The Devil's Beating His Wife (17 page)

I didn't like the look on his face. But I was curious. I walked around the old priest, who had gone silent, and I stood beside Baxter. I imagined the old priest had caught wind of Baxter and he'd been scared speechless. Instead, the old man had fallen asleep on his feet.

I waved my hand in front of his face. His eyelids didn't even flicker. "They brought this in to get rid of us?"

"I guess that makes us lucky," Baxter said, laughing.

"Why?"

"A more effective man of the cloth and we'd be on to the heavenly gates."

"Isn't that what you want?" I asked him.

He lowered his head and inhaled deeply. Exhaling forcefully, he shook his head. "No, not in the slightest. I'm actually okay sticking around for a little while longer. I mean, no one knows that I exist—other than you—but that's fine with me. I'm fine simply being with you."

"You're crazy."

"I'm crazy? You're crazy. You want to go on to the afterlife and you ain't got a clue what's waiting for you there. At least we know about this world," he argued.

"This ain't what we knew, Baxter. Your mama and daddy are dead. I don't know if my mama still lives or not. My brother's long dead and as far as I can tell, I've been robbed of any chance of seeing him in the afterlife. This ain't no life. In fact, we ain't got no life. We're dead. I'm stuck in this awful house with the son of my brother's murderer, and—" I pointed towards the wall. "I'm surrounded by that awful green shit in this godforsaken house." It baffled me that he would be satisfied with being there. There was no resolution. No end in sight. We were just stuck in the house with no way to escape. No way to run and hide from the memories.

"You have to look on the positive side," he side, placing his arm around my shoulders. I was so shocked by the swift and uninvited contact that I just stood there, looking up at his face. He grinned into the sleeping priest's face. "You're here with me."

No words formed in my mind. No quick comeback tumbled off my tongue. For over twenty years, this man and I had remained locked in this place. For me, each day felt like I had been sentenced to live eternity in an earthly hell. For Baxter, it had been his personal heaven.

I could feel a burning sensation behind my eyeballs. If you had told me, when I was alive, that ghosts could cry, I would have laughed in your face. But there I was, fighting back tears and trembling with emotion. I shook my head, but it didn't clear my thoughts. It didn't erase my sorrow.

"What's wrong?" Baxter asked. I hadn't laughed at his attempt at a joke. He stared down at me, his blue eyes filled with concern. I could sense that he genuinely cared about me, and that frightened me. It shouldn't have frightened me any longer, but it did because there was no escape from it.

"I don't love you, Baxter. I never loved you. I don't even like you." With each word I said, the sadness diminished. Anger and helplessness rose in its place. "I wish you'd leave me alone."

"I can't do that," he said, turning his face away. I couldn't see his eyes, but I noticed his jaw tighten.

"That's a lie." I stepped back and curled my fingers into fists. I wanted to strike out at his handsome face. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to kill him, but he was already dead. "You can do whatever you want. You did whatever you wanted to do. You never gave a damn about my feelings or my family. Your brother's right. You are a selfish sonuvabitch. You wanted me when I made it clear that I didn't want you. Now you think I should be happy to spend the rest of my earthly days in your presence. You're selfish and you're stupid. I want you to leave me alone."

Baxter turned and glared at me. The color darkened on his cheeks. He appeared flushed, perhaps embarrassed. Then the corner of his mouth twisted as he stepped away from the napping priest. "We should talk about this later."

"Why? He can't hear us."

"This isn't the time for this discussion."

"If you ask me, this conversation is long past due," I said, trying to control my anger. "Damn it, you killed me." I lifted my hand to stop his words when he began to protest. "You did. You killed me. We both know you pulled the trigger. Don't even bother to lie about it. If you hadn't taken me away from my home. If you hadn't driven me here. If you hadn't brought that gun, I might still be alive. You did this to me. You did this to the both of us. Why? Because all you ever wanted was me, even when I made it clear that I didn't want you."

"Spicey..." he began but his voice trailed off.

