by Tiana Laveen
“Go ahead.” She took his hand and squeezed it as they kept on walking past various restaurants and shops that were still closed.
“I called the funeral home to make payment arrangements since I keep adding on to my package. A guy there told me it was already paid in full. You know anything about that, Zake?”
They kept on walking; their shadows cast across the ground. They looked like a giant tree holding its own over-sized leaf…
“I know about it,” he finally said after a long silence.
Jenny nodded and smirked, though her expression was tinged in sadness.
“What made you do that? I told you I didn’t want your money and I could swing it myself.”
“I did it because that’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Supposed to do? No, it’s not. I wasn’t a mother to you.”
“You weren’t a good mother to me because you weren’t there. Not necessarily because you’re a shitty person, personality-wise. It doesn’t mean I can’t be there for you. Both of us don’t have to fail.” The tears began to flow down her face again. “Like I told Dad, this has to do with me trying to wrap my head around this, as opposed to you and any revenge I might want. Some strange stuff has been happening lately, too. It’s making me think about things.”
“Strange like what?”
“I don’t want to get all into it, but I had an odd conversation with a neighbor, and then there was the robbery a couple of weeks ago—well, the attempted robbery. I had to kill someone; better his life than mine, but it’s still fucked up. I am home, with you. Somewhere I never thought I’d be in a million years, and I’m dating someone who inspires me.”
“Inspires you? Sounds really special. What’s she like?”
“She’s a good person. She’s funny, a workaholic like me, caring, open-minded, fun, fuckin’ gorgeous, and she’s different from anyone else I have encountered. I have been all around the world, and I’ve met so many women, Jenny. Slept with a hell of a lot, too, but I have never met anyone quite like this. She’s a little unique, but in a good way. I like it because she keeps me guessing. Who knew that the person who might just be the best fit for me lived in my own backyard?” He shrugged.
He didn’t miss the gigantic smile on his mother’s face.
“Do I know her?”
He stared at her long and hard, then laughed.
“Is this a trick question?”
Now she was laughing with him.
“Is it that pretty girl at the funeral home? The assistant director I was working with initially?”
“Yup. How’d you know?”
“Your father told me some lady named Promise was at the hospital when he called to tell me not to come. Not many women named Promise.”
Gutter shook his head.
“Life and death keep fucking with me, Jenny. I can’t run from it. It’s all around me. Even my lunch had death pepper sauce. Now I’m fallin’ for a girl who is a fuckin’ death dealer, basically. She wraps the shit in pretty packaging, silver caskets and flowers, but it’s still transience. It’s nuts. Can’t even date someone not affiliated with bereavement and mortality. I should feel depressed being around all this death right now, but I’m not. I feel different though, that’s for sure.”
“I told you as a child, and I told Promise at the funeral home: no one really dies. It’s just a door, beyond another door, and beyond another door. My body is failing me, but this heart of mine will live forever.” He took a deep breath, and then another. “I’m not scared, Zake. Just angry with myself that it took me dying to make me woman up and talk to my second born. I was so afraid of being rejected by you, I never attempted to reach out to you again, not even considering how you’d feel if I never even tried. By the time I did consider it, I feared it was too late. I even—” She paused, leaned up against him, and coughed hard. He looked down at her, the way her little body wracked and convulsed. So violent. Angry. Sickeningly sad. When she looked up at him, her eyes were glossy as she managed a meager smile—an effort to give the illusion that she was all right.
“Come on. Let’s go back to your house. Get you some coffee and get you in bed.”
She nodded in agreement, and they turned around to make the twenty-minute trek back. Every few steps, she had to stop and cough. Each episode was worse than the last. She even spit up a little blood. Gutter got on his knees, his back towards her.
“Zake, what are you doing?” She began to cough again.
“Get on my back.”
The woman burst out laughing, which sent her into another coughing frenzy. When she’d settled, he turned to see the scant color she’d had was drained from her face. Wintertime had come for sure. She was snow-white.
