by Lynne Hugo
“What’s the matter?” Carley pointed at Eddie’s left arm but didn’t touch it, in case she was right.
“Ran into a door. ’S all right.”
“I’ll go stay with Rocky if Chassie already has plans,” Carley said.
“You’d do that?”
“You’d have to let me take your truck to get there.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Carley. I appreciate that.”
Embarrassed, Carley looked away because Eddie was swiping his face with the back of his hand. The sounds of the autumn night were locust chirps and buzzes and frog songs, and his sniffle sounded like one of them. The yard lights illuminated them from one side but didn’t show red eyes, swollen features.
“It’s been a bad day,” he said. “I’m real sorry about your grandma. I don’t think we did anything wrong. With her, I mean.”
“God, Eddie,” she answered, though the thought had already occurred to her. “Do you think we might’ve? I mean, should’ve done something?”
“We took her to every appointment. She was on oxygen already. I think her body just got tired. That’s what I think. We all did the best we could.” He gave his shrug.
“Do ya think Mom’s blaming us?”
“More herself, sounds like t’ me. Feels so bad she never saw her, y’know.”
“Guilt on steroids.”
“I got me some of that, too. But it wasn’t like the agency people worked out. Not saying I didn’t benefit, though. That’s the rub.”
Carley waited until he met her eyes. “Eddie, I’m not using, not one bit, if that’s what she’s thinking.”
“I know that, honey. And whatever she thinks right now, you’ve done a good thing. I’m telling you. You’ve done a real good job. I’m proud of you.”
Carley imagined he thought her fresh tears were over her mother, adrift in a sea of guilt and grief and rage, or for her grandmother, bossy and difficult as she might have been sometimes.
“Thanks,” she said. “Thanks.”
The burial seemed to be a turning point for her mother, though Carley had no idea what might have made it so because she herself found it so pathetic, everyone in cobbled-together mourning outfits, except Chassie, who had a low-cut, thigh-skimming black number. Carley stood next to Chassie by choice. Her mother was between Eddie and her grandfather anyway. And next to her Grandpa was Cal in a sports coat that belonged to Eddie, an iffy fit since the sleeves were too long, and it was too big in the chest and back. The pants were Hack’s and matched the coat okay but were high-water, and Cal wore sneakers because nobody thought about shoes until the last minute when it was the last minute and plain too late. Dark socks, probably her grandpa’s. At least Cal had washed his hair and shaved. Carley whispered to Chassie that it was probably the first time he’d showered since he’d shown up.
Everybody stood around this big depressing hole in the ground that was covered with Astroturf to make it look like something else. It was neon-obvious, though, because a short distance away was another oblong hole that wasn’t covered, which Carley thought was in very bad taste, no matter how pressed the mortuary people were for time. And to make matters worse, Louetta’s cousin’s daughter, Delia, brought her kids, who ran around the cemetery during the service as if it were a playground. Carley found it plain embarrassing to be even distantly related to Delia, but it had to be worse for her mother, so she and the rest of the family did what they could to smooth over the fiasco the kids created. It was weird how she didn’t mind Eddie telling her what to do and actually ended up admiring how Eddie took charge.
After the burial, the fog around her mother seemed to clear, as if she’d shaken her head. (Well, that made it sound more dramatic than it was, Carley said to herself, but both she and Eddie had noticed, eyeing each other in the way of allies.) When the minister said the last amen, Jewel let Cal take their father’s arm, and they led him toward the parked cars. Carley walked five or six steps behind, with Eddie, Chassie, and Rocky, afraid to approach.
Halfway to where the cars were parked, Jewel stopped and turned. “Where are you all?” she said, motioning them forward with a hand that held a crumpled tissue. She wiped her eyes, then stuffed the tissue in the purse that dangled from her elbow. “Come on, we’ve got people to feed,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She waited for them all to catch up, and they walked on, abreast. Carley overheard her mother speak quietly to Eddie, who was beside her now. “I’m sorry I hurt your arm,” she said.
“Shh,” he said. “It’s fine.”
