A Beautiful Funeral: A Novel (Maddox Brothers Book 5) (6 page)

Just as we pulled into Dad’s drive, I noticed thunderheads building in the sky just west of town. Thomas and Liis were flying in with their new baby sometime soon, so I checked my phone for the seven-day forecast—something that wouldn’t have occurred to me to do ten years ago. Funny how time and experience completely rewired your brain to think about something other than yourself.

Dad wasn’t waiting on the porch as he usually was, prompting Camille to curse.

“Damn it, Jim Maddox!” she said, gesturing that she was in a rush for me to open the door. She scrambled out onto the grass, ran all the way to the porch, jumped the stairs, and yanked open the rickety screen door.

Olive parked and tossed me the keys, waving. “Going next door to tell Mom I’m having dinner with Papa!”

I nodded, feeling a small lump in my throat. All the grandkids called Dad Papa, and I loved that Olive did, too, even though she didn’t know how right she was.

I followed Camille into the house, wondering what we would find. The paint on the porch was peeling, and I made a mental note to bring over my sander. The screen door was barely hanging on, so I added that to the list, too. Mom and Dad bought the house when they first married, and it was nearly impossible to get him to let us make changes or updates. The furniture and carpet were the same, even the paint. Mom had decorated, and he wasn’t about to let anyone go against her wishes, even if she’d been gone for almost thirty years. Like Dad, the house was getting so old that it was becoming unhealthy and, in some cases, dangerous, so in the last few months, Camille and I had decided to start fixing things without asking.

Just as the hallway opened up into the kitchen, I saw Camille running toward Dad, her hands held out in front of her.

He was bent over, just putting the aluminum-covered potatoes into the oven.

“Dad!” Camille shrieked. “Let me do that!”

He slipped them in and closed the door, standing and turning to face us with a smile.

Camille pulled a pair of oven mitts out of the drawer, shoving them at him. “Why don’t you use the mitts that I bought you?” She walked over, inspecting his bandaged hands.

He kissed her knuckles. “I’m fine, kiddo.”

“You burned them so badly last time,” she said, wiggling out of his grip to further inspect the wounds under his bandages. “Please use the mitts.”

“Okay,” he said, patting her hand. “Okay, sis. I’ll use the mitts.”

Camille began opening cabinet doors to find the oil, seeing that the drumsticks had already been dipped in Dad’s special flour mixture and were sitting on paper towels next to the pan on the stove.

She waved us away. “Go on. I’ve got this. Yes, Dad, I’m sure,” she said, just as Dad opened his mouth to ask.

He chuckled. “All right, then. Dominoes, it is.”

“Aren’t you sick of losing? We played dominoes for two hours this afternoon.”

“Did we?” he asked. He shook his head. “I can’t remember to wipe my own ass most days.”

I blinked, surprised he didn’t remember, but he didn’t seem concerned.

“Cards, then?” he asked.

“No, we can play dominoes. I owe you a rematch, anyway.”

Thunder rolled in the distance as we sat down at the table. The front door opened and closed, and then Olive appeared at the end of the hall, holding her hands out to each side, dripping wet. “Oh. My. God.”

I burst into laughter. “Ever heard of an umbrella, Ew?”

She rolled her eyes, stomping over to sit on the dining chair next to me. “Will you ever stop calling me that? No one gets it.”

“You get it,” I said. “How hard can it be? Your initials are O.O. Together, they make the sound
ew
. Like moo. And too.” My gaze drifted up to the ceiling. “Shoo. Boo. Coo. Goo. Poo. I could go on.”

“Please don’t,” she said, grabbing a domino and turning it over in her thin fingers. It was getting harder and harder to impress her. She used to think I was god.

“Oh! Damn!” Camille yelped from the kitchen.

I pushed out my chair, standing halfway. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah!” she called back, appearing with her jacket and her keys in hand. “Out of oil.”

“But I just bought him some last Friday,” I said, looking at Dad.

“Oh. That’s right. I knocked it over Sunday.”

I frowned. “We had sandwiches for lunch and pizza for dinner Sunday. You didn’t make chicken.”

He mirrored my expression. “Well, damn it, one of those days.”

“I’m going to run to the store. You need anything else?” Camille asked.

“Cami, it’s pouring,” I said, unhappy.

“I’m aware,” she said, kissing at me before heading out the door.

