(2005) Wrapped in Rain (35 page)

We climbed the stairs, and that's when I started getting a little nervous. Seven years ago, I had shoved all of Rex's expensive artwork in the closets, baring the oak and mahogany walls, and started using stick pins and Scotch tape to paper them with my work. Because nobody but dust mites ever came up here, I figured I'd create my own private museum.

Katie pranced to the top step, expecting to see my childhood bedroom, but was met by a collage of old newspaper articles and glossy magazine covers, all curling at the edges and stuck with multicolored pins. "Tucker?"

I looked down the long hall and shoved my hands in my pockets. "This is where I keep some of my work."

She fingered several of the pictures and walked down the hall. She turned to me, mesmerized. "This is amazing. You did all this?"

I admit it. I was quite proud. "On this wall"-I leaned against the wall closest to the back of the house-"are the newspaper covers or features. And on this wall"-I pointed to the wall closest to the front of the house-"are all the magazine covers. And down there"-I pointed to the end of the hall where a bench seat had been built below the window-"are the biggies. Time, Geographic, Newsweek, People, even Southern Living."

She walked down the hall, letting her fingers gently touch and uncurl the yellowed and scrolled edges hanging on the walls. "You took all these?"

I nodded. "But for every good one you see, I took somewhere between a hundred and five hundred not-sogood ones." When she made it to the end of the hall, she sat down on the bench seat, crossed her legs, and gazed at the walls. The razor cut on her Achilles had healed over and her ankles were stubble-free.

"Tucker, this is phenomenal. You traveled to all these places?"

I nodded and looked up and down the hall, remembering.

She shook her head and looked at each one a second time. "It's too much. I can't take it all in. I have to come back later and study each one."

I stood and walked to my and Mutt's bedroom. "Suit yourself, but they're just a bunch of old pictures. Most are forgotten now." I waved a hand and pointed inside the door of our bedroom. "Haven't done much here."

She walked inside and ran her fingers along the bunk bed railings. The dusty rails were worn and scarred with everything from teeth marks to crayons to pocketknife carvings to dings from a baseball bat that I shouldn't have been swinging inside the house. She spotted two worn parallel lines next to the bed, about a hip's width apart, and she bent down, running her hands along the lines. "I had forgotten she spent so much time here."

Katie let her eyes survey the room. She walked to the window, looked out over the pasture, and said, "The view hasn't changed. The whole place just sprawls out before you like a fairy tale."

"Rex put us in this room because he knew it was practically impossible for us to climb out that window once he locked the door. The drop is about twenty-five feet and he'd never let our hair grow that long."

"He actually locked you in this room?"

I nodded.

"What had you done?"

I thought for a moment. "Breathe. And maybe take up too much space in the cosmos."

We walked out into the hall and beyond Rex's door. I walked right by and didn't say a word.

"You ever go in here?"

I shook my head.

She walked in as if invited. I stayed in the hall and leaned against the doorjamb. I hadn't walked back in that room since the fight, and I had no intention now. Katie walked over to the bed, now covered in dust, and looked around the room. I studied the floor and could still pick out the specks of bloodstains. If I looked real hard, I could see the shattered pieces of Miss Ella's teeth. And if I closed my eyes, I could see Rex standing over her with his fist raised.

"She give you that?"

Katie pointed to the small silver wedding ring, about the diameter of a penny, hanging on a thin silver chain around my neck. Evidently, when I had reached up to straighten a picture, it came out from underneath my shirt.

"You don't miss much."

"I'm sorry," she said, digging her hands into her sleeves and covering them up with the cuffs. "I saw it in Jacksonville too. I'm just curious."

Talking to Katie had grown easy. Almost like it used to be. Something that both comforted and terrified me. "The night Miss Ella died, she was ... in a lot of pain. I think even breathing was painful. The cancer was everywhere, and she could barely move without grimacing. Mose and I were sitting by the bed. I was reading Psalm 25 . . . and when I finished, she pulled this out from under the sheets and motioned for me to come closer. I leaned in and she hung it around my head. She said, `Child, I didn't raise you to live life dragging a casket. You don't need an anchor; you need a rudder.' She poked me in the chest-her arthritis had pretty well gnarled her fingers-and said, `Cut it loose. Bury it. It's just dead weight. You can't rake the rain, box up the sunshine, or plow the clouds, but you can love. And this'she tapped the ring on the chain-'will remind you that love is possible. George gave it to me, and now I'm giving it to you.'