“Come on, Jenny. Climb on my back. Let’s go.”
The woman’s lips curled, and before he knew it, he was no longer met with resistance. Off they went, him giving his mother a piggyback ride, and he didn’t give a damn who stopped and stared. He could feel her heart beating against his back and the warmth of her small frame hugged tight against him. Her ankles were tied around his waist like the arms of a jacket. She rested there, quiet, alive, breathing as he sang, ‘It’s a Beautiful Morning,’ by The Rascals.
And they kept on like that until he brought her home, to that box of a place with windows that could see out but not in. The place that smelled like tomato soup, moth balls, pungent oil paints, cheap vanilla candles, vibrant life, and flickering death…
My son is asleep on my couch. Exhausted. He was at the studio late last night he said, and he has a local tour starting up soon. After cursing me out, his father let me know that Zake refuses to go too far away in case I needed him, or something happened.
That man is hellbent on letting me know as often as possible that I ruined his children’s lives. Now he claims I am doing it all over again. Regardless of what that son of a bitch thinks, I get it. Zake didn’t want to be clear across the country, or out of the country altogether if an emergency arose. I find my middle child troubling and perplexing. It feels like my son hates me, but it also feels like he loves me. Only he knows the truth. Zake is not the type of guy who is unsure about such things. He’s always been quite clear about where he stands, and how he feels. Maybe it’s his father’s Irish blood? Temper, temper…
She placed the canvas on the easel and prepared everything just so.
I fed Zake some beef stew and a grilled cheese sandwich once I was able to lie down for a few minutes and pull myself together. I’d run out of bacon, eggs, and toast… typical breakfast fare. He said he’d already eaten, but I insisted. I hated appearing so weak in front of him, so I wanted to do something for him. Something a mother does for a child. Cook. It made me feel good inside, even for just a moment.
When he was a little boy, I was strong. Not strong in mind, but in body. Now, I’m strong in mind and spirit, but my body has gone to shit in a handbasket. The diagnosis is the same, and I’m done trying to convince myself that I have a fighting chance. I’ve been invited to a death ball, so I better get my fanciest dress and hurry up and wait. I sit here now with the radio on playing the oldies of my youth, staring at this man, my baby, my first-born son. I kept my eyes fixed on him for well over ten minutes.
When he first arrived, I couldn’t believe he was here. I needed someone to pinch me. Each time he comes I feel this, but this time, well, this time, was different. I realized that he’s here right now, like this, for a reason. When I took him to the funeral home, I met that kind, caring woman. And I saw the way my son looked at her. He was completely mesmerized.
Honestly, I was tired of reading about all the women he’d been seeing. Day after day, week after week, the paparazzi has new stories about who my child has been humping. I have no idea what’s true and what’s not, but what matters to me is that no matter how pretty the woman by his side was, he never looked happy in the pictures. Content, but not happy. I studied everything I could find about him online and in the magazines, too. I would look
deep into his eyes. It was the only way I could check up on my child, and in my own way, communicate with him. I was always looking for genuine cheerfulness inside of him. Each and every time. Zake lit up when he looked at Promise though, and though many would say I don’t even know this man, my own son, and they’d be right, I do know what instant attraction and chemistry look like. These two had it in spades.
So, after we left, after he broke that damn urn, I got home and called Promise to apologize on his behalf. I was embarrassed, although not certain why. She once again was so nice and understanding… and then I told her how I knew I was overstepping my bounds, but in the event my son asked her out while arranging to pay for the broken vessel, to please consider it. She was so quiet on the other end, I feared she’d hung up. She finally replied with, ‘I just want to help you make sure that your wishes are followed, and that your homecoming service is everything you’d want.’
So I told her, ‘My homecoming service would be everything I want if my boy gets a date with YOU.’ We laughed, but I was serious. I now found out what became of all that. I want my boy to be happy before I leave this place. I know he’s a hopeless romantic; I’ve listened to his songs. Sure, the dirty ones are about sex, but I read between the lines. Zake wants to be in love.
