Dead Weight (11 page)

I put my hands to my face. Why? I wondered. Was I trying to hide? I should be hiding, I thought. In the attic. In the basement, if we had one. Maybe I should find a cave somewhere, crawl in and pull ground vegetation in after me to cover me up. Stay there until I died of starvation.

‘Where is he?’ Luna asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.

‘At his mother’s.’

‘In Codderville?’

‘Yeah.’ Luna knew Vera, Willis’s mother. Knew where she lived. Had been there a dozen times. I guess the question had just been something to say.

There was silence for a few minutes, minutes in which I did not take my hands from my face. Minutes where I remained as hidden as possible in my own kitchen.

‘Do the kids know?’ Luna asked.

I shook my head. ‘They’re not here. The girls are at a lock-in at the church and Graham spent the night with a friend.’

She pushed herself up from the table. ‘Speaking of church, I’m off to the gym. You want me to bring you anything? Donuts? Chocolate? Booze?’

I shook my head, although I could certainly use some chocolate to ease the pain. But I’d worked so hard— ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘A couple of Mars bars— Hell, no!’ I said, standing up. ‘This is the worst thing that’s happened to me since the Lesters died. And I’m not ruining my diet with a stinking Mars bar! Go to Lambs and get me some of those dark chocolate truffles, please, and two turtles, milk or dark, I don’t care, and four dark chocolate-covered cherries! And then come right back! And buy a bottle of something alcoholic that goes with chocolate! Ask the liquor store guy! He’ll know. And here!’ I said, rushing to my purse. I grabbed a twenty and handed it to her. ‘It’s on me.’

‘And you expect me to ruin my diet too, just to indulge your pity-party?’ Luna asked, hands on hips.

‘Yes!’ I said.

She shrugged. ‘OK,’ she said and was out the door.

I was sitting at the kitchen table thinking only of the chocolate to come, when the phone rang. There’s a wall extension in the kitchen so I picked it up. ‘Hello?’ I said, hoping my husband was calling to say it was all just a giant mistake and he was on his way home.

‘E.J.?’ a timid voice asked.

‘Yes, who’s this?’

‘It’s me. Berta Harris. I thought I’d call and see what we’re going to do today to figure out who’s trying to kill me?’

‘Are you at Ken’s?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they’re being very nice to me. Kerry’s boys are very sweet,’ Berta said.

‘Ah, something’s come up here,’ I told her. ‘It might be later today before I can do anything.’

‘Oh,’ she said. Then, ‘Well, OK. I guess I’ll just stay here?’

‘I think that would be best. May I speak to Ken for a moment?’

‘Oh. Yes. Of course. Ken?’

‘Hi, E.J.,’ Ken’s voice said.

‘Ken, something’s come up. Do you have a problem with Berta staying there a little longer?’

‘Not at all. The boys and I are going to teach her some card games.’

‘Great, Ken. Thanks. Bye,’ I said and hung up just as the doorbell rang.

The door popped open before I had a chance to get there. ‘Hey, E.J.,’ Trisha said. ‘So where to? Have you talked to Berta today? What’s the plan, Stan?’

I flopped onto the living-room sofa. ‘I have no plan,’ I said.

‘What’s wrong?’ Trisha said, a look of concern on her face. She floated gently down on the love seat opposite the sofa.

So I told her. But, unlike Luna, I gave her all the details, from the hurtful words he’d uttered, to the blatant truth of those words, to me kicking him out, then to me almost begging him to come back. Before I finished telling it, I was bawling. Trisha came over to the sofa and gathered my big head and shoulders to her tiny ones, patting me on the back and saying, ‘Cry it out, honey. Just let it all out. But he’ll be back! I promise you!’ and words to that effect that I barely heard over my own noise.

Finally I pulled away and used tissues on the coffee table to clean myself up. Then I was in the kitchen and on the phone. Turning to Trisha, I asked, ‘What kind of chocolate do you like?’ I dialed Luna’s cell phone.

Trisha wrinkled her little nose and patted her little tummy. ‘I don’t. It gives me gas.’

I put the phone back in the cradle and stared at her. ‘How awful!’ I finally said.

She waved away my words. ‘Oh, it’s no biggie. I’m not a big fan of chocolate anyway.’

I stared at her. What was
wrong
with this woman? Not a big fan of chocolate?

That’s like not being a big fan of air! Air, earth, water, fire, and chocolate! Was she insane? I picked up the phone again and hit the redial button. When Luna picked up, she was grunting.

