Full Circle (8 page)

‘Look,’ I said, my already anorexic patience wearing exceedingly thin, ‘as I’ve explained to just about anybody who will listen at your company, Mr Lester is dead.’

‘Excuse me?’ she said.

I sucked in a deep breath, counted to five – ten was totally out of the question – and said, ‘Mr Lester is deceased, so therefore he will not be able to write to you to give you permission to give me the information I need. Are you with me so far?’

‘Look, lady, don’t go getting snippy with me, awright?’

I sighed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just need to explain what’s going on . . .’

‘Look, they don’t pay me enough to take guff offa nobody!’

‘I understand that. Is there a supervisor I can talk to?’

‘One moment please.’

And I was on hold, again. Finally another woman came on the line. ‘This is Mrs Harp. May I help you?’

‘Mrs Harp, hello!’ I said. ‘My name is E.J. Pugh and I’m the executrix of the estate of Roy and Terry Lester. Mr Lester is the late manager of your utility.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ she said.

‘Good. As you may have read in the papers, his youngest child, Elizabeth, is in serious condition in the hospital. As executrix of the estate, I need to assure the hospital that the bills will be paid. I assume Mr Lester had his health insurance through the utility?’

‘We’ll need confirmation from Mr Lester’s attorney that you
are
the executrix of the estate before we can give out any information.’

‘I understand that you won’t be able to pay the bills until you get such information, Mrs Harp, but all I want to do now is to be able to assure the hospital that there
is
insurance so that they won’t toss Elizabeth out in the street. The child is very ill, Mrs Harp, and she’s only four years old.’

‘Maybe Mr Lester should have thought about that before he took that shotgun to his family, Mrs Pugh. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can tell you at this time. Goodbye.’

I sat there with a dial tone buzzing in my ear, wishing I’d gone down to the utility in person so I could slap Mrs Harp’s face. I was so angry that my hands were shaking as I put the phone down. And I knew instantly that I was going to have to become very thick-skinned to get through this – for Bessie’s sake, if not my own. I was sitting there, my hand still on the phone, when it rang, startling me.

‘Hello?’ I said.

‘E.J.?’

‘Yes?’

‘Reverend Rush here.’

‘Hello, how are you?’

‘Very well thank you. How are you?’

‘Fine,’ I said, and sighed. I would ask no more questions – with Berry Rush this could go on for days.

‘I spoke with Mrs Karnes,’ he said.

There was a silence. Finally, I said, ‘Yes?’

‘She said she had just spoken to you.’

I felt as guilty as necessary, then said, ‘Yes. She was quite upset.’

‘Of course. I understand you and Willis are the executors of the estate.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you and I must get together to make funeral arrangements.’

I sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

In his most officious tone, he said, ‘I think we should consider a private funeral with closed caskets, under the circumstances.’

‘Closed caskets, certainly,’ I said. ‘But why a private funeral?’

‘Under the circumstances, E.J., I’m afraid we will be inundated with curiosity seekers.’

‘That is certainly a possibility,’ I said, consciously speaking as pompously as the good reverend. ‘But Roy and Terry had a lot of good friends in this town. I wouldn’t want anyone to think they were being slighted. Everyone has a right to say goodbye,’ I said, thinking except Mrs Harp. She can definitely stay home.

There was a long, chilly silence. Then he spoke: ‘I really think a private funeral would be best.’

Having had run-ins with Berry Rush prior to this, I knew he was used to getting his way. After my run-around with the utility, I just wasn’t in the mood to lose this one.

‘Well if you really think so, Reverend Rush, I suppose we can get David Bailey at the Codderville Methodist to officiate and have the service there.’

‘Now, E.J.—’

‘I know it would be best at Black Cat Ridge Methodist, but I understand your feelings.’

There was a silence. I smiled into it.

Finally the Reverend Mr Rush said, ‘Of course I’ll officiate, E.J. If you want an open service, then as executrix that is your prerogative. I would just like to go on the record as opposing the idea.’

‘So noted,’ I said.

GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

I come home from taking Lotta to work and found some long-haired skater dude grubbin’ my sister! I almost slammed his head into the wall, except I knew Mom would hear it and come out and then there’d be hell to pay. So I said, ‘Hey!’ real loud.