Dad brought down the dominoes from the shelf, and we made small talk. He asked me a few of the same questions he’d asked me earlier, and I began to wonder if he’d been forgetful all along and I was just noticing it, or if his memory was getting worse. He had a doctor’s appointment that Friday. I’d bring it up then.

My cell phone buzzed. I pressed the receiver against my ear. “Hey, cunt puddle!”

“They just keep getting better,” Thomas said on the other end of the line, unimpressed.

“Christ on a bicycle, Trenton,” Dad fumed, nodding toward Olive.

I winked at him. Shocking him with my insults had become a sport.

“How are Mom and baby?” I asked.

“We’re headed home,” Thomas replied. “I think … I think we’re going to head that way earlier than expected.”

“Everything okay?” I asked, noting that Dad’s interest was piqued. I waved him away, assuring him nothing was wrong.

“Yeah … yeah. Have you heard from Trav?” Thomas asked.

“No. Why?”

Thomas had been an enigma since I could remember, and the questions only multiplied when he became an adult.

Dad was staring at me, both patiently and impatiently waiting for an explanation. I held up my finger.

“Just curious.”

“You’re going to put a newborn on a plane? I knew you were brave, big brother, but hell.”

“We thought Dad might like to meet her.”

“He would. Dad would love to meet …” My mind drew a blank.

“Stella,” Olive whispered.

“Stella!” I repeated. “Dad would love to meet Stella.” Dad popped me on the back of my head. “Ow! What’d I say?”

“So we’ll be in tomorrow,” Thomas said, ignoring the circus on the other end of the line.

“Tomorrow?” I said, looking at Dad. “That quick, huh?”

“Yeah. Tell Dad not to worry. We’ll get the room ready when we get there.”

“Cami has been keeping the guest room ready. She knew you’d be over some time with the baby. She even got a pack ‘n whatever.”

“She purchased a Pack ‘n Play for Stella? Really?” Thomas asked. “That was nice of her. How is sh … that was nice of her.”

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. “We’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tell Dad I love him,” Thomas said.

“Will do, shit pouch.”

Thomas hung up, and I shot Dad a wide grin. The two lines between his eyes deepened.

“I should have spanked you more,” Dad said.

“Yes, you should have.” I looked down at the dominoes. “Well? They’re not going to shuffle themselves.”

I settled on a dining chair, the golden brown leather making fart noises under my jeans. Even though I’d moved out, Camille and I visited Dad at least once a day, usually more. Travis visited when he wasn’t traveling for work. I glanced up at the shelf that ran just below the ceiling, filled with dusty poker memorabilia and signed pictures of our favorite players. A few cobwebs had formed.
I need to get up there and dust. Don’t want the old man falling and breaking a hip.

“Cami didn’t say anything about the test today,” Dad said, moving the dominoes around in a circle on the table.

“Yeah,” I said, staring at the white rectangular tiles as they slowly circulated around, under Dad’s hands, moving in and out of the pack. “It’s a monthly thing now. I think she’s tired of talking about it.”

“Understandable,” Dad said. He gave a side-glance to Olive, and I knew he was choosing his next words carefully. “Have you been to the doc?”

“Gross,” Olive said, disgusted despite his efforts. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.

“Not yet. I think she’s afraid to hear it’s something permanent. Honestly, so am I. At least now, we have hope.”

“There’s still hope. Even the worst circumstances have a silver lining. Life isn’t linear, son. Each choice we make or every influence branches off the line we’re currently on, and at the end of that branch is another branch. It’s just a series of blank slates, even after a disaster.”

I peeked up at him. “Is that how you felt after Mom died?”

Olive let out a tiny gasp.

Dad tensed, waiting a moment before speaking. “A while after Mom died. I think we all know I didn’t do much of anything right after.”

I touched his arm, and the tiles stopped spinning. “You did exactly what you could. If I lost Cami …” I trailed off, the thought making me feel sick to my stomach. “I’m not sure how you survived it, Dad, much less got yourself together to raise five boys. And you did, you know. You got yourself together. You are a great dad.”

Dad cleared his throat, and the tiles began turning again. He paused just long enough to wipe a tear from beneath his glasses. “Well, I’m glad. You deserve it. You’re a great son.”

