chapter Twelve
I don’t even have to turn my head to feel the crowd part like the Red Sea. All the hair on my arms and neck stands straight up as I catch the faintest hint of her signature perfume. If she’s close enough for me to smell her venom, she’s within striking distance. I do not plan to get bitten tonight. Call me a coward, but I make a beeline for the same restrooms Heather retreated to. Not even Marcie Swann would be crazy enough to follow me into the men’s room at a funeral home. I hope.
I duck in, and decide I might as well take a piss while I’m here. It’s nice and quiet away from the constant hushed murmur of the receiving area. At least, it seems that way until I hear a muffled sound coming from the next room. That would be the ladies’ room. At first I think it’s one of my sisters or another mourner caught in a moment of grief, but then whoever it is blows her nose and my sisters don’t sound that dainty. They sound like old alcoholic men blowing a nasal load.
I should probably be weirded out that I can so clearly hear whoever is over there, because it means they just heard me piss the Mississippi River. But I’m more concerned by the sneaking suspicion that Heather is bawling her eyes out over there and I may be the cause. Another thought shrivels my balls even further—her mother is out there and has no idea we’re together. I’ve got to warn Heather.
I zip up, make a reasonable effort to wash my hands, and crack open the door. People mill about, but none are near the restrooms. I dart out the door and quickly open the one to the ladies’ room. I’m either going to find the woman I’m falling in love with or an old lady with her pantaloons around her ankles. I pray for the former.
“Isaac, what the hell?” Thank God, it’s Heather.
“I heard you crying over here. Talk to me.”
“In here?”
“Might as well. I know you’re not crying over Uncle Robert, so what gives? Is it the girlfriend thing? Because I didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s just…well, that’s what you are. Christ, we’re living together. We share the same bed. We f*ck like animals. I make you breakfast. You water the plants. If that doesn’t say we’re together, I don’t know what does.”
“You’re such a romantic, you know that?”
I give her a lopsided grin. “Don’t tell anyone. I like the whole wounded, arrogant prick thing I’ve got going on.” She rolls her eyes. “Seriously, what’s with the tears, sweet pea?”
“I don’t know. I just freaked, okay? I’m coming off a bad breakup, and there’s all this crap with Mama, and tonight, even though I’ve known them my whole life, it was like meeting your family for the first time, you know? And your adorable niece… It just all combined.”
“Oh, so this is a PMS thing, huh?”
“What? Shut up!” She smacks me with her handbag. “Why do guys always assume that?”
“Am I wrong? We’ve been together three weeks, right? And so far…yeah. That would make you due.”
“I cannot believe we are having this conversation in the ladies’ room at a wake for your dearly departed uncle.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I hate you.”
“I know. Hate you too, sweet pea.” I kiss the tip of her nose as she presses her hands against my chest. They’re warm through my shirt and a reminder that at least I can count on her in a cold, cruel world. “Listen, I have to tell you something that might be upsetting. Don’t want to make you cry, but we’ve got to be careful. Guess who showed up just before I dove into the men’s room?”
She shakes her head, not understanding. “Julianne?”
Good grief, I forgot about her. And Dave and Conrad. They should be here by now.
“Your mama.”
“Are you kidding me? She actually showed her face?”
“Only thing I can figure is since she’s the head of the church’s worship and music committee, she has to attend as part of her duties. You’d think she’d delegate to someone else.”
Heather’s nostrils flare. “Unless she’s looking to stir up trouble. She’s, uh, been known to do that from time to time.”
“Very funny. Listen, you stay here and I’ll make sure the coast is clear, okay? She’s probably gone by now.”
“Yeah, okay. You go out and give me a minute to fix my make-up. If you’re not back in five, I’ll assume everything’s fine and come out.”
“Deal. But one thing…”
“What’s that?”
“Let me kiss you before you put your lip stuff back on?”
“Lip stuff?”
“Yeah, that shiny, sticky stuff all you ladies wear.”
“It’s called gloss. And yes, you may kiss me.”
I run my thumbs across her cheeks to remove any remaining tears, then slowly, so slowly, lower my lips to hers. I keep my eyes open and so does she. I want her to know I see her, really see her, and that she’s being kissed by someone who loves her. I smile and feel her lips curve upward to match mine. She playfully bites my lower lip, and for a second I forget where we are. I quickly calculate the probability that the sink will hold us if I take her in here, but she backs up and begins rifling through her bag before I get any further.
She nods at my obvious discomfort. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to get a hard-on in a funeral home?”
After a calming breath, I leave the relative safety of the ladies’ room and pray no one notices which door I exited.
