Dori gave me what I needed and let me cuddle on her till I quit being sick and fell asleep in her bed and nothing was ever better. I woke up finally with no idea how many hours I slept. She’d shut Jip outside, possibly a first. Seriously, words cannot describe her and that dog. But I’d moved into first place. Various parts of me returned to the living. Vester asleep downstairs, no Jip, we were home free and starting to mess around, and, hell. The phone rang.
It was Angus. I stood in the freezing hallway in my underwear and partial erection trying to understand what was so important about me getting over to Coach’s house. Today. Nobody was dead, yet she said, but Coach had gotten the robo-calls about me being a no-show at school all week. On further investigation, some or all of my teachers were unaware I was still enrolled. I asked what possessed Coach to start giving a shit about my off-season performance, and Angus said I was being a purposeful idiot. He cared, all right. He was making noises about putting me back on season rules. Curfew and lockdown. Angus said she’d run out of excuses for me, so I was advised to show up for dinner with my ass-kissing lips all shined up. I hung up thinking: I’m circling the bowl, and Angus for some reason is pleased of it. Damn her.
I promised Dori I would make it up to her, but I might need to spend the night over there. I took a pile of our dirty clothes because the washer at Dori’s had died. Not all that recently. We needed to take some action on this, but Dori said that old Maytag had been her mom’s and she was attached. Dori was a big one for letting things pile up. Too sweet for this world.
I didn’t even make it to dinnertime before the shit hit the pan at Coach’s house. I was back in the laundry room sorting out the whites and darks, trying not to mess up Mattie Kate’s piles because she had her whole system, and suddenly, U-Haul. The old sock-feet sneak attack, and he’s got me up against the Clorox.
“U-Haul,” I said. “Can I offer you a shot of bleach?”
“Ha ha!” His laugh was like a fox barking. He craned his neck, leaning in too close. “The thing is, I got to put myself on the line here. For Coach. He has give me an obligation.”
“Okay, nice. That and two bucks might get you a cup of coffee.” I must have been past tired into some form of dead. Opened my mouth, out came Mr. Peg.
“A job,” he hissed. “I’ll keep this to easy-reader words for you.”
“A job. This is on top of your higher calling of hauling around people’s shit?”
The red eyes shot fire. “Your druggie ass. That’s the shit I’m in charge of, and I don’t like the view. Coach wants me keeping a close eye. To see if I can get you back up to speed, or if you’re turning out to be a piece of trash like he thought.”
U-Haul’s eyes were closer to mine than anybody in their right mind would want. Freckles all over the face like spattered blood, even on the eyelids. I turned my back on him and shoved a wad of darks in the machine. Slammed the lid, and then faced him off again. “Okay. Remind me again why I’m scared of a fucking errand boy?”
He drew back like I’d kneed him in the balls. “Assistant. Coach.”
“Yeah, we’ve all been wondering whose cock you sucked for the promotion. Not Coach’s, I know that much. The man has got standards.”
“You don’t know jack shit about the man.”
“I’d say I do.”
U-Haul rolled his head and shoulders around, then twined his arms together, holding hands with himself. “I’m saying you don’t. If you can’t work out how I got kicked up. He might be your legal fucking daddy but I’m the one keeping his books and counting his Beam bottles. I know him. And you hear me, boy. There’s things he does not want known.”
“The man gets shitfaced and passes out from time to time. No law against.”
“Misappropriating of funds, let’s try that one for size. Embezzling.”
“You are so full of it.” I tried to get past him, but he kept stepping into my way, blocking the door with his beanpole frame. I was contemplating a takedown, but finally he stepped aside.
“The hell do you know,” he said. “Coach is just lucky there’s a grown man awake at the wheel in this house, to look out for the merchandise.”
“So I’m merchandise.”
“You’re dogshit. I’m discussing something a who-ole lot tastier.” He pressed out his tongue over his top lip, grabbed the air in front of him with both hands, and pumped his hips. If there’s a picture no human wants in their head, it’s U-Haul performing the sex act. I was grossed out beyond all measure. And then got it, about the merchandise. He meant Angus. My sister. I was going to have to break his filthy face.
47
Vester died in dogwood winter. April, the month of the whole sorry world praying for deliverance, with dogwoods and redbuds all pretty on the roadsides and new green leaves lighting up the mountains. Then comes a late freeze to turn it all black, every fruit of the year killed in the bud. It’s a fitting time to die, I reckon. If you’re past believing in deliverance.
Dead people I had known, and so had Dori. But she showed no sign of getting over this one. She couldn’t stop crying or worrying she’d OD’d him on accident. The nurses had left her in charge of so much, the morphine and fentanyl patches and pills she had to crush and give him in a dropper. Nothing was her fault, least of all the ice storm that took the power out. She was bleary and frantic on the phone, saying she’d been asleep and woke up with the house freezing and his oxygen had quit and she couldn’t get the lights to come on. I told her to hang up and call the ambulance, but he was already gone. I should have been there.
The funeral was like Mom’s, in all the bad ways. This Aunt Fred person with her L.L.Beans and mini-me daughter drove in from Newport News to take charge. Newport News what state, we had no idea, it sounds like a brand of cigarettes. Dori barely knew these people. They took one look around the house with their matching pulled-up noses and checked into Best Western’s. The church, hymns, clothes he wore to the casket, all decided by Aunt Fred. The daughter that gave up her entire life to drive him to his appointments and spoon-feed him got no say. She sobbed through the whole service. They closed the coffin and put him in the ground, and I had to hold tight to stop her from crawling in there with him. In weeks to come, she’d go every day to sit on his muddy grave. I hate to say this. I got jealous of a dead man.
Once Aunt Fred got him buried, she called a meeting of the store employees and a lawyer to discuss the finances, not good. The store would be sold to level out the debts. The house was paid off, from the asbestos settlement years ago, and Dori could stay there if she chose, but was on her own as far as utilities. She could draw his social security till she turned eighteen, which was five weeks away. Not even time enough to file the paperwork. And that’s Aunt Fred back to Newport News, over and out.
Taking care of Vester was Dori’s whole life. The home health people came to take out the hospital bed and his sickness equipment, and she just howled. His oxygen machine was like a heartbeat at all hours pounding through the walls, you don’t even realize. Now it was a dead house. She didn’t know what to do with herself, and couldn’t sleep without a lot of help. I tried mentioning the cheerful aspects, that we could be like other people now and go out partying or to the drive-in. She got hurt at me and said I was dancing on Vester’s grave. All the party she wanted was to take another round of 80s and Xanax and ride that Cadillac back to dreamland.