The Last Death of Jack Harbin (5 page)

At Bob's funeral I let my mind wander, as the Methodist pastor drones on about Bob's sacrifice and love of his son, his church attendance and his clean life. Clean life. Something about the phrase tugs at me. I think about the Benadryl again. I didn't call Doc Taggart's office this morning. In the light of day, it seemed insignificant, and likely to get a sharp reply from Taggart. Maybe Bob just forgot what he said to Jack about never taking anything that might cause him to sleep too soundly. I snap out of my reverie when Curtis steps to the podium.

“I could say a lot about how my daddy raised us two boys to stand up for what we thought was right, and how he stood by Jack to the end. But Jack asked me to say a few words for him. And here's what he said.” He pulls out a paper, clears his throat, and reads:

“If there was anybody who cared more about his sons than my daddy did, I don't know who it would be. Everybody knows I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I sometimes asked a lot of my daddy. Every Friday night during football season, he was right there, giving me a play-by-play of the action. He kept me in good shape, kept me clean, cooked for me. Even though I won't lie—he wasn't the world's best cook.”

A few people chuckle.

“But no matter what kind of grief I gave him, Daddy never once raised his voice to me or complained about what he had to do. I'm not saying he was a saint. You might be surprised how often we laughed and joked and it could get pretty racy.”

Curtis pauses and glances toward Marybeth, sitting in the front pew, not far from Jack. Jack has his head bowed. His army buddies are crowded in on both sides of him, and at one point in the reading, Walter Dunn drapes his arm around Jack's shoulders.

“And something else. He never once blamed my mamma for not being here. He'd never hear a thing against her. He said we all have to bear our burdens the best way we can.”

By the time Curtis is done reading, everyone's eyes are damp.

Curtis announces that he and Jack are holding a reception at their dad's place after the funeral. Loretta asks me to take her home on my way over there. “I've done my part, going to the funeral. I don't need to see all those people using Bob Harbin's death as an excuse to get drunk.” Loretta can be straight-laced at times.

Jack's veteran friends really do have wives, and they have labored to put out a decent spread with sandwiches, chips and salsa, and cold cuts and crackers. I couldn't begin to guess which wife goes with which man. One is a tiny little thing who wears glasses and looks like she'd be at home running a library. Another is tall, with fluffy blonde hair and a ready smile. And there are two who could be sisters, short and plump, bossing each other around.

Loretta was right. Unlike a church reception, there's booze. A lot of it. Bottles of Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo and cases of beer. After the intensity of the funeral, the reception turns raucous fast. The place is packed, spilling out into the backyard. The hot, humid air is thick with cigarette smoke.

I'm just shaking Jack's hand, when I feel him tense up and he cocks his head in a way that makes me look around to see who he's listening to. Five feet away Woody and Laurel Patterson are talking to Taylor.

“Did I hear Woody Patterson's voice?” Jack squeezes my hand harder and pulls it to him so I can't get away.

“Yes, he's here with Laurel. And Taylor.”

Now he shoves my hand away. “Walt!” His voice cuts through the crowd with its ferocious sound, and people pause in mid-conversation.

Walter Dunn appears like a genie at Jack's side. “What do you need, Jack?”

“Woody Patterson is here. I want you to throw him out.”

Woody steps forward. He still wears his light hair close-cropped, the way he has ever since high school, now with traces of gray at the temples. He's grown into his rangy body, but his hands still look large for his frame. His suit is a little tight on him, as if he might not have bought a new suit in a while. His eyes are pleading, but his voice is angry. “Now listen, Jack, there's no call for that. I came out of respect for your dad, and . . .”

“Get him out!” Jack snarls.

At Woody's side, Laurel is pale, clutching her purse as if she's protecting her chest. Taylor steps forward. It's been a while since I've seen her. She looks good, but different, tense around the eyes and mouth. She's wearing a gray dress and high heels and her hair is short and crisp. “Jack, cut it out!” Her voice hasn't changed. It's husky, tomboyish. Right now it's raw with emotion.

“Taylor, you stay out of this. It's none of your business.”

Taylor steps close in and kneels next to Jack's wheelchair. “Yes, it is my business. You can't keep on blaming Woody. It's as much my fault as it is his.”

“Fuck you, Taylor!”

“Tamp it down, son,” Walter says, his hand on Jack's shoulder. “We got kids here, and church folks.”

“Just get him out of here.” Jack's arms shoot out as if he's flinging the whole idea of Woody away from him. He comes close to clipping Woody, who rears his head back just in time. “And her, too.”