Suddenly a blond blur appears in front of me. “Where the hell you been, man? Your mom and sisters didn’t know where you were.” Dave claps me on the back. “I see that crazy bitch from Mardi Gras is here. She’s got balls of steel, that one. You holding up okay?”
“Doing just fine, thanks. How was your flight?”
“Aside from the steward who kept hitting on me and offering me drinks, it was fine,” he says.
My other buddy Conrad steps forward. “He was not hitting on you. He hoped if he got you drunk, you’d fall asleep and stop talking.”
Dave rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Listen, we came straight from the airport, so I gotta hit the little boys’ room. Is it back there?”
“Yeah,” I point, “down that short hallway.”
At that moment, Heather walks out of the ladies’ room. Dave raises his eyebrows and follows her with his gaze as she saunters up next to me. All traces of tears are gone. Swear to God she looks like a million bucks. She links her arm with mine and extends the other toward Dave.
“I’m Heather. You must be Isaac’s friends from Boston?”
Dave and Conrad exchange glances before Dave takes Heather’s proffered hand and shakes it. I can see by his grin that he desperately wants to kiss the top of her hand, but he remembers himself and settles for a protracted squeeze.
“I’m Dave. I’m sure you’ve heard about me, ’cause Lord knows I’ve heard all about you over the years.”
As usual, Heather is gracious and Conrad is silent, though I can see the wheels turning in his head. He may be quieter than Dave, but his mind works in much the same way—perverted to the core. Not that I can blame them. Heather is a thing of beauty among the aging mourners here to pay their respects. Which reminds me… “Where’s Juli? Thought you said she was coming too.”
Dave’s back stiffens and the smile disappears, but I refuse to match him. I can be an adult about this. I slip my arm around Heather’s waist to emphasize the point that I’m with her now. Or, you know, she’s hot and I want Conrad to stop eye-f*cking her.
“She decided not to come tonight. We were running late and came straight here from the airport, but she’ll be at the funeral tomorrow. That won’t be a problem, right?”
“Not at all,” I tell him. “Uncle Robert was like a grandfather to her, so she has every right to be there.” Dave’s shoulders relax, though he tips his head to the side and cracks his neck—his only “tell” when he’s uncomfortable. “So, you’ve already talked to my family?”
I tilt my head in their direction and all of us automatically glance that way.
Ice water pours from above, freezing me in place with my arm still around Heather’s waist. The room dims until the only thing I see is Marcie Swann staring back at the two of us with the silent contempt of a woman pushed beyond her limits. I’m no mind reader, but I’m pretty sure all of us just mentally peed a little.
A bitter smile forms on her cracked-leather face as she casually strolls across the room to where we’re visibly shaking in our shoes. “Hello, darling,” she croons while leaning in to kiss Heather’s cheek. “So this is the company you’ve been keeping—whoring yourself out to the town pedophile and his little Yankee friends.”
Heather’s mouth hangs open. Mine probably does too, but I honestly can’t feel it right now. Over Marcie’s shoulder, my fifth-grade Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Green, freezes with a piece of gum halfway to her wrinkled lips.
“Mama, don’t you make a scene.”
“I have no intention of making a scene. I simply wanted to say hello to my wayward daughter, and I see I had reason to be concerned. I’d hoped you’d returned to Tuscaloosa to beg Walter to take you back, but that would be too sensible. You’ve always preferred to associate with trash.”
Conrad grabs my arms before I break the Southern code and hit a woman. I have had enough of Marcie Swann. Years of repressed anger and fear threaten to boil over right here in the goddamn funeral home, my uncle’s cold body not twenty feet away.
Dave leans in. “Ike, simmer down. She’s just jerking your chain.”
“I will not look the other way while she talks to Heather like that.”
Dave raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. “You mean like you did at the ball?”
“Yes. That was a mistake I won’t make again. You can let go of me now.”
Conrad releases my arms just as Mr. Dotson bustles over, his face contorted in a grim smile only an undertaker with a nicotine habit could muster. “Is there a problem? Perhaps you’d like to move your conversation to my office?”
I shake my head. “No, Mrs. Swann is just leaving. I’d like to grieve for my uncle in peace, so there’s nothing else to say right now.”
The bitch moves closer. I have to fight the urge to recoil at her heavy perfume and the stench of brimstone. She hisses, “There’s much more to say, and I will say it, mark my words. I can bide my time, but trust me when I tell you I will destroy you and everyone you love.”
My molars squeak when they grind together. “Even if that includes your daughter?”
“Especially if that includes my daughter. I punished you once for f*cking her. Believe me, I’d love to do it again.” She quickly kisses Heather on the cheek once more before turning on her three-inch heels and weaving her way to the exit. Beside me, Heather shakes. I pull her in closer and guide her head so it rests over my heart.
