, McKay Waverly Callahan. I knew it from the moment I met her. Don’t go forgetting that.”
I knew I was being warned. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Celia…”
Her loving expression changed on a dime. “I don’t think. I know. A married man ought not to be huggin’ on another woman callin’ her his Betty.”
“First off, how did you hear that and secondly, do you even know what that means?”
“These walls have ears. And you know it. I don’t care what it means. A married man needs to keep his hands to himself. Never give your horse more attention than your wife unless you like sleepin’ in the barn.”
“Can I explain?”
“No need. Fried chicken’s for dinner,” she announced as she opened the door to leave.
“I thought it was whatever I wanted?” I yelled after her.
“Sometimes you don’t get what you think you need,” she shouted back.
31
SAMANTHA
“Sam?”
“In here,” I called from Mac’s bedroom.
“The children are ready. How are you doing?” Polly asked as she joined me at the mirror.
Our eyes met in the reflection and yet we didn’t say anything. “We did this a few days ago. With the tears and everything,” Polly said.
“You told me it was a new beginning,” I sighed. “I guess today’s an ending.”
“Every ending is a new beginning, right?”
“Is a funeral a new beginning?”
“For the people left behind. Life and death – the beginning, the ending – it’s all really one big song that just goes on and on,” Polly added. “Circle of life.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Lion King.”
“It’s the circle of life,” she sang at the top of her lungs. “Blah, blah, blah, you get the picture,” she smirked.
“How do you do it?” I asked Polly.
“What?”
“Make me laugh when I should be crying?”
“It’s a gift. Like knowing when to stroke the balls while giving a spectacular blow job or taking steaks off the grill at medium rare.”
I laughed. I laughed hard and it felt good. It felt good to feel normal. Polly had always been there to make me feel this way.
“I’ve got to make it through today, Polly. I have to.”
“You will. I promise.”
“Have you seen Mac?”
“No, why?”
“I’m worried about him. He’s doing part of the eulogy and I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“It’ll be fine, Sam.”
“It has to be.”
My feet ached from standing in one spot for so long. I was tired of being gracious. Many of the same people we’d just seen at our own wedding were now shaking my hand again, offering their condolences. I tried to be strong for Mac, hiding my tears whenever he was near. The blank look on his face told me everything I needed to know. Mac had been stretched beyond his limit.
The children made an appearance, but left with Polly and Leo one hour into visitation. It was too much for Dax to understand and I was too weary to explain something I couldn’t comprehend myself.
When the funeral was about to begin, we gathered together in the church vestibule where the minister, who’d married us days ago with a cheerful smile, now had a solemn timbre to his voice.
I looked around the church, filled with FBI agents, some here to pay their respects and others here to keep Hector away from yet another family event. I’d overheard Tom Moss tell an agent that everyone from the funeral home and church had to be double checked by one of the owners and a church secretary to come in or out of the back of the house. The rest was just a free for all and it needed to be over soon.
We took our seats at the front of the church. The closed casket was below the pulpit and a beautiful oil painting of Nancy sat on an easel close by. She was probably forty or so in the painting. I glanced down at the emerald ring on my right hand and looked to the portrait, finding it on Nancy’s hand that casually held the back of the chair she stood next to.
The sanctuary was filled not with flowers, but flowering magn
olia trees and bushes. How they’d managed to move them all into the church was beyond me, but it was simply beautiful, just like Nancy.
Mac held my hand without looking at me until it was his time to speak. Before leaving the church pew, he gave it a squeeze as he stood to walk to the front of the church.
I had no idea what he was about to say and I didn’t know how much longer I could remain strong. Since Daniel’s death I’d hated funerals, I hated the smell of the flowers, and I hated everything about them. Funerals were barbaric to me. They were a way for other people to say goodbye and mourn. I knew from experience the real mourning would come later. Much later.
I watched my husband take the pulpit and begin with a deep breath. Pulling a tissue from my purse I dabbed my eyes.
