Pretty Ugly: A Novel (22 page)
Ray chuckled, too, but it was way too loud. “Yeah.” Shit.
Watching their exchange, Courtney was convinced they were laughing at her and became enraged. As the mourners recited the Twenty-Third Psalm as if it were their own funeral, Courtney leaned in to Britney, whispered in her ear, and pointed at Ray. Britney looked up at him and went slack jawed. She then told Kaitlin, who turned to Courtney and whispered, “Dude, really?”
All of Ray’s sweat glands emptied at once. He wanted to sprint to the nearest bed and sleep so fucking hard.
What the fuck?
he thought at her across the cemetery.
Did you tell them?
Crossing her arms, she nodded as if to say, “Yeah, I did. Check and mate.” But Courtney didn’t understand chess because it was boring. So instead she thought,
Yeah, I did. Suck on that, a-hole!”
The minister, a humorless, lonely man with a fifty-two-inch waist, closed his tattered Bible. “Let us pray.”
With everyone’s heads bowed, Miranda took out her breast and began feeding Brixton, who was getting fussy in the heat. Courtney had never seen anything so appalling in her life. Miranda might as well have climbed on top of Marvin’s casket and pooped in it.
“Our most gracious and loving Heavenly Father, we submit to your strong and welcoming arms, our brother Marvin Sylvester Daye…”
Courtney and Ray stared at each other, trying to telepathically impart the magnitude and intractability of their individual positions. Ray also thought he was starting to hallucinate. Was that girl next to Courtney missing an arm?
“Amen,” the minister proclaimed, and everyone robotically echoed. “Courtney, dear, let me speak for everyone when I say how truly sorry I am for your loss.”
Courtney grabbed her friends’ hands, and the three girls broke down in a knotted mass of tears and hugs.
The minister continued, “You can take great comfort in knowing that your grandfather is soaring through the heavens on the wings of a golden dove raised by Jesus Himself.”
The crowd nodded as if that was the most reasonable thing they’d ever heard.
“I want to thank everyone for coming today. May God bless and keep each and every one of you.”
As Brixton tugged on her nipple, Miranda watched Courtney cry. “You know, Ray, she’s only like eight years older than Bailey.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snapped and tried to focus his eyes.
“Nothing. Jeez, just that … I mean, what would happen to Bailey and the kids if something happened to us?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
“I know, but still. It makes you think.”
Made to think about his orphaned children, Ray stretched his jaw and stared at the grass beneath his feet. It was so beautiful, lush, and green. Six feet below that was a dead person.
“Hello, Ray.”
The voice behind him made him jump. He turned quickly and gasped when he saw Courtney standing with Britney and Kaitlin.
Holy shit. How did she sneak up like that?
Under the circumstances it would have been weird
not
to hug her, but embracing seemed like a bad idea under the other circumstances. Ray hadn’t seen Courtney since he’d essentially shoved her out of his moving Jeep on his way to the hospital. And he didn’t welcome an audience for their reunion. Instead, he shook her hand and squeezed her forearm like a seasoned politician. “Courtney. Hi. How … how are you?”
Her hand tightened in his. “I’ve been better, Ray. My grandfather died. How are you? How’s your new baby?”
Miranda smiled. “She’s doing great. Just so, so very great. I’m Ray’s wife, Miranda.”
Ray snapped to it. “Sorry. Right, Courtney, Miranda. Miranda, Courtney.”
When the two women shook hands, Ray half expected something supernatural to happen, a sudden flash like in a sci-fi story where their consciousnesses integrate and they realize they’re sleeping with the same man, or a vortex would open and suck them all into another dimension, or at the very least a clap of thunder. But there was none of that, only the brief stopping of his heart.
“Nice to meet you, Miranda. Ray doesn’t talk about you a lot, but when he does it’s very nice.”
“Oh, well, aren’t you sweet?”
“I try.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Your grandfather must have been very special. Ray’s never gone to a patient’s funeral before.”
“Well.” Courtney smiled politely. “I’m glad he’s here. After everything that’s happened, Ray feels like family now.”
She took an envelope from her purse and handed it to Ray. “This is from Granddaddy. It’s got your name on it. It was next to his bed when he died. But you would know that because you were there.”
“Yes, I was. I was there. Sadly.” Ray nodded repeatedly, making him light-headed. He put his hand on a grave marker to steady himself.
