Full Circle (5 page)

He called at noon on Wednesday.

‘E.J.,’ he said when I picked up the phone. ‘This is Reverend Rush.’

‘Oh, hello,’ I said, finding the nearest chair to sit down. Along with everything else, Berry Rush was long-winded.

‘I was so terribly sorry to hear about what happened at the Lesters.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Do you have the names of the next of kin so I may call and offer my condolences and any services they might possibly need?’

I found my address book and read off the name of the only viable next of kin.

‘I understand that you found them, E.J.,’ Reverend Rush said.

‘Yes.’

‘How are you doing?’ he asked.

‘I’m OK, Reverend Rush,’ I answered, gritting my teeth. ‘Thank you for asking.’

‘If there’s anything Rosemary or I can do . . .’

The thought made me shudder. ‘No really, I’m all right. But I do appreciate your concern.’

‘Well, we’ll be praying for you and your family, and of course, little Bessie.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, but was talking to dead air.

Thinking about Mrs Karnes, Terry’s mother, the number I’d given Berry Rush, I decided the first voice she needed to hear from her daughter’s neighborhood should be mine and not Berry’s. So I dialed the number, hoping to beat Berry to the punch.

‘Hello?’ a female voice answered.

‘Mrs Karnes?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid Mrs Karnes can’t come to the phone,’ the woman said. ‘She’s not taking any calls right now.’

‘Oh, of course,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. This is E.J. Pugh. I was Terry’s next-door neighbor—’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ the woman exclaimed. ‘You’re the poor thing that found . . . Oh my goodness!’

There was a commotion on the line. I could hear the woman say, ‘Now, Irene, you shouldn’t be up . . . E.J., Mrs Karnes wants to speak to you.’

‘E.J., is that you?’

‘Yes, Mrs Karnes, it’s me.’

I heard her sob. ‘I don’t believe any of this,’ she said.

‘I know, I know.’ I hadn’t realized how hard this was going to be. My own tears were welling up and spilling over. This woman had been through so much, so damn much.

‘How’s Bessie?’ she asked. ‘Are you taking care of Bessie?’

‘She’s still in the hospital, ma’am, but I saw her yesterday. It’s too soon for the doctors to know much.’ Know what, I hope she didn’t ask. She couldn’t take the possibilities – the horrible possibilities that went through my head a thousand times a day.

I heard her take in a breath. ‘Do you have a copy of their will?’ she asked.

‘No, ma’am, I don’t know that they made one.’

She sighed, and I could tell she was in pain – her words coming out in short, staccato sentences. ‘They did. Last Christmas. Up here. I made them. The cancer was back. I couldn’t be . . . responsible . . . for the . . . children. I thought I’d be dead . . . long before . . .’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Again, the long intake of breath. ‘Terry didn’t tell you?’

‘No, ma’am.’

‘You – and Willis – are executors. Lynda was . . . but . . .’

Lynda, Terry’s sister, had died in a car wreck the year before. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said.

There was a sob on the other end of the line. ‘A woman shouldn’t outlive both of her children, E.J.! It’s not right!’

I was gasping for my own air. Terry hadn’t said a word, but then, when was there time? Why would that be on her mind? Her sister dead, her mom dying, why would she even think to mention it?

‘I hate to break it to you like this, E.J.,’ Mrs Karnes said. ‘You’re listed as guardian of the children in case . . . Oh, Lord.’

‘Mrs Karnes . . .’

‘I can’t be responsible, don’t you see?’

‘Ma’am . . .’

‘E.J., I’m dying. The chemo, it’s not working. They’re talking about calling in Hospice.’

‘Mrs Karnes, I’m so sorry . . .’

‘Thank you, but that’s not the point! The point is Bessie! I’m going to have my lawyer send you a copy of the will. You need to get your own lawyer. Somebody’s going to have to pay for Bessie’s hospital bills, and the funerals . . .’

‘Mrs Karnes, we’ll take care of it,’ I heard myself saying. ‘Please don’t worry about it.’

‘Oh, I’ll worry about it, I’ll worry myself sick about it, but there’s not a blasted thing I can do!’ I heard another deep intake of breath, as if she were fighting for each one. ‘E.J. Roy . . . Roy was like a son to me . . .’

‘He didn’t do this, Mrs Karnes,’ I said.

I heard her sob again, then the phone went dead.