He wants what so many thought his father and I had when he was just a baby, and maybe we did, but we lost our way. My boy is no longer a boy. He carried me with the greatest of ease. I cried quietly as my body went up and down to the rhythm of each of his thunderous steps. I prayed he didn’t hear me sobbing, and that I didn’t wet his jacket to the point that it soaked through, alerting him to the fact that I was leaking like some faucet.
He held me tight and sang to me. Beautiful songs, one after another. His voice is like a warm lake flowing through a mountain made of blue ice. Cool. Rough. Serene. What an incredible gift he has. I am never not in awe of him. My child was physically hurt recently, and even with a puncture wound on his side, he still managed to pick up his deadbeat mother and carry her home…
Tears welled in her eyes as she dipped her brush in fresh water, then the color, and began to paint her sleeping son. There were no hues in existence, no paint brushes that could capture the love she felt for him at that moment. But she’d damn sure try…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Fucks like a Rock Star…
“You did WHAT?!”
“Promise, I had no idea this was an issue. I mean, I didn’t give him your number, address, or anything. It was just casual conversation…” Aria’s voice drifted away like a piece of trash blowing in the wind.
Promise sat at her desk, her body going from hot to cold. Her limbs went loose like overcooked noodles, all with the exception of her feet, which felt oddly cemented to the floor. All of her blood had drained and pooled to her soles. Today had gone from mediocre to WTF.
“I just don’t understand. Why would you tell Trevor anything at all about me and what I’m doing, Aria?”
“Promise, Trevor seemed like a decent guy the times I was around him way back then, so I had no reason to see him and think, ‘Ohhh! There’s the boogie man!’” Promise rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. Aria was her best friend, but she fantasized of strangling her at that moment. “He didn’t ask if you were with anyone or anything like that. If he did, I would’ve loved to tell him you’re dating the famous Gutter. All I know is that you two had a messy breakup, but you never told me the details. You’ve been open with almost everything but that. I think if anyone should be asking questions and be irritated, it should be me.”
“What does any of this have to do with the fact that my best friend told my ex-husband, who she knows I want nothing to do with, where I work?!”
“It’s not like you’re in the witness protection program, Promise. Damn! And he did ask me for your number, but I refused!”
“Well, thank you for that bit of common sense and saving grace.” Promise picked up a piece of scrap paper and crushed it, then threw it with all of her might across the room.
“I’m sorry! It just slipped out, okay? Let me explain how it happened. He asked if you were still in nursing, and I said, ‘Oh no, that’s been over long ago. She works at Horizons Funeral Home now.’ See how easy that was? I mean, once I said it, I thought, ‘Oh, shit,’ but when he asked more questions about it, I was vague and said I had to leave. He looks good by the way.”
“I don’t give a damn if he looks like Braylon Edwards, Aria! If your ex-boyfriend, Kris, showed up right now and asked where you lived, it would take hot coals being put under my eyelids for me to break and tell him.”
Silence stretched between them. Long, ugly seconds.
“I said I was sorry, Promise.”
“I know… I know.” She sighed. “It was an accident. It just… never mind.”
“Promise, what happened between you two? It always bothered me how you changed for a while after filing for divorce from him. You became distant and somewhat depressed. I couldn’t get to you the way I wanted, physically that is, because at that time I lived in Canada for that job I wish I could forget, but I could tell you were not yourself. Then, before I knew it, you said you were done with nursing and enrolled in mortuary school.”
Promise swiveled back and forth in her chair as waves of distress drowned her.
“Did he play around on you?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Did he hit you? Verbally abuse you?”
“Never hit me. Sometimes he’d say rude things, but I wouldn’t claim it was verbal abuse.”