And even that wasn’t the end of things to shock her that day.
Before they made it to the parking lot, Cal stepped out of the line and blocked Jewel’s way. The lockstep stopped its forward progression. Carley, immediately frantic, looked at Eddie. But instead of slugging Cal in the gut, Jewel just said, “What is it?”
Cal cleared his throat and said, “I need a minute. In private.”
Immediately, Eddie jumped the line and faced Cal, making himself into a wall in front of Jewel. “You’ll be leaving Jewel alone now, Cal, is what you’ll be doing.”
Carley started to join Eddie, but Chassie pulled her back, held her hip to hip, and stuck her lips practically inside Carley’s ear. “If they fight, you’ll be in Dad’s way. He can take Cal.” Carley knew something was wrong with Eddie’s left arm, which was covered by his shirt and jacket, but she yielded into the immeasurable silence. Time was sucked out of the world, and there was only stillness, sky, the white sun, fear.
Then Carley knew something was different, because Jewel stepped up and said, “It’s okay,” softly to Eddie, and that she’d meet them all at the cars. Carley was no less afraid. Chassie put her arm around Carley’s waist and waited with her.
“Jewel,” Cal started, but then his tongue stalled. He hadn’t planned this out at all, and now he felt he’d picked the wrong time, wrong place. Stupid, standing out here. The family probably was walking backward to the parking lot with binoculars trained on him. But he’d put it off since their mother died, not knowing if he’d do more harm. When he told her about Ma being at the window when she died, it had flipped Jewel out bad.
“Just want to say I, um, I didn’t mean to make a mess of things. And I’m real sorry about Carley … before.” He blinked in the brilliance of the daylight. “For what it’s worth, when Eddie was bringin’ her t’ the house, everything was straight up. I didn’t want you thinkin’ I … and she never used nothin’. She was real good to Ma and Dad—”
“Dad told me,” she interrupted, and when she looked at him there wasn’t loathing on her face, which surprised him. Jewel looked like somebody had fixed her up pretty good. Her hair was done nice, that chainsaw job hidden with curls around her face, and she had makeup on, but her eyes were tired-out in the center of it. The sunlight aiming itself on her face didn’t leave anything concealed. The lack of active hatred bolstered him to keep going.
“Just want to say I’m sorry. Know that don’t make it right.”
There were beats of silence, and Cal almost didn’t go on. Eddie hadn’t known if it would make things better or worse. Jewel had pretty well gone insane when Ma died, and now that the burial was over, and she had suddenly talked to them all, maybe it was best to leave things alone.
“We’d better get going. Everyone will get back to the house before us,” Jewel said.
On the other hand, even though she hadn’t responded to his apology, she hadn’t shot him, either. And the contents of Cal’s pocket—it had to be that—made him feel as if his chest were igniting, if regret and sadness and loss could burn flesh. Or even love, wordless and far too late.
“Wait. Ma, well, I dunno if she was gonna ask Carley to give this to you or maybe ask Eddie. Well, that’s not the point, but this was in Ma and Dad’s room. It was with her stuff, y’know, by her side of the bed. Anyway, I’m tryin’ to say I saw it and I took it. Don’t know if it’s better or worse for you, but I gotta give it to you.”
“What
is it, Cal?” she said.
This was strange. He couldn’t decipher if that was a neutral resignation in her voice or something hiding three feet back from the edge of kindness. He’d only had one good shot of Jim Beam to stiffen him for his mother’s funeral, nothing to make him hear things funny. He needed to replay it over and over to sort it out, but there wasn’t time.
He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his borrowed sports coat and gave it to her. As Jewel took it, Cal touched her shoulder, wishing he dared more, but only turned and walked toward the cars. He put the hand that had touched his sister into his pocket, risking one quick glance over his shoulder to see what she was doing.
