Alma's Will

by Anel Viz

  "No, ten o'clock is good."

  They finished their breakfast in silence. It was useless speculating why the police wanted to question them. But after they got home from the station they'd talked about it non-stop.

  News of any kid being molested always made Jay physically ill. That night he had picked at his dinner and could barely keep it down. Later, Ed and Cameron could hear Baron comforting him in the room next to theirs. The sounds were embarrassingly loud and made them more than a little jealous.

  * * * *

  As MacGuire expected, the group interrogation was going nowhere. He'd looked into their stories and they had all checked out. He had nothing to ask, really.

  A very overweight police officer stuck his head in the door.

  "Fletch, will you step outside a second?"

  "Time to play 'good cop, bad cop'?" the boy's uncle sneered. He'd been openly hostile from the beginning.

  MacGuire was gone less than a minute. "You can go home now," he said. "We know who it was." He looked straight at Enslik (he couldn't bring himself to think 'Blacknoll') and added, "You see, that we were 'wasting our time' questioning you doesn't mean we wasted all our time."

  If MacGuire had been expecting an apology for his 'good cop, bad cop' crack, he didn't get one.

  Franklin, who had reacted the most strongly when he learned of the molestation, muttered, "I hope they lock the bastard up for life."

  "They won't; nowhere close. It seems nothing more went on than a little fondling."

  "Isn't that bad enough?" the uncle asked. "How many times did he do it?"

  "We don't know that yet."

  "So there could be more."

  "Let's hope not. What really freaked the boy out was being made to touch the man's genitals."

  Franklin groaned. "Was he… Did he have an erection?"

  "Maybe. Probably."

  Franklin groaned again. The black man gave his upper arm a gentle squeeze. "C'mon, Jay. Let's go home. It's over now. They've caught him."

  Dennis

  Jessie wondered what was taking Liv so long. She'd promised to call as soon as they'd finished with the social worker. Perhaps she still hadn't made up her mind what she was going to do. In the meantime, Eric had stopped by, packed up the children's things, and taken everything with him.

  She was doing the dishes when the police came to the door. They asked if she was Mrs. Heymer.

  "Yes, that's me."

  They showed her a warrant which she didn't read and asked to speak to Dennis.

  "What's this about?"

  "Is your husband home?" the officer repeated.

  "He's in the basement, watching television."

  "Can you take us there, please?"

  They handcuffed him, read him his rights, and arrested him. He made no attempt to resist.

  Jessie felt her head spinning. Not in a million years could she have imagined something of the sort happening to them. She was frantic. She tried to get to her husband, but the police held her back, physically restrained her.

  "Why are you arresting him? What is he charged with?"

  "Child molestation."

  "Dennis! What's going on? Tell me!" She tried keeping her voice down, but it came out as a scream.

  "Just get me a lawyer," he said gruffly, and let the policemen escort him to the squad car.

  * * * *

  Liv couldn't bring herself to go back to the Heymers' to get her belongings; she begged Eric to do it for her. She couldn't possibly stay with Jessie now, but she had no intention of leaving Macon, couldn't let go. She'd get a smaller room in the same hotel. They were all against her. She had no hope of winning unless she were there to intervene, and if she did lose, which seemed likely, she might at least be able to keep them from putting her mother's name or Ronnie's on the shelter.

  "We'll go together," Eric said; "give Mrs. Heymer the opportunity to apologize. She must feel terrible that it was her husband who did it. She was your friend."

  Liv stared at him a moment, wide eyed, not so much in disbelief as in panic. Then she took a deep breath and said, "She already has... Apologized—over the phone."

  "What did she say?"

  "What could she say?"

  What Jessie had said was she was sure Liv would understand her decision to stand by her husband. That's what a wife was supposed to do, no matter what. "Surely your mama taught you that."

  "I'll go pick up your stuff," he said, "but you have to promise to stay here in the hotel with the children until I get back. Don't go anywhere."