Taylor glances up at Dunn and a look of some kind of understanding passes between them. Dunn reaches out and offers his hand to help her to her feet. There's something oddly familiar in the gesture, as if they both know Jack so well that they don't have to be introduced to one another.

Woody steps forward. Sweat is beaded on his brow. “Jack, you've got to let me help you!”

Taylor stands up and grabs Woody's arm. “Not now, Woody.”

“Let go of me! I need to talk to Jack.” Woody has drunk his share of alcohol.

Laurel pulls at Woody's other arm. “Come on now, honey.”

“I said no! I need to talk to Jack.”

“This isn't a good time!” Taylor's voice is like a whip crack, and Woody deflates. The two women propel Woody past the embarrassed onlookers and out the front door.

“Okay, folks,” Jacks yells. “Show's over. Drink up! In honor of my daddy.” He takes a long drink of whatever brown whiskey is in his glass.

“Hear, hear! Drink up,” his army buddies chorus, and follow his lead. The wives are standing near the table watching. All of them look like they'd give anything to see the last of Jack Harbin.

I look around for Marybeth Harbin, thinking I should say something to her on my way out, but I don't see her anywhere. I'm almost to my car when I look down the street and see Taylor talking to Curtis, face twisted with fury, her fists clenched and her back rigid.

My heart constricts at the sight. Years ago Taylor was a happy, lovely girl. What has put her in such a state? What has she got to talk to Curtis about?

And then I remember that Curtis's wife is Taylor's younger sister. I never knew the sister. Apparently she was a painfully shy girl, the opposite of Taylor. Jeanne told me it was shameful how relieved their mother was to get the younger girl married off—they thought she'd be an old maid. So that is the wife Curtis told me needed to stay home and take care of “his” kids.

Suddenly Taylor draws back her hand and slaps Curtis. He grabs her hand and flings it away so violently that Taylor stumbles and almost loses her balance. I take a step in their direction, but Taylor turns her back on Curtis and strides away, leaving him glaring at her, fists clenched at his sides.

Years ago, Taylor would stop by and say hello when she was in town. I watched her evolve from a giggling, larking teenager to a solemn young wife married to Woody and then divorced. When she went off to college, Jeanne and I saw less of her. Somewhere along the line she lost her teasing, friendly ways and became more serious, even strict. Jeanne worried about her and thought something had happened to take some of the spirit out of her. Since Jeanne's funeral, Taylor hasn't been to see me, which I admit hurt my feelings.

So I'm surprised when I answer the door in the late afternoon the day of the funeral and find her on my steps. She has changed into slacks and a T-shirt and looks more like the girl I once knew.

“Come on into the kitchen, I'm making jelly,” I say. “I got some plums the other day and they were yelling to be put up or thrown out.”

“Well aren't you a sight in your pretty little apron.” She steps inside and hugs me tight.

She might have a few lines around her eyes and a few pounds at her waist, but her eyes are still piercing blue and her body is as compact as a terrier's.

In the kitchen she steps around me to the stove, where the jelly is bubbling. “Mmm, that's smells so good! You picked those yourself?” She opens a drawer, takes out a spoon and dips it into the brew, then waves it around to cool it.

“I'm not that ambitious. Truly Bennett brought me a peck and I figured I'd better do something with it.”

She tastes the jam and smacks her lips in approval.

“We're going to have to talk in here. If I leave it too long, it'll set up too hard.”

“Samuel, I may not be the world's best cook, but even I know you have to be careful with jelly. My mamma drilled that into me every year when she canned.” She grins and a phantom of her outgrown, mischievous self flits across her face. “And every year she'd leave me to watch a batch and the phone would ring or somebody would come by, and next thing you know I'd forget all about it and it would burn. Lord, there'd be hell to pay.”

I laugh. “You definitely had other things on your mind when you were a youngster,” I say. We're both smiling, enjoying the memories dancing around in the kitchen.

“While I'm finishing up, why don't you tell me about those girls of yours?” She has three little girls who, if Taylor's mother is to be believed, are all raving beauties. Taylor shows me some pictures on her cell phone and tells me something about each of them, although she pauses sometimes as if she has lost her train of thought.

“I'll bet you're a good mother.”

“It suits me. My girls make me really happy. I worry about the middle girl, my little Caprice. She reminds me of my sister, Sarah. So shy, and will go along with anyone who's nice to her. The other two, Hannah and Grace . . . ,” she grins. “They're more like me. Which may be a problem once they get older. It was fine, me being brought up in a small town. Not as much trouble to get into. But Dallas is a whole different place.”

