Last Rights

by Lynne Hugo

  Against her better judgment, Cora put her hand on Lexie’s shoulder, but Lexie slid in next to her so that Cora’s arm went around the girl’s shoulders, and she took on more of her grandmother’s weight.

  BACK AT BECCA’S, Cora hoped for a nap. She’d made lunch in the kitchen for the girls, sat on Becca’s bed while Becca stirred and restirred a bowl of chicken broth, and then waited for Becca to slide back through her thrashing-sleep stage to her deeper, molasses-breath one. Today, Becca had finally upped her own pain medication, as the oncologist had said she could. A clump of ashy hair was strewn on the pillow, and Cora picked it up and stuck it in her pocket, angry at helplessness. She arranged the sheet over Becca’s shoulder, and picked up the dish with one hand and her cane with the other. The fatigue of the lost sleep and the exertion of the morning were overcoming her.

  She’d hardly made it to the kitchen when the phone rang and she pushed herself into high gear to get to it before it rang again and disturbed Becca.

  “Cora?”

  “Yes, hold, let me pull myself a chair over.” Cora panted. She set the phone down on the table, ran a glass of water and lowered herself into a chair. “It went okay,” she said when she picked up the receiver again, anticipating the reason for Jo’s call. Sunlight streamed into the kitchen, early June dropping July hints when it should have been remembering May instead. Cora swiped at her forehead with a crumpled tissue she pulled from her bra. She tucked it back in and blew at the hair that had flopped back down onto her forehead.

  “You sound out of breath. You all right?”

  “Tired is all. Becca had a bad night.”

  A murmur of understanding in Jolene’s voice, raspy, though she hadn’t smoked in twenty-five years. “So it went just okay?”

  “Nothing bad. I don’t know what Lexie is pulling, exactly. She was too good—you know?—when we were in there together. Said we’d spent all kinds of time talking about Christine dying and the like.”

  Jolene knew the truth. Cora could imagine her considering this piece of information, her eyes closed, weighing its potential for harm or good. “Who knows. A psychologist would probably rather hear that than that she shuts herself up in her dead mother’s old bedroom and looks at a picture of her in her coffin.”

  “You don’t think it can backfire?”

  “Did you contradict her?”

  “No…not really.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, then. Did Lexie like her?”

  “You know, I never thought to ask. Didn’t take one of her instant dislikes, at least.”

  “That’s a good thing, then. Do you need to get back to something now, or have you got a minute?”

  “Becca’s asleep and the girls are…actually, I’m not sure where they are, but the house is quiet. I was just going to nap a bit.”

  “You do that, then.”

  “No, it’s all right. Hearing you is a tonic. What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing to upset you. Just a curiosity.” Jolene hesitated and Cora felt a small foreboding, a hangnail on her consciousness. She tangled her fingers in the phone cord and felt slightly claustrophobic; Becca’s kitchen was cramped, papered in a harvest-gold gingham that made Cora dizzy if she looked at it straight on.

  “What is it?”

  “I sent Bob up to your house this morning to see if he couldn’t fix your car.”

  “Oh, Jo, you didn’t need to do that. They’re coming to tow it in this afternoon—I called yesterday, but it was too close to closing time and they said they’d come out this afternoon.”

  “I know, but I thought we could save the money.” Jo did that, said we about saving money, when, of course, it was Cora’s money stretched to squealing. “Anyway, you need to call and cancel the tow, because the car is fixed.”

  “Bless that Bob.” It would help not to have a repair bill, with all the psychological evaluation expense to be paid.

  “Honey, it wasn’t Bob.”

  “What? I tried and tried and it wouldn’t start no matter what I did.”

  “Bob found a note on your door when he was going in to get the spare car keys.” Cora and Jo had always had keys to each other’s houses. Jo paused and took a breath.

  “From who? What does it say?”

  “Something like, I hope you don’t mind, I took a look at your car and it was easy to fix, so I did it. It’s just signed Alex.”

  “God almighty,” Cora exhaled. “I don’t know what to say. Do you think it’s right? I mean, what he said…could he have been messing with the car? Do you think he would?”