“Well,” Dave says, “that woman sure knows how to ruin a party. Knows how to ruin a funeral, too. Man, that takes balls. Oh, sorry.”
Heather waves him off. “You are so not the person who needs to apologize.”
“Maybe not,” he says, “but I don’t think Ike can take much more, and he shouldn’t have to. This is hands down the craziest wake I’ve ever been to and I’ve only been here twenty minutes. Your mama a professional sadist?”
“She runs an antiques shop,” Heather says flatly.
“So, a bull in a china shop?”
“Something like that.”
Dave’s attempt at humor is the last thing on my mind. First is Heather. Second is the fearful expression on little Jayne’s face. Son of a bitch, I wonder how much she heard? “Heather, we need to talk about this some more, but I think my niece overheard our conversation and I have to make sure she’s okay. Will you be all right for a minute?”
She waves me off. “Yes, yes, please. I’m fine. Just mortified she had to hear all that.”
Conrad silently hands her a paper cup of water. I hadn’t even noticed he’d slipped off. She takes it and offers him a tiny smile, so I head toward the couch where Jayne has pulled her knees up to her chin and tucked her dress in around her.
“You okay, sweet pea?” She turns her head away “Aw, don’t be like that. Talk to me. I know you heard some not-nice things, so tell me which part’s bothering you.”
Jayne’s a tough little girl, tougher than Brent and tougher than I was at that age, so to hear her sniff kills me. Actually, it pushes me further into a murderous rage against Marcie Swann, the plague of Mobile. She’s tainted at least two generations of my family and I absolutely refuse to let her have more sway over a third.
“Why did she say Miss Heather likes to ’sociate with trash? Did she mean us?”
“I’m going to tell you a secret. You wanna hear?”
She nods, but looks away.
“Hey, I’m not ignoring your question. Just hear me out. The secret is that grown-ups don’t always know what they’re talking about, and some of them still act like babies. I hate to talk bad about anyone, but Mrs. Swann is one of those people. Know what I mean?”
“I guess,” she mumbles.
“Come on, sweet girl, don’t sit here all by yourself.” In my best, thickest Southern accent I add, “It ain’t raht.”
She giggles, so I hold out my arm and she takes it. Together, we walk across the room and back to Dave, Heather, and Conrad. She perks up further when Dave executes a formal bow and kisses the top of her hand.
“Miss Jayne, lovely to see you again, and may I say you look lovely this evening?”
“You may,” she says, and drops into a belle-worthy curtsey. Dave winks and my tough little girl rolls her eyes like a seasoned pro. Then she eyes Conrad, who I don’t think she’s met before.
“Jayne, this is my friend Conrad. He came all the way from Boston to be with us for Uncle Robert’s funeral.”
“I know who he is,” she says. “He’s the quiet one. Not like Dave.” Conrad cracks a rare smile and Jayne smiles back.
The rest of the evening is blessedly boring, filled with old women, colleagues of Uncle Robert, and more than half of the symphony members. I shake their hands, introduce Jayne, and make sure Mama and my sisters are doing okay. After a few words with Mr. Dotson about tomorrow’s funeral, we file out into the warm evening air and drift to our cars.
In the parking lot, Dave pulls me aside. “Everything’s cool? Not to be a douche considering the circumstances, but you and me and…”
“Completely.”
“So you and Heather…you’re a thing?”
I look over my shoulder as Heather gets in her car and drives toward my house. The house we now share. Our house. Whatever. “We’re together, yes.”
Dave strokes his chin while Conrad awkwardly shuffles his feet next to their rental car. The grit crunching under his shoes fills the silence. “Okay, then. See you tomorrow, Ike.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. You guys are good for the night? You’re both staying at the Casquettes? My place isn’t a four-star hotel, but I’ve got room if you need it.”
“Nope, we’re good,” Dave answers. Conrad just shoves his hands in his pockets. “See you bright and early. There anything you need us to do?”
“No, just be there on time to help wheel the casket in and out of the church, and then at the burial.”
“Okay,” Dave says, shaking his head. “What a damn shame. I’m gonna miss the old man.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. See you tomorrow.”
Conrad waves and ducks his lanky frame into the compact car. He’s not much of a talker, but he’s the kind of guy you want on your side. The fact that he flew all the way from Boston to be here says a lot.
On the way home, I stop at the store and pick up a couple of cases of beer—Uncle Robert’s favorite brand. After today and the shitstorm Marcie Swann caused, I can’t think of a better way to unwind, celebrate his life, and mourn his death. I also pick up some rum and mint to make mojitos for Heather in case she wants to join me.
