Fresh Kills (26 page)
Authors: Bill Loehfelm
I made it through the metal detectors on the second try. A security guard escorted me to the main office, where I signed in on a clipboard. After slipping a piece of hard candy into her mouth, the secretary slid the bowl across the counter toward me. I took one and ate it. “One moment,” she said, turning back to her computer. I sucked on my candy, hands in my pockets, shifting my weight from foot to foot.
Two kids, two boys about fifteen or sixteen, sat close to each other on a nearby bench. One had the beginnings of a shiner. I’d been there. It was gonna be ugly when it filled out, all yellow and green. The other held a blood-soaked rag full of half-melted ice to his mouth. Been there, too. His lips would sting like hell every time they touched hot food for two weeks.
The boys slouched, legs stretched out, trying to say with their bodies how little the violence meant to them. Just another day at the office. But they both stared at me hard, fear and defiance fighting for prominence in their eyes. It wasn’t either boy’s first fight, but I could tell just by looking at them that it was the first time either of them had shed, or drawn, blood.
Shiner tilted his chin back and refixed his stare on me. Mouth imitated him. They were trying to figure out who I was, whether or not I had come for them. Should they be relieved, or more afraid, that I didn’t wear a badge and a uniform? I realized I still wore my sunglasses.
“You’re here to see Ms. Francis?” the secretary asked.
I turned back to her. She stared at me, her face stern behind her bifocals.
I nodded and slipped off the shades. I wondered if the boys, now armed with that information, grew more or less interested in me.
“What’s the nature of your visit?” Losing the glasses had done nothing to improve her attitude toward me.
“Personal,” I said. The lady sat like a statue. Not the right answer. “Ms. Francis and I are old friends. I have a personal message for her.” I tried to smile. She still stared. I started to sweat. I decided that saying I’d come to fuck Ms. Francis in the broom closet wouldn’t have sounded any worse to this woman than what I’d already said. I glanced around for the security guard. I wondered if David got the third degree like this. If he ever came to visit her, that was.
I leaned my elbows on the counter. “Ma’am, my name is John Sanders. My father . . . passed away this weekend. Molly”—I paused, cleared my throat—“Ms. Francis is an old friend of mine, she knew my father, and she asked that I let her know about the services. I was in the neighborhood, on an errand, and figured I’d tell her personally.”
I panicked, realizing I’d just given the dragon lady the old “death in the family” excuse. I was standing outside the principal’s office, trying to sneak my girl out of class. I was fucking doomed.
But the secretary’s gaze softened and she held up a finger. My being twice as old as most of the student body must’ve bought me some credence. She clicked away on her computer. “Ms. Francis has a free period right now. I’ll call over and see if she’s in her office.” When someone answered, the secretary turned away from me in her chair. She spoke too low for me to hear. “Ms. Francis will be with you momentarily.”
A small, round man appeared through a door at the end of the counter. He focused a hard stare on me. Maybe Molly hadn’t been called, after all. But after a moment, he turned and crooked his finger at the boys. They rose, their defiance replaced by an imitation of remorse. Without looking back at me, they followed the man through the door. I took their place on the bench. The secretary smiled at me over the counter and tossed me a second piece of candy.
Molly looked tense, her jaw set, when she opened the office door and waved me out. Her eyes were elsewhere, like she hadn’t even recognized me. She held the office door open with one arm as I walked through, passing close enough to her to smell her shampoo. I followed her silently around the metal detectors and out the front door, which I jumped to hold for her. She got halfway down the steps, her boots loud on the concrete, before she stopped and waited for me.
I took a moment to enjoy looking at her as I approached; I’d never seen her in school clothes. Her burgundy skirt had chalk dust at the pockets. Her hair, looking desperate to escape, was wound on the back of her head, a pen stuck through it. Looking at me, she straightened her blouse. It was a reflex, I figured, born of years of schoolboys trying to peek down it. On her feet were brown cowboy boots, well worn. I recognized them. I’d heard them hit my bedroom floor many times. When I reached her, it was all I could do not to kiss her. I held out my arms.