The dude jerked up from where he’d been lip-suckin’ my sister and jumped to his feet. ‘Whoa man!’ he said. ‘Nothin’ happenin’ here!’

‘Megan! Go to your room!’ I said.

‘Yeah, and who made you King of the world, asshole?’ she said.

Such language! I thought. ‘You!’ I said, pointing at skater-dude. ‘Outta here!’

‘See ya, Megs,’ he said, and rode his board off into the sunset.

Megan whirled on me. ‘Mom knew we were out here! If she didn’t mind, then who are you to butt in?’

‘Some day you’ll thank me,’ I said, opening the front door. ‘That dude’s a real loser.’

‘Well it takes one to know one!’ my witty (and I’m being sarcastic here) sister said.

Inside I found Mom in the kitchen starting dinner. ‘You know what your daughter was doing?’ I demanded.

‘Which one?’ Mom asked, not paying nearly enough attention to what I was about to tell her.

‘Megan—’

‘On the front porch with the skateboard boy. Touching. I don’t want to know.’

‘Yeah touching! He was all over her—’

‘Graham, did you not hear what I said? I don’t want to know!’ she said.

I sighed and finally had to ask it. ‘Mom, have you had the talk with the girls?’

That got her attention. She put down the knife and whatever vegetable she was abusing, and looked at me. ‘What talk would that be, Graham?’ she said.

Ah, man, that woman loves to put me on the spot. ‘You know what talk, Mom.’

‘Have you had a talk with them, Graham?’ she said, emphasizing my name for some reason.

‘It’s not my place to have the talk with them,’ I said, enunciating clearly, afraid that she was going through early on-set Alzheimer’s. They did a segment about that on TV once.

Mom sighed. ‘Yes, I had the talk with them. Two years ago. Are you having sex?’

‘Mother!’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just thought I’d throw that out while your mind was on something else. See if you’d actually answer.’

‘I answered you the last time you asked! No, I’m not having sex!’ Although, and I kept this part to myself, I think about it 24/7 and I’m practicing like crazy.

Then it dawned on me. Megan hadn’t come in behind me. I was so busy trying to teach my mother how to be a parent that I’d totally forgotten. I whipped around and headed for the front door, slamming it open.

They were back on the swing. The asshole’s board was on the porch. I picked it up and flung it out to the street.

‘Hey!’ skater-dude yelled.

‘Hey, yourself, asshole! I told you to get the hell outta here!’

He got up and headed for the street at a slow pace, trying to show me he wasn’t afraid of me, although I think he shit his pants, just between you and me. ‘Hey, Megs,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘get rid of the babysitter and maybe I’ll see you again!’

At which point my sister jumped up from the swing and, with all her weight, shoved me, knocking me on my ass. It was embarrassing.

ELIZABETH, APRIL 2009

Elizabeth’s cell phone rang as she was leaving fourth period English, heading for her geology class. She didn’t recognize the number. Flipping it open she said, ‘Hello?’

‘Bessie, it’s me, Aldon.’

Elizabeth stopped dead in the hall. The girl behind her bumped into her, said, ‘Retard!’ and kept going. Elizabeth barely noticed her.

‘How did you get this number?’ she asked.

‘That’s not important,’ he said. ‘What’s important is that you’re in danger. I need you to meet me—’

‘This stopped being funny a long time ago, Tommy, or whoever you are. Don’t call me, don’t email me, don’t IM me. If I hear from you again, I’m calling the po—’

‘Bessie, whatever you do, don’t call the police! They’re in on it. At least that friend of E.J.’s is – that Elena Luna. She and E.J. were both in on this from the beginning—’

