July 7th

by Jill McCorkle

  “Like what?” He cannot imagine anything stupid rolling from those full soft lips.

  “Oh, I don’t know, makes me say things like that I’m no good, that nothing’s ever going to go right for me, makes me cry like a baby.” She shakes her head, the wisps of hair around her eyes. “It got to my Daddy that same way.” She takes a small bite of her ham biscuit and stares at him the whole time she chews, and he watches that small chin going round and round, the swallow that he can almost trace down her throat. “Listen to me, telling you what you ought and ought not to do. It may not affect you that way at all. You might be different from me.”

  “No, I think we’re alike.” He wants to kiss her right now, to squeeze her as hard as he can. The door slams shut and both of them jump.

  “Hope we ain’t interrupting you lovebirds.” Harold goes back to his chair, and in a second everyone else except the children files out, with Granner coming out last, carrying what’s left of the cake.

  “Whew! I thought I was going to roast inside that house.” Kate fans herself with her hand and goes back to the swing. “I never thought that it could feel so nice outdoors in July, but that house is a sweat box!” Ernie goes and sits down beside her, both of them looking at their watches and nodding to one another. Granner puts the cake down on the small table by her chair. “You all help yourselves,” she says, and stares out into the yard while she’s getting herself adjusted, twisting her back a little and moving her head from side to side so the arthritis won’t settle in. She loves this time of day when the sun is so bright yet the shadows of the big trees start to darken the porch. She gets the morning sun on the porch, so this time of day sitting on the porch is almost like being inside and looking out a big picture window. She always sits out here this time of day just to remind herself of all those times that she and Buck would sit out here and swing and talk while he chewed tobacco. They’d sit till dusk and then they’d start counting the bats that would fly out from under the eaves of the old Sampson house that used to be across the street. Those bats would file out one at a time, like they were in the army or in a parade, and then soar way off, probably ready to dive on something white at any given second. At least that’s what Buck used to say. Buck said that colored folks as long as they wore dark clothing would never have to fear a bat nosediving on them.

  “Going to the movies, Mama?” Harold asks, and grins. Lord knows, sometimes he can look just like Buck Weeks, though Buck Weeks never acted as rough as Harold.

  “I’ve never in my life been to the movies. You know that.”

  “Oh, I though you were cause I saw you picking your seat.” Harold takes his hand and pulls on the back of his work pants.

  “I was not!” She sits back down in her chair and stares off again. She doesn’t care what a one of them says or does right now, because as far as she’s concerned the party is over. As far as she is concerned she’d rather sit and think about Buck, talk to him a little bit in her head. Sometimes when she talks to him in her head, she feels like he’s right beside her, sometimes he even talks back to her. He was the only person who would listen to her telling about Mr. Abdul until Juanita took an interest.

  “You know, Charlie weren’t the first dead man I ever saw,” Harold says right out of the blue. “I saw so many dead men when I was in Korea. Used to count ’em. Got to be where seeing a dead man was like seeing a tree or a bush, all looked alike.” Harold pushes his cap back and laughs. “Thought to myself one time that was gonna be some kind of fertile soil once they all rotted.”

  “Please,” Ernie says. “Don’t start with your old war stories. We all know them. We’ve all seen your scar.”

  “You don’t know shit, Stubbs. You were sitting in some office doing some shit right here in America.”

  “He’s flat-footed,” Kate says. “And I was glad they wouldn’t have him.”

  “He’s a pussy.”

  “Harold, I’m not gonna have it.” Granner gives him a sharp look, but she knows from experience that that look probably won’t do a bit of good. Ernie starts to say something, but Harold cuts him off.

  “But it was like a different thing altogether when I saw Charlie stretched out on that floor.”

  “Because you weren’t in war.” Sam says, takes another sip of his drink and sets it aside. “You were accustomed to it in war, you accepted it then. You forgot that those people had lives of their own, that they belonged somewhere, that there were people who cared about them.” He squeezes Corky’s hand and waits for her to look up at him, the slight nod, the tears in her eyes. She smiles and returns his squeeze and it makes him feel funny all over. He has surprised himself, those words coming from his mouth, and now he no longer feels self-conscious around these people who have asked him all the questions, because he does fit in with her. She has somehow made him fit.

