Saving Allegheny Green (9 page)

Well, he certainly slammed me in my place. I’m the one who mows the lawn at my house. I’m assuming that meant I had yet to achieve stature on the scale of the honorable Reverend Swiggly.

“What about upsetting news?”

“Nothing upsets me. I have Jesus beside me.”

“Fair enough.” I closed the file, stuck the Bic behind my ear. “Why don’t you tell me about your current problems.”

Swiggly launched into a mind-numbing soliloquy about the degeneration of the health care system, the lack of respect among young people, how his heart medication constipated him.

You name it, he bitched about it. He seemed to be under the impression that I was a family therapist or something. An hour later, after my eyes had glazed over and my butt had gone to sleep, Swiggly finally ran down.

“You’ve got some legitimate complaints,” I said in a brownnosed attempt to placate him.

“And you’re going to address them?”

“I can get the doctor to order you something for the constipation.”

“No more horse pills!”

Lord, I thought, they really don’t pay me enough to put up with his whining. “No horse pills. We’ll get you a liquid.”

Or an enema.

Swiggly mumbled something I couldn’t hear and I chose to ignore him. I picked up my things and headed for the door, forty minutes late for my next appointment.

“When will you be back?” Swiggly asked.

“Monday.”

“That’s not soon enough,” he complained. “I want daily visits. I can pay.”

I forced myself not to roll my eyes. “I’ll talk to the home health director.”

“See that you do. I’ll be expecting you tomorrow.”

“I’m off tomorrow. You’ll be seeing someone else.”

“I want you.”

When did we get to be such buds?

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir.”

“I can pay,” he repeated.

I swept my gaze over the ornate draperies, the expensive carpeting. He was used to pushing people around, accustomed to waving money at obstacles in order to get his way. But I didn’t like being railroaded.

“I’m sure that you can but everyone needs a day off, Reverend Swiggly.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t want a bunch of strangers traipsing in and out of here. It’s you or nobody.”

“Then you’ll have to wait until Monday, won’t you?” He was treading on my last nerve with army boots.

Swiggly snapped his Bible shut. “Jesus wouldn’t leave me stranded.”

“Then why don’t you give him a call?” I winked then scurried from the room.

T
IM’S FUNERAL WAS HELD
on Saturday afternoon at Saint Patrick’s Episcopal Church on Curzon. I was supposed to work three-to-eleven at the hospital, but I switched shifts with Glenda Harrington so I could attend the services.

My whole family insisted on turning out for the event, including Denny, who remembered that Tim had helped him design a Dalmatian costume, the year Denny had won first prize at Pecan Harbor’s Volunteer Fire Department annual Halloween party.

Mama had baked an apple pie to take by Tim’s parents’ house following the services and Aunt Tessa planned to offer them a free afterlife reading if they were interested.

Sissy was unusually subdued, trading in her leather pants and spike studs for a real dress and sensible shoes. The dress was left over from her high school days but at least it was appropriate for the occasion.

I sent a silent prayer to the heavens that my sister had the good sense to tone down her attire. The Kehauls were going through enough turmoil losing a son through such an embarrassing accident without having an Elvira look-alike parading down the church aisles.

“You look nice,” I told Sissy as we squeezed into the Honda.

“Don’t start with me.” She glared.

“What did I say?”

“You wish I always dressed like Queen of the Nerds.”

“Well, yes.”

“Don’t speak another word or I’m in the house and into a gold lamé miniskirt and halter top like that.” Sissy snapped her fingers.

“Girls,” Mama said, in one of her rare parenting moods. “Stop arguing or we’ll be late.”

We obeyed.

The aroma of apples, butter and cinnamon permeated the car. The scent was enticing, but I recalled the last pie Mama had made and I hoped she hadn’t mistaken salt for sugar again.

Mama sat in the front seat next to me, the foil-wrapped apple pie clutched in her lap. She looked so earnest, as if that pie would wipe away all sorrow. Denny, Sissy and Aunt Tessa were crowded into the backseat. I peered into the rearview mirror and noticed Denny had placed a hand on his mother’s knee. But Sissy was preoccupied, staring silently out the window. Aunt Tessa meditated, her lips moving as she softly chanted.

Sadness lumped in my throat. Not just sadness for Tim, but for us, too, so remote from each other even though we were crammed side by side.

How many times had I wished for a normal family? A thousand? ten thousand? a hundred thousand? When I was a teenager I’d been ashamed of my family, but I’d outgrown that. I was sorry that we didn’t know each other better. They were all I had and I loved them with an intensity that often frightened me, in spite of the fact we rarely understood one another.

I shifted into first gear and scaled the hill to the main road and a flash of memory flitted through my mind—Tim leaping in front of Conahegg’s police car. I caught my breath and sank my top teeth into my bottom lip. Had Conahegg’s hitting
Tim been a harbinger of bad things to come? Had it only been a week ago?

