The Devil's Beating His Wife (28 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

May 26, 2014, Laurens County

I had barely grown accustomed to the presence of the employees when the residents began to arrive. It was Memorial Day weekend, a holiday that hadn't been celebrated back when I was still alive. The adult children of the new residents were walking around the lobby and murmuring at the World War II artifacts that had been put out as decoration.

"Dad, I bet this brings up memories?" asked one woman as she pushed her father in his wheelchair.

The man turned in his seat and looked up at his daughter. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

She didn't seem bothered by his response. She pointed down at a folded uniform placed on a white tablecloth. She said loudly, "Look, Dad, it's an old uniform like you would have worn during the War."

He looked in the direction she pointed. Then he glared at his daughter. "Are you out of your fucking mind? That's a goddamn Kraut uniform." He placed his withered hands onto the large wheels of his chair, stopping their progress. "Let go, you big dummy."

The woman dropped her hands and blew air out through tightened lips. "Oh, Dad." She stood glaring down at her snarling father before finally throwing her hands into the air and walking away. "I don't know why I even bother. I can never do anything right with that man."

"That's because you ain't right in the head!" yelled her father as she stormed down the hallway. His gaze remained pinned on his daughter's retreating form, so he didn't notice the black nurse approach behind him.

She placed a soft hand onto his shoulder and leaned into his face. "You're Mr. Huckabee, aren't you? I don't think we've met, but my name is Derrica Newbury." She offered her hand to him. "I'm going to be one of your nurses."

Mr. Huckabee looked down at her hand, and then his faded green eyes roamed over her round shape, taking in her crisp blue uniform and freshly manicured fingers. When his gaze finally returned to her face, his eyes were narrowed. "What kind of name is Derrica?"

The nurse's eyes widened as she took in his words. Then she stood up to her full height and placed her hands on her hips. "What kind of name is Huckabee?"

Mr. Huckabee arched his bushy white eyebrows as Derrica narrowed her eyes at him. After a tense stare-down, Mr. Huckabee cracked a bright smile and winked. "C'mon, Derrica. Take me back to my room before my ding-dong of a daughter returns."

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Huckabee," Derrica said as she grabbed the handles on the back of his wheelchair and began to push him down the blue hallway. I watched the two of them until they disappeared into Mr. Huckabee's room.

I was so focused on this strange blossoming friendship that I hadn't noticed the arrival of others. The sound of fabric being snapped into the air caught my attention. I turned around to find a high yella looking boy holding the coat of the Nazi uniform. His eyes bulged as his fingers traced over the Nazi insignia. "Oh, my God. Is this real, Granddad?"

His grandfather was an older black man, probably in his late sixties. He looked curiously down at the coat. When his grandson offered it to him, the old man put his hand into the air and shook his head. "You can place that right back where you found it."

"Why would they have something like this lying around?" asked the boy.

I nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Why would they have something like that?" They didn't hear me, of course.

"They probably got it off eBay and wanted to show it off like some trophy. You know how white folks are," said the older man, craning his head towards the larger group of people. He placed his hand on his grandson's shoulder and turned him away from the Nazi coat. "Well, would you look at that? Tucker, this here is a Viet Cong uniform. You see how small it is? They were some tiny little shits."

The boy glanced around the room and shook his head. "Grandpa, this is so weird."

The older man nodded. "You ain't gotta tell me twice. The moment I saw the brochure to this place, I knew it was going to be one special kind of hell. These dumb crackers don't even know what happened here. First, there was Colsen's old murdering ass. Then there was that white boy who killed that colored girl and then shot himself." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "But your daddy got it into his head that I'd be better off living with folks around my age." He hooked his thumb towards the hallway. "Have you looked at these people? Most of them already have one foot in the grave."

As grandfather and grandson shared their complaints, Baxter appeared in my line of vision. I peered around his shoulders so I could see the top of the grandfather's head. Baxter just moved his face in front of mine. "I've been looking all over for you."