  "I'm not up to going anywhere."

  "You're sure you won't come home with us?"

  She shook her head. "In a couple of days maybe. If I just up and left now, it would look like I was running away. It's strange, but I feel so sorry for that woman and what she'll have to go through."

  "There's nothing strange about that. You don't want to tell her that yourself?"

  "I don't think I could bear to look at her."

  * * * *

  Jay thought he recognized the man at the door, but he couldn't place him.

  "Is Ronnie here?" the man asked. "I'm Eric Redding, his brother-in-law."

  Cameron heard, and got up from his chair in the living room to come to the door.

  "The name is Cameron now," he said. "How did you find me?"

  "I called your lawyer, that Ms. Caille."

  "And what do you want?" She wasn't his lawyer; she was Jay's and Baron's. Not that it mattered.

  "To speak with you alone, if you don't mind."

  "Are you acting as a messenger for my sister?"

  "My wife doesn't know I'm here. She'd throw a fit if she did. I want to apologize for what my wife has put you through—is putting you through. I tried to stop her, but she won't listen."

  Cameron found that easy enough to believe. He'd seen Livvie in action and knew she was intractable. "Let's go sit on the porch," he said. "Would you like something to drink? Some sweet tea, maybe?"

  "No, I won't stay long."

  They went out onto the porch.

  "I wish I could make it up to you somehow," Eric said, "but it's out of my hands, really. I even refused to pay for the lawyer—she used her own money for that—but I know I should have done more. I'm ashamed I didn't have the courage to put my foot down."

  "Don't blame yourself."

  "I thought of calling you when I heard you had… er… popped up out of nowhere. It seems incredible she still means to go on with it."

  "Shocking, isn't it? But it doesn't surprise me. Many homophobes are like that. How else do you account for gay bashing?"

  "I can't understand that kind of hatred," Eric said. "I knew my wife didn't like gays, but I never dreamed the hatred went this deep. It's unavoidable that we all have our prejudices, I suppose, but most people don't let them take complete control of their lives."

  "That's true."

  "I keep thinking there must be more to it, some reason for Liv acting the way she is. I've filed for divorce, you know. Anyway, I'm here to ask you to forgive me."

  Cameron smiled and shook his head. "I have no bone to pick with you."

  "Still, I'd like to do something for you. Not to relieve my conscience, though I do feel guilty even if you say I've nothing to reproach myself for, and not to make up for all Liv has done—is doing—either. I don't see how anyone could make up for that."

  "Short of getting her to drop this stupid lawsuit, there really isn't anything I want. The stress is exhausting me."

  "I can't begin to imagine what you must be going through. Believe me, I've been trying to talk her out of it for months. I was thinking though, once this business with the will is over and done with, whatever they decide about the house, your mother's personal effects go to us. I'm guessing there'll be photos. I could have copies made of old photos of your family and send them to you if you want them."

  "Thank you, I would… very much. But just of my mother and of me as a boy. None of my father or of Livvie."
<
br />   "Then I'll do that," Eric promised. "Liv doesn't have to know. Now, do you want to meet your nieces and nephew? They're playing in Alma's yard in back. I didn't want them to hear what I had to tell you."

  * * * *

  Her husband and children were back in Idaho. Liv had shut herself up in a little hotel room, the TV playing a constant stream of talk in the background while she agonized over the state of her marriage, over Li'l Eric's ordeal, over whether to pursue the lawsuit further.

  Eric had called to let her know they'd got home safely and told her he'd taken the kids to meet Ronnie before they left. She listened numbly, but when he started telling her about their conversation, she asked him not to. She didn't speak to the kids.

  Mr. Worthy had called too, asking if she meant to drop the case. She'd get back more than three-quarters of the ten thousand dollars she'd paid him as a retainer. She could use the money.

  "I'll think about it," she said.