As a nurse, I often witnessed the fragility of life played out before me in an endless cycle. A patient dies unexpectedly, a child gets cancer. You’re here one minute and gone the next, and those remaining behind don’t have a clue how to go about closing the gap you left in their lives.

I would miss Tim, I realized.

We arrived at the church at two-forty-five, fifteen minutes before the services were due to commence. We spotted Mr. and Mrs. Kehaul sitting in the front pew and made our way over to offer condolences.

Tim’s folks were ordinary, middle-class working people. His mother, Anne Marie, who had once been pretty but had faded to a shade of her former beauty, worked at the DMV. She was dressed in a simple black dress with pearl buttons and a sensible pair of SAS shoes. She clutched a pink handkerchief in one hand, a small black purse in the other and her eyes were red from constant crying.

His father, an insurance adjuster, wore an ill-fitting suit and kept his jaw tightly clenched. He shifted in his seat as if he had a bad case of hemorrhoids. His chin was set like an anvil and he had sad, hound dog eyes.

The Kehauls had been terribly upset when Tim had told them he was gay. They’d tried their best to accept it and although they hadn’t really cut him off from their affections, they had asked him to leave their home. His parents’ discomfort with his lifestyle disturbed Tim a great deal. He’d been the one to isolate himself from them. Sissy told me she didn’t think they had even spoken to each other in months.

Mama went over and held out her hand to Mrs. Kehaul. Anne Marie burst into a fresh round of tears. Her husband patted her awkwardly on the back.

My stomach lurched. I felt bad. Really bad. I wanted to reach out and console them, do something to ease their sorrow. But I had no such power and I knew it. When Denny said he had to pee, I was relieved to shunt him off to the restroom.

“I’m sorry Tim’s dead,” Denny said. “Did you know some of the kids at school said he was gay?”

“That’s true. He was.”

“How come he was gay, Aunt Ally?”

I ruffled his hair. “How come you ask so many questions?”

He grinned at me. “Because I have a curious mind.”

“No doubt.”

I led him through the rectory, not sure where I was going. I’d never been in the church but I figured there had to be bathrooms around here somewhere.

Like most houses of worship the place had the smell of old hymnals and wax candles. The rectory was plain and not aging gracefully. There were water stains on the ceiling and corresponding stains on the carpet.

“Here we are,” I said, spying a door marked Gentlemen. “I’ll wait right by the door. If there’s anyone in there and they try to approach you…”

“I know, I know, Aunt Ally. Stranger danger. But don’t worry, we’re in church.”

So?
I wanted to add, but why shatter the boy’s illusions. “You scream if you need me.”

He gave me a gap-toothed grin and disappeared behind the door.

I clasped my hands behind my back and paced the length of the narrow hallway.

This had to be where they held Sunday school classes. Crayola drawings of Jesus decorated a bulletin board. A calendar of upcoming events hung from one wall. Potluck supper on Wednesday. Ida Mae Baker was bringing her famous
King Ranch Chicken and Lucy Keller had signed up for green beans almondine. There’d be homemade ice cream following the meal. Contact Janice Black if you could spare an extra ice-cream freezer.

Somewhere down the hall and around the corner, a door creaked, then the sound of murmured voices.

I had no intention of eavesdropping. Honest, I didn’t. But something drew me toward the noise. I turned the corner and stopped. Several yards away, at the end of a second hallway, a door stood slightly ajar and a light shone through the crack. Cocking my head to one side, I strained to listen.

“I’m serious, Hughes, you better not be pulling a fast one on me,” said a rough male voice.

“I’m not, swear to God.”

It was Rocky, who clearly missed the irony in his statement. There was no mistaking his whiny tone. Why was Rocky at Tim’s funeral? More specifically, why was he in the church rectory and not in the chapel with the others? Who was he with? What were they talking about?

Pressing my back against the wall, I inched closer.

“It’s a sure thing,” Rocky said. “A can’t miss. I’m gonna be rich.”

Hmm. Sissy had told me the same thing the night she’d come slinking into the house with Rocky’s hickeys adorning her neck.

What was he up to?

“Aunt Ally?” Denny touched my hand and I jumped a good foot.

Exhaling sharply, I clutched my chest. “You scared me to death.” I could feel my heart beneath my fingers and it was rat-a-tat-tatting like a machine gun.

“I’m sorry,” Denny apologized. “I was wondering what you were doing.”

I cast a glance at the partially open door, then pressed my palm to Denny’s back. “Nothing, sweetie. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

As fast as I could, I ushered him toward the chapel, fighting the urge to turn my head and look behind me. When we reached the exit, I could resist no more. I sneaked a peek over my shoulder and saw one of the sheriff’s deputies who had been in our garage on the night Sissy had shot Rocky.

He stood with his feet apart in a wide cop stance, his hands on his hips. His eyes met mine. His look was hard.

I remembered his name. Jefferson. He rested his hand on his pistol and nodded slowly in my direction.

My mind swirled at the silent threat. I knew what he had said—keep your big mouth shut.