  “No, I don’t think I did and I don’t think you would.” Harold puts both feet up on the banister. He could wrap his legs around Juanita right now and squeeze the life out of her. “How old are you anyway?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-one, prime age, but you’re a baby, don’t know a thing about it all.” Harold stares at Sam now. “You ever seen a dead man before last night? Not all fixed up at a funeral but just dead, still warm, still got the blood left in him?” Sam shakes his head. “See, you don’t know what I’m talking about, either, or maybe you do now that you’ve seen one. Makes you feel sick as hell, don’t it?” Harold points at Corky. “She knows what I’m talking about. Yessir, Corky knows about as good as anybody what I’m talking about.”

  “Leave her alone,” Juanita whispers.

  “Juanita don’t want to hear nothing because she’s never had nothing horrible to see, had to make herself up something in her head so she’d have something horrible in her mind like everybody else.” Harold glances back at Corky. “You know what I’m talking about, now don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Corky looks away from him and stares out in the yard. “It sure has been a pretty day, hasn’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” Juanita says.

  “Pete ought to be calling any minute,” Ernie says. “I’m afraid to leave because I want to be among the first to hear.”

  “Well, if we leave now, we can hurry home. They’ll try our house first, I’m certain.” Kate sits up straight but Ernie doesn’t budge. For some reason, for the first time ever, he’d rather stay here than go home. As hard as Harold is to take, he doesn’t want to be alone with Kate right now, not the way he’s feeling, not the way his chest feels so tight, a feeling that he hasn’t had since his Mama died, since he waited on pins and needles to find out if they had been accepted into the club. He’s afraid of himself, afraid of everything he’s done or hasn’t done in his entire life.

  “We will in a minute, honey.” He takes hold of Kate’s arm and squeezes. He can still wrap his fingers all the way around her arm, though her arm has gotten plump, but it’s the same arm, the exact same arm that he has held for all these years. “It’s not even four yet.”

  “Yeah, little Corky must know,” Harold says now, as if Corky isn’t even present. “Go in that room and see her Daddy with his head blown off. She knows what can happen. She knows what it can do to a person.”

  “Harold, this ain’t the time nor the place for this,” Granner says. She’s ready for them to all go home so she can be right by herself with Buck in her head, try out that milk bath that Harold gave her, put her feet in that whirlpool and watch something good on T.V.

  “Look what it did to her brother.” Harold looks around, and everyone except Sam is ignoring him. Ernie would like to speak out, to tell Harold to leave Corky alone, but he knows that Harold would start in on him. “Course look at you, young green boy, don’t know a thing about war, playing with building blocks or playing with yourself during Viet Nam, right?”

  “Harold.” Juanita grabs hold of one of his brogans and he starts to move his foot, to give her a good swift kick, but no, he’ll let her hold i
t, he’d like to see her lick that shoe.

  “I know it was wrong,” Sam says. “I know I wouldn’t have gone.”

  “You know it’s wrong cause that’s what you’ve heard by now.” Harold leans forward, his legs inching forward, that one foot in Juanita’s lap and she doesn’t even move, just holds that shoe, damn her.

  “What do you think you would have done? Been a pussy?” Harold looks over at Ernie and laughs great big. Kate is about to open that fat mouth of hers, so Harold keeps talking. “Maybe run off to Canada?”

  “Maybe.” Sam feels uncomfortable now; he feels as helpless as that young girl had looked a while ago. He wants Corky to rub his head again, to hold him close.

  “Don’t blame you,” Ernie says, and nods at that boy. For some reason he is feeling sorry for everybody today, even Harold, but mostly for himself.