‘What are you doing?’ I demanded.

‘I’m on the treadmill. I told you I was going to the gym.’

‘And I said come right back! What part of that did you not understand?’

‘Lambs doesn’t open until ten and the liquor store doesn’t open until after twelve on Sundays. The last vestiges of the Texas blue laws,’ she said, panting away.

‘Get extra liquor,’ I said.

‘You only gave me a twenty.’

‘Are you going to eat some chocolate? Are you going to drink some liquor? Then pitch in, goddamit!’ And I hung up. Did no one understand my grief? Jeez!

MEGAN

Since neither of our illustrious parents bothered to answer the house phone or either cell, me and Bess and Alicia got a ride home with Jarrell Hinsley’s mom. Jarrell is like barely thirteen and five foot zero or something, but he has this mad crush on me. It works for getting rides and stuff, but other than that it’s a pain in the you know what.

We thanked Jarrell and his mom profusely as we got out at our house, and I even gave Jarrell a little pity smile, then we headed inside. It was deathly quiet in the house. Me and Bess eyed each other, and even Alicia seemed a little freaked. Then we heard a scream. Followed by a high-pitched burst of what sounded like laughter.

‘Mom?’ Bess called out.

‘Family room!’ came back to us.

We dropped our stuff in the foyer and headed to the back of the house. Mom, Mrs Luna from next door, and my boss, Mrs McClure from across the street, were in the room. Mom was lying flat on her back on the couch, Mrs Luna was lying on her stomach on the coffee table, feet hanging way off it, and Mrs McClure was curled up in a ball on the throw rug between the coffee table and the couch.

‘Y’all all right?’ I asked.

Alicia grabbed my arm and Bess’s and tried pulling us out of the room. ‘We need to go upstairs,’ she said.

‘Oh, poo poo, Alicia!’ my mom said, lifting her head to smile at us. ‘My beautiful girls. All three of you. Wanna piece of chocolate?’

That’s when we saw all the empty little brown paper cups the candies came in, the open box of Lambs chocolates, and the tipped over bottles of what I could only assume was alcohol. I don’t believe in drinking. And I think grown-ups do it way too much, as was evidenced by the disgusting display in front of us. Church had been out for barely an hour, and here were these three women – one of them my
mother
! – drunk as . . . as . . . heck, I don’t know. Drunk as whatever gets drunk a lot!

I brushed off Alicia’s hand on my arm, poised myself with hands on hips and said sternly, ‘Mother, you’re drunk!’

My mom’s head popped up again and, looking at me, she said, ‘Ya think?’ then burst into very childish giggles. Which started off Mrs McClure and Mrs Luna. Now Mrs McClure I could understand. Having sat for her children four times now, there was no wonder the woman wanted to drink. But Mrs Luna? She was a policeman, for gawd’s sake! Police woman. Police person. Whatever. My point being: she shouldn’t be drunk on a Sunday afternoon in a house where there were impressionable teenagers such as us three.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ I demanded.

Mom’s head came up again and she opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs Luna twirled around on the coffee table so that she was sideways, the top half of her actually over Mrs McClure, and shoved her hand over my mother’s mouth. ‘Shhhh . . .’ she said. It was probably the most disgusting display of childishness I’ve ever seen, and I go to school with
boys
!

Bess touched my arm and said, ‘Let’s just go upstairs. And girls,’ she said, looking sadly at Alicia then at me, ‘let’s never speak of this.’

OK, I thought. Three down and one to go. Or was it six down? I giggled again as I thought about how many children I had. ‘I’ve got a bunch of kids!’ I told my good buddies.

‘You do,’ Luna said. ‘I’ve been saying that for years.’

‘How many kids you got?’ Trisha asked.

‘Half dozen or more maybe,’ I said.

Trisha stuck up an arm, thumb up. ‘Yep,’ she said. ‘That’s a lot of kids.’

Luna picked her head up off the table. ‘You don’t have that many kids,’ she said.

‘I don’t?’

‘Naw. I have two,’ Luna said.

Trisha sat up, hitting the top of her head on Luna’s chin. Luna said a bad word and Trisha’s head fell back on the sofa and she covered her mouth as she giggled. ‘Oops!’ she said. Then she said, ‘Why did I sit up? Oh! I know, I know!’ she said, raising one arm. With the other arm she pointed an accusing finger at Luna. ‘You don’t have two kids! I’ve never seen them!’

Luna whirled around on the coffee table and sat up, lifting up her T-shirt. ‘Hey, you wanna see my stretch marks? I do too have kids! Two boys.’ Trisha stared at Luna’s stretch marks.