  “Bob had that thought, but he got the keys and tested it out, and the car’s working fine.”

  “But…the keys…”

  “I know. Bob said the house was locked up tight and nothing disturbed. He found another way to start it, or he figured out what was wrong by looking, maybe. I don’t know. Bob didn’t know because it wasn’t broken anymore. He did look under the hood.”

  “What do you think, Jo?”

  “I think for now you just say thank you, and keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

  thirty-three

  SO. GRANDMA’S appointments with the shrink are finished. I was glad I went with her first because I’m thinking I have to scale back the plan for when I go with Alexander the Goddamn Great. The doctor isn’t as smart as Grandma thinks she is but she’s not as dumb as I hoped she’d be. I was going to wear the black stuff and not talk at all, but now I think it’s better to work on Alex.

  Why’d he go and fix Grandma’s car? Grandma couldn’t figure it out, but I think maybe he’s nervous about talking to the shrink because he knows he’s a psychopath. He’s hoping Grandma will call it off in gratitude or something. Fat chance. She promised.

  The car thing did give me an idea. The doctor has this sign in her office that says twenty-four hours notice is required to cancel an appointment. If Alex cancels our appointment on less than twenty-four hours notice, it’ll start her off annoyed with him for sure. It’s time to find out how good a friend Ramon wants to be.

  thirty-four

  A DIRTY LIGHTBULB of sun was trying to burn through the haze of the day. Cora’s mind fragmented into tasks: did Rebecca need a pill just now? Air out the cream-colored summer comforter on the clothesline while Rebecca was in the tub, but hurry back to sit on the side to help Rebecca wash herself. Get Jill from cheerleading practice. Think of something Becca would eat and Jill at least endure for supper.

  Becca’s strength was still down, and Cora hadn’t been able to go home at the end of the weekend. “I’ll get there, Mom,” she’d said. “Dr. Simcoe said to hold on and see if I can’t tolerate the new drug because the trials have been pretty good. It’s brand-new, y’know.” Radiation had been suspended for the week, which would have been a relief if Cora could have been at home the days they weren’t making the drive. She needed to catch up on her own housework, gather a thought or two in a coherent order and rest. Now, though, it was already Wednesday and she was in the middle of chopping celery for a tuna salad, when she realized with a start that she’d not heard from Lexie about her appointment to see Dr. Vallade with Alex on Monday. It was only noon, though and Lexie couldn’t possibly be home before around three, so all she could do was berate herself for letting Christine down. She wrote herself a note so she’d not forget to call later on, after the laundry was folded and the dusting done.

  She had spoken to Alex on Sunday when she used her own car to take Lexie back to him. “Thank you very much for repairing my car,” she’d said in a formal tone. “I’d like to pay for your time and, of course, whatever part it needed.”

  “That’s okay,” he answered, gaunt-looking in the twilight.

  “What do I owe you?” Cora persisted. Lexie was glowering at Alex. Amazing that laser-thing she does with her eyes doesn’t melt him into the concrete, Cora thought.

  “Nothing. It’s okay. Hardly took a minute.”

  Cora had started to protest again, but d
ecided to just be gracious. “Well, thank you very…” she’d begun and then Lexie cut her off.

  “Thank you very much to stay off our property in the future. It’s called trespassing. Whatever you’re trying to pull, it’s not going to work.” Then she’d stalked between Cora and Alex and gone into the trailer without saying goodbye to Cora. A screen door—Alex must have just put it up—had slapped the door frame two times then sputtered against it two or three more before it was still.

  Cora was embarrassed even while part of her admired the gumption.

  “I’d better get going…” she offered weakly. Slant rays of late sun came over Alex’s shoulder at her, and she put up a hand to shield her eyes and, incidentally, her discomfort. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Alex had shrugged. His skin looked pasty to Cora, and his pants looked like they were failing in their effort to find hips or a rear to rest on. They rode low, no swagger in the body underneath, a uniform for defeat.

