The Eulogist

by Liz McKinney Johnson

  A blast of cool air blows into the elevator as the doors open onto the garage. Lily stands exactly where I left her. I half expected her to have disappeared. To where, I don’t know. It just would have been more in keeping with the evening so far.

  "Well?" she says, walking towards me.

  But before I can answer, Lily’s cell phone screams, splitting the stillness of the empty garage. Either that or I just screamed.

  "Don’t answer it," I shout.

  "Why not?"

  "Who would call you at this time of night?"

  "Under normal circumstances, no one. That’s why it’s probably important."

  "Let it go to voicemail."

  The shrill ringing echoes off the empty walls as if 1000 phones demand our attention.

  "What if someone’s in trouble?" she asks.

  "Who?"

  "I don’t know who."

  "We’re the ones in trouble, Lily. Don’t answer it."

  On the sixth ring the phone falls silent but the sound reverberates for several seconds. A pulsating beep reminds us a voicemail is waiting.

  "Okay, now check it. Check your voicemail."

  Lily puts the phone to her ear and listens to the new message. I try to watch her eyes.

  "Who is it?"

  She drops her head and waves her hand to shush me. When she finally lowers the phone and looks up at me, I see the fear immediately.

  "It was Howard," she says. "He was looking for you, for Albert. What should I do?"

  I never expected Howard to call Lily. But why wouldn’t he? She’s the only other person who knows Albert. He’s doing exactly what I want him to do. He’s sweating through his monogrammed shirt right about now.

  "Nothing," I answer. "I doubt he really thought you’d pick up. I’m his target not you."

  Lily stares at the small cell phone in her hand as if it might have something more to say. Now that would be an invention, wouldn’t it? A cell phone that produced running commentary on all your calls, like carrying around your best friend in your pocket. Don’t call back that idiot, he’s just out to get you. But Lily’s cell phone doesn’t speak. Lily does.

  She wraps her hand around the cell phone and clutches it to her chest. Her eyes are filled with tears

  "Why did he do it, Charlie? Michael was such a good person. Everybody loved Michael."

  She used my name. She didn’t hesitate or stumble. She used my real name.

  "There’s no way to explain it we would understand. Money, pride, heat of the moment. Why do we make any of the decisions we do? Most likely, because we’re afraid and don’t see any other way out."

  Lily looks away and slowly slides the phone back into her pocket.

  "What now?" she asks.

  "The lab site. We have to get into the lab and find the original files. And we have to do it before Howard gets there and destroys them completely, which I’m sure he now wishes he’d done a long time ago."

  I wish I could be a fly on the wall in Howard’s office right now. Not that Howard would ever allow there to be a fly on the wall in his office, but if one could sneak in unnoticed, I’d like to be that fly. I’d like to see him now. Is he angry, remorseful, scared? All three? None of the above? I always hated that option on the multiple choice tests. None of the above? As if I didn’t already have hundreds of useful facts rattling around in my brain, now I was supposed to absorb three additional false statements and cross-check them against the true data. Lily interrupts my internal tirade. My thoughts are wandering again, I’m pretty sure that means I’d prefer to not focus on the task at hand.

  "Why are you so sure the files are there?" she asks.

  "Howard’s not the throw-away type. He’s too anal. Look at how he dresses. On his worst day, he still looks better than me dressed to the nines. He’s a perfectionist, a note-taker, a list-maker. He tidies things away, but they’re never completely out of reach. I bet he has a file cabinet full of cancelled checks from the seventies."

  "You’re just guessing."

  "Yeah, I’m just guessing. But I’m a good guesser. Comes with the territory."

  "What if you’re not right?"

  "What if I am?"

  TWENTY FOUR

  "Don’t drive all the way up to it," I tell Lily as the lab site looms into view. "Just park here."

  "We’re over a block away. I thought you were in a hurry."

  "I am not in a hurry for Howard to spot your car. Just park."