"What? What do you have to say? That you're sorry? Sorry doesn't cut it. We're dead because of you," I yelled into his face. The power of my voice caused the curtains to blow against the window. The floorboards beneath our feet rumbled like we were standing on a fault line.

The priest swayed on his feet. An uncontrolled snore woke him from his sleep. His bushy white eyebrows were drawn down towards his eyes. He seemed disoriented. He patted his pockets and pulled out an antique pocket watch. His lips puckered as he checked the time.

"I'm late for supper," he said.

It was such a simple statement, but it struck me as odd, considering the tenseness of the moment. Baxter stood away from me, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, but with his hands curled into fists. Like a pugilist ready to strike at his opponent.

The only thing separating Baxter and me was that old priest. He stood between us, unaware of our presence. Or maybe not. As I looked closer, I noticed the slight tremor at the corner of his mouth. His breathing was slow as if he was struggling to pull in every last ounce of the thick air.

His eyes darted around the room. Around Baxter. Through me.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat and shook his head. "Such nonsense," he muttered before he turned on his heel and walked right through me.

He wasn't the holiest of men, but he must have had a bit of something. I felt a small piece of myself tear away from my body. I didn't know what it was. I just knew there was a bit less of me. I felt the loss.

Baxter reached out and grabbed my arms. I was too shocked to care that he was touching me. In fact, his strong hold was oddly reassuring. "Spicey? What's wrong, honey?"

There was nothing I could say. No words could describe the feeling of loss. I felt helpless and totally without control of my own spirit. "That man ain't a nice man," I said.

Baxter gathered me into his arms, and I felt myself being absorbed by his chilling warmth. For a brief moment, I pushed away thoughts of our death. Those thoughts would lead me to think about my family. To wonder if they existed in Heaven or if they had fallen into nothingness.

"The ol' coot ain't the most saintly of holy men, but he certainly ain't the worst," said Baxter. I could feel his chest jerk as he struggled to contain his laughter.

Leave it to Baxter the Bastard to find humor in just about any situation. For as long as we'd been stuck in the place, I always relied on Baxter's unending humor. It was the only reliable thing in this unreliable world.

"I feel tired, Baxter."

That knocked the wind out of his smile. The corners of his lips turned down as his blue eyes darkened and focused on me. "That can't be."

"I would have thought that, too, but I know what tired feels like. You don't forget something like that." I felt like a bit of my spirit had been drained from my body. I wanted to curl my arms around myself and lie down on the nearest bed. Sleep tugged at me. My eyelids felt heavy; tears gathered in my eyes. With a touch of surprise, I wiped them away.

"What's happening?" Baxter asked, awe in his voice.

I shook my head. "You're asking the wrong person." I walked through the living room and entered the kitchen where the priest talked with Lily.

Their heads were down and their voices were low. The priest held the woman's pale hand in his. His wrinkly thumb rubbed circles on her skin as they prayed together.

I stared at Lily's face, expecting to see fear or disgust. The old priest's caress seemed more suggestive than comforting. I expected her to cringe away from him. Perhaps I was the only one who saw the wickedness hidden deep in his person.

With a final Amen, they raised their heads and the priest lifted his arms to embrace the woman. She willingly entered his arms and rested her head against his shoulder. A small hiccup caught in her throat as she thanked him for coming to the home.

His lips barely moved as he said, "You know I will always be here for you. You only need call, my dear."

Lily wiped tears from her cheeks. Unwittingly, my hand raised to my own cheeks. When I realized my intent, I dropped my hand to my side and walked closer to the pair. They were speaking so low, I could barely hear them.

"I'm so sorry. I feel like I wasted your time. Everyone's time. He's not happy about this," she confided.

The priest craned his neck to stare outside the kitchen window. He looked through the glass at Ronald. The priest's lips puckered and twisted with unconcealed hatred. "The only evil in this house is that man," said the priest.

And on that, we agreed. I didn't know what the deal was with the priest, but I didn't like him. Yet, it seemed he had Ronald's number.

"What are they talking about?" Baxter asked over my shoulder. I didn't turn to answer him. He was close enough to hear their conversation.