  Cora hadn’t missed any news. The appointment was actually going on right when it startled its way into her memory. And she’d rightly read Alex as losing stamina even before his troubles had shifted into high gear. First, he’d had to cancel the Monday appointment with the court psychologist because his truck wouldn’t start. It had scarcely taken a glance to see what caused the problem: the distributor cap was gone, stolen sometime during the night, obviously, since the truck had worked fine just ten hours earlier. He’d discovered it long after Detta had ridden off with that boy just as cocky as you please, never glancing over her shoulder, just getting in his wreck of a car and slamming the door. What bothered Alex the most: he saw Detta smile—no it was more, it was a laugh—at something the boy said. Alex had never once seen her smile until that moment. She had pretty teeth, like Christine, at least based on that flash from a distance.

  It wasn’t that he couldn’t fix the damn thing, or didn’t have enough money to get a new cap; it was that there was no way he could hitch into town, get a new cap at the Napa Auto Parts, get back and fix it in time for the appointment. He’d thought to call to cancel, and was informed by some crisp-as-celery secretary that he’d be charged for the time even though Mrs. Laster was responsible for the other costs of the evaluation.

  “I took off work,” he protested. “Can we make it later today? I could fix the truck and get there this afternoon.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the doctor has no other openings today. We’ll have to reschedule. She can see you Friday at ten. How’s that?”

  Terrible. He’d have to ask off twice in the same week, and then he still had to go back by himself so that would make a third time. The foreman wasn’t going to take it well. He might even stick him on third shift, which made a mess of his days and nights. And Dink and Big Al wouldn’t be there. Just the thought of meeting new men made him feel like he’d eaten too much chili.

  “Anything on Saturday or at night?” he asked, as if office hours might have changed in the last two weeks.

  “The doctor is in Monday through Friday between the hours of eight and four.” Snap. Chopped celery.

  “All right,” Alex sighed. “Friday at ten. Is this the one I’m supposed to bring my girl to?”

  “That will be fine,” she’d said and Alex guessed that was a clear answer.

  Monday morning, though, turned out to be about the high point of his week.

  On Wednesday, Detta went on to school so she wouldn’t miss her first two classes. He was pleased and surprised to see she didn’t wear her death ghoul outfit, not that he’d told her what to wear, which would have absolutely ensured the black ensemble. Even he had caught on that much. But on her own, Detta wore blue jeans and a T-shirt, which he supposed was acceptable. Alex was supposed to pick her up in front of the school at nine-thirty for the appointment. He showered and shaved and started to get dressed. He pulled on a new pair of khaki pants, because Big Al said they would go okay with Dink’s sports coat, the lightweight navy blazer Dink’s wife made him wear to church. But when he yanked on the zipper, it wouldn’t budge, off its tracks at the very bottom and not about to go back on. He didn’t think it had been that way at the store, but then he hadn’t tried them on, so maybe it had. He thought maybe he could just keep the sports coat buttoned and wear them anyway, but then both the buttons were missing from Dink’s coat. Both of them! He couldn’t believe his eyes. Why would Dink loan him a coat with the buttons gone? So now he was down to clean jeans and the dress shirt he’d bought for court.

  How could he have missed that his last pair of decent jeans had a hole in the knee? How could he have missed the stain (coffee?) on the front of the new-for-court shirt? He didn’t even remember that he’d had coffee that day, though he must have, nervous as he’d been. And why hadn’t the stain come out in the laundry? He had washed it.

  He ended up in the jeans with the hole in one knee and a clean T-shirt, the one with the least writing on it. He guessed it would have to be all right. That’s what Detta was wearing, and Christine had probably taught her about stuff like that.

  He noticed something like a smile playing around Detta’s lips when he picked her up, right on time even though he’d been pretty rattled trying to figure out what to do about the clothes.

  IT ALL WOULD HAVE passed over him like a summer storm if the distributor cap, the replacement cap, hadn’t been gone on Friday, when the doctor had agreed to see him right at eight, so he could still get in most of a day’s work. He was spiffed up in the khakis and the sports coat—Big Al had asked his daughter Anna, the oldest, who was taking home economics at the junior high school—if she’d sew buttons on the coat and see if her teacher knew how to work with the zipper. He’d have asked Patsy, his wife, except Patsy didn’t approve of Alex keeping a young girl from her grandmother. “A girl needs a woman to mother her, not a mutant beerhead.”