I glanced into his lively blue eyes. "I've been here the whole time."

He blinked rapidly and returned to his full height. "Oh."

I took an exaggerated breath and folded my hands before me. "What do you want?"

Baxter glanced around the lobby and puckered his lips. "I can't believe that half of these people are still alive. Look at that guy." He pointed towards an old man with olive-toned skin slumping in a chair. "He can't be a day under ninety-five. I overheard a nurse say he can't see and he can barely hear. Can you imagine living like that? Why would you want to?"

"Because even blind and deaf, there's still a lot of life to enjoy," I countered.

Baxter walked around me and pressed his chest against my back. He placed his chin onto my shoulder and stared at the man. "Name one thing."

I undid my hands and shrugged the shoulder where he rested his head. "One thing? How about being surrounded by those who love you."

"You're blind and deaf, remember? You ain't gonna know anybody's there."

I took a step forward, sliding away from his body. "I bet you he still knows that they're there. He can still smell, right? He can still feel them? I'm sure that's more than enough."

Baxter chuckled. He lifted his hands into the air and spun in a slow circle. "Look around you, Spicey. These people were left here to die by their so-called loved ones."

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. My eye began to twitch because I was so annoyed. "You don't know that at all, Baxter. I'm sure their families left them here so they could be taken care of by skilled nurses. Some of them need around-the-clock care, and this type of place can certainly do that. That's what I would have wanted my family to do. I wouldn't want to be a burden on them."

He grinned. "Of course you wouldn't have."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked him.

This time, he crossed his arms and mimicked my stance. "Never mind." He snapped his fingers, and then pointed down the yellow hallway. "Anyway, that's not why I was looking for you. I found something you simply aren't going to believe. This way." He took my hand and began pulling me in the direction of the other residents' wing.

Several families huddled outside of doorways as they moved the new residents' belongings into their rooms. Tears were being shed as daughters whispered goodbyes and hugged their mothers. Old companions were shaking each other's hands and sharing their excitement over their new home. The conversations were loud and full of conflicting emotions. It was enough to get my head spinning as we rushed down the hallway.

No one knew of our existence. Yet we were eavesdropping on some of their most vulnerable moments. I loved every second of it.

Baxter stopped a few feet away from one doorway. He placed his hand at the small of my back and pushed me forward. "Take a look," he said, cocking his head at the open door. "Tell me if you notice anything."

I slapped his hand away and glared up at him. "I don't take orders from you, Baxter Bennett."

He grinned again. "Of course you don't. Go on, now."

Drawing a deep breath, I took a step towards the open door. Then another step. When I stood near the doorway, I turned to shoot another glance in Baxter's direction. He just waved me forward and mouthed, "Go on."

Just then, a nurse came rushing down the hall, pushing a big metal cart filled with cookies and punch. I pressed my back against the wall to avoid her careening into me. Once she passed me, I leaned to the side and peeked through the doorway.

There was nothing alarming at first glance. Three people were in the room, a middle-aged couple and an older man. The middle-aged man was standing near the bed where the older man sat. I couldn't see either of their faces as their backs were turned.

But I could see the woman clearly. She had dark blond hair that contrasted with her tanned skin. She stood awkwardly with her back pressed against the wall, and she had a leather purse flung over her shoulder. The woman stared silently at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

At the bed, the middle-aged man rubbed the older man's back as he cried into his hands. The woman sighed loudly and reached her hand out, but the younger man waved her away. The woman didn't look pleased with that. She tossed her hair and walked briskly across the room and into the hallway.

And then I finally saw it. She had been standing against it and obstructing my view. It was the hideously ugly mirror in all its creepy glory. I gasped and shrunk away from the doorway.

"Where did it come from?" I asked.

Baxter stood in the hallway, facing the woman as she murmured to herself. He lifted his gaze from her and blinked in confusion. "What?"

I crooked my head towards the wall. "The mirror? That's what you wanted me to see, right?"