Dear Jewel,
Your Daddy said I chose Cal over you from the beginning and this time I drove you out forever. I thought you’d come back and I could have both you and Cal, but turns out your Daddy was right. Maybe nothing wrong with what I wanted, but wrong how I went about it. So I told him I’d call you and say I was sorry, but then he said, well, give it more time. He said Cal’s doing better, and Carley keeps things going, and maybe it will all work out on its own after all. But then I thought on it and maybe what your Daddy likes is that Carley has him out in the barn every day now. He lives for his beauties, as you know. I guess everyone does, sort of. Thing is, I messed up on seeing mine. I don’t know who’s right and who’s wrong, so I decided to write and you decide.
I’m not right these days, Jewel. My chest hurts and my heart jumps around and it’s hard to breathe. They take me to the doctor, don’t think they don’t. But now I’m scared I won’t see you again if I don’t ask you to come back. I don’t mean to come do any work. It’s just I miss you. I used to say none of the aides did anything right, and you did do it best, but it would have been better if I just said I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say that before so I’m saying it now. And that you’re a real good daughter.
I’d like to tell you what I learned in my life. It’s a real short list (Ha Ha). If you don’t come back, then just remember don’t be blind even though you do come by it honest. (Ha Ha again). I got stuck on one way of seeing things. I forgot to try to be better, and I’m sorry.
Love,
Mama
“Lotsa ways to be blind,” my father likes to say.
I was right when I said that nothing was what it seemed. I was wrong when I thought I knew what it really was instead. At least partly. I saw the surface well enough but not the layers beneath with all their colors and texture. The problem is that you never know when you’re actually seeing the whole picture, all the way out to the sides and bottom, all the layers. Maybe the truth has to put together what everybody sees.
It’s been four months since Mama died. Life has rearranged itself into a Plan B I never foresaw. Carley got certified by the County Eldercare agency and lives with Dad, taking care of him and the horses. Chassie moved in with them just before Carley started night classes in veterinary technology at the community college. Chassie stays home with Dad three nights a week while Carley goes to school. Chassie’s still in cosmetology school during the daytime, not dressing any more modestly, but, on the other hand, it’s not like Dad can see her. “I like that girl,” Dad says, speaking of Chassie, “especially when Mr. Hotpants isn’t hanging around. I’m thinking about runnin’ him off.” The truth may lean more toward how Chassie finds Bonanza reruns for Dad, makes popcorn, and tells Dad what’s happening on the screen. Unless Frank is there. Frank looks something like Hoss, and doubtless Chassie prefers the real thing, given a choice. Dad’s likely jealous, but when he recites his list of theories about Frank the Predator, naturally Eddie goes berserk.
I’ve thought Chassie-worry is why Eddie’s been acting strange. That, and because we have to go to court with Lana over Rocky. (Both of us would prefer two or three fun-filled root canals.) But last night I was reading in bed when he turned off the television and stuck his face in my hair.
“Something on my mind,” he said.
A length of quiet. “What is it?” I prompted. Eddie kept his face in my hair even after he stitched words together.
“Is Carley really okay to give riding lessons? I mean, how she’s talkin’ about opening the stable in the spring and how Hack’s buyin’ a colt to train. You really all right with all that? Sounds t’ me like no way you’re not gonna be all pulled in again …” Once it was out, he rolled on his back, sighed, and rubbed his eyes.
“Actually, she wants a filly we can breed later on. It’s a start on expanding the herd. She wants to get into training, and Dad and I will teach her. She’s chattering about it because she’s excited.”
“I just don’t see it working with her still in school and taking care of Hack, and then you’re gonna—”
“Chassie’s there to help with Dad. And the stable will only be open weekends. Weekends.” Eddie didn’t move or uncover his eyes. Frustrated, I went on. “Look, I want this for me, too. I wouldn’t mind training a filly of my own, for that matter. Not now, but sometime down the road.”
Another sigh from Eddie, blown out long, through puffed out lips.
I worked to strain annoyance from my voice, keep it gentle. “Hey. What’s your problem? You’ve been fine with it, and now you’re back worrying. How come?”
“Got used to worryin’, I suppose. Afraid to quit. Afraid something’ll happen t’ make you go nuts with the scissors and me lose you again.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Just … scared. A lot more’n hair the color of October I love about you, girl. Where’s the damn train?”