  Lily pulls over. Her tires scratch against the curb. In the distance, the heavy machinery surrounding the construction site slumbers in the darkness. Cranes and cats, in the shadows they begin to resemble the animals their names imply, hydraulic arms and necks curled under them as they sleep. Lily reaches into the back seat and grabs a bright yellow sweater.

  "Are you going to wear that?" I ask.

  "It’s cold."

  "You could also wear a flashing light on your head."

  "What?"

  "Don’t you have anything a little bit darker? I was hoping to be inconspicuous. That sweater does not say, ‘sneaking into a building’. It says, ‘hey over here, I’m over here’."

  "Very funny. I left all my camo gear at home. It’s dark and I’m cold; stop worrying."

  I watch in silence as Lily puts on the sweater. She flips her hair out from under the collar and it settles around her shoulders in dark, silky waves. I reach across and slide my hand through her hair and around her neck. I can feel the thin gold chain of the locket she always wears. She doesn’t resist as I pull her toward me. Her head tilts back, her lips part, inviting me. This kiss is better than the first. Maybe I’m just more prepared for the delicious softness of her mouth, the sensuous stroke of her tongue. Maybe not. I lean into her, my hands exploring her body, landing first on her breasts, full and warm, then her waist, her thighs, her ass. Searching every inch, memorizing the curves. Her hands are on my shoulders, running up and down my back. And then they stop. Now they’re pushing, No! Don’t push me away. I press closer. Don’t stop. I love you. You know that. You must know that by now. Please don’t.

  "Charlie," she whispers, still pushing. "Please don’t."

  As if reading my thoughts. As if seeing right through me. And would that be so hard? My breath comes out in jagged gasps, but I try to relax, try to sit back into my own seat.

  "I’m sorry," I say. "I wasn’t thinking. When I’m around you I have a hard time thinking."

  "None of it makes any sense anymore," she says. "I’ve given up on thinking."

  I reach for the door handle to get out, put my hand right on it, but then my reflexes seize. I stare at the window. Not out the window. At the glass itself, at its smeary, thick surface. Glass is not a complete solid. Gravity pulls at it like saltwater taffy, and after a hundred years or so, gravity starts to win. That’s why windows in very old houses always seem rippled and distorted, like you’re looking out at the world through a fun house mirror. Of course, this window probably isn’t moving. It’s some high-tech, crash-proof safety glass, not real glass. Not real sinking glass.

  "I love you, Lily."

  The words jump out, making a little puff of condensation on the window. They’re not in my head anymore, they’ve escaped, and like all pent-up prisoners happy to be free, they shout and bounce off the walls and call attention to themselves. I can’t control them anymore, and so they repeat themselves.

  "I love you so much."

  "Don’t say that, Charlie," Lily whispers. "You don’t mean it. Everything’s too crazy."

  No more happy words. My declaration thuds to the floor, twitching, writhing.

  "What do you expect me to say?" she continues, grinding my pitiful, dying words into the carpet. "I don’t even know who you are. I feel like those people you read about who find out as adults that their sisters are really their mothers. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I don’t know why I did. I obviously didn’t stop you."

  Silence. Heavy steel plates of silence. The car is shrinking, c
losing in on us. Then, her hand is on my back, a small circle of warm pressure. It stops the car from crushing us.

  "I’m sorry," she says, quietly, comforting me, arousing me. "I’m so confused. I need some time."

  "How much?" I ask, turning back around.

  Her hand drops away from my back.

  "What?"

  "How much time do you need?"

  I lean toward her again, touching her knee.

  "I don’t know. I can’t tell you that."

  She looks up at me finally and the emotion in her eyes is bottomless. There’s a sadness there that’s so deep, I know if I could reach through it would go all the way to her soul and beyond. Like the ocean or an ice crevasse or space, like getting sucked out of the airlock into the black void of the universe.

  "Do you hate me?" I ask, afraid of her answer.