  Eric considered her responsible for what had happened to Li'l Eric; she was certain he did. It was unfair, but understandable enough. His terms for reconciliation—that she go into therapy—were no less unfair. She wouldn't accept them, though she was afraid of losing custody of her children. She ought to get another lawyer to handle the divorce, someone in Idaho, but that meant leaving Macon. Not that she wanted to stay there; she just didn't have the energy to move.

  She was alone. Jessie had been her only friend in Macon, and she had nobody she could turn to for comfort. The day after tomorrow was Sunday. She decided to attend meeting. It would be hard for her, an outsider, to face the pitying stares of the congregation, but if she went maybe God would tell her what to do.

  * * * *

  Pastor Rich welcomed her warmly and promised to have everyone there pray for her and her family in their time of tribulation.

  Jessie and Dennis arrived after the second hymn. Liv froze in her seat; for a second she was afraid she was going to vomit. She'd known he was out on bail, but not in a million years could she have imagined he'd have the effrontery to show up in church after what he'd done.

  A hush came over the hall. Dennis walked down the aisle, fell to his knees, wept, confessed, repented, begged to be forgiven.

  Liv watched him humiliate himself, convinced that the humiliation she felt was greater. When Pastor Rich called on the congregation to "forgive this sinner who has returned to the fold", she stood up and walked out.

  "Why so unforgiving, sister?" Pastor Rich called out after her.

  Alma

  Three more days went by. Liv couldn't face another night in the hotel. She had dreams, dreams she couldn't remember that made her wake in the dark covered in sweat, her heart pounding against her rib cage. If she tried leaving the light on, she couldn't sleep.

  She stood in front of the dresser, studying herself in the mirror. Though she had put on weight living at Jessie's, she looked haggard, older. Above all, she noticed the pained look in her eyes, the rings under them and the crow's feet, and her thin-lipped, unsmiling mouth. What a sad face! The stress of the past two months had taken its toll. She raised her left hand to her cheek and stroked it. Her skin had become drier.

  How tired she was! Maybe if she stayed up all night she'd be able to sleep during the day. She aimed the remote and turned on the TV. A handful of people were sitting in armchairs talking about religion… her religion. She quickly switched it off.

  The occasional footsteps in the hall outside disappeared, leaving the hotel silent as a tomb. She felt the walls closing in on her. Maybe she could find an all-night coffee shop nearby, stay there, and come back to sleep in the morning. The buses had stopped running. She'd ask the desk clerk where to go.

  She gathered her things and started putting them in her purse. Her eye fell on the key she hadn't returned. Why, she could sleep at Mama's house! Who was to know, so long as she kept the hotel room? It was clear across town, but she could call a cab.

  When she got to the house, she stood on the porch, key in hand, afraid to open the door. There were ghosts here, too. Mama had died in the house, and it was alive with bitter memories. But where else could she go? The cab had driven off.

  She opened the door and went upstairs to her old room. The bedding had been packed; she'd have to sleep on the bare mattress and pillow, without sheets and covers, but the room was hot and stuffy anyway; she wouldn't need them. She opened her window, got into her nightdress, and fell asleep easily.

  * * * *

  The sound of her door creaking open woke her. She sat up in bed and screamed. The room glowed faintly in the moonlight; the door was closed. Dreaming again. She checked her watch. Three a.m. She'd go to the kitchen, make herself a cup of tea to calm her nerves, and return to bed. Lucky that she had thought to bring a couple of tea bags from the hotel. Iced tea would be better on such a hot night, but the refrigerator had been cleaned and emptied, its doors left open.

  From the head of the stairs she saw a light coming from the living room. Had she left it on? She didn't remember turning on a light. How could she have? They'd turned off the electricity.

  Her mother sat under the lamp in her favorite armchair by the corner window, her black cat purring in her lap.

  "Mama, was it you who opened my door?"

  "Of course, child. A mother always looks in on her children to see if they're safe."