"I knew it was time because the light in her eyes was fading. She said, `Help me down on the floor.' It wasn't any use arguing with her, so I reached under the sheets and Mose helped me lift her out. She had lost a lot of weight by then. I think she only weighed about eighty pounds. I set her on the floor, but she was too weak to kneel, so she just kind of sat back on her heels and leaned against the bed. I don't know where she got it, but she pulled a small vial of oil out of her robe pocket and said, `Come here.' I leaned closer and she poured the whole thing over my head and then rubbed it in. `Tucker, you listen to me,' she said. `You remember this. You sear it in this stubborn head of yours and remember what Mama Ella is telling you.' Then she poked me in the chest again. `Don't hate him. If you hate him, you lose and the devil wins. And we don't want that old devil winning.'

"She tried to smile, but the pain was too much. It was hard for her to talk, and she wouldn't let me give her any more morphine. She said, `We want him to stay his miserable self in hell where it's hot.' She reached up, rubbed her fingers in the oil dripping off my head, placed her thumb on my head, and with every ounce of strength that remained, crossed me.

"The whisper grew more faint as the words left her lips: `You are the light of the world. So let your light shine before men. That it may reflect your Father. . .' Her eyes locked onto mine as she finished, `... who is in heaven.' Exhausted and breathing shallow, painful breaths, she pulled me down to her breast and squeezed me tight. The slowed, sporadic pounding of her heart scared me.

"Weak as she was, she lifted my chin with her finger and said, `Tucker, you won't understand this until you have a boy of your own, but listen close. The sins of the father are carried down to the son. There's nothing you can do to stop what's passed to you. You are going to wrestle with it until the day you die, whether you like it or not. The only choice is whether or not you pass them to your son. Stopping it is a choice you make.' She closed her eyes and breathed deep, then said, `Now, you look tired. Get some sleep."'

Katie tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth had filled up with tears.

"Mole cradled and guided her head as I lifted her back into bed, and she drifted off. About 2:30 a.m., she started humming and woke up. Her eyes were as crystal as the sun, and she looked right at me. `Tucker Rain,' she said. It was the first time she had ever called me that. `Don't you cry for me. This,' she said, tapping her bed, `is the greatest day. I'm getting new teeth, good eyes, no arthritis, no hemorrhoids, and finally, thank God! A good voice. I intend to use it too. I'm getting warmed up now.' She slipped her hand beneath mine and said, `Child, I'm going home to a permanent address that makes this place look like a shanty.' I started crying then because I knew what was happening. I said, `But, Miss Ella, I don't want . . .' `Shhhh,' she broke in, `I'm not long now. You listen to me. I'm going to be in heaven a long time before you get there, but I expect you to show up. You understand? It's up to you. I can't get you there. My praying is done. Every day that you get up, you got to lay that anger down. Lay it down and walk away. Then one day, you'll wake up and forget it's there. Only the remnant remains. An empty shell. If you don't, it'll eat you up and you'll rot like Rex. From the inside out.' She squeezed my hand, and her eyes closed. `Child,' she whispered, `love wins.' She placed her hand on my head and pulled me to her. `I love you, child. I'll miss you, but I'll be watching.' She squeezed my hand, I kissed her prickly, quivering lips, and she drifted off. A few minutes later she stopped breathing."

Tears were streaking down Katie's cheeks faster now as she held back the sobs. When I finished, they came bursting out. She sank to the floor and hid her face behind her knees and the bagginess of her sweatshirt. She tried to smile and shrug it off but couldn't talk for a minute. Finally, she caught her breath. "I'm sorry. It's just that ... it's just that ..." She shook her head and wiped her eyes again.

I looked off through the windows with a view of the orchards and pasture. "Not a day goes by that I don't hear her voice."

Katie looked out the window a few minutes. "What does she say about me?"

"She says you're a great mom with a fantastic boy. You ought to be proud."

"I remember watching her with you two. She was pretty good with boys." Katie walked around the room and stopped at the dresser where Rex set down his glass and emptied his pockets at night. "How did your dad get where he is? I mean, what happened?"

