Shy (31 page)

“You’re worried about snakes,” Frank said.

“Maybe,” I smiled.

“You’d be smarter to worry about snapping turtles,” Frank said, and when I jerked my legs up out of the water, he laughed like a lunatic.

Frank pulled me back down beside him and coaxed my feet back into the water. Again we held hands. The buzz of insects and the song of sparrows in the treetops lulled us into silence. Amid the occasional huff and clomp of a cow stomping away a fly, and the soothing rustling of the willow branches overhead, gently swaying and billowing in the lazy summer breeze, I found myself dozing. I dreamed of lying beside a cool mountain stream. Frank and I were naked, making love on a mossy hillside. There were Alps in the background, and the mountain stream was quaintly babbling. Orchestra music was tuning up on the other side of the hill, and Julie Andrews’s helicopter was just swooping in over the treetops to pan in for a close-up.

When I woke up I was grinning.

Until I heard Frank sob.

F
RANK
was kneeling in the grass beside Joe’s wheelchair. We were both shirtless because we had used our shirts to clean the blood from Joe earlier. Our pant legs were rolled up because we had been napping with our feet dangling in the cool pond. Joe sat just as we had left him, his arms on the armrests of the wheelchair, his feet properly placed on the footrests, his chin now down upon his chest as if he had fallen asleep.

But he wasn’t asleep.

When I stirred, Frank turned to me. Tears streamed down his face and splashed onto his bare chest. He held his father’s hand in one of his, and with his other hand, he stroked his father’s hair. Dappled shadows fluttered over them where the sun peeked through the wind-tossed willows above their heads. The sun on the horizon was sliding toward evening, but I knew that away from the trees, the day would be just as hot as it was before. Maybe hotter. As usual, even nighttime would not bring relief from the heat.

Joe’s eyes were closed, his face at peace for the first time since I had met him.

His pain was finally gone.

I didn’t know how long Frank had been crying. Minutes maybe. Not longer.

“He was like this when I woke up,” Frank said, reaching out to me. He bit back a sob and tried to pull himself together. “Just—gone. He slipped away while we were dozing.”

Frank was only a couple of feet away, so I crawled toward him on my knees and drew him into my arms. He pressed his face into the crook of my neck and I stroked his smooth back, even then feeling urges I should have been ashamed of under the circumstances. The heat of his body. The texture of his flesh. The strength of his arms around me. The smell of the man. His gentleness. All the things that made Frank who he was. I ignored my urges as best I could, turning to Joe instead.

I stretched out my hand and patted Joe’s knee to say good-bye. It seemed so thin and still beneath my hand. Like a child’s knee.

Even now, with death at my elbow, earthly matters interceded. I looked around. “Where’s Pedro?”

Frank pointed fifty yards into the pasture, where Pedro was chasing a young calf around in circles. They both seemed to be having a good time, the calf kicking up her hind legs now and then with the exuberance of youth while Pedro sped through the wildflowers, yipping happily, his ears erect, his tail slapping back and forth like a tiny windshield wiper. The calf’s mother blandly watched their shenanigans, calmly chewing her cud while she peed on a bush with the force of a fire hose. I don’t think she had ever seen a Chihuahua before. She looked mildly confused.

A sad smile played across Frank’s face as he watched Pedro frolic with the calf. “Now that Pop is gone, maybe Pedro figures his work is done. Time for fun and games again.”

“He stayed with Joe just about every minute these last few days,” I said. “I guess the little guy has earned some time off.”

“That he has,” Frank said. “That he has.”

I turned back to Frank. “What do we do?” I asked. “About your dad, I mean. I’ve never—”

Frank drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s get him back to the house. We can call whoever needs to be called from there.”

I put my hand to either side of Frank’s face and kissed his forehead. “I’m so sorry, babe. He was a great guy, your dad. I’m going to miss him.”

Frank nodded. “Me too. He liked you, you know.”