  “Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.” Harold twists his foot around, and now he’s got the heel of his shoe right near Juanita’s crotch. He could grind her right out of business if he took the notion. “You either could’ve been a pussy or you could’ve been like Corky’s brother. He couldn’t take it, could he?”

  “What do you know?” Corky looks up now, those large eyes filmy. She looks at Granner because Granner and Fannie McNair are the only two people that she’s ever told all about her brother, but Granner is staring away, far away, and Corky realizes that Granner has shut them all out and is right by herself now.

  “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, Corky. We all got skeletons. You can’t help it if your brother couldn’t take it.”

  “Well, he tried.”

  “Sure he did and that’s what I’m saying. Either that boy sitting there with you could’ve done nothing and run away and spent the rest of his life being a good for nothing pussy, or he could have gone and maybe not been able to take it and wound up in a hospital making doll babies out of corn for the rest of his life.” Harold takes a big swallow of his drink and pulls out his Red Man. “That’s what I was saying, damned if you do and damned if you don’t. I tell you when I saw Charlie with his mouth crammed full of napkins and that plastic on his face, I knew what happens to people like your brother, people who let themselves care a little bit, people who lose their fucking shit.”

  “Harold, you are so crude,” Kate says, and he ignores her. It may be the first time in his life that he has ignored her.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam says and touches her arm, the slight goose flesh that runs up her shoulder. “I really am.”

  “Yeah.” She looks at Harold once, quickly, then looks away.

  “Corky knows what the hell I’m saying, and God knows Ernie should, after what happened to his Mama.”

  “Stop right now, Harold,” Kate says, but Ernie doesn’t say a word. He knows that Harold’s going to say it sooner or later. He knows he may as well get it over with, let Harold pull up all of the old bones that he can.

  “Course the mailman would know even better. Old Donnie Capps been delivering over on Injun Street for years, putting mail in Mrs. Stubbs’ box.” Harold looks at Ernie now and Ernie stares right back, doesn’t even blink. “What was it, third day? Was it the third day when Donnie saw that your Mama hadn’t come out to get her sale catalogue from two days before?” Ernie is still staring. “Yep, third day so old Donnie knocked real loud on the door and he waited and waited, got a little worried so he called the police, tried to call Ernie but he was out of town for the day, golfing or shopping I forget which.”

  “I mean it, Harold.” Kate stands up but Ernie doesn’t budge. “Are you going to let him sit there and humiliate you?” Ernie just looks at her, opens his mouth but then closes it and shakes his head. His chest is so tight right now that he can’t even speak, doesn’t want to speak. Kate goes inside and slams the door.

  “Anyway, they busted in that door and when they did, they got a whiff of an awful odor, and there she was, Donnie Capps saw her first, on the kitchen floor, a frying pan with grease dried in it down beside her wheel chair and grease everywhere, with Mrs. Stubbs stretched out in front of that chair with her head cut open.” Ernie doesn’t want to hear it all again, but there is something in him, some part that does want to hear it, to get a picture of what he never saw. “Juanita went down there and mopped that floor after they had got Mrs. Stubbs to the funeral home. Mrs. Stubbs had on a frock that looked like it was a hundred years old, ratty old underwear, too, that’s why Mamas always tell their children to wear clean underwear in case something was to happen where people would see them.” Sam Swett looks up and nods, yes, he knew that, his Mama had always told him that, though nothing had ever happened to him, though later on, Corky might see, it’s very possible that Corky might see that big footprint on his underwear. That story made him feel sick all over again; he feels a little sick. “For three days, though, she was like that.” Harold inches his other foot up near Juanita’s thigh, that firm hairless thigh. “Three days and it took the mailman to go in there and find her. I thank God that I found Charlie when I did. It could’ve been seven hours before anybody else went in that store.”

  “I called once,” Ernie says. “I thought she was probably in bed and couldn’t get to the phone.” He shakes his head, tries to shake away that picture of his mother that Harold has brought so vividly to his mind.