‘Wow,’ Trisha said. ‘Those are awesome!’

‘Yeah,’ Luna said proudly. ‘Ernesto weighed twelve pounds! You should have seen the episiotomy!’

‘Yuck!’ Trisha said, and fell back. ‘No, thanks! Hey!’ Accusatory finger pointed at Luna yet again. ‘If you got kids, where the heck are they?’

‘Ernesto joined the Navy the second he graduated high school, and Roman’s in his third year at A&M.’

Trisha made a face. ‘Yuck, an Aggie!’

‘Jesus,’ Luna said, ‘you’re not another T-sipper, are you?’

‘Four years and a stab at grad school,’ she said. ‘Go Longhorns!’

Trisha and I both did the Longhorn sign with both hands – index and pinky finger up, two middle fingers and thumb down – and made a ‘woo-wooing’ sound.

‘Where’d you go?’ Trisha asked.

‘I’m a graduate of the School of Hard Knocks! And I have
many
advanced degrees!’ Luna said.

We all thought that was the funniest thing we’d ever heard.

I’m not sure when we fell asleep, or passed out, or whatever, but we did.

I woke up around dinner time with a terrible headache. I was in my bedroom. There were normal house sounds going on outside my door. I could even smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. I got up and went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face and changed out of my wrinkled and booze-soaked clothing. Opening the door from my bedroom into the great room, I could see Megan and Graham in the kitchen with Bess and Alicia in the breakfast room, setting the table.

‘Hey,’ I said sheepishly.

They all turned around. ‘Hey back,’ Graham said. ‘Are you feeling OK or do you need some O.J. or coffee or something?’

‘Maybe a Coke?’ I suggested. ‘A little cold caffeine might be in order.’

Graham handed a canned Coke out of the fridge to Megan who, begrudgingly, brought it to me. She didn’t say a word when she handed it to me. The other two girls kept their eyes on the table, as if putting the forks and knifes in the correct position would win them points in some inner Miss Manners contest.

I opened the Coke and took a long pull on it. Nothing had ever tasted better. I took another long pull and realized that hadn’t been a good idea. I made it to the hall bath in the nick of time.

By the time I’d cleaned myself up and returned to the great room, Megan was bringing the food to the table. We all sat down in our usual spots, the one chair conspicuously vacant.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ Bess asked.

‘We’ll talk about it later,’ Graham said. ‘You want this food I just slaved over to get cold?’

Bess rolled her eyes. ‘You’re such a drama queen,’ she said.

‘That’s drama
king
to you, my dear,’ he said.

‘What is this?’ I asked as I gingerly took a forkful of chicken, cheese, green chilies and other wondrous things.

‘My version of King Ranch chicken. What do you think?’

I took a bite and could have sworn I was in heaven. I stared at my son. ‘When did you learn to cook?’

‘Oh, I piddle around some. I enjoy it.’

‘This is good,’ Alicia said, actually taking a large bite. She usually just wet her fork a bit and pretended to eat.

‘Not bad,’ Megan said, halfway through what I assumed would be her
first
helping. ‘But the salad’s the best.’

I laughed. ‘I assume you made the salad?’

No response from my daughter. After a minute, Graham said, ‘Yeah, she made the salad, but it seems to have sapped her of all her strength.’

Bess never looked up from her plate. The realization began to dawn that possibly my girls had heard or seen something earlier in the day – possibly while I was inebriated – that had them concerned.

I decided not to pursue the issue until after dinner. Graham had gone to too much trouble for me to let my actions ruin his lovely meal. And then I got another brainstorm: Graham had quiet deftly maneuvered Bess away from her question of ‘Where’s Daddy?’ He knew. He must have called Willis. He was doing all this because he knew.

I felt shame and embarrassment. My son felt so sorry for me he manipulated his sisters and fixed dinner because he knew I’d be a wreck. I couldn’t help but wonder how Willis was doing. Maybe already dating, who knew? At least he was probably sober and not having giant pity-parties. He might even feel relieved. Relieved that he was finally out of this hell-hole called a marriage, relieved that he didn’t have to deal with me anymore, put up with my crap, especially my penchant for sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong.

I was beginning to feel a little nauseous. I took a drink of ice water, hoping it would quell my desire to puke. It did. I pushed my food gently around my plate, no longer able to eat Graham’s perfectly wonderful offering. Finally, the meal was over and I got up, picked up my plate and started for the sink.