“I know,” I said. “I liked him too.”

We let fond memories flood our minds for a minute as we knelt there in the weeds holding each other, with Frank still clutching his father’s lifeless hand. Finally, we blinked ourselves back to reality. We fished around through the weeds until we found our shoes and socks. Once they were on, we set out for the farmhouse, pushing the silent wheelchair before us.

It seemed strange that Joe was no longer in it, yet the weight of him was still there.

We took our time, with Pedro following along in our trail of trampled weeds and wildflowers. He made no move to hitch a ride. I guess he knew his friend was no longer there to welcome him aboard. By the time we reached the farmhouse, the sun was sliding toward evening.

Stanley was nowhere around to greet us. He would not return until Joe had left his cherished farm forever, hauled away in a black vinyl body bag in the back of a 2003 Cadillac hearse with
Simmons Funeral Home
etched on the side windows, and plates that said LOVED1.

Standing on the front porch, watching the hearse drive away with Joe, I almost lifted my hand to wave good-bye. I wonder if Joe would have seen me if I had.

Chapter 16

S
TANLEY
came home at midnight. He was so drunk he could barely put one foot in front of the other. Frank and I were stretched out on the sofa in the living room in each other’s arms, snuggling. I was comforting Frank the best way I knew how—by holding him, petting him, being there for him. Frank had been talking softly about what a wonderful father his dad had been. Pedro lay at our feet, sometimes watching us, sometimes snoring. His tummy was soft against my foot. Once in a while he would lick my ankle. That was Pedro’s way of being there for me.

“He only spanked me once,” Frank said, remembering. “And that was because I was threatening to kill Stanley with a butcher knife.” He laughed a sad little laugh. “That boy and I just never did get along.”

The farmhouse seemed oddly incomplete with Joe gone. We both sensed it. It was like someone had snipped out the heart of it. Without Joe, the shadows seemed a little drearier, the wallpaper a little more faded, the empty rooms a little lonelier. I looked around at the dimly lit walls, the family photos hanging on nails containing a million memories that didn’t include me, the piano in the corner that no one ever played. Lace curtains, limp with age, moved in the wind from the ever-present fan sitting and thrumming on a side table. It was the same fan that had been in the kitchen earlier and it sounded like a Sherman tank grinding up a hill. I figured it would be giving up the ghost one of these days, and we’d have to buy a new one, thank God. I couldn’t wait. I was tired of listening to it. The windows were pushed open as far as they would go to let in a little night air, but it didn’t help much. Frank and I were both sweating, lying there in each other’s arms.

“I don’t remember my mom much,” Frank said, his lips pressed against my cheek, his fingers idly moving through my hair. Our groins were pressed together, but not in a sexual way. It was more just a connection. A joining. I had never felt so close to anyone in my life. To my way of thinking, Frank and I were damn near one entity. It was an astonishing feeling, and one I had never experienced before with anyone, even Jerry. Sometimes I wondered if I had ever really known love at all before Frank came along.

“Mom was real pretty when she was young. I’ll show you a picture later. Dad was pretty much a hottie too. They were a good-looking couple. She died when I was little, so there might be a memory of her stuck in my head somewhere, but it’s pretty indistinct. I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t really see her.”

That was when Stanley came stumbling through the front door, causing us both to jump.

He giggled when he saw us on the couch. “Uh-oh, little brother’s having a sexual interlude.”

We didn’t bother denying it. He could see we had our clothes on. As clothed as the temperature would allow at least. Shorts and T-shirts, which was actually about two items too many, considering the weather.

Stanley stomped off toward the kitchen, probably to build one of his two-foot tall sandwiches. Drinking is hungry work. He was almost there when he sensed something was wrong and stopped dead in his tracks.

Before he could turn to face us, Frank said, “Pop is gone, Stanley. He passed away this afternoon. Down by the pond. Mr. Simmons came and got him about five o’clock. He’s down at the funeral home. They’re—getting him ready. First viewing’ll be tomorrow, I guess. I would have called you but I didn’t know where you were.”

