Love & Darts (9781937316075) (19 page)

“She was looking forward to seeing that
boy's college years. She never got to go.”

“How could a child do that to his mother? I
couldn't go on living if one of my boys, or even Frank, passed
on.”

“Frank’s not going anywhere.”

“No. I guess not.”

The women were facing each other in the
line, talking more quietly now about the specifics. It wasn't
right, and they knew it. The red-haired woman was facing the coffin
with her arms crossed across her chest again. The fat woman looked
over the red-haired woman’s shoulder with an eye on the back
door.

“A shotgun? Really? I didn't know that. I
thought his brother lived in Utah somewhere.”

“He does. Well. Wyoming. But he left his gun
at home. His grandfather gave it to him when he turned sixteen. He
wanted it to stay nice. It's an antique. Frank was real impressed
when I told him what it was, but I forget now.”

“That's one thing that I made Jim listen to.
I said, 'No guns in the house.' You can see what can happen.”

The fat woman saw a group of tall teenage
boys come through the door together. She watched them all sign the
guest book and mill around together. Presumably, they were five of
the six starters from the high school basketball team. She
recognized one of them as the younger brother of one of her son's
friends. They looked so defeated. She couldn't watch. Young men are
not supposed to be defeated. She moved herself around in line with
the red-haired woman, and they faced the coffin side by side. There
were still several people in front of them to greet the mother and
pay their respects at the coffin. The fat woman was nervous. “Well,
he did it out in the back barn.”

“He was probably afraid Marion would crucify
him herself if he got blood on that precious white carpet of
hers.”

“Oh, you are awful.” Their conversation
gained momentum. Together, with little words, they kept death at
bay. It was hard work. They gave it their full attention,
unconsciously.

“You’d never laugh as hard if you'd seen
Michael when Marion told him to take off his shoes when we went
over there to play bridge last fall. I laughed out loud. I have
never seen that man without shoes in all the years we've been
married. And here's Marion with that little flippant hair of hers
telling my husband to take off his shoes.:

“Did he?”

“Of course! He had to. But we stopped
playing bridge after that, except on holidays with my mom and
dad.”

“Oh, Lord. That is funny. With some of
Frank's socks I would be embarrassed to have him take his shoes
off.” The people in front of the woman moved forward. They did not.
The people behind them moved in closer. The women inched forward
with the tiniest high-heeled steps.

“Oh, I know it. Especially walking on that
white carpet she's got. It is pretty.”

“Well, white carpet or not I would still
rather have my son alive. Did you hear anything about why he did
it?”

“Just bits and pieces. One of the kids had a
friend who actually read the note he left.”

“I didn't hear there was a note.”

“Well, there was, and apparently it was
about how he couldn't stand to watch his dreams become his friend's
realities or something like that. All those years of dreaming big
to watch other kids be able to pick up that stuff like it was
nothing.”

“Strange. How tall was he anyway?”

“Oh, I don't know; something like six-four.
I'm not really sure. Michael would know.”

“That basketball scholarship was only for
tuition, and at a school that size, the cost of the dorm room and
the books is more than twice what my youngest son pays for
community college up north.”

The fat woman had remembered the five boys.
She glanced back at them in the line without really turning her
head. Two of them were laughing and pushing against each other. The
other three stood in a triangle with their feet and shoulders in
line. All three left their hands forgotten behind them. They waited
patiently as if the national anthem was about to start. Her eyes
filled with fat tears and she replied with a a shaky voice, “Oh.
How is he doing? Community college, you say?” She cleared her
throat and coughed into a torn-up tissue.

“Pretty good. He has that girlfriend of his,
still, and they are living together now. Michael is not at all
pleased, but she's on the Pill so she shouldn't be getting pregnant
anytime soon. So I just keep my mouth shut and pray as much as I
can.” She wanted a cigarette.

“Oh. Well, bless your heart. I know I have
been praying for Marion ever since I heard about this. So he wasn't
going to take the scholarship then?”

“No. He would have had to work for his
father, contracting.”

