And it hadn’t changed.
And, fuck him, with maturity, it was also a lot fucking better.
“Your Mom and Dad, sisters, nephews, they’re all at the farm,” he informed her.
“I know,” she replied quietly.
“They could use your help,” he went on.
“I –” she started but, pissed, Mike talked over her.
“Rhonda’s a fuckin’ mess. Your Mom looks like she’s been hit by a freight train. Your nephews have both closed down. Your Dad’s usin’ so much energy not to unman himself in front of company, it’s a wonder he doesn’t collapse and you? You’re kickin’ back in jeans and a tee, listenin’ to tunes and maybe contemplating what to get from room service.”
Her face changed, he saw it and he understood the change. Even if he wasn’t a cop and his ex-wife hadn’t made an art of deceit to hide her overspending, both these giving him years of experience reading people, he would have understood the change.
She looked like he’d struck her.
Mike didn’t care. She needed to snap out of it.
So he held her eyes and kept going.
“I don’t get you, Dusty. I didn’t get your bullshit twenty years ago. I don’t get it now. No, strike that, I definitely don’t get it now. This is your family. These people love you and they just put your brother in the ground. Seriously, I wanna know and you’re gonna fuckin’ tell me. What in the fuck is the matter with you?”
“You’re joking,” she whispered.
“I’m not,” he returned.
“You’re joking,” she repeated immediately on another whisper.
“I’m not,” he repeated too.
Then, instantly, she leaned in, her eyes narrowed and she shrieked, “You’re joking!”
Mike opened his mouth to retort but Dusty wasn’t done.
“I don’t see you for twenty years, Darrin’s fucking dead, you walk up to my hotel room and give me Debbie’s shit? Have you lost your mind?” She threw her hands up, took the three steps that separated them and poked him hard in the chest. “You know her. You know her and her shit.” She threw both hands up again and asked, “Honest to God, Mike, honest to God? You think I’m kicking back?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She leaned in and shouted in his face, “Well, I’m not!”
She took two steps away then pivoted and started pacing.
And, at the same time, she let it all hang out.
“Fucking Debbie. Debbie! God, if I didn’t know it would kill my mother, I’d get in a bitch-slapping, hair-pulling, rolling around the house, smackdown sister catfight with that bitch. God!” she cried, stopped and whirled on him. “Rhonda’s a goddamned mess but even as a mess, she knew what Darrin wanted. Does Debbie listen?” She leaned into him again and shouted, “No! Rhonda said Darrin wanted only family, a small service, no big thing, no one at the house. He knew Rhonda couldn’t deal with that shit. He knew, fuck, everyone knows Rhonda’s sensitive. He knew bad shit went down with him if he was forty-four or ninety-four, she wouldn’t be able to cope. So he wanted it easy on her. He wanted to give us the closure we all needed then get us to a place where she could help his wife move on. But not Debbie, no,” she drew out the “no” sarcastically. “It’s not seemly, Debbie says. The town will want to say their good-byes, Debbie says. Darrin is the fourth generation to work that farm, Debbie says, so we’ve got to keep up appearances, Debbie freaking says. Has Debbie been sleeping with my brother for the last twenty years?” she asked, leaning in then jerking back and shouting, “No! Has she given him two sons? No! Does she give a shit what he wanted? Does she give a shit about what would be easier on Rhonda, my boys and, frankly, Mom? No! She wants what she wants and fuck anyone else. So guess what, Mike? She pushed and she pushed and she bitched and she wheedled and she played games and we were all so fucking over her shit, she got what she fucking wanted.”
She stopped shouting and did it breathing hard, the pain stark in her eyes right alongside the fury.
But Mike had long since realized his mistake. He knew it. He saw it all over her at the funeral home, his instincts screamed it but he ignored it and now he felt like a dick. And he felt this because he’d acted like one.
So he instigated damage control.
“Sweetheart –” he started but she shook her head, stepped back and kept talking.
“That’s not the worst of it, Mike. He wanted to be cremated. Debbie said no. And Rhonda wanted a closed casket. And Debbie…said…” she leaned in, “no.”