  She places her hand over mine, holding it against her leg. I try to slide up her thigh but her hand stops me.

  "Of course I don’t hate you."

  "You’re so sure you don’t hate me. Why can’t you be sure you don’t love me?"

  "It’s not the same."

  "They’re our most intense emotions. Love and hate. Why would one be so much harder to discern than the other?"

  "Stop it, Charlie. Just stop it. I cannot deal with this right now."

  Her voice chokes off as her head falls forward. Well, that was effective. I’ve made her cry. Pathetic oaf.

  "I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I’ll stop."

  "I do care about you," she says. "I’m just not sure who you are."

  She looks up at me. Her eyes are glazed over with tears. Some have spilled down her cheeks.

  "Me either. I don’t know who I am. Nobody does. Do you really know who you are?"

  "No."

  I wipe away a single tear and brush her hair back behind her ear.

  "We have work to do," I say.

  I reach again for the door handle, and this time I open the door and step out in the damp, early morning air. She follows out her side. We both look toward the construction site and start walking.

  I detail my plan for Lily.

  "Anything Howard has brought over here is most likely to be in the finished part, where the offices are. But that’s also going to be the hardest part to get into. So, we’re going to go in through the lab, the unfinished part."

  "Phase Two."

  "That’s my whole plan. I don’t have a Phase Two."

  "No, that’s what they call the lab construction, Phase Two. I don’t know my way around in there as well as I do in Phase One. Plus, the keys I have are only for inside of Phase One."

  "Don’t worry, we’ll find a way in. Do you know if they have a security guard on site?"

  "I don’t think so. Probably just one of those services that drives by every so often and checks on things."

  A chain link fence rings the perimeter of the site. Signs are posted every few feet warning us not to trespass, reminding us to Keep Back, and advertising the names of the architectural firm and the bank responsible for the fence and everything inside it. During the day, flaggers keep everyone away, but after-hours a few brave neighbors reclaim the curb for their cars, betting they can be gone before the tow trucks can catch them in the morning. Here at the edge, streetlights illuminate the scene, but on the other side it fades from dim to dark to invisible. I lead Lily along the fence, looking for a gate. There should be two gates, a main one for the union guys, another for sub-contractors and deliveries. We want the second gate, the B Gate; it should be easier to get through.

  Without warning, or simply because I’m focused on seeing rather than hearing, headlights sweep around the far corner. I grab Lily’s arm and dive towards one of the parked cars, pulling her down with me into the dirt along the curb. On the way down, my head hits the car’s rearview mirror and I swallow an expletive as we land with a sickening thump. Lily moans. The car drives past very slowly, the light intensifying. It must be the security patrol. They have a spotlight that lights up the fence line from the car’s window. Guy doesn’t have to get out and get all chilly, just sets down his travel mug and points the light around for a little while. Looks official enough. The car pulls past and idles for a minute just a few feet in front of us. The light arcs to the left then back to the right. It falls across the hood of our hideout and I suddenly see my hands and Lily’s head. I release all the air from my chest, hoping it will flatten me further into the dirt. Then the light cuts off and the car pulls away.

  Neither of us moves until the engine is no longer audible. I get up first and help Lily to her feet. Her yellow sweater is caked with dirt and debris. She swabs at the side of her mouth with her sleeve.

  "Are you okay?" I ask, rubbing my head.

  "I think I cut my lip. Is it swollen?"

  I reach out and gently touch the corner of her mouth. She flinches.

  "Sorry. Right there. There’s a little cut right there."

  "Great."

  "The mouth heals fast."

  She explores the cut with her own finger and looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

  "Spoken like someone who gets slugged in the mouth a lot."

  "Not really. Once or twice, but I remember how much it hurt. Everything else okay?"

  "I think so. How about you?"

  "I whacked my head on the mirror."

  Lily grimaces. "We should hurry and get inside. I don’t want to do that again."

