The Last Kind Words (34 page)

“I can get it cheaper,” I said.

“You can’t steal an engagement ring.”

“Why not?”

“Is that the question you’re asking me? Why you can’t steal my engagement ring?”

“Nope.”

We stood there for what seemed like a long time. I held her to me. Moments like these, I thought I could go straight. I wanted to offer our children a life, a future, something besides a house full of decades-old loot that nobody wanted. I imagined the ring on her finger. It looked like it would hurt if she brushed it against my back while we were making love.

We stepped inside. She tried the ring on and held it up and I kissed her finger and I kissed the piece of ice. I thought I had just enough cash in my wallet to at least make a down payment. I was wrong. They wanted twice as much. Kimmy reluctantly took the ring off but she remained giddy. I put my hand to her belly. My girl inside wasn’t moving yet.

I reached for her.

Sweat slid onto my lips and I heard voices in the backyard. The taste of salt reminded me of kissing down the length of Kimmy’s back that night while she giggled and eyed me over her shoulder and said, “That’s it, that’s it, worship me like a dirty goddess. Kiss me like I’ll die tonight.” I coughed and thought I should go to the window, I should see who’s out there, but I wanted to return to my girl. I rolled over. I pressed my face into the pillow. The voices stopped and the breeze carried only the scent of storm.

I
leaped out of bed to the sound of screams. I hit the stairs and jumped down three at a time. JFK rounded the corner, barking insanely. I’d never heard him like that before. He knew something I didn’t. My mother hung wilted against the back-door jamb, hunched over but with her knees angled outward like she was about to push out a baby. Beyond her, my old man was hauling something heavy across the yard, gasping, struggling, the way he had when we’d pulled up tree stumps together. JFK circled and chewed at his hindquarters. I watched my father dragging Mal’s massive and rigid body through the dirt, guts trailing behind. His brother’s dead weight was too much for my dad, and his eyes flitted in a wild panic as he searched anywhere for help. His wet gaze finally landed on me but he was too out of breath to say anything. He mewled what could’ve been my name. My father had finally lost control. I took a step off the back porch and my knees nearly went out from under me. My mother moved to me, turned away, and tightened her arms around herself, her eyes shut tight. Grey hurtled from the back door like a ballet dancer, covering an unbelievable distance in four or five bounds. He was in a white T-shirt and boxers, which were immediately soaked through with red. Grey’s voice cracked to pieces as he shouted, “Call an ambulance!” It was too late for that. It was too late for anything. My mother wailed in response. Dale appeared at my side. She wasn’t sobbing, but the tears ran into her mouth. “Don’t move him. You’re disturbing the … the … forensic evidence. The police—” My father and Grey dragged Mal on his back, flattening the grass and digging gouges in the rain-softened earth. Mal’s head bounced across the ground, which made his tongue jut and withdraw like he was testing soup that was still too
hot. His eyes were half open and perfectly focused. He seemed puzzled, a little uneasy, but not too concerned about any particular thing. His face tilted and I caught his gaze. He still had something to tell me. I rushed forward and tried to help and they batted me away. I reached for my cell phone to call Gilmore and realized I was naked.

It
rained like a son of a bitch the day we buried Mal. Some of his old grifter and heister cronies showed up and stood there in the downpour, sipping from flasks and sobbing.

The young priest knew our family’s reputation and went full out with a morality lesson as he stood over the open grave. He had thick glasses spattered with raindrops. He had trouble reciting certain passages and stumbled over the words, misspoke them, chased after them, his voice rising dramatically. He reached for hellfire but stammered too badly to get the proper rhythm down.

Dale hung back with Old Shep. He was in a wheelchair and dressed to the nines, and she kept her hands on his shoulders. He wore a white fedora that my mother had placed on his head to keep him warm, and the rain ran off the ends of it. Within the etched sorrow of Dale’s face I thought I could see a hint of anger. Butch was a no-show.

Beneath her umbrella, my mother let out occasional gasps of disbelief. I thought I could almost hear my father’s heartbeat above the wind. I kept a watchful eye. I was afraid that my old man might strangle the priest with his own rosary.

Gilmore stood behind my mother like he was one of the family. I knew it was insane to think he was a killer, but he reminded me so much of Collie that I couldn’t let go of the fear and suspicion. There were at least five officers scattered through the cemetery, all carrying the same umbrellas and pretending not to survey us. The cops had given us hell for moving Mal, but they seemed to accept that my father and Grey had simply been too upset to think rationally. We spent four hours answering questions. They collected all the knives they could find in the house, which was maybe half. If my family had been trying to cover up the
crime, there were a thousand square miles of marsh from Sheepshead Bay to Fresh Kills where we could’ve tossed the corpse.