Stanley didn’t seem to know what to say. First he turned to look at us. Then he blinked himself sober and ran a hand through his hair. Finally, he plopped himself down in Joe’s old chair and kicked off his black tennis shoes with the orange laces. I couldn’t believe he was still wearing those stupid things.

“I don’t suppose Pop had the foresight to tell you where the will was stashed before he passed on, did he?”

Frank’s eyes narrowed, his voice took on a slight edge. “No, he didn’t.”

Stanley grunted. “Figures.”

I could see Frank forcing himself to be cordial. He didn’t want to fight. He was so wrung out with grief he didn’t have any fight left in him. “We’ll have to go into town in the morning and make all the arrangements. Flowers. The service. What music we want them to play. Simmons said he’d find us a preacher, so we don’t have to worry about that. And the funeral is paid for. Pop paid for his and Mom’s at the same time when she died. I didn’t know that until Simmons told me. At least it’s one less thing we have to worry—”

“And he didn’t say one goddamn word about where the will was.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Stanley was getting mad.

Frank sighed. “No. I’m sorry. He didn’t.”

“Do you
know
what it says?”

“Not really,” Frank lied.

I knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t ready to open up that kettle of fish tonight. Not with Joe still warm, splayed out on a slab down at Simmons Funeral Home, and Stanley drunk, and himself exhausted to the bone. No one needed a knockdown drag-out battle before the funeral, even if Stanley was spoiling for one. Joe had told them everything concerning his wishes would come to light at the proper time. Frank was going to rely on that.

In other words, why make waves where there was a tsunami coming in anyway?

I watched Stanley during this exchange for any sign of mourning at his father’s passing. I saw none. Zip. Nada. He did not shed a tear. He did not even have the good grace to pretend to look sad. The only emotion that registered on Stanley’s face was anger that Joe had departed the planet without clearing everything up before he left. Everything concerning the will, that is. That was all Stanley cared about.

“We’ll have to go into town early to make the arrangements,” Frank said. “Apparently Pop already picked out a coffin way back when, but still there’s a dozen other—”

“You handle it,” Stanley said.

Frank was still in my arms, but he was so tense now it was like holding a stack of lumber.

“All right,” Frank said, as if he had expected it all along. “I can do that.”

Stanley stood and moved on his stockinged feet across the living room floor and down the hall to Joe’s bedroom door. It was already open, so he reached in and flicked on the overhead light. He stood there a moment peering in.

“This is the one room I haven’t really searched,” he said, more to himself than to us.

I jumped when Frank yelled, “
Don’t you care that Pop died? Don’t you give a shit? What the hell is wrong with you?
”

When Stanley looked back at Frank, his eyes were cold. Emotionless. “I just want what’s mine, little brother. And I intend to get it.” With that, he turned and stepped into Joe’s bedroom.

He softly closed the bedroom door behind him. We heard the lock click.

Apparently Stanley wished to conduct his search for the will without any interruptions from us.

If I was as big a dick as he was, I’d probably feel the same way.

Frank seemed to give up then. He rolled back into my arms, limp with sadness, and eventually we fell asleep.

Morning rolled around long before we were ready for it.

F
RANK
and I were showered and dressed and ready to go into town by nine. We had raced through the morning chores as quickly as possible and were now just sitting down for a bite of breakfast before we took off. I didn’t tell Frank, but I had my checkbook and a couple of credit cards stashed in my back pocket just in case there were expenses to be paid that Joe had not arranged for, and I was sure there would be. Flowers for the service, the printing of announcements, a blurb in the local obits, death certificates. These things all cost money, and Frank was too upset to think about them, plus he didn’t have any money on hand that I knew of. I was more than happy to help him out. I only hoped he wouldn’t give me too much of an argument over it.