THREE

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, THE PRESENT

E.J., THE PRESENT

I took the kids to their orientation meeting for being day counselors and sat in the back, trying to be a large, redheaded fly on the wall. Graham had been the hold out. Even the thought of seeing perky blond Myra Morris every day wouldn’t budge Graham.

‘I have plans for this summer!’ he said.

‘What?’ I inquired.

‘I dunno. Plans.’

‘What plans?’ I demanded.

‘You know, plans!’

I stood up from where I’d been sitting across from him in the family room, the TV thankfully muted for a moment. Without looking at him, I headed into the kitchen, saying, ‘You’re going.’

‘Mom! Listen!’

‘What?’ I said, opening the freezer to find something to put out for dinner. Chicken, again? There was that roast – doctor said no red meat for Willis. Oh, those pork chops! Pork’s the other white meat, right? My hand reached for the pork chops just as Graham said:

‘Mom. I’ve got a girlfriend.’

The pork chops fell to the floor with a loud thunk.

‘You what?’ I demanded.

Graham looked at me funny. ‘I have a girlfriend. That’s not a bad thing is it?’

‘You get a car and immediately get a girlfriend! I knew that car was going to get you in trouble . . .’

‘Jeez, Mom! Chill! She’s not pregnant!’

My right hand flew to my breast where my heart was reacting at jackhammer speed. ‘Oh, God, you’re having sex!’

Graham blushed scarlet. ‘Jeez, Mom! No! Gawd! I’m just saying, I don’t want to go babysit a bunch of kids because my girlfriend . . . my friend who’s a girl . . . whatever . . . works nights, and if I work days, I’ll never see her!’

I was overreacting. I knew I was overreacting. Graham knew I was overreacting. But I didn’t seem to be able to stop myself. ‘Who is she?’ I demanded.

‘A girl from school,’ Graham said.

‘What’s her name?’ I demanded.

‘Lotta,’ he said quietly.

‘Is this a joke?’ I demanded.

‘What?’ he said, getting angry.

‘Lotta What? Lotta Fun? Lotta Woman? Lotta Babe? Lotta What?’

Graham turned away from me, throwing his arms up in the air. ‘Jeez, Mom, you are most definitely getting weirder!’

I took some deep breaths. Picked the pork chops up off the floor and put them on the counter. Walked back into the family room where Graham was pointing the remote at the TV.

‘Don’t un-mute it,’ I said. I sat down next to him on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I overreacted.’ I sighed. ‘Please. Tell me about this girl.’

He put the remote down and turned to me, actually looking me in the eye. ‘Her name is Lotta Hernandez. Lotta is a nickname for Carlotta.’ He grinned at me. ‘But I think I will tell her you said it stood for Lotta Woman.’

I smacked my son on the arm. ‘Don’t you dare! Not until I see her and decide if she is or not!’

‘Oh, great! That’s not gonna happen. No meeting.’

‘Why? Who are you ashamed of? Her or us?’

‘Y’all, of course,’ my son said. Sobering, he said, ‘She’s already met the girls. That car full of boys I was with – they were her cousins, and I think one was her brother. Anyway, they picked her up from work so she was with us when we found Megan and went after Elizabeth.’

I nodded my head. ‘Then I have to meet her,’ I said. ‘If only to thank her for helping.’

‘So you see why I can’t babysit at the youth camp, right?’ he said.

I shook my head. ‘I understand why you don’t want to, but you have to, Graham. I don’t want Bessie – Elizabeth – alone at the camp.’

‘Then don’t send her or Megan! Why ruin my summer just for her?’

I looked at my son and bristled. ‘Aren’t you being a little selfish?’

‘Jeez, Mom, everything’s always been about Bessie! Don’t you think Megan and I have suffered enough for Bessie? Our lives turned upside down, your attention and Dad’s attention totally on her—’

‘That’s not true, Graham . . .’

‘Oh, yes it is!’ my son said, standing up and glaring at me. ‘She’s always come first! It’s always, always about Bessie—’

‘Then maybe it’s time I left,’ came a small voice from the doorway. Graham and I both whirled around to see Elizabeth standing there.

Graham turned his glare to her. ‘Yeah, kid, maybe it is,’ he said, then left the room.

ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

I didn’t realize Graham hated me. And I guess Megan, too. I’m so out of here. I just don’t know where to go. I have no one. I’m totally alone now. Maybe I’ll hitch-hike to Austin or Houston, try living on the streets. I won’t sell my body, though! And I won’t do drugs! I promise myself that right this minute!

GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

Jeez, could I be more of a geek? I can’t believe the kid heard me say that, and I can’t even believe I said it. I was just pissed, you know? I mean, yeah, they’ve always paid a little more attention to Elizabeth than to me and Meg. But so did we. I mean the kid saw her whole family murdered, you know? She needed special attention. Things were finally getting to normal, I guess you’d call it, when that asshole up and tried to kidnap her. So now Mom’s paying special attention to her again. And why not?
She’s
the one who got kidnapped, not me or Megan. Jeez, I can be such a jerk sometimes.

I talked to Lotta about it. She agreed. I’m a jerk. Except she wasn’t that nice about it.

‘What were you thinking? And she heard you?’ Lotta said.

‘Yeah, unfortunately she was right there—’

‘Unfortunately my ass!’ Lotta said. ‘It was God’s will! You say something like that, even think it, it’s gonna bite you in the butt! You’re such an idiot! What were you thinking?’

‘I guess I wasn’t—’

‘No, I guess you weren’t! Now what are you gonna do about it, idiot?’ she demanded.

‘Uh . . .’ I started.

‘You’re gonna apologize to her is what you’re gonna do, you stupid gringo!’

‘Hey! What would you do if I called you a stupid Mexican?’ I demanded.

‘Well, first you’d be wrong! I’m not stupid and I’m not a Mexican. I’m an American. So you’d be wrong on both counts!’

‘Well, don’t call me a gringo!’ I said.

‘OK,’ she said, her voice softer. ‘That was wrong. I won’t do it again. I’ll just call you an idiot! Which you are!’

‘She won’t even speak to me . . .’ I started.

‘She doesn’t have to speak to you – you speak to her!’

‘Whatever. It still won’t fix the fact that I’m not going to be able to see you much,’ I said.

‘We’ll work on that. Does this church thing pay money?’

‘Nope. Strictly volunteer.’

‘Well, that sucks. What are the hours?’

‘It’s day camp. Eight a.m. until one p.m.’

‘I don’t have to be at work until six at night. Hey, why don’t I volunteer?’ she said. ‘Then we’ll have the mornings together and the afternoons. If you can stand to see that much of me,’ she said, her voice teasing.

‘Oh, I can stand it,’ I said. ‘But it’s like a Methodist Church thing. Aren’t you Catholic?’

‘What? You just assume because I’m of Mexican descent that I’m Catholic? Gawd!’

‘I’m sorry, I just thought—’

‘Yeah, I’m Catholic but so what? God won’t mind if I take care of little heathen Methodist babies!’

I laughed. ‘Well, at least you have the right attitude.’

She laughed back then said, ‘Go take care of Elizabeth. You’re a bad big brother. You want I should send Ernesto over to teach you how to be a good big brother?’ she said, mentioning her 300-pound older brother who didn’t like me dating his baby sister.

‘No, that’s OK,’ I said quickly and she laughed. ‘I’ll make it up to her, I promise.’

‘OK,’ she said, ‘but just remember, Ernesto’s only a phone call away!’ With that, she laughed and hung up on me. God, isn’t she great?

I knocked on Elizabeth’s bedroom door, which is something I don’t usually do. I figure the girls shouldn’t be doing anything in their rooms that their big brother doesn’t have a right to see. Except changing clothes. I walked in on that twice, both times with Megan and, believe me, it was pretty gross. But this time, I knocked on Elizabeth’s door. There was no answer but I knew she wasn’t anywhere else in the house – I’d already looked. So I said, ‘Liz, it’s me. I’m coming in.’ I opened the door and walked in.

She was lying on the bed, a book in her hand. Which wasn’t unusual for her. ‘I need to talk to you,’ I said.

She turned her back to me. ‘No,’ she said.

I reached over her prone body and pulled the book out of her hands. She turned around and glared at me. ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ I said. ‘Just listen.’ She grabbed for the book and I put it behind me, out of her reach. ‘I’m sorry I said or even thought what you overheard,’ I said. ‘I’m an asshole. It was unfair and I didn’t mean it, I was just pissed at Mom.’

‘Give me my book,’ she said, the most words I’d heard her speak at one time in two whole days.

‘No,’ I said. ‘You listen.’