The Devil's Beating His Wife (31 page)

Carver sat silently in his chair. He pushed against the ground and started rocking violently. Carver's eyes bore us down, but I didn't sense any anger.

After several tense moments, he finally said, "I already knew that."

Baxter's feet gave out under us. We collapsed onto the bed. "You did?"

Carver nodded. "Of course. Mary-Alice made it quite plain that I was her second choice. She wanted my big brother, and all he wanted was that nigger bitch."

Baxter pushed off the bed and took a step towards Carver. "Don't you use that word around me. You understand?"

"Nigger or bitch? Which one?" Carver grinned maliciously. "Is that why you came up out of your grave, just to tell me that you fucked my wife?" He laughed loudly and got to his feet.

The two brothers looked at each other. Baxter, I knew, was forever locked in his prime. His hair was still full, golden, and wavy. His skin was tanned and vibrant. His back was straight and his shoulders were broad. Carver, on the other hand, was a pitiful-looking thing. His blue eyes had milky halos. His hair was thin and white. His skin was papery and pasty. He looked more dead than Baxter did.

"That was my lot in life. Being second to you. Everyone would tell me how proud I must be to have an older brother like you. You had your pretty looks. You had Mama and Daddy's love." He raised his hand to wave off Baxter's objection. "You were their favorite. They tried to hide it, but they did an awful job of it. Everybody loved you. Including my wife." He lowered his eyes and looked to the ground. "I loved you, too." His eyes snapped back up. "But then I learned to hate you. You had everything handed to you, but you would have thrown it all away for some colored girl. I took care of that."

I could feel Baxter's despair as understanding began to fill his soul. His brother had hated him more than he ever fathomed. "You're right. You did ruin any chance I might have had with Spicey when you killed her brother. I never understood why you did it—"

Carver stepped away and resumed his seat in the rocking chair. "You don't, big brother? Let me make it clear for you. You took the woman I loved away from me, and I made sure that the woman you loved would never want you."

Baxter burst forward and grabbed the handles of the rocking chair. He snarled, "You bastard."

"Of course, I could have killed her, but then I realized you'd spend the rest of your life mourning what could have been. So I killed her brother instead. I knew she'd blame you just as much as she blamed me. Every time she'd look at you, she would do so with hatred, and you'd spend the rest of your life knowing that the woman you loved didn't love you." Carver looked down at Baxter's tense hands. "What are you going to do about it? Kill me?" Carver laughed and raised his hand to pat Baxter on the cheek. "You go on ahead. I've lived a good life."

Baxter's hands tightened on the wood, and then he shoved the chair back. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. "I could kill him for what he's done."

But you won't.

Baxter lifted his fist and punched the wall. A nurse walking by jumped at the impact. She stared at Baxter and then at his curled fist. "Sir? Is everything alright?"

Baxter looked down at his closed hand. His skin looked red and angry. We both stood marveling at its color. "I'm fine, ma'am. I just hate being around all these people. It makes me nervous."

The nurse took his hand into hers and grabbed a tissue to dab at the marks. "There's no blood at least." She curled her hand over his. "I have a brother just like you. He has an anxiety disorder. He can't handle being around too many people at a time." She dropped his hand and took a step back. "Regardless, if you go around punching walls, I'm going to have to call security and ask them to escort you out. Got it?"

Baxter gave a salute. "Got it." He waited until she kept moving down the hall. Then he rushed to the nearest storage closet, opened the door, and stepped inside. Immediately, I separated myself from him.

He began to shiver before my eyes. His eyes closed tightly. His lips disappeared into a hard line. I stepped towards him, wrapped my arms around his back, and placed my head on the spot where his heart should have beaten.

"I'm so sorry, Spicey," he whispered into my hair.

I tightened my hold on him. "I'm sorry, too."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

June 23, 2014, Laurens County

It was almost depressing watching the two of them. Carver sat alone in the dining room. He was reading a newspaper as he sipped his warm coffee. At times, he would peek at the other residents in the room. All of them were grouped together at tables, laughing and chatting.