I stood in Grey’s suit and ill-fitting shoes. I wore one of his raincoats as well. I hadn’t knotted it properly and the tails flapped in the wind. Lin showed up and mostly hid herself under her umbrella. She didn’t introduce herself to the family and I didn’t do it for her. I probably should have, but the timing couldn’t be worse.

Victoria and Eve each held on to one of Grey’s hands, the three of them stooped beneath Grey’s umbrella. Eve met my eyes once and gave a sad smile. I nodded back.

Somehow we got through the service. They lowered Mal in and everyone passed by and tossed roses into the flooded grave. His grifter friends threw in other bits as well. Coins, photos, goodbye notes they’d written, pocket Bibles. They were more emotional than I would have guessed. A few were openly crying. One fumbled his way toward Grey and nearly knocked him over. Another drew my father into a wild bear hug. My mother appeared to know them both and whispered and consoled them until they clumsily moved off.

The rain hissed like water in a pan simmering on a stove. I was tired of the noise.

Grey’s hand trembled so badly that when he walked past the grave and threw in his rose it fell short. His knees started to buckle and he nearly went headfirst into the hole. My father and I both rushed to him and kept him on his feet. Victoria wrapped an arm around his waist and he clopped back and laid his head against her shoulder.

Large puddles had formed at the edge of the grave. Grey’s rose swirled around twice before a stream carried it to the lip, where it hung and quivered before finally dropping away.

The image had an impact on me. The deep-red flower disappearing into the black pit. I knew I would have sporadic dreams about it for the rest of my life. Because it looked to me as if, at the last instant, the rose had been snatched into the grave.

The line of mourners continued to snake away. I waited until everyone
else had walked off toward their cars, then I reached into my pocket and pulled out a fresh deck of cards and tossed it in. It was a stupid gesture, but I was a man full of stupid gestures. I was about to make another one.

When the priest turned to go, I reached out and grabbed him by the wrist.

“The last kind words ever spoken to Jesus were spoken by a thief.”

“Excuse me?” He tried to pull away but I held on. “You’re—you’re—”

“We were the first let into heaven. Thieves are pardoned.”

I tugged him toward me and enjoyed the pained expression on his face. Then I released him and left him there with his certain knowledge of God and hell. I walked away in my own bitter confusion.

Most of the mourners came to the house and ate. Gilmore begged off and said he had to get back to work. He shook my hand and I held on an instant too long. He frowned at me in puzzlement and misread my intention. He gave me a quick, awkward hug and left.

My mother and Dale kept presenting hors d’oeuvres and platters of cold cuts. A few folks spoke to me. Some I recognized. Most I didn’t. I think I responded, but I had no idea what I might’ve said. I searched for Lin. She hadn’t shown. I realized it was important to introduce her to the rest of the family. She was my brother’s wife. I wasn’t thinking clearly and knew it.

My father began to get hold of himself. He started to take charge, passing out drinks, his voice growing louder. He and the heisters told anecdotes. There were even a few chuckles as they ate and drank together. I kept thinking about Mal and me crashing backyard birthday parties, him taking over the grill and cooking hamburgers, the two of us singing happy birthday to Timmy or Holly or Bob when nobody knew who the hell we were. It almost got me smiling.

I stuck close to my grandfather’s corner. I sat beside Old Shep, and his glassy eyes remained fixed on the television for a minute. He still had the hat on. I liked seeing it on him. It was a throwback to the good old days when he was nearly as stylish as Grey.

He slowly inched his head toward me. I didn’t know what it meant. He was almost looking into my eyes. He was freshly shaven and the suit looked good on him. I knew he was in there somewhere. Maybe he wanted to talk. I said, “Gramp, if you—” and he slowly turned back to the TV. I put my hand on his knee. I hoped he would snatch my wallet again. I stood and turned my hip toward him, praying he would reach for me. He didn’t.

Grey was still devastated but reeling himself in. He looked like he was half dead himself, drained of color and energy. It was the only time I’d ever seen his hair mussed. He hugged Vicky to him, but I thought I could see in her eyes that she knew this was it, the end of the line for her.

Eve stepped to me and said, “There’s only one question a person can ask after a funeral. It’s a foolish one but it’s the only one. How are you holding up?”

I hadn’t spoken all day long except for what I’d told the priest. It was difficult forming words.

“I suppose there’s only one answer to give,” I said. “I’m doing the best that I can.”

She put a hand to my chest. “Terry, whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.”

“I’m not thinking of doing anything.”

“Yes, you are. I can tell. You’ve got blood in your eye.”

Her fingers massaged me through my shirt. I shut my eyes and lost myself for a moment in the human contact. Then I took a breath and turned aside. “Eve, you showed me a very nice night, and I should thank you for it. It’s been a long time since I had a chance to hold a beautiful woman close and fall asleep in her arms. But how about if you don’t pretend as if you really know me.”

“All right. But I meant what I said the other night. I do believe you’re a good man, at heart.”