“Surprised?” I asked.
With a nod of her head, she told me to follow her. She led me around the building, to the side of the gym, where the windows were high on the wall. It wasn’t at all what I had come to see her for, and she obviously wasn’t in the mood, but all I wanted was to kiss her, to make out behind the gym. The thought made me giddy. She read my mind and put a little distance between us. I remembered just what a flagrant violation of our rules I was really committing.
“Gimme a cigarette,” she said.
I did. “So, I just thought I’d check in,” I said. Her eyes flitted over the parking lot. What would be worse? Getting caught with me, or with the cigarette? I’d made a poor choice coming here, but she hadn’t chased me away. She was willing to let me redeem myself. “This was a bad idea,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes met mine for the first time. “It’s fine,” she said, waving her hand through our cigarette smoke. “It really is. You just caught me off guard.” She smiled, and her face relaxed. “It’s good to see you, in the daylight.” She tucked a few stray locks of hair away, dragging hard on her cigarette. “It’s been a long day already.”
“Kids outta control?”
She scrunched her nose. “Not that. Discipline’s never been a problem for me. I just get sick of running into the same problems, apathy, attitude, short attention spans, over and over again.” She blew stray strands of hair off her cheek. “And that’s just the parents. That’s what I was doing, calling parents. Then I wonder why I can’t get through to the kids. All part of the job, I guess. They’re the same age every year, and I keep getting older.”
“Sounds aggravating.”
“Today it is,” she said. “I’ll get over it. I always do. They’re just being teenagers, poor things. The best thing about them is also the worst. If you don’t like who they are, give ’em a day, an hour, and they’ll be someone else. Today, they’re thick as bricks, tomorrow they’ll be my confused little angels again.” She fiddled with the buttons on her blouse. “Anyway, I’m sure my bitching isn’t what you’re here for.”
I didn’t want to talk. She’d just told me more about her job in half a cigarette than she had in three months of staying the night. I loved hearing it; I didn’t want her to stop. I wished that I’d come to talk about something else, or about nothing at all. I wished I’d come to hear her bitching, or her joy, over her job. I wanted to make plans for dinner. It was scary out here, but I liked this daylight thing.
But looking up at the high, brick walls of the buildings that surrounded us, that cast us in their shadows, I knew we weren’t standing in daylight at all. Molly was hiding us. I understood it, understood her reasons that had nothing to do with her being at school. I understood my place, but, for the first time, I hated it. I wanted out of it.
Molly wiggled her fingers in front of my face. “Speaking of short attention spans.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. It wanders a lot these days.”
“I know,” she said, “and here I am babbling about mundane shit.”
“It’s all right. I could use some mundane shit in my life.”
“How’s it going?” Molly asked. “Your life?” Like we hadn’t seen each other in months, not less than two days. But it did feel like months had passed since Sunday afternoon.
“Okay, I guess.” I ran my hands through my hair. “How do you measure progress in a thing like this? We’ve got the casket. We’ve got the times. Julia’s finalizing the flowers and meeting with the priest today.” I looked away from her, out over the parking lot. “I’ve been keeping myself occupied.”
“It’s good things are moving along. Good to stay busy. But that’s not what I meant. How’re
you
doing?”
you
doing?”
“Oh, well, up and down,” I said. I looked at her. Better now. I took a deep breath. “Maybe not so good overall. Or maybe all right. Julia hasn’t thrown me out. No one’s locked me up. You’re still talking to me.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what to judge it against.”
Her eyes got distant again. “Sounds about right. The up and down, the confusion.” She tried to smile. “That’ll go on for a while, I’m afraid. I got so sick of fucking crying. Sometimes I still do.” She stopped and looked away, biting her cheek.
When? I wondered. When did she still cry, and what for? For Eddie? For herself? And who was there with her, if anyone.
“You’ll get through it,” she finally said. She checked her watch. My window was closing. I remembered that, like always, we had limited time.