“I guess he wanted to say thanks or something, I don’t know. It’s sealed, so I couldn’t read it.”
Scratched across the envelope in Marvin’s almost indecipherable scrawl was the word “RAY.” Eyeing it like it was filled with anthrax—which it very well could have been—Ray took the envelope, slid it into the breast pocket of his suit, and managed with his rapidly thickening tongue to choke out, “Thank you.”
Britney whispered something to Kaitlin, causing them both to giggle. Ray blushed like a self-conscious boy. Nothing is more emasculating to a man of any age than being laughed at by cute teenage girls. His head started thumping like a balloon with a pulse.
“Well,” Courtney said, breaking the silence, “we should probably go. I need to start packing.”
Ray snapped back to attention. “Packing? Are you going somewhere?” he asked, a bit too hopeful.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure where yet.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, Granddaddy’s lawyer says I’m probably going to lose my house because there’s a lead on it.”
“A what?”
The teenager let out an exasperated sigh, “A lead is when the government can take your house whenever they feel like it if you owe them money. It’s retarded.”
She caught herself and shot an embarrassed glance at Brixton, who was still slurping away on Miranda’s partially exposed breast like a domesticated piglet.
“A
lien
?” Ray asked.
“Yeah, a lien, whatever. Anyway, Granddaddy owed, like, a ton of taxes, so I’m probably going to lose my house, and I don’t know where I’m going to live.”
Miranda touched her arm. “Oh, you poor dear.”
Ray just stared. This was news to him: huge, awful, world-fucking news. Courtney living alone in her own house was the cornerstone of the one-year plan he had carefully crafted for his double life. In the mornings, he’d see Miranda and the kids, leave an hour earlier than usual, claiming a shift change at the hospital, and stop by Courtney’s on the way to work. Nights not spent working hospice would be divided between both families, and weekends would be spent at Courtney’s when Miranda, Bailey, and Brixton were pageanting and the boys were at Joan’s. If implemented perfectly, he believed he could keep that up for at least a year. But that strategy was now swirling down the toilet that was his life.
“Wait, hang on,” Ray slurred, the Ambiall being amplified by the humid September day. “I thought Marvin set everything up for you. He told me you were taken care of.”
“I guess he was wrong, but my lawyer is superdumb so maybe he screwed something up or something. I’m going to try to get a new lawyer to see if maybe he can change the law. It seems totally unfair.”
“How much do you owe?”
“Something like twelve thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit!”
Miranda slapped his arm. “Ray, not in front of the girls.”
Britney and Kaitlin rolled their eyes and laughed. Ray blushed and straightened his posture hoping to counteract how small he suddenly felt.
Brixton had fallen asleep, so Miranda handed her to Ray, fastened her nursing bra, and took Courtney’s hand. “What are your plans, dear?”
“I don’t have any yet. I can stay with friends or something for a while, I guess.” Britney and Kaitlin put their three arms around her in solidarity. “I’ll probably have to get a job. But I’ll only be able to work for about six months.”
“Why’s that?” Miranda asked.
Ray felt his asshole pucker.
Courtney whispered, not wanting her grandfather’s body to hear, “Because I’m pregnant.”
Miranda took Courtney’s hand in hers like a pearl in a oystershell.
“Oh, dear.” She sighed hard, forcibly expelling all judgment from her body. “Well, what about the father? Can’t you move in with him? Are you going to marry him?”
Courtney paused. “That’s not really an option right now.”
“I see,” Miranda said, nodding sympathetically.
“I’d rather not talk about the father, if you don’t mind.” She leaned in to Miranda and locked eyes with Ray. “We’re in a fight.”
Warm, salty rivers of sweat flowed down Ray’s face. His head spun and his insides ached. Pretty sure that he was having a heart attack, Ray sat on the headstone of Mr. and Mrs. Grover Shrewsbury. If it
was
a heart attack, Ray was okay with it. They could just toss him in the casket with Marvin and cover him with dirt.
“I understand.” Miranda nodded. “When men find out they’re going to be fathers, they can turn into such babies themselves.”
She placed a hand on Ray’s shoulder and continued. “But you need to make sure the father lives up to his responsibilities. You’ve got legal rights, you know. You can haul that boy up in front of a judge who’ll force him to step up and be a man—”
“You are not a lawyer!” Ray screamed, rising off the headstone as if the Shrewsburys commanded it.