  “She was sleeping, all right.” Harold taps his foot against Juanita’s thigh and she looks at him, those blue eyes so clear and begging, not a trace of anger in them. “Oh well, I reckon that covers skeletons in the closet, unless of course Ernie’s got himself a new story to tell.”

  “Why do you say that?” Ernie leans up in the swing, his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles are white.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Seems like that lifestyle of yours might cause a bone or two here and there. You know a bone to pick?” Harold spits over the side of the porch, a straight shot that ends with a splat on the dry dirt. “You act a little fidgety, them pink legs crossing and uncrossing.

  “I’ve got a grandbaby being born.” Ernie sits back and wipes the sweat away from his temples. “I’ve got a reason to be edgy.”

  “Yes, you do,” Juanita says, and nods. She looks down at her hand on Harold’s shoe like she’s surprised to see it there, surprised that he hasn’t moved away from her. She takes one finger and rubs it around and around the lace eye. She will sit here all night long if Harold does, because she’s not going to be the first to go. It has been so long since she’s been close to any part of him and she ain’t about to budge.

  Bob Bobbin has had some kind of day. Now, he’s sitting in this little air-conditioned room down at the station trying to cool off, drinking a Coca Cola and flipping through some mug shots to see if he can find the suspect. For all Bob knows, this man could have done all sorts of bad things; he very well could have been the one that went into the First Baptist Church and did all those nasty things, wrote those nasty words on the wall. That case was never solved though rumor had it all over town that some kids from nice homes had done it. Bob doesn’t believe that for one second, no child raised in a fine home in a nice neighborhood would do such a horrible thing, had to be trash that did it.

  “Bobbin, what in the hell are you doing?” Chief Williams sticks that red Santa Claus face of his into the room. “You ain’t getting paid to loaf, son, gonna wind up right back downtown writing traffic tickets if you don’t watch it.”

  “Working on the case, sir.” Bob stands up straight as an arrow. “Thought this man may have been in here before for something.”

  “This ain’t New York City, don’t you think we’d remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah.” Bob shifts from one foot to the other. “Thought I’d wait for the lab reports.”

  “What lab reports? That bottle that you brought in don’t tell us a thing. It was all wet with sweat. Somebody got it out of the cooler and then it sat out for who knows how long.”

  “Couldn’t have been too long, cause Harold Weeks saw that guy leavi
ng.” Bob rubs his chin. “We could get prints from that cooler,” Bob says, but the Chief just shakes his head.

  “What the hell, if you’ve got a witness, then go get him!” The chief backs up and Bob takes himself a long swallow of Coke. It’s so hot that his uniform is sticking to him all over. “Now!”

  “Yes sir.” Bob drains the last bit of his Coke and goes and puts it down in the crate by the machine. He sure doesn’t want that downtown duty again, walking round and round that parking lot behind the old dime store and Belk’s, walking up and down Main Street measuring cars from the curb, checking meters. The only nice part about that beat was that he had been right there near the Coffee Shop and near Corky. He picks up his car keys and walks down the hall and outside. It’s so hot that he can hardly breathe when he steps outside, can’t hardly see, either, so he puts on his mirrored sunglasses. Harold is probably still at his Mama’s party and Bob hates to go to that house. That old woman is crazy, and what’s more, Corky will probably be there and he hasn’t gotten himself ready for another apology. Damn that woman for the way she keeps him dangling. He opens the door of his car and stands there a minute to let some of that heat out.

  “Have you heard anything?” He turns around to see that little curly-headed woman standing there, crept up on him without a sound. “I’ve been here all day long. Tommy told me to leave and that big man inside told me to leave, and I just don’t know what to do!”

  “I think you ought to leave.” Bob whips off his glasses so that he can look her square in the eye. “Get yourself a new start, you know?” He looks her up and down, puts his glasses back on so that she can’t tell how closely he is looking her up and down. “You know I might want another one of those lamps.” He nods while he talks. That was so stupid of him to give that lamp to old Sandra. Corky didn’t even notice, or if she did, she pretended not to. “Might get two as a matter of fact, one for me and one for a present.”