Unbeknown to Carver, he wasn't sitting alone. There across from him sat his big brother. Baxter's arms were folded on the table as he read the sports page that Carver had put aside.

I knew it pained Baxter to see his brother ostracized by the other residents. But in my book, Carver deserved every ounce of their dislike. Hell, Carver even gave Baxter several reasons to finally wipe his hands of his little brother.

But that dumb honorable man did no such thing. He sat with Carver at every meal. It was almost depressing. Almost.

Carver cleared his throat, folded the paper, and tucked it under his arm. He placed his empty coffee mug onto his tray and took it over to the bucket where they kept the dirty dishes. He tossed away his trash and walked from the room.

A burst of applause followed him as he left the room. I knew that he had to hear the others cheering his departure. It made me smile. It made Baxter's chin fall towards his chest.

He left his chair and followed Carver. I sighed loudly as I left my seat beside the girls and ran after Baxter. Those two Bennett men were working my very last nerve.

Carver returned to his bedroom where he grabbed the telephone from beside his phone and began to dial a number. Baxter approached his brother and leaned his ear towards the phone's receiver. Carver coughed into his hand. Baxter lifted his head and glared at his brother.

"Who is he calling?" I asked from the doorway.

Baxter looked back towards me. "I don't know."

Carver glanced in my direction. I worried briefly that he could see me. He waited until someone answered on the other line before he said, "Give me a second. I need to close the door." He placed the phone onto the bed and walked across the room to close the door. He placed a sign on the door handle, then pulled the door shut, and locked it. He shuffled back to the bed and grabbed the phone. "You still there?"

Baxter leaned in to listen to the other voice.

"Look, son, I apologize for what I said about your wife," Carver said into the phone. "She's a lovely woman. I've come to realize that after spending these last few nights in prayer."

Baxter continued to eavesdrop. His eyes widened as he heard his nephew's response. "So that's the deal, huh? Carver pissed off his son and that's why he was stuck in here." Baxter closed his mouth, continued to listen, and then added, "His son isn't having any of it."

"I don't blame him," I said, sitting down on the bed.

Carver noticed the dip in the mattress. He turned away from me and whispered into the phone. "You don't have to let me back into your home. I understand, but you gotta get me out of here. I can't take it anymore. All the other residents hate me." Carver paused as his son said something. "What makes you think I did anything to them?" His son must have answered him truthfully because the skin on Carver's neck darkened. "You are an ungrateful bastard. After all that I've done for you, you treat me like this. Wait, Frankie, don't hang up. I'm sorry. Frankie? Frankie?"

Carver's hand fell slowly from his ear as he hung up the phone. He plopped down onto the bed but then remembered my presence, so he jumped from that spot to one of the side chairs. He glared at the dent on the bed. Me.

"Is that Baxter? Are you here to torment me?" Carver spoke harshly but with a tinge of fear. "I bet you took pleasure in hearing my own son reject me. But you know what? At least I know he's mine. Unlike that Molly. Oh, yeah, I knew about that, too."

Baxter's back stiffened at those words, and then he slowly sunk down to the bed. His shoulders drooped. Carver's eyes widened as he noticed a second dent appear on his bed. He cursed under his breath. Then he pushed out of the chair, walked to the door, and fled the room.

Baxter lowered his face into his hands. He was so full of useless emotion that his body vibrated besides mine. I raised my hand and began to rub his back.

We sat in silence as Baxter felt sorry for himself. I grew more annoyed with each passing minute. From the bits and pieces of their conversation, I was beginning to form a real clear picture of the source of Carver and Baxter's division.

I fought for control of my tongue, but I eventually lost the battle. "You couldn't keep your dick to yourself, huh?"

Baxter stiffened under my hand.

"Correct me if I'm wrong about this, but your brother hates you because you slept with his wife? I guess I'd be upset, too, if I learned my wife had slept with my brother before she slept with me."