“That's not so bad. Both my oldest boys did
that for a few summers and made quite a bit of money.” She was
crying now.

The red-haired woman opened her purse and
dug through it for a Kleenex. She did not look at the fat woman.
“You know how they are at that age. Nothing is good enough. And
plus remember that it wasn't just for a summer. This would have
been a more permanent situation. He was just too proud for his own
good.” She pulled a wrinkled tissue out of a plastic package and
handed it to the fat woman. “You should take what you are given and
be thankful, if you ask me. I did, and I have been.”

“I suppose. Still—”

“Oh well, I agree. It certainly is not cause
to shoot yourself in the roof of the mouth.” Too loud; way too
loud. The people around them in line shifted uncomfortably. “He
worked so hard to get away. His family still didn't have the
money.”

“His father must be devastated.” She pushed
her eyeliner back in place.

“Well, sure. My God, that boy was his life.
There was just the two boys, you know, and with the one off in
Wyoming. I think they have other children, but just the two boys.
That construction business has been going downhill ever since he
started it, and I am sure this thing isn't going to do much for
it.”

“Maybe people will feel sorry for him and
start coming.”

“Well sure, at first, but then it will drop
away to less than before.” The arms were crossed over her chest
again. The bra strap was almost to her elbow. Too many eyes were
watching from behind her to fix it now. She really wanted a
cigarette.

“I guess you're right. What kind of business
is it, now?”

“He's a contractor. Builds farm buildings.
Sheds, or whatever else.”

The fat woman sensed irritation. “Oh. Right.
Silly me. I still can't get over how long this receiving line
is.”

“We should have come an hour ago while
people were still eating dinner.” The skinny woman was irritated
that the fat lady had been late.

Apologetically, “I just now got away.
Frank's daughter from his first marriage has been visiting with her
little girl.”

“Has she? Now who is she married to?”

“Well, she's not. The guy ditched out on
her. You know how they are.”

“Of course I do. That's why Michael and I
are so worried about our youngest living with this girl. Michael
would absolutely die if one of our boys left a girl in a way. You
know, that's how we got married.”

“Really? I hadn't known that.”

“Yes, I was two months pregnant before we
even got married. No one knew.”

“Of course not.” Everyone had known, but it
is important to protect yourself.

“But see, that’s just it. Michael stayed,
and he married me. And I know that's what he'd have his boys do.”
She would have added, “Damn fools that they are,” but her eyes
landed on the coffin and her words got tangled in a gasp.

“That was the old days, and Frank's poor
daughter just got left. She's doing all right, and really, from
what I have heard, this guy wasn't too good for her anyway. Still,
it's someone to watch the kid for an hour so you can get away. Now
I wasn't pregnant when I got married, but I was still pretty young.
Frank was so much older, and he'd already been married. My parents
just had a fit.” The fat woman was licking the tissue and trying to
fix her eye makeup. She noticed the red-haired woman wasn't really
listening to her. “Well, anyway.”

“We're getting closer.”

“Yes.”

“Marion looks nice, doesn't she?”

“She’s a god damned angel.”

“That’s a bit extreme. All you see is the
contrast. Without it, she’s nothing special. Just one of us. Look.
It’s that dark hair she's got against her pale skin. It looks nice
with the dark dress. She does have cute hair. I can never tell if
it's brown or red.”

“It's lovely.”

“I couldn't wear my hair short. I would look
like a chipmunk. I'd rather keep it long and put it up every day
like I do.”

“She can get away with it because she’s got
a slender face.”

“She does.”

“Marion.”

“Thank you so much for coming.”

“The flowers are gorgeous.”

“I have never seen so many flowers.”

“Most of my family is out west. They
couldn't make it. Weather and holiday traffic at the airports. So
the flowers are from them mostly.”

The red-haired woman wondered how many
families from out west travel extensively on Valentine’s Day.
“They’re gorgeous.”

Marion looked stunned. “Did you sign the
guest book?”

The fat woman said, “I sure did.”