"Please don't say anything to him, Father. He's been through a lot of stress. Things haven't been easy since he's returned," the woman said. When she caught Ronnie staring back at her, she pushed the priest away from the window. She lifted her hand and waved at her husband, a small smile lingering on her lips.

Ronnie turned away without acknowledging her. I could see the top of his head as he walked by the window and entered the back shed. Through the thin window, we could hear the sound of a motor being started.

"You should go," said the woman.

"Yeah, you should go," said Baxter rudely, knowing they couldn't hear us.

The priest shook his head. "I think this house needs another blessing. Perhaps Ronald would like to join us."

Baxter glanced over at me, a devious grin on his face. "You think this time will work?"

Lily shook her head, the loose blond strands around her face swaying with her movement. "You know he's not into religious things, Father. His daddy raised him like that."

"I knew his father quite well indeed," said the priest. He turned and stared at the woman. Placing his hand under her chin, he lifted her face so they stared into each other's eyes. His voice strengthened with the conviction of a holy man hell-bent on conversion. "Without God, there is no hope. Without God, there is no salvation. Ronald is a man without purpose. A man without purpose loses his way in this world. Let God guide him."

The woman wrapped her fingers around the priest's forearms and returned her head to his shoulder. The priest stroked her head and made crooning sounds as he rocked her in his arms. "Oh Lily, what are you doing to yourself?"

Baxter crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. "Do you think he practices that line in a mirror? I mean, it sounded pretty convincing. I think the ol' coot might believe it a bit. You know, just a bit. He don't really believe in anything but a good glass of gin. That's his savior."

"You're being rude," I told him.

"Holy shit, I don't care." He dropped his arms and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. His grin faded as he said, "Just moments ago, you were telling me he was a bad man. Then you started complaining about feeling tired. You damn near looked like you were about to fade away. I know you hate being stuck here with me, but there is no way in Hell I am staying here all alone. I'm of a mind that this sorry excuse for a priest done took a bit of your soul. Pardon me if I no longer feel hospitable."

Swiftly, Lily pushed away from the priest's arms. "I'm so very thankful you were able to bless the house today. I know how busy you are. I wouldn't want to keep you away from your duties any longer."

The priest opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of creaking wood stopped his words. We all turned to follow the sound and there in the doorway stood Ronnie. I felt the rigidness in Baxter's stance. His eyes narrowed on the man as he watched him saunter into the room.

Even though I didn't like the priest, I hated Ronnie even more. I, a simple spirit, could feel the constriction in the room. "We should do something," I said.

"And what exactly would that be?" asked Baxter while he turned his body towards Ronnie.

Ronnie didn't say a word of greeting to the priest. His posture was tense. His fingers twitched at his sides. His head shook back and forth slightly as he stared at his wife.

"Goodbye, Father," said the woman, pushing him towards the door.

"I have a few more minutes, Lily. You welcomed me to dinner, remember? I've been thinking about your pork chops for days," said the priest as he turned towards Ronnie. With a slight shift of his weight, he stood between the husband and wife.

Ronnie's eyebrows lifted as he noticed the priest's movement. "You must pardon Lily. She forgets things all of the time. She must have forgot that we already had plans this evening. Just me and her. It's been a long time since we were able to spend some quality time with each other."

"I think—" the priest began.

"Next week, Father. I will make you the best homemade lasagna and it'll be all for you," she said, her lips a pale pink. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. "I promise."

"You wouldn't want to come between a man and his wife now, would you?" Ronnie taunted.

The priest stared at Lily for a moment longer until she nodded her head reassuringly. "Very well. I'll resign myself to another night of chicken soup and cheese sandwiches." The priest patted the back of her hand and smiled weakly. "Good day, my dear."

"Good day, Father," said Ronnie.

The priest's head dipped to his chest for a moment before he lifted it high and squared his shoulders. With a direct look towards Ronnie, he said stiffly, "God will know what you do today."

"God knows everything, ain't that right, Father?" quipped Ronnie.