  "The car stopped up there and was shining the light back and forth. I bet that’s the main gate."

  I jog back over to the fence and see it almost immediately. Four of the chain link panels overlap and an imposing padlock secures their position.

  "This is the main entrance alright," I call over my shoulder. "The other gate should be just a little bit farther down."

  Lily jogs up beside me. She’s still holding her sleeve to her chin.

  "Why doesn’t everybody go through the same gate?"

  "Union rules," I explain, still walking, running my hand along the bumpity-bump of the chain link. "The second gate is like the servants’ entrance. Guess it makes the union guys feel more important."

  "How do you know so much about construction sites?"

  "My dad was an electrician."

  "Is he retired now?"

  "Dead."

  "I’m sorry."

  I’m several steps ahead of her before I notice she’s stopped. I turn and motion for her to hurry and follow.

  "It’s okay," I say. "He didn’t die yesterday or anything. He’s been dead for years. It’s old news, really."

  "I’m still sorry," she says, catching up again and touching me on the elbow. "What about your mom?"

  Now I stop. She runs into my shoulder. I turn abruptly and stare into her sympathetic eyes. I don’t need to add pitiful to my already pathetic list of qualities.

  "Before you exhaust yourself with a rundown of my existing relatives, let me save you the trouble." I slap both hands on my chest. "It’s only me. There’s no one else but me. Okay?"

  "Okay." Her voice is just a peep.

  "Come on. I think I see the gate."

  Up ahead, the straight line of the fence is again interrupted, but instead of metal panels meshed together, there’s a sheet of plywood anchored in place. A giant "B" is spray-painted in surveyor’s orange on the wood’s knotty surface. Fist-sized holes are drilled in each edge and a length of heavy chain weaves through the links and around the board’s middle, dissecting the "B" in half. A smaller padlock closes the circle but doesn’t draw it taut. I reach out and rattle the chain. Lily shushes me.

  "We’re going to have to make a little noise to get inside the fence."

  "It’s locked," she says, pointing out the obvious.

  "I see that. But whoever locked it wasn’t trying very hard. We can squeeze in through the bottom."

  Lily looks down where the plywood rests against dirt. The edge is ragged from being drug open and shut every day. Splinters of ply have curl
ed up from the bottom and cracked off like peeling skin.

  "Where?"

  "It’s just plywood and the chain is loose. I’ll pull it back and you can crawl through. Then, you hold it open from the inside and I’ll shimmy in after you."

  She looks doubtful, an emotion accentuated by her rapidly swelling lip.

  "You can stay here," I offer. "Give me your keys and wait over by that car."

  "Pull it open," she says, squaring her hands on her hips. "I did not come this far to sit by myself in the cold next to some beat-up Toyota." She repeats her demand. "Go on. Pull it open."

  I bend down and curl my fingers around the side of the board. It moves easily at first but reaches the end of its flexibility rather quickly. The triangle of open space is big enough for a terrier to wiggle through but is not going to accommodate Lily. I walk my hands higher up the side for better leverage and pull back harder, driving several splinters into my palm. The triangle opens up a few more inches.

  "I don’t think I can fit through there," Lily says.

  "You won’t know if you don’t try."

  Lily kneels and considers the opening. She pokes her head through, pulls it back, then tests the roughness of the plywood with one tentative finger.

  "You need to try now," I grunt out the last word, straining to keep the opening as wide as possible. "This hurts."

  She stretches out in the dirt on her side, hands and arms close to her body, and undulates into the opening like an escaping seal.

  "Push out on the chain link as you go through."

  "It’s too tight," she hisses.

  I lift one leg and kick it against the chain link panel. The metal crashes and clatters violently. Lily cries out. I’m not sure if it’s pain or fear. If anyone is here and hasn’t noticed us yet, this ought to get their attention.

  "Damn it, Charlie! What the hell did you do that for?"

  But the jolt gives her plenty enough room to snake through the rest of the way. She’s in.