“My mother’s abiding love for my father and me was what sustained us,” he began as I heard a sniff from the back of the church. “She was a hopeless romantic, believing that love happened all the time, every day. And why wouldn’t she? She was married to my father. Together they set the bar very high. So high I never thought it possible to reach—that was until I met the love of my own life, Samantha. Once again, my mother was right. Nancy Waverly Callahan was never pessimistic, never ironic, and never cynical. How she managed to have a son who was all of those things, we’ll never know. Because of how she lived her life, I have an example of how I should live mine. Maybe how we all should live.
She was the quintessential Southern lady, a true flower of Dixie, a sweet smelling magnolia on a spring afternoon. Better yet, a steel magnolia, ready for war at a moment’s notice. I was proud to call her my mother. She was gracious, humble, loving – she always made everyone feel at ease. She was always beautiful, no matter what the occasion, and you could count on three things—she’d be wearing pearls, lipstick and a smile. She was considerate, helpful and probably holds the record for most handwritten notes in a lifetime. She was quite simply a lady in every aspect. She was an angel on earth. I know that’s what my father believed, and as I grew older I came to know exactly what he meant. My one consolation is I know they are together now. I know she’s no longer suffering. And my mother left this world knowing she was loved. She will be missed, especially by her grandchildren who won’t have the privilege of her presence in their lives, but they will know her by the amazing good deeds she did in her lifetime.”
I watched as Mac paused, trying to hold back the tears coming to the surface.
I looked away and held my breath, hoping not to break.
“I will see to it,” he whispered as his voice gave into his emotions.
Mac took a long pause and deep breath. I knew he wouldn’t be able to go on much longer. He was a tough man, but he loved deeply and it showed today.
He stepped closer to the microphone and looked to the ceiling as he held in his tears. “Mark Twain once said, ‘My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.’”
There was a muffled laugh in the sanctuary and it was a welcomed relief. I took a deep breath for him and prayed he made it to the end without losing it.
“My mother never said goodbye to me. Ever. Instead, I would ask if she loved me. And she would say, ‘You know I do.’ I thank God every day she did.”
He folded his paper and walked back to the pew to sit with me. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek – so proud of him.
The minister said a quick prayer, and we rose to leave the church as the pianist began to play, I’ll Be Seeing You.
Giving Mac’s hand a squeeze, I looked into his face hoping to see his relief. He was almost finished with the required ceremonies. Soon we could mourn on our own without the entire town of Shadeland and an army of FBI agents around every corner. I’d hoped to find relief in his face. Instead I saw emptiness.
As we left for the cemetery, Celia and Timms stopped to hug him. He was distant, disconnected and I knew where he’d gone. It was a headspace I never wished upon anyone, but I knew it well from my own experience.
“Mac, sweetheart,” I said as we rode to the graveside. “Your mother would’ve loved what you said.”
He stared ahead and gave a small nod to let me know he’d heard me.
“Are you okay?”
Another nod.
“We’re almost finished. Then we can go home.”
He was silent and I knew to leave him be. He needed to process what was happening. He’d been trained to kill and track the criminally deviant, but nothing prepared him for being alone and apart from his parents completely. It was going to take some time for him to accept what had happened in the last three days. I knew I needed to be patient, supportive and loving. And I would be – forever.
There must’ve been a hundred people or more at Lone Oak for the repast. A buffet line was set up as well as a bar and a dessert table. I was always amazed at how the burial of someone ended up with carved roast beef and an open bar, but Nancy didn’t want it any other way.
Polly and Leo had the children tucked away upstairs in a private section of the house. Mac had given specific instructions. No one was to go in or out of the room and Leo was armed inside the nursery. It was all so stressful, and yet I put on my lipstick and gave the crowd a reluctant smile. I wanted Nancy to be as proud of me for entertaining as she was of Mac’s eulogy.
“Celia,” I said as I finally found her in the sea of people.
