The Late Child (5 page)

“He could move out here and be a parking lot attendant,” Harmony said. “I know a job that's just come open.”

She heard a closet door creak, through the receiver, and knew that Neddie was packing even as she talked.

“What's that mean—did Jimmy leave?” Neddie asked.

“Jimmy left—he went out for cigarettes six hours ago and he isn't back,” Harmony said. “He had the going-away look in his eye, Neddie. I guess the tragedy was just too much for him.”

“What kind of worthless piece of shit would leave you on the night you got the news that your daughter was dead?” Neddie asked.

“The kind I keep falling in love with,” Harmony said. Compared to Pepper's death, Jimmy's departure didn't matter all that much—still, it mattered some. Harmony began to cry so hard that she couldn't talk to Neddie anymore; she had to hang up. It was a lie that she had fallen in love with Jimmy, though; it was not that serious—he was just a man she had brought home for a few months. It was a long time since there had been a man she was serious about; she started counting back through the years, to the last man she had been in love with, but after she had counted back almost fifteen years and was still at zero, zilch, she gave up and let Juliette hand her Kleenex until she cried herself out.

“My sisters are coming, I have to call Pat,” Harmony said, listlessly, when she was finally able to stop crying for a few minutes.

“Tell me the number and I'll dial,” Juliette said, wondering if she should tell Harmony that Jimmy Bangor had made at least fifty passes at her in the few months he had lived next door. Would it make her feel better, knowing that she was rid of such a scumbag? Or would the knowledge that the man she had lived with for six months was a faithless asshole just make her feel worse?

“Juliette, just go change out of your tux,” Harmony said. “I'll be all right for a few minutes.”

“Okay. I've got some chicken salad in my fridge, would you like a little?” Juliette asked.

She decided to keep quiet about Jimmy Bangor's fifty passes; Harmony might think she had encouraged the man or something—why take a chance?

“I don't think so, would you please just hurry back?” Harmony asked—she knew Juliette needed to change out of her work clothes but at the sight of her getting ready to go next door Harmony got a bad sinking feeling—she definitely wanted Juliette to hurry back.

When Juliette left, Harmony became so befuddled that she couldn't remember who she had been supposed to call next. Gary came to mind, but there was the factor of Gary and Juliette not being on such good terms. It might not be quite the moment to call Gary. Before she could make up her mind Juliette came back through the door. She had done a really quick change, and she also had a box of Red Zinger tea in her hand.

“Have you called Pat yet?” Juliette asked.

“No, I forgot—that was a real fast change,” Harmony said. She felt lucky to have a friend like Juliette, so quick in a time of crisis that she had changed out of her work clothes and come back before Harmony could even think to call her other sister.

“I hope Neddie's already called and told her—if I wake her up she might get real mad, she's got the worst temper in the family,” Harmony said. It took her a moment to remember the number, but as soon as she remembered it, Juliette dialed.

“I know it's a late hour—did Neddie tell you?” Harmony said, when Pat answered the phone.

“Sweetie, I'm packing,” Pat said. “Neddie's coming by in fifteen minutes.”

“That's good, she's not mad,” Harmony said, putting her hand over the receiver for a moment—she wanted to reassure Juliette.

“I know this is real inconvenient, Pattie,” she went on.

“You're telling me, I was getting married today,” Pat said.

“Oh my God, Neddie didn't tell me,” Harmony said.

“She didn't tell you because she didn't know,” Pat said. “Neddie thinks I'm a slut anyway. I don't necessarily tell her about every little marriage I undertake.

“Besides she's jealous of me because I keep getting husbands and she's had to make do with Dick for about ninety years,” her sister added. “Dick Haley's the dullest man in Oklahoma—maybe in the world. I'd be jealous of me too, if I was Neddie.”

“He's loyal, though,” Harmony reminded her.

“So's a dog, and dogs can at least bark,” Pat said. “If Dick Haley has said anything more interesting than ‘Pass the gravy' in the last thirty years I haven't been around to hear it.”

“I hate it that I'm spoiling your wedding day,” Harmony said—mainly she was just trying to change the subject. She didn't feel that she needed to hear Pat run down their brother-in-law just at that moment.

“Don't worry about it, sweetie,” Pat said. “We had the honeymoon last week. Rog took me to Hot Springs and blew the whole honeymoon, unassisted. It's no big deal whether I marry him now or not—there's other fish in the sea.”

“Why did he spoil your honeymoon?” Harmony asked—despite herself she wanted the details.

“Fizzled,” Pat said. “Just my luck. The silly bastard's been dying to crawl on top of me for months and I finally let him, blah's the best word I can come up with for the result.”

“Was he nervous or what?” Harmony asked. Her sister had always been liberal with details of her sex life—evidently nothing had changed.

“No, boring,” Pat said. “I told him he might as well keep on crawling, if that was the best he could do.”

“Pat, Pepper's cremated,” Harmony said—after all, Pepper's death was the reason they were talking. So what if Pat's honeymoon hadn't been so thrilling, sexually? The fact that her sister couldn't think of anything else to talk about was just another reminder of what she had always known, which was that Pat was selfish.

“Yes, and I'd like to skin whatever Yankee did it to that poor little soul,” Pat said. “You're her mother—you should have been consulted about the remains.”

Remains was a very bad word choice; Harmony couldn't bear to think of Pepper just being remains now, ashes. Harmony began to sob so violently that she had to hang up on Pat; even that didn't help, Juliette finally had to hold her tight for several minutes; she felt as if she might be dying herself, she must have gasped out something that scared Juliette because she got a horrified look on her face.

“Harmony, you mustn't talk like that, remember that sweet little boy upstairs,” Juliette said.

“Juliette, I just got carried away for a minute—I'll never say it again,” Harmony assured her—the look on Juliette's face made her feel guilty. She managed to stop crying quite so hard—of course she had to go on living, otherwise Eddie would have no mother.

“He's a wonderful little boy, Harmony—you have to go on, no matter what,” Juliette said, just to be certain that Harmony got the point.

Harmony knew well enough that that was the point; she had
only had a momentary lapse, she wasn't going to let Eddie down. Just when she was finally calming down to the point where Juliette didn't have to hug her quite so tightly the phone rang.

“I better get it,” Juliette said.

“Maybe it's Jimmy,” Harmony said—she couldn't help grasping at straws.

“Is my sister hanging in there?” Neddie asked Juliette.

“She's shaky, it has to be expected,