Those hopes are dashed when I pull into the empty driveway. The house is dark and the door is locked. Briefly I wonder if I should call her to see where she is, but then I shake my head. She’s a big girl and doesn’t answer to me. Could be she’s at her parents’ house having a knock-down drag-out fight with her conniving mama. Most nights I’d love to see that, but not tonight. Tonight belongs to Uncle Robert.
My tie lands on the banister, my shoes somewhere in the vicinity of the boot tray by the door. The kitchen chair looks like a great place to hang my suit jacket, and I have just enough wherewithal to apply bug spray after I roll up my shirtsleeves and before I flip on the light over the back porch, pull up a chair, and crack open a cold one.
It goes down nice and smooth. So does the second one. By the third, I’ve forgotten all about tonight’s farce and I begin remembering the first time I got drunk with Uncle Robert. I’d come home from school for a few days and we’d gone out fishing. Didn’t catch much, but we had fun swapping stories and cooking up our meager haul. Nothing goes better with fresh fish than beer, so we both knocked back a few during dinner and continued on into the evening.
“Isaac, are you happy?” he’d asked.
“Happy?”
“Yeah, you know, happy. Having fun. Loving life.”
“Um, I guess.”
“No, no.” He shook his head and emitted an uncharacteristic belch. “That’s not a good answer. See, here’s the thing. Life’s too short to not be happy. I mean, look what happened to your daddy and my Angela. Died young.”
Because I had nothing to say to that, I nodded. He continued.
“Your mama and daddy were very much in love. Lord knows I was crazy about your aunt. You know I’ve never taken off my wedding band?” He held up his hand and waved it around in front of my face. “Never. Not to shower. Not to sleep. Never. You know what? I never will.”
When I still didn’t say anything, he took my silence as an invitation to continue. At the time, I really didn’t pay much attention to his words. I was too drunk and contentedly full. Now, those words take on new meaning.
“Angela was all I needed. Even the short time we had was enough to get me through these years. Isaac, when you find your Angela, you hold tight. You hear?”
“Mm-hm.”
“I mean it, boy. It’s all fun and games when you’re younger, but sooner or later it’ll hit you. Find her and keep her, whatever it takes.”
“Yes, sir,” I’d said. Then I’d handed him another bottle and we drank until we couldn’t stand up to piss off the side of the porch anymore.
I chuckle and raise a bottle to the sky. “Here’s to you, Uncle Robert. May you rest in peace with Aunt Angela tonight.” Heather still isn’t back when I’ve finished the first case, so I dive into the next one. The beers taste like water tonight, so smooth and cold after the stuffy funeral home. Crickets chirp, and in the distance a siren suddenly chokes off. There’s hardly a breeze, but the night air still feels like a little slice of heaven.
Suddenly, I wish Heather were here. I stumble inside and I think the microwave clock says one-fifteen in the morning, but I’m not quite certain since the numbers won’t hold still. I’ve gotten a little drunker than I intended, but Uncle Robert deserves a proper send-off, not a half-assed one. Don’t know where she is, but I can’t stay awake much longer. Big day ahead.
Halfway up the stairs my foot misses a riser and I go down, slamming my shin into the edge of a step while my chin catches another one further up. It burns, and when I touch it, my hand comes away sticky and red. Not good. In the bathroom I stanch the bleeding with a dirty towel and survey the damage through drooping eyes. My busted chin’ll look great tomorrow. If I were sober, I might try to clean it up better, put on a bandage, but right now I don’t care enough. Maybe in the morning…
Next thing I know, a nice warm body’s crawling into bed with me. I don’t ask her where she’s been or why she didn’t call, and I certainly don’t protest when she wiggles into my arms, licks the side of my neck, and goes for my fly. Then she licks my busted chin, sending sharp pain through my jaw.
“Ow, dammit,” I mumble. Too drunk to work up more of a protest, plus she’s doing a good job of distracting me from the pain. Still, she continues to lap at it, probing her tongue into the cut. “Damn, girl. You are all kinds of kinky, aren’t you, sweet pea?”
She laughs low and quiet. For a second, I’m pulled out of my drunken haze. It only lasts long enough for me to register that there’s something more aggressive about Heather tonight before I give in and let her do what she wants. She buries her face between my legs and I swear this is the best drunk blow job I’ve ever gotten, even though she doesn’t let me finish. In the dark, I see the outline of her slim figure loom above me as she straddles my hips and sinks down onto me. A bright light dances in front of my eyes. Pretty sure I pass out as soon as I come.