“I will as I leave.”

“Good.”

“They are beautiful.”

“So colorful.”

“Yes.”

The fat woman said, “Marion, we've both been
praying so much. You will never be forgotten.”

And the red-haired woman, the one who lived
over on Fourth Street after she left her husband, after the night
she broke out his back window when she found out how much he’d lost
at the OTB by the interstate, agreed, “Oh yes, I haven't stopped
praying since I heard.”

“Well, thank you both so much. You know it
really does help. It's so hard, but the thoughts are special and
help so much.”

“The wood is very pretty. Is that
cherry?”

“I am not sure. It's the one he had here
that we liked best. The others seemed suited to old folks more, you
know.”

“Well, good reason. You don't usually have
teenagers dying at your house.”

The three women stood stock-still pretending
no shotgun had gone off, pretending no high school kid’s mouth
wrapped around any double-barreled shotgun, pretending no toe of
his boot finally pressed the trigger back far enough, pretending
that the back of his skull hadn’t gotten blown across the barn,
pretending no fathers ever found any sons dead.

It was the redheaded woman’s responsibility
to stop them all from thinking anything. She knew it. “It's nice
that it’s a closed casket.”

Marion nodded. “They said it had to be.
After we identified him, that was enough.”

“Oh.”

“Well. We will pray for you, Marion.”

“Thanks for coming. It means so much.”

The women fled down the aisle the same way
the little girl and her brother had. Safe in the back of the
parlor, they leaned in. The fat woman fumbled into her coat and the
red-haired woman located her cigarettes and lighter in her
purse.

“Oh shit, I can’t believe I said that.”

The fat woman tied a scarf under her chin.
“I know. It was pretty bad, but don't worry about it. She is
totally in shock.”

“Dear soul.” The lighter didn't work. She
chucked it back into the purse and hoped for a forgotten book of
matches at the bottom.

“Just sign the guest book. Let's get out of
here.”

“Sign for me. I need a cigarette.”

“I signed when we came in and had no idea
what to say. Plus, the pen wouldn’t hardly work. Just leave it.”
Out of what was meant to be taken for a high-end crystal ashtray
the fat woman picked up a gold book of matches with the name of the
funeral home stamped on it in black and handed it to the red-haired
woman. “All right then. It’s been so good to see you. Sorry it’s
been so long. I know you called.”

“Don’t worry about it. We had a nice little
chat right here tonight, huh?” She grabbed the matches and lit her
cigarette on the threshold.

The fat woman held the door for her.
“Sure.”

“Say hello to Frank for me, would you?” The
red-haired woman took a few thankful drags and looked up at the
gray sky. She stamped her heels on the sidewalk to warm up a
little. The red pickup was waiting at the curb. The fat woman was
already making her way toward it.

“Of course. Same to Jim.”

“Jim and I broke up twenty-five years ago.
You know that. It’s Michael now. But. Will do.”

“I knew that. Sorry.”

“It’s not like we’ve been out much. Don’t
apologize.”

“Why not? It’s the only thing I’m good at.”
The fat woman laughed and opened the door of the truck carefully
and climbed in. The truck leaned toward the curb. She closed the
door quickly before it got stuck. She cracked the window of the
truck and said to the woman on the sidewalk with a smile, “And keep
those socks clean.”

The red-haired woman waved back. She tried
to think of something to say. She could not. The tears came
instead. No real reason. They had good lives. Worthwhile lives. She
wanted to yell at that stupid kid, and then she wanted to join him.
Such a shitty small little nothing nowhere town. No one would miss
her, really. Her kids didn’t give a shit. Couple of pains in the
ass after all she’d been through for them. But. No. Muster that
smile for your friend. Don’t flinch when you see her husband’s arm
reach out behind her back. Don’t stop breathing when the pickup
truck eases off on its way with the fat lady grinning and waving
out the window. Don’t get bitter. Just let the cigarette fall into
the wet gutter from the height of a tall-as-you-can-ever-extend
redheaded hand-wave.