He shook his head and walked towards the door. He stood in the doorway and looked at the men by the bed. "I noticed it on the wall and didn't give it a second thought. We were standing right there when it was destroyed, and I have no clue how it got here." He pointed towards the men. "But it wasn't the mirror that I brought you here to see. Look again. At them."

I placed my hand against the doorframe and walked into the room. As I slowly approached the bed, I looked over the middle-aged man's features. Something there tugged at my memory. His light brown hair was thin and receded from his forehead. His lips were thin and curled into a frown. It wasn't until I looked into his blue eyes that I realized what I recognized. He had the same eyes that stared back at me whenever I looked at Baxter.

I dismissed the middle-aged man and focused on his father. The blend of gold and white hair. A face that was wrinkly and riddled with age spots.

Rage filled my hollow body. I threw back my head and screamed with all of my pent-up hatred. I flung my arm out, sweeping a white vase of flowers from the dresser onto the floor.

Both Carver and his son looked in shock towards the shattered vase, spilled water, and wilted flowers. I grabbed the alarm clock from the nightstand and hurled it at the mirror. The glass didn't shatter. It didn't even crack.

With my fingers curled like claws, I stormed towards Carver. Just as my hands grazed his neck, another body slammed into mine. Baxter lifted me off my feet and carried me out of the room. He rushed down the hallway until we were once again in the main lobby.

"Oh, my God," I muttered as Baxter set me down on my feet. I covered my mouth with my hand, and fell to my knees. My body convulsed from tears that did not fall. I wept because I remembered feeling emotions. I wept because I remembered the relief I'd felt after I had been overcome with grief and rage. "It's him. It's Carver."

"Yep. Good ol' Carver and my little nephew, who is all grown up now. I wonder if that's his wife or a niece of mine."

Such strong curiosity filled his voice that I pulled my face from my hands and stared up at him. "Why do you care?"

Baxter grinned, revealing a twinkle in his eye. "You remember what I said? People are bringing their old folk here and leaving them to die. I can't imagine anything worse for Carver, knowing that his own family was abandoning him." Then he crouched down next to me and pushed at my shoulder. "Besides that, have you noticed who his nurse is?"

I shook my head.

Baxter raised his hands above his head. "It's a big black man who's gotta be six foot six or more." He laughed wickedly. "I can't wait to watch the sponge baths." Swiftly, the grin fell from his face and he shuddered. "On second thought, yes I can. Hopefully for an eternity." He stuck his hand out, and I took it in mine. He pulled me to my feet and then brushed off my dress. "You okay now?"

I looked around the room and briefly regretted all the new faces. Then my gaze connected with Old Man Colsen, who sat on one of the couches. He looked back at me and patted the seat beside him. I glanced over my shoulder at Baxter who shook his head at me, pleading for me not go to Colsen. But I found Colsen's company to be infinitely more pleasing than being around Carver. Besides, I needed a moment to collect my thoughts and figure out how I was going to move forward.

"Your man ain't too happy that you've come my way," said Colsen.

I looked back at Baxter's unhappy face. "He's not my man."

"Sure he ain't." He grinned when I took the cushion furthest from where he sat. "You don't like me none. But I like you."

What was it about strange white men and their fascination with me? "I don't like you because you enjoy tormenting me."

Colsen wagged his finger in the air. "I enjoy tormenting everybody."

Taking a deep breath, I crossed my legs in front of me and stared down at my shoes. I wiggled my toes and pondered another six decades living in this place.

"You've never did thank me," Colsen said.

I didn't lift my eyes to answer. "Why would I thank you?"

Colsen shifted in his seat. "If it weren't for me, you two wouldn't be hanging around these parts. I figure you should be a little bit grateful."

His words snagged my full attention. I looked deep into the black pits of his eye sockets. "You did this?"

Colsen's eyebrows lifted. "You still think it was that mirror?"

"What makes you think—" I began.

He interrupted my words. "I know just about everything, little lady. I hear all and I see all." He leaned forward. His lips parted into a lecherous grin. "I've seen it all."