I patted his shoulder, and then we picked our bones from the boneyard and set them on their sides, facing away from each other. I had a shit hand.

“Really, Dad? Really?”

“Oh, quit your whining and play,” he said. He tried to sound stern, but his small grin betrayed him. “Wanna play, Olive?”

Olive shook her head. “No thank you, Papa,” she said, returning her attention to her phone.

“She’s probably playing dominoes on that thing,” Dad teased.

“Poker,” Olive snapped back.

Dad smiled.

I turned to look up at our last family portrait, taken just before Mom found out she was sick. Travis was barely three. “Do you still miss her? I mean … like before?”

“Every day,” he said without hesitation.

“Remember when she used to do the tickle monster?” I asked.

The corners of Dad’s mouth turned up, and then his body began to shake with uncontrollable chuckles. “It was ridiculous. She wasn’t sure if she was an alien or a gorilla.”

“She was both,” I said.

“Chasing all five of you around the house, hunched over like a primate and making her hands into alien suction cups.”

“Then she’d catch us and eat our armpits.”

“Now, that’s love. You boys smelled like rotting carcasses on a good day.”

I laughed out loud. “It was the one time we could jump on the furniture and not get our asses beat.”

Dad scoffed. “She didn’t have to spank you. The look was enough.”

“Oh,” I said, remembering. “The look.” I shivered.

“Yeah. She made it look easy, but she had to put a healthy amount of fear into you first. She knew you were all going to be bigger than her one day.”

“Am I?” I asked. “Bigger than she was?”

“She was a bitty thing. Abby’s size. Maybe not even that tall.”

“Where did Travis’s gigantism come from, then? You and Uncle Jack are bloated chipmunks.”

Dad howled. His belly bobbled, making the table jiggle. My dominoes fell over, and I spat out a laugh, too, unable to hold it in. Olive covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Just as I began setting the dominoes back onto their edges, a car pulled into the drive. The gravel in the driveway crunched under a set of tires, and the engine shut off. A minute later, someone knocked on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Olive said, pushing her chair back.

“Oops,” I said, standing. “Cami’s back. Better help her with the groceries.”

“Atta boy,” Dad said with a nod and a wink.

I walked into the hall and froze. Olive was holding open the door, staring at me with a pale, worried expression. Behind her on the porch were two men in suits and soggy trench coats.

“Dad?” I called to the dining room.

“Actually,” one of the men said. “Are you Trenton Maddox?”

I swallowed. “Yeah?” Before either of them could speak, all the blood rushed from my face. I stumbled back. “Dad?” I called, this time frantic.

Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Mr. Maddox,” one of the men said, nodding. “I’m Agent Blevins.”

“Agent?” I asked.

He continued. “We came with some unfortunate news.”

I lost my balance, falling with my back flat against the paneled wall. I slid down slowly. Olive went down with me, grabbing both my hands and bracing us for an alternate, painful reality. She held tight, anchoring me to the present, the moment in time just before everything would fall apart. I’d known in the pit of my stomach not to let Camille drive in the rain. I’d been feeling off for several days, knowing something bad was looming. “Don’t fucking say it,” I groaned.

Dad slowly kneeled at my side, placing his hand on my knee. “Now, hold on. Let’s hear what they have to say.” He looked up. “Is she okay?”

The agents didn’t answer, so I looked up, too. They had the same expression as Olive. My head fell forward. An explosion boiled inside me.

A sack fell and glass broke. “Oh, my God!”

“Cami!” Olive cried, releasing my hands.

I stared at her in disbelief, scrambling to my knees just before throwing my arms around her waist. Dad breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Is he okay?” Camille asked. She pulled away from me to look me over. “What happened?”

Olive stood and held on to Dad.

“I thought you … they …” I trailed off, still unable to complete a coherent sentence.

“You thought I what?” Camille asked, grabbing each side of my face. She looked at Dad and Olive.

“He thought they were here to inform us you’d …” Dad peered at the agents. “What in the Sam Hill are you here for, then? What’s the unfortunate news?”

The agents glanced at each other, finally understanding my reaction. “We’re so sorry, sir. We’ve come to inform you about your brother. Agent Lindy requested the news be brought straight to you.”

“Agent Lindy?” I asked. “You mean Liis? What about my brother?”

Dad’s eyebrows pulled in. “Trenton … call the twins home. Do it now.”