I looked at her, and a minute or two passed. I'm not sure why I answered honestly. "Rex started showing signs of both Parkinson's and Alzheimer's in his sixties. He met Mary Victoria, the lap dancer working the club downstairs, and pretty soon he was living on an all-liquid diet. In no time at all, she helped him lose all his money, or at least all the money he had told her about. Rex never told the whole truth to anyone. He started betting on horses, drinking around the clock, and pretty soon, three hundred million turned into ten million, which turned into thin air. Like most drunks, he turned his anger on her, and like most angry women associated with Rex, she turned the IRS on him. Pretty soon, they had confiscated his office, boxed up all his files, and were leading the horses out of the barn, except they couldn't take Waverly because it wasn't his. He had gifted it to Mutt and me years before. He had some offshore stuff, but that was a bit more difficult to trace, so that trail went cold. I found it a few years ago and had been using it to keep Mutt down at Spiraling Oaks." I scratched my head and shifted my weight. `By the time the illness really set in, Rex was too sick to understand that he was too heavily leveraged to fix it. In his heyday, everything he touched turned to gold, but he had lost that.

"Ten years ago, en route to Calcutta to cover Mother Teresa, my plane was taxiing down the runway when I read in the New York Times that Rex had been indicted by the IRS and at best he'd lose everything. At worst, he'd lose everything and go to jail. After three days in Calcutta, I and a couple other photo junkies were vying for a chance to catch Mother Teresa at work. You know, a shot of the saint leaning down like the good Samaritan to heal the bodies of the wounded. She walked out of one of her several orphanages, grabbed the hand of a sick and emaciated child, and of all people, turned to me. She looked up, studied my eyes, and said, `There is more hunger for love and appreciation in this world than for bread.'

"I had held the demons at bay since Miss Ella died, but right then and there I let them out of my closet. I guess that's when I started hearing Miss Ella's voice over my shoulder. I made my connection to London, e-mailed the photos to Doc, told him I was taking an extended vacation, and started riding the rail around England. No destination other than the next pub. When I found myself in Scotland, the rains started, soaked me in a downpour, and left me cold. Like most everything else. Wet and looking into the froth of a warm Guinness draught, I woke up somewhere in Ireland. I held up the glass, caught my reflection, and in the sideways illusion of the glass, saw an expression I had not seen since the last time I saw Rex. The vomit rose up and exited my mouth, spewing across the bar and clearing the five seats on either side of me. My stomach empty, I ran into the street and stood dry heaving for all the world to see on top of a rusty manhole cover. I gasped, tears flooded my eyes, and I heaved again. No matter how many times I tried, I could not purge myself of that picture. Only one thing remained.

"Two days later, I landed in Atlanta and drove to the nearest sporting goods store. I bought a thirty-four-inch Louisville Slugger en route to Rex's apartment. When I locked the rental car in the parking garage, the camera stayed in it.

"The dance club had just opened for lunch, but Rex was nowhere to be found. Neither was Mary Victoria. I rode the elevator to the top floor and directly into Rex's apartment, carrying my bat. I walked to the window and studied the landscape-Atlanta as far as the eye could see. I shouldered the bat, found the nearest crystal lamp, made up my mind, and swung, sending a million splinters of crystal glistening across the room. It looked like an exploding ice sculpture. Then I attacked the bar. Crystal, booze, wine, silver beer steins from Germany, all shattered, bent, and sailing across the five-thousand-squarefoot apartment.

"When Rex didn't show, spewing vulgarities, I took to the artwork. Then the TVs. The vases. The knight in shining armor Rex had sent back from a castle in England. I met and greeted anything that hung, sat, or decorated the apartment. Fifteen minutes later, with nothing left to break, I stood winded, my back in spasms, my knuckles bloody, and the bat cut and splintery with glass. I shouldered the bat and turned to walk out, but the smell from the bedroom drafted through and curled my nose. It was the smell of death, and I liked it. I flipped on Rex's light and scanned the room. Rex sat in the corner, leaning against the window that overlooked Peachtree Street. Ghostly white, shaking involuntarily, his bottom lip quivering, nothing but a shadow of his former self. I almost didn't recognize him. The effects of a lifetime of alcoholism mixed with the advanced stages of Parkinson's and Alzheimer's disease. The potbelly was gone, he had lost fifty pounds, his face was gaunt, drawn, and his eyes sunk and focused on nothing. He wore nothing but some soiled boxer shorts. As best I can piece together, he came home one afternoon and found that Mary Victoria had left him and taken all her jewelry and skinny little underwear with her. With no friends, no family he would call, and no alternative, he hit the bottle and the clot hit his brain. When I found him, most of the permanent damage had been done.