  "Is that why you came, Mama—to look in on me?"

  "No, dear, I knew you were safe. Nobody's here to hurt you. I came because I was lonely."

  "I'm sorry, Mama."

  "Don't be sorry. It was my own fault. It's always your own fault if you're lonely."

  "How was it your fault?"

  "Don't you know? Because I let him have his way. I thought it wasn't my place to go against his wishes."

  "I've been having such horrible dreams, Mama."

  "You've taken on Li'l Eric's dreams. Let that be a comfort to you."

  "They're his? Are you sure? I can't remember any of them."

  "How could you? You're afraid to tell yourself what you want to tell the world. They'll come flooding back after you die. Memories are all we take with us from this world."

  "Mama, tell me what to do."

  "No, child. What difference would it make? Nothing is really done unless you yourself choose to do it."

  "Are the answers in the Bible, Mama?"

  "Some, not all."

  "Is everything it says true?"

  "What is truth? We're responsible for what we do, not the Bible."

  "If God tells us to do something, does that count as our choosing to do it?"

  "What a foolish question! God is in our hearts."

  "I asked God what to do, but He didn't answer."

  "Oh, but He did. He answered through Pastor Rich."

  "Must I forgive that man?"

  "There is no must, child. We have free will."

  "I couldn't forgive him even if he came and asked me to."

  "Then you ask forgiveness."

  "You mean go back to Idaho?"

  "Yes, I suppose you could do that. He won't follow you there. But we should forgive everyone."

  "Him too? Did you know about him?"

  "I wish I had. It might have given me the courage to do what I knew I should. I'm paying for it now. My body will sleep next to his for all eternity."

  "Then you have no peace? Not even after death?"

  "I thought I could find peace through good works…"

  "You mean the will. You came to ask me to honor it."

  "I told you why I came. I was lonely. As lonely lying next to him in the earth as I was living with him."

  "Are you being punished?"

  "Punished? There is no punishment. We die with what we lived with, that's all. The same demons haunt me that tormented me in life, and also those I hid from. Faith, love, good works… nothing can dispel them. Yours will too."

  "The Bible calls what Ronnie does, what he is, an abomination."

  "The Bible, alway
s the Bible! One reads the Bible to judge oneself, not to condemn others."

  "Self-judgment—is that the comfort the Bible has to offer?"

  "Cold comfort, isn't it? I tried to find comfort by leaving him a gift. It was too late."

  "Ronnie's alive, Mama. Didn't you know?"

  "I told you—we only have memories, some true, some false. Beyond that we know nothing. If Ronnie's alive, tell him I love him."

  "Do you love me too, Mama?"

  "I came to your room, didn't I?"

  * * * *

  In the morning she took a cab to the cemetery. A man was standing near her mother's grave.

  "Ronnie…"

  He turned to face her. "I'm Cameron now. Call me that." There was no anger in his voice. He sounded as tired as she felt. He turned back to the grave.

  "Mama named her cat Ronnie, you know."

  "Jay told me."

  He spoke without looking at her. "Will you take her?" she asked.

  "No. She's become very attached to Baron."

  "Both of them black."

  She read in Cameron's look how deep her prejudices ran, even those she thought she'd outgrown.

  Liv could think of nothing to say to him. Her mother had told her to ask for forgiveness, but she didn't feel she owed him an apology, and it wouldn't be right to pick a fight with him—not in front of Mama's grave.

  "Is there anything you'd like of Mama's?" she asked. "I've put everything in boxes."

  He shook his head.

  "Not even a photograph?"

  "Eric promised to send me some."

  "Did he? I didn't know. Anyway, it'll be over soon. I'm dropping the case and going back to Idaho." She had no idea what made her say it. Until that moment, she hadn't decided one way or the other.

  Ronnie turned to her, waiting for her to say more. She said, "It's the only intelligent thing to do."

  He nodded. "It'll make it easier on everyone."