Denny and I slipped into a pew beside Mama and Aunt Tessa as the service started. I couldn’t stop wondering what Rocky and Jefferson were up to. I was intrigued, nervous and a little bit scared. I fingered the strap of my shoulder purse and squirmed in my seat.

The church was packed and I couldn’t locate Sissy. Either Tim had a lot of friends or most of Cloverleaf had turned out simply for the curiosity factor.

Somber organ music played. A white casket rested at the front of the church. Numerous flower sprays surrounded the coffin and spilled over onto the floor.

Father Turner took his place at the pulpit. He was a slight man, not more than five-eight or five-nine but good-looking in an unobtrusive way. Dark hair, dark eyes, medium complexion. He possessed the lean rangy look of a long-distance runner. He was young, probably not much older than I and he had a slow, deliberate way of speaking as if carefully weighing each word before letting it drop from his mouth.

The priest spoke of Tim’s love for his parents, his family,
his friends. He didn’t say anything about Tim’s
special
love for men but that was to be expected. We’re talking Cloverleaf, not San Francisco.

In the middle of the priest’s speech, the back door opened. I turned my head along with most of the congregation to see the late arrivals.

Rockerfeller Hughes entered on crutches, careful not to place any weight on his bandaged foot.

To his left sauntered his wife, Darlene, who was dressed in leather pants two sizes too small and a tie-dyed T-shirt. To his right, hovered Sissy. They were giggling, whispering and nudging each other like teenagers. Instantly, I realized that they were stoned.

Facing forward, I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

Something crashed.

I opened my eyes and looked back again.

Rocky was sprawled on his back in the middle of the aisle. Darlene and Sissy had their hands clamped over their mouths, struggling not to laugh. Rocky waved his crutch at everyone.

“Sorry,” he slurred, grinning like a fool. Not only stoned, but drunk, as well. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just had a tinsy accident. Go on with the service. We’re listenin’.”

Father Turner cleared his throat and looked uncertain almost whether to proceed or not. The Kehauls’ faces paled, their lips tightening with the strain. At that moment I was very ashamed of my sister. I reached over and gave Denny’s hand a reassuring pat.

Sissy and Darlene helped Rocky off the floor and pressed themselves into a crowded pew.

“What’s he doing here?” Aunt Tessa leaned over Denny to whisper in my ear. “I thought Rocky and Tim despised each other.”

“They did,” I whispered back.

“And why is Sissy with him? Didn’t they break up?”

I shrugged. There was no explaining my sister.

“Ally,” Mama said, getting in on the whispering. “I was thinking of doing a set of monks for my next ceramics project but then I really dislike brown and that’s what monks seem to wear. Maybe I’ll sculpt innovative monks who believe color is good for the soul. They chose colorful robes—pink and purple and yellow. What do you think?”

“Tim would have liked the idea,” I said, trying to remind her where we were and why we were here.

A pensive expression crossed Mama’s face. “Why, you’re right. Tim would have liked my Rainbow Monks. I think I’ll do them as a tribute to him.”

“That’s nice.”

After Father Turner finished, a few others got up to eulogize Tim. His first grade teacher, Mrs. Gault, who spoke of his wonderful finger paintings. His uncle who said he remembered how much Tim had liked to go skinny-dipping in the river. Tim’s younger brother, Michael, broke down and started crying halfway through his speech and couldn’t finish.

Then Father Turner made a major mistake. He asked if anyone in the congregation wanted to relate their personal memories of Tim.

“I do!” Rocky’s hand shot up like a lit rocket.

No. Please God, no. Strike him deaf, dumb and blind. Freeze his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

I could smell trouble as foul as the liquor on Rocky’s breath. Apparently, however, Father Turner was not given to my low opinion of Mr. Hughes.

“All right, my son.” The priest motioned him toward the altar. “Come on up.”

Rocky staggered to his feet, thrust the crutches under his
armpits and limped to the front of the church. I cringed and knotted my fingers into fists.

What was he going to say?

Father Turner stood aside and Rocky maneuvered himself to the pulpit. “Hey,” he said and the microphone squawked, causing half the congregation to clamp their hands over their ears.

Aunt Tessa rested her chin on my shoulder and mumbled, “Do you think Tim is turning over in that coffin?”

“You’re the psychic, you tell me.”

“He is.” Aunt Tessa nodded, completely serious.

“I wanna say,” Rocky continued, struggling to balance on the crutches, “that although me and Timmy boy had our differences, I recently came to realize what an interesting sex life he had.”

A gasp went up from the crowd.

I sank my face into my hands.

“That’s right.” Rocky nodded. “But his death has brought me a greater appreciation of my own life. And I can’t wait to party.”

Rocky’s band and sundry other riffraff friends who’d gathered in the back of the church started cackling and making rude noises.

I raised my head, my gut twisting in pain for the humiliation the Kehauls were undoubtedly feeling. Then I glanced across the church and saw
him
standing in the shadows of a thick wooden support column.