“Miss Samantha,” she smiled as she hugged me tightly around the neck. “How are you holdin’ up, sweetie?”
“I should be asking you that. Did you make all these arrangements for this?” I asked as I looked around the room at the party that seemed to be going on.
“Miss Nancy had it all planned out. I just had to follow her instructions. It was fine.”
“Nancy did all of this before she died? She planned this?”
Celia nodded and grinned. “Miss Nancy said she always threw the best parties in Shadeland, and she wasn’t going to have her final one be a bust because Mac didn’t know what to do.”
“Smart lady.”
“Very.”
“Can I get you anything, Sam?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine. Again, I should be asking you that.”
“No.”
“Have you seen Mac? I went upstairs to check on Dax and Katy and I lost him.”
“No, darlin’. I’ve not seen him. I did notice the door to the study was shut.”
“Thanks.”
Standing on my toes, I continued to look for Mac. Everyone seemed so tall and the rooms were completely full. I really wanted to ask people to leave, but I knew that proper etiquette required me to be a good hostess in my own home.
I walked to the study and turned the knob only to find it was locked. I wasn’t surprised.
“Samantha?”
“Richard?” I was shocked and let my feelings be known by gasping at the sight of him.
“That’s not happy to see me,” he rasped.
“Just surprised,” I replied.
“Can we talk?”
“Now? What could you need to talk about right now, Richard?”
“Frankly, I’m a little tired of agents climbing up in my business every little whipstitch if you get my meaning.”
“I don’t believe that I do,” I stated calmly as I looked over his shoulder to see Agent Moss carefully watching every move Richard made.
“I need to conduct my transactions in a businesslike fashion and they’re always around. Frankly, it makes me look bad.”
“No one is forcing you to stay at my house.”
“Well, that’s another thing, Sam. Let’s talk about the house for a second.”
“Richard?” I ground through my teeth. “I just buried my mother-in-law today. Now unless you want to be buried in the next couple of days, I suggest you back off.”
“C’mon now, Samantha,” he drawled. “We’re family. Now I’m startin’ to feel like a banjo, cause y’all are always pickin’ on me.”
“What?” Richard was making
me angry, but I didn’t want to cause a scene.
“You heard me. Now, darlin’,” be began again. “We need to work something out over Mimi’s house.”
“Richard.” I said his name deliberately and was filled with so much disdain I truly wanted to call him The Dick. “Mimi thinks you’re as crooked as a dog’s hind leg and twice as dirty and I’m starting to agree with her. For the record, that house is mine. Do you understand me? Mine. And no one, including you, is going take it away from me.”
“I just think in light of the past few weeks you need to think about what would happen to our family’s finest property if something should happen to you.”
“Well, I’ve got news for you, Dick. You can use any trick you want—bring it on, you piece of trash. That house will never be yours.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Sam.” Richard whispered as he watched Tom Moss close in on our conversation.
“I’m not upset, Richard. It’s just that I’ve seen Mimi’s will, and guess what? You’re S-O-L,” I spelled out with deliberate contempt. “Now back off, you chubby, self-righteous, gold-digging bastard. Stay away from me and my family or you and me and my gun,” I pointed into his fat chest, “are going to get real cozy, real quick. I’ll give the FBI something to really investigate.”
“Are you threatening to shoot me, Sam?” he asked loudly so Agent Moss could hear.
I dropped my head back in laughter. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be gone by now. Death is too good for you.”
“So you are threatening me with a gun,” he bellowed.
“You’re not worth a bullet through the heart,” I replied. “I’d aim low. I’m a pretty good shot too. Even if the target is as tiny as your dick…Richard.”
“Why you little bit-”.
“Watch it, Dick,” I spat. “I’ll change you from a rooster to a hen with one squeeze of the trigger and never give it another thought.”
I didn’t wait for his reply, but instead turned on my heels and walked away to hide in the kitchen where I found Celia.
“What are you doing back here, Miss Samantha?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “What are you doing back here?”