“What’re you talking about?”
Eddie used his elbow to make a tripod. His face was a close-up over me. “Like you don’t know. Who or what would you throw yourself in front of a train for? Exactly who asked me that?”
Eddie, my Eddie, remembered my standard for evaluating the strength and purity of love? He couldn’t have surprised me more if he’d suddenly whinnied while sprouting a mane and tail.
“You,” he said. “The answer is you. Yeah, the kids too, but that includes Carley.”
I replayed it in my mind afterward as I lay with my legs twined with Eddie’s. His mentioning October made me remember my mother’s burial, when all the brilliance of the month gathered itself up like a bouquet of scarlet sun. I’m sure Eddie and Carley think the letter from my mother drained the swamp of my anger. Let them believe what they will. It was actually during my mother’s burial service that I started to get over being stuck on nothing is what it seems and looked at what it might be.
Delia’s children were running around like banshees. I have no idea why she let them do that. Perhaps the leaves underfoot releasing their crisp pungency to mix with the moist, dug earth was plain intoxicating to them. Once they got out of control there wasn’t much Delia could do short of dashing after them with a lasso and that would have been worse than ignoring them, which is what she did.
In retrospect though, those wild kids did me a huge favor. In gratitude, I should send them enough candy to keep them on a permanent sugar high. Because what they set in motion let me see my own family as I never had.
Naturally, being kids, they couldn’t stay away from the grave the cemetery workers had left open mid-job in respect for the service being held. The oldest, Joey, started jumping over it, back and forth. It was distracting, to say the least, because he was right in my line of sight. I closed my eyes to try to concentrate after noticing that Delia and a lot of other people were doing the same thing. It helped that the minister said, “Let us pray.”
Suddenly, Joey screamed like he’d seen my mother’s ghost. My eyes, and everyone else’s, I’m sure, popped open. He was gone. Chloe, his blond-haired little sister, stood three feet away from the hole, terrified. It took everyone seconds to realize that Joey had fallen in. Delia, in purple taffeta and high heels, took off running while the minister valiantly tried to keep going. I was paralyzed next to my mother’s coffin. This couldn’t be happening. The minister droned on about the Gates of
Paradise while Delia charged, squawking and flapping her arms like a panicked goose, and Joey, out of sight, screamed from the grave.
The commotion sounded like it was coming from the Doorway to Hell. I remember covering my eyes, so ashamed that my mother’s funeral was turning ridiculous and ruined. At the time I wished I’d thought to stick the barn pistol in my purse. Might as well get good use out of it, and this time I’d make sure nothing blocked my target. I was not in the best place emotionally. Then Eddie, this Eddie who’d done all these things behind my back that I thought were against me, held up his hand and interrupted the minister. “Excuse me. Would you mind waiting a moment?”
The minister stopped mid-sentence on the word angels, trailing it out, which my mother would have liked, considering her collection.
Eddie gestured to Cal to follow him. He turned and whispered something to Carley, who grabbed Chassie’s hand, and the two girls followed Eddie and Cal. The four of them strode, conferring as they moved in unison to the hysterical scene where Delia was kneeling and carrying on, ineffectually grasping at Joey’s scrabbling little hands. Carley hurried to Delia, to get her up and out of the way, keeping an arm around her for support. Meanwhile, the two men stretched out on either side of the hole, reached in, and, on the count of three, lifted Joey up by the armpits, Eddie using only one arm, the other still sore and bruised from my vacuum-wand blow. Chassie was there on Eddie’s side to catch the boy and help Carley get mother and son to be quiet, no small feat.
And then Eddie slid back into place by my side, calm as if nothing had happened. His trousers had bits of leaves and brown grass on them, and the side of his jacket probably did too, but he made no show of brushing off. “Please continue,” he said to the minister, like a master of ceremonies. The girls were back in place, though Cal stood off to the side, as if he were embarrassed. Delia had the belated good sense to take her children and go home.