“Well, I know that,” Miranda said, trying to cover her embarrassment. “But someone needs to help this girl.”
Ray’s brain was a jumble of disconnected words, magnetic poetry on his refrigerator door, and he lacked the ability to arrange them into useful sentences. “But … you, no … it’s not … right. You can’t … with advice…” Ray’s heart pounded. “No. Not … a problem … of you … it’s…” His eyelids drooped. “Fucked…” His eyes rolled back in his head, and he started swaying back and forth.
Miranda reached out to steady him. “Ray, are you okay, honey?”
“I’m just … I’m saying … no … happening … take baby…” His knees buckled and he started to fall. Pushing Brixton toward Courtney, Ray watched helplessly as the top of the Shrewsburys’ grave marker rushed toward his face like a granite fist. The chilling image of Ray’s teeth powdering like chalk on a sidewalk caused Kaitlin and Britney to immediately throw up. Copious amounts of blood gushed from Ray’s mouth, splattering across the
BELOVED MOTHER
engraved in the tombstone like a horror movie poster.
“Oh, my God, Ray! Ray?” Miranda rolled her unconscious husband over and recoiled when she saw his face. Four of his front teeth, two upper and two lower, were gone. His lips were split everywhere; his nose was broken. “Courtney, call an ambulance!”
Dazed by the sudden violence, Courtney shifted Brixton to her shoulder and dug in her purse until she found her phone. Brixton was the first baby she’d ever held, and it was different from what she’d imagined, less reverent. It was like holding a puppy, or a Precious Moments figurine.
“Ray? Can you hear me? Ray!” Miranda screamed. “Where are your teeth?”
The commotion woke Brixton from her brief nap, and the baby started crying on Courtney’s shoulder. The screaming, crying, and vomiting were soon drowned out, however, by the mechanical humming of winches. Turning back to the funeral tent, Courtney whispered a hasty “good-bye” as two burly rednecks drained their Budweiser cans and tossed them into the grave before lowering her grandfather’s casket into the cold, dark ground forever.
Slumped in a wheelchair, Ray was escorted from Bluegrass Baptist filled with enough painkillers to kill a moose. Multiple bruises (or perhaps one large one) had turned his face the color of a rotting heirloom tomato. His lips were stitched in so many places it looked like he was holding in a mouthful of angry spiders. The ER doctor on duty, an entitled first-year resident Ray couldn’t stand, had assured him that the small chips of teeth imbedded in his lips and gums would eventually work their way out naturally.
“Or maybe not. It’s hard to tell right now,” the young doctor said as he roughly (yet perfectly) reset Ray’s broken nose. “Either way, you will have some scars. They’ll be small, but visible, especially when you smile.” Thus guaranteeing their invisibility.
Miranda and Christie helped Ray into the passenger side of his Jeep and buckled him in. Leaning his head against the window, Ray relished the coolness of the glass on his right ear, one of the few unscathed parts of his face. Several yards of gauze had been stuffed into his cheeks and nostrils, forcing Ray’s mouth open and creating a perpetual stream of drool that dripped from his stitched and swollen bottom lip onto his snowman tie, now a gruesome holiday tableau.
An emergency dentist had managed to reattach one of Ray’s broken teeth, an upper canine, but the other three were either shattered or swallowed.
“Well,” the dentist said with a smile, “that’s probably going to come back to bite you in the ass.”
After waiting a moment to make sure everyone in the room understood and appreciated his joke, he burst out laughing. He’d used the line before. It was one of his favorites.
“When the swelling goes down, you can get fitted for some prosthetics that can be wired directly into your gums. It’s a pretty standard procedure. Hockey players do it all the time. Until then, you should probably stay away from things like apples and corn on the cob. And tombstones.” He laughed again.
Ray did not appreciate the man’s sense of humor, but the drugs were strong, and his mouth was swollen so he was able to muster only a weak “Phusc kwew” in response.
Speeding down Parish Avenue, Miranda anxiously drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She hadn’t nursed in nearly four hours and her breasts were aching. They sped past Lic’s Ice Cream, and Ray remembered the time he drove to Evansville to see an Offspring concert. He’d stopped at Lic’s on the way home. The ice cream was incredible, but for some reason he’d never gone back. Maybe some good things were only supposed to be done once.