“Well, was he irresponsible, lazy, selfish or not emotionally available? Such as not keepin’ a job?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Then what was it, Promise? I know you. If you got rid of him, it’s got to be something crazy. Something painful. I stopped bringing it up years ago, but the way you reacted just now lets me know this is still a sore spot for you. Come on, sis. We’re better than this. You can trust me.”
Promise took a deep breath.
“I can’t talk about this right now.” Her friend sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m at work and I can’t risk anyone overhearing my personal business. I agree though that we should discuss it. It’s long overdue.”
“Thank you. I am asking because I care. Not to be nosey.”
“I know. Sorry for shouting at you. It was an accident, like you said. We’ll talk more about this later then, okay?”
“I’m going to hold you to it.” Aria giggled. “Don’t think I’m going to let this go.”
“I’m sure you won’t. Oh, before we end this call, let’s arrange to have dinner at that new place on—”
Just then, Daniel marched up to her desk holding a manila folder, a stern look on his stupid face.
“Let me call you back, Aria,” she stated between gritted teeth, then disconnected the call. “Daniel, you’ve sent me over five emails today. You’ve called three times, and it’s not even noon. I have an appointment in ten minutes. What is it now?!”
“I still haven’t received the approval for my business trip. I have to make travel arrangements soon or lose out.”
“I’m not H.R. nor Accounts Payable. If you’ve forgotten where they’re located, go down the hall and hook a left. If you want to go home, there are shuttles to your hometown of Hell running every two hours. Aren’t you late for the bonfire? Be gone, demon.” She dismissed him and turned to her computer screen. Fucker. With the morning I’ve had, the last thing I need is Daniel’s annoying ass bothering me.
“Oh, that’s cute. You’ve got a smart mouth on you, and someone needs to set you straight.” His nostrils flared.
“Well, guess what, motherfucker? It won’t be you. One damn date and you can’t stop obsessing over me! Daniel, I’m not going to ask you again.” She held up her finger, desiring so much to jump over that damn desk and beat him about the head with both fists. “Go ask the appropriate people about this and leave me the hell alone.�
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“I am asking the appropriate people! YOU! You’re not HR or Accounts Payable, but you are Rebecca’s assistant, and she has final sign off after you review these sorts of requests and hand them to her. I asked her about it, and she said she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. That she never got it. You are directly to blame.”
“Daniel, why would a Marketing Director for a funeral home in New York need to travel to Cozumel, Mexico?”
“I already explained this to Rebecca, and it’s none of your business.”
Promise grinned, crossed her arms, and swiveled back and forth in her chair.
“Look, I honestly don’t care either way. The more you’re gone, the better my life is, so trust and believe, little charlatan, I’m not stopping anything. It went to A.P. and they called me about it, actually. That’s how I knew what it was in the first place—but I have never seen the paperwork with my own two eyes. I told them to talk to Rebecca or you for further information, and I haven’t heard anything since.” She raised her hands and dropped them lazily back at her sides.
“That’s not what I heard.”
“I don’t give a shit what you heard, or what you think you know. You see yourself as entirely too important in my eyes. As if I’d risk my job and integrity to sabotage the likes of you?! You can do that on your own just fine!”
“Your integrity? What a crock of shit!” He guffawed. He leaned down low and peered into her eyes. “Integrity? I know what you did…”
Her heart pumped hard and fast within her, beating her up from the inside. She could see the hatred spewing out from his core, smell his loathing of her filling the room—and she damn near choked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, baby, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He winked, smirked, turned on his heels and walked away.
She watched him get smaller and smaller, his dress shoes clicking against the floor like a clock before time was up. A part of her teetered on the verge of a messy emotional explosion, while another part was simply destined to sit there, be quiet, and melt. Now it all makes sense… So many things about that man drove her insane, but his fixation with her had been fueled honestly. How’d he find out? Oh God, what am I going to do? Suddenly, she felt ill, as if she were going to puke. Her stomach cramped, and every cell of her being screamed with angst. With a shaky hand, she grabbed her desk phone.