‘In on what?’ Elizabeth said, stopping traffic around her. She’d spoken louder than she intended. Seeing kids staring at her, she moved closer to the lockers that lined the hallways and spoke more softly into the phone. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You didn’t buy all that bullshit they told you, did you? This goes high, Bessie. Way high. You know Dad worked for the utility commission, right? At the beginning, when they were setting it up. Who do you think was the utility commissioner back then? J. Patrick Reynolds, that’s who. You know who he is now? Railroad commissioner, Bessie! Do you know what that means? That makes this guy the most powerful man in Texas, next to the governor. Do you know what the railroad commissioner does, Bessie? He’s in charge of transportation, sure, but he’s also in charge of oil and gas. What’s the biggest cash crop in Texas, Bessie? Oil and gas. And where do you think he’d be right now if Dad had been able to get the information he had to the right people? In prison, that’s where. No railroad commission, no millions of dollars to control – and take. Like he took from the utility commission. And none of this came out back then, did it? No, it was all swept under the rug. By who? By your precious E.J., that’s who. Along with her pal the police detective. I’ve been in hiding for nine years, but it’s time I came out. I want to see you! I want what’s left of my family back, Bessie! You’re all I have! But once E.J. and Willis and that Luna woman find out I’m back, we’re both in danger. Do you think they’d let you live now that you know what’s really going on?’

‘Go away!’ Elizabeth hissed into the phone. ‘You’re insane!’

‘No, Bessie, I’ve finally come to my senses. I’ve been hiding too long—’

‘OK, if you’re Aldon, then who did we bury ten years ago?’ Elizabeth demanded.

‘I hate to think who it might have been,’ Aldon said in a hushed voice. ‘Some poor kid, a runaway maybe. They killed him and put him in my place.’

‘My God, you sound like a bad made-for-TV movie!’ Elizabeth tried, attempting a laugh. It came out sounding slightly deranged even to her own ears.

‘I need you to meet me, Bessie—’

‘Stop calling me that! I haven’t been “Bessie” in years! My name is Elizabeth!’ she said.

‘You’ll always be Bessie to me,’ the voice said. ‘My baby sister.’

Elizabeth hung up, turning the phone off.

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

I had to go to the funeral home and pick out caskets. This was all new to me. No one in my family had died as of yet, except for one grandfather, who died when I was twelve, and I had nothing to do with that funeral. Willis had taken care of the arrangements for both his father and his brother, but I hadn’t been involved in anything other than fixing food and trying to be supportive. This time, it was all on my shoulders. I figured, hey, I’m five foot eleven, weigh 170 pounds, my shoulders should be big enough.

I selected the caskets: three adult-sized oak cases with tufted sateen lining, and a fifty-year guarantee. One child-size casket, painted white, with a pale blue sateen lining. We arrived at a figure that took my breath away, but I signed on the dotted line. I figured I was in this for the long haul.

I spent that evening with my family, not telling anyone about the cost of the day. The hospital bill of over $1,000, the bill that would be coming from the funeral home for more money than I made on three books. I don’t know why I was shielding Willis from this. I guess, in some deep recess of my soul, I was afraid he’d leave me. I’d never worried about that before – about Willis leaving. But I guess I wasn’t all that sure about his strength. Oh, I knew he could bench press 300 pounds on a good day, but intestinal fortitude? That I wasn’t sure of. Dealing with the deaths of family members is one thing, but dealing with the deaths of friends is quite another. For one thing, you can reject that. Would Willis? Would Willis reject Bessie? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to push it to a conclusion. So I kept quiet.

The next morning I called Megan’s school and told them she’d be in later, and took her to the hospital to see Bessie. On the ride over, I told her, ‘Honey, Bessie’s not talking right now. She’s sick and she can’t talk. Do you understand?’

‘Why?’

‘Why what, honey?’

She sighed. ‘Why can’t she talk?’

‘Because she’s sick,’ I said.

‘She got a sore throat?’

How does one explain psychological repression to a four-year-old? Answer: One doesn’t. ‘Yes, Megan, she has a sore throat.’

As we were driving along, I noticed Megan looking out the window and up at the sky.

‘Honey,’ I asked, ‘what are you doing?’

‘Where are they?’ she asked.

‘Who?’

‘Aldon and them. Are they in the clouds? Do the airplanes run into them up there in Heaven? How come they don’t fall down? Can you walk on clouds? Do they have bottoms?’

Megan has a tendency to run on and on, so I ignored her and kept driving. Finally from the back seat I hear, ‘Mommy!’

I turned to look at her. ‘What, honey?’

‘How come the airplanes don’t hit Heaven?’

‘Because Heaven’s higher than airplanes go,’ I answered.

‘Then what about spaceships, huh?’

Well, she had me there. ‘Spaceships go right by Heaven and don’t even know it’s there.’