I shuffled my feet. I’d wanted to ease into this better. I’d come to ask a lot, more than I realized.
“So, I told Julia I’d give the eulogy,” I said. I was having trouble with the words, putting them together, getting them out. “The wake is tomorrow night, at seven-thirty.” I swallowed hard. My mind went totally blank. “So, can you make it?”
Molly cocked her head at me. Nice. Like it was a friggin’ cocktail party. I’d been smoother when I was fifteen. I wiped my hand across my forehead. Do better than that.
“Mol, it’d do a lot for me, mean a lot to me, if you would be there. If you helped me through.”
She pinched her bottom lip, her head still tilted to one side. I couldn’t read her face. I couldn’t tell if I was losing her, or if I’d just shocked the shit out of her. Hell, I’d shocked myself. When she didn’t respond, I babbled, trying to get both my feet back on the wire. “Not for the whole time, naturally. I wouldn’t ask that. But, you know, maybe for a while? A little while? Julia’d be thrilled and Jimmy McGrath will be there with Rose.” First, I couldn’t talk, now I couldn’t shut up. I was realizing, too late, how much her being there would mean to me.
“I don’t know,” Molly said, crossing her arms, but stepping closer to me, looking down at her boots, then up at my face. “It’s at Scalia’s, right?”
“We’ll be right by Joyce’s,” I said, trying to get the focus off of Scalia’s. “The wake ends at nine-thirty. Come by late. We could get a drink after.”
“I’d like to,” she said, sighing, “but I don’t think I can. Not for the drink, or anything else. I’m sorry. I really am.”
I could tell she really was, and that she was torn, that her decision might not be absolute. I tried to shake her loose, before her decision solidified, before she closed completely to me. “Look, David would understand,” I said. “To hell with it, bring him.”
“Yeah, right. Like he would come.” She looked up at me, so close now all I could see were her eyes. “And even if he did, I don’t think I could stand the both of you in the same room. I couldn’t not give myself away.” I felt her hand on my arm. “It’s not David. And it’s not you.”
“It’s Eddie,” I said. Of course. I couldn’t push her on that. It was a part of her I wasn’t allowed to touch.
“I can’t go back to Scalia’s. Shit, I still have to ride in the back of the ferry. All that empty sky. I still can’t stand it.” She slipped her arms around me and my knees almost gave way. But my hands hung at my sides. “I’m sorry, John,” she said. “I want to see you. I’ve picked up and put down the phone a hundred times since Sunday. I’ll come see you this weekend. You’ll be back at work?”
“Molly,” I said, my throat suddenly dry, “it’s been seven years since Eddie died. I know it’s hard but, please, do this for me.”
She blinked up at me, her eyes wet. “I’m confused. I thought I just heard
you
telling
me
to get over what happened years ago. But that couldn’t be true. I must’ve misheard.”
you
telling
me
to get over what happened years ago. But that couldn’t be true. I must’ve misheard.”
My stomach went sick. I wanted to crawl under the gym and never come out. “No, no, no. I’m not saying you should be over it, or forget it, I’m just saying . . .” I stopped, stuck, dead in the water. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
She put her fingertips to my mouth, rescuing me from my own stupidity. “It’s all right. I’m sorry. I know it took a lot for you to come here and talk to me. It means a lot, it really does. But I can’t come to the wake. I just can’t.”
I let my hands rise to her hips. This weekend wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. But I knew it was all I was going to get. I should’ve known that all along. She kissed my temple. I was glad I hadn’t asked for her help with the eulogy. That only would’ve made it harder for her to say no, and made it hurt more to hear it.
“Don’t hate me for this,” she said.
Hate you? I pulled her closer. I couldn’t if I tried. There was too much in the way. I couldn’t hate you. Just the opposite, if anything, if you really want to know the truth. But it seemed I couldn’t do that, either. There was too much in the way for that, too.
I slid a hand to the small of her back. “It’s all right, Mol,” I said, breathing her in as deep as I could. Vanilla. Strawberries. “I understand. This weekend sounds great.”
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