I get her to help me pour the hot jelly into the jars I've got ready, and then we put a film of wax on top and seal the jars. Jeanne was the cook in our household, but somewhere along the line I became the maker of jams and jellies, and I'm pretty proud of what I come up with.

When we're done we take glasses of iced tea out back under the trees to catch a little breeze and to talk. “Something tells me you've got a reason for coming here besides just checking in on me,” I say.

Her face flushes. “I'm ashamed that I haven't come to see you since Jeanne died.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of. You two were close, I was just an innocent bystander. But I am glad to see you.”

She sips tea and sighs heavily as she sets down her glass. “I'm really worried,” she says.

“About Jack?”

She frowns. “No. I mean, yes, but that's not what I was talking about. It's my sister, Sarah. I think Curtis has her practically under lock and key. I've tried calling her and she sounds like she's scared to talk to me. You know they're living in one of those religious compounds out near Waco.”

“Religious compound? I thought it was a survivalist group.”

“It's sort of one-stop shopping. It's all under the umbrella of some religious leader who fashions himself like one of those Mormon offshoots.”

Despite the late afternoon heat, a chill passes over me. From the little I've seen of Curtis, and remembering what he was like as a youngster, he strikes me as perfectly capable of holding his wife a virtual prisoner, seeing to it that she takes care of his needs and allowing her no life of her own.

“Have you been to see her?”

She hunches over, looking defeated. “No, she told me not to try to see her. But I'd go anyway if I could get my husband to go with me. He thinks I should keep my nose out of it.”

“Remind me what your husband does.”

Her look softens. “Alex is a lawyer. He had his own firm, but when the economy went bust, he had to go to work for a big law outfit in Dallas. He's not happy, but we're lucky he has a job.”

“And doesn't have much time to worry about Sarah's problems, I imagine.”

She shrugs, her expression rueful. “Or anyone else's, really. He works all the time. I tell him he's going to regret not spending time with the girls one day, but he says he'd rather provide them with the things they want.”

“I saw you arguing with Curtis this afternoon. Was that about Sarah?”

Her eyes spark fire, her teeth clenched. “I hate him.”

I nod. “He and Jack don't have any love lost between them either.”

“Oh, Jack,” she says. And there's something forlorn in her voice that cuts me.

The sun is going down and the light is soft and quiet. My cows are starting to low in the pasture behind the house. “Let's walk down and see my cows. They expect me this time of day.”

A lively noise drifts over from the football stadium up the street. Cars honk long and loud at each other as they pass, engines revving up. In the background the high school band is tuning up.

Taylor glances in that direction. “What's going on?”

“It's Thursday night.”

“And?”

“JV football. I'm surprised you don't remember. I don't usually go to junior varsity games, but a lot of people do. Why don't you stay for the varsity game tomorrow night? Jack will be there, and it would be a good time to make amends with him.”

She scuffs her shoes in the dirt, but then her head comes up and she's smiling. “Maybe I'll do that. It would be fun. I bet I'd see a lot of people I know. With three girls, I never go to football games.” She tucks her arm in mine. “I'll come if I can go with you. You can be my date.”

As we make our way down to the pasture, I use my cane to poke ahead of me to warn snakes to get out of the way.

“Why do you use a cane? You have arthritis?”

I tell her about the silly accident where one of my cows knocked me down and stepped on my knee. “I haven't told anybody, but I have to have it cut open and fixed up.”

She shudders. “I'm sorry. Is it going to be okay?”

“Doc says yes. I guess I have to believe him. I'd just as soon you keep it quiet for now.”

Down at the pasture, Taylor goes right in with the cows, stroking noses and scratching behind ears. I smile, watching her. “You can take the girl out of the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the girl.”

“I miss cows. Mamma sold all ours after daddy started failing.” She puts her cheek next to one of the young ones. He's usually skittish, but he's instantly in love with her. When she tries to step away, he follows and butts up to her. She laughs. It's a good sound.

When it's too dark to see anymore, we walk back to the house. “I wasn't able to give you much help with your sister,” I say.

She looks small, standing on the porch, illuminated just by the light from my front porch. “I have to go see her to settle my mind. Maybe I'll get a girlfriend to go with me.” She laughs bitterly. “I guess Curtis isn't going to kill me if I show up with a witness.”

“You really think he's that dangerous?”

“I don't know. But I won't feel good until I see my sister.”

After I escort her to her car and she drives away, I stand looking at the sky. In the past couple of days the early mornings have been cooler, with high clouds that dissipate by mid-morning, and then the heat comes back in force. But the clouds are piled up in the west this evening. The weather will be changing. I'm ready for the heat to go.