  All dressed up and the truck won’t start. It was like a bad dream replaying.

  And it came together in his head, suddenly it seemed, although the parts must have been brewing on some back burner in his mind because it came whole when it came. The picture of Detta getting in that boy’s car not fifteen minutes before, laughter on her lips, and the mirth on the boy’s face as he drove off had burned an after image in his mind.

  Alex popped the hood, swung out of the truck to the asphalt, and took a look at the innards. Sure enough. Only this time he knew who the vandal or vandals were.

  Back in high school, one of Alex’s gym teachers had tried to talk him into trying out for the basketball team in spite of his height because he was so quick. That fast, he was across the tiny areas that passed for yards belonging to the three trailers, ducking clotheslines and skirting several lawn chairs and a cement goose, and banging on the door of Ramon’s trailer.

  Rosa answered. She started a smile, but it disappeared into a furrow when Alex began shouting.

  “Your boy messed with my truck! I want him to stay away from Detta. I don’t want her over here or him over t’my place. Not ever!”

  “What?” Rosa’s eyebrows arched over the question. Her chin went up. “What are you saying? Ramon hasn’t been to your place.”

  “Well, he damn well was last night. Second time this week my distributor cap’s gone.”

  “What makes you think Ramon did this?” She stepped out on the stoop and cushioned the door, closing by spring action, from slamming. It made him angry that she could be in a pink bathrobe and he could be dressed like he was going to an office, and she was the one who looked dignified. She didn’t raise her voice, either.

  To show her, he raised his even more. “I know, all right? I know. You keep him off my property and my girl.”

  “You’re having problems with Detta.” It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t sound like an accusation either.

  “That’s my business.”

  “Seems like you here shouting and carrying on makes it mine, as well.”

  Was she making fun of him? He’d never been able to t
ell with Olivia, though she always denied she was.

  “Well it ain’t. I told you, just…”

  Rosa interrupted. “I’m Rosa, Ramon’s mother. Detta says you are Alex. How do you do?” He could hear the formal construction of an English as a Second Language class in Adult Education held in Santa Maria parish in Miami, though Alex didn’t know that. He thought she was doing it to make him look stupid. His speech always fell apart when he was exercised.

  And now he felt like chewing one of her damn bird feeders to the ground. “I ain’t here for tea. Look…”

  “Have you thought Detta may have done this?”

  “Messed up a truck? What does a girl know about messing up a truck? You’re crazy.”

  “Well, perhaps you guess her less than she is.”

  Alex was losing the upper hand. He felt small and stupid and despairing. He took a step back down, to leave, which made matters worse since Rosa was now over a head taller than he. “I don’t want her here, or in your boy’s car. All right? I’ll take her to school myself.” Of course, Alex couldn’t do that without being late to work. Cutting off his nose to spite his face had long been a specialty of his. She could just take the bus was all. Take the damn bus.

  “Mr…. Alex, if I may. Your Detta is confused and afraid and crying for her mother. And she’s upset about her aunt’s cancer. Be patient. Give her a chance.”

  “She’s the one won’t give me a chance!” It revved him up again when Rosa said that.

  “There’s always a second chance with children. They are forgiving.”

  “Not this one,” he said, angry. “You don’t know. Just keep your boy away, hear?” He turned and left, striding the small distance without looking back though her eyes were heavy as bowling balls on his back.

  Her aunt’s cancer?

  thirty-five

  CORA HAD HARDLY BEEN home in a week. It was worth it, though—worth the mess of her yard, worth the undusted furniture in her parlor and the empty refrigerator in her kitchen—because in strands thin as each single day, Becca had picked up strength like a ball of gathering yarn. This morning, she’d polished off a soft-boiled egg and toast, combed her hair, dressed in elastic-waist khaki shorts and a Nike T-shirt and folded a load of towels before exhaustion took her hand and unraveled her back to the bed for a nap. “If you need to get home, Mom,” she’d said over lunch, “I think I’ll be all right this afternoon. Maybe you could come back tonight? Just in case Jill needs help.”