Baxter inhaled sharply and turned his face away. I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. "That's not all you did? You got her pregnant, too?" He shook his head. "You didn't? But you all thought you might have? You thought your niece might have been yours?"

He pulled his face from my hands. He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling. "I thought it was a possibility when I heard Mary-Alice was pregnant. But Molly was born eleven months after the last time we...." His voice trailed off.

I let the silence sit for a moment. "Why didn't you marry Mary-Alice?"

Baxter grabbed my arm, stood up, and pulled me to my feet. The mournful Baxter was gone. "You know why."

I shook my head. "I don't know why."

He lowered his face. He was so close that his nose brushed across mine. "Spicey, don't play dumb with me. You know why I didn't marry her."

"I don't know what goes through your fool head, Baxter." I placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away. I didn't like his attempt to intimidate me. I turned my face away and stepped around him to leave the room.

He followed behind me. His steps were heavy against the ground as he caught up to me. He grabbed my arm again, spinning me around. "I never wanted Mary-Alice. Not like that. She and I had a few good times when I wasn't sure if I would live to see another year." He placed his hand against his heart and lowered his voice. "It's always been you that I wanted. I never made that a secret. Not to her, not to my family, and certainly not to you."

"Why would I want a selfish bastard like you? You used that girl then you tossed her aside. Don't you—"

"No." He cut off my words. "Don't you go labeling her as some victim. I didn't make her any promises. She was a willing participant in everything."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, giving myself time to think of my next words. "You don't see that if you hadn't toyed with her heart, none of this would have happened? If you hadn't used her, she wouldn't have turned to your brother, and he wouldn't have had his heart crushed. And he wouldn't have killed my brother." I left out the part about Baxter killing me and then killing himself. I figured he'd put those pieces together on his own.

His lips tightened. His eyes darkened. "This is not my fault." He dropped my arm. It was like the fight left him. "This is not my fault."

"Yes, Baxter." I placed my hand on his cheek. "It is." I turned away from him and walked down the long corridor towards the front lobby. I had just passed the nurses' station when I heard his soft words.

"This is not my fault."

The raw emotion in his voice halted my steps. Residents walked around us, carrying on with their day. The television boomed in the background as a group watched the opening of a baseball game.

"It never would have mattered," he continued. "Even if I hadn't dallied with Mary-Alice, Carver would have found another reason to hate me. That isn't my fault. He was always blaming me for something. If he failed at math, he would blame me for being the teacher's favorite the year before. If he drove Daddy's truck into a ditch, he would blame me for not leaving enough gas in it for him to get home. But none of that matters because you never would have loved me."

I spun around to face him. He took a single step in my direction. "I could have killed Hitler with my bare hands, but that wouldn't have mattered to you. Your brother could have lived until he was eighty, and you would never have given me a second glance." He lifted his hands and stared down at his palms. "I almost died, did you know that? I had been leading my men on a mission to capture a high ranking officer in the SS. One of them got caught in a gun-battle, and I went back to cover him. I had been too focused on getting to him so I didn't spot the sniper in the window. He shot me through my leg." He glanced down at the leg that had been damaged. "And he shot me through the chest. I should have died from that wound, but all I thought about was returning home to be with you. Not Mary-Alice. Not some other girl that my mother threw my way. I wanted to live so I could be with you." Horror crossed his handsome features. He blinked rapidly as he curled his fingers into tight fists. "How I fought for the love of you."

I watched as he retreated with his tail between his legs. I would have felt more sympathy if he'd acknowledged how his selfishness had brought us to this state, but I didn't think he would ever see that. Another woman might have been swayed by such a declaration of love, but I saw it as an attempt to shift the blame onto me.

"Did it get really cold in here all of a sudden?" asked the female security guard on duty. She was walking down the hallway just as Baxter stormed back into his brother's room. As she continued down the hall, I noticed her shiver.

"Jesus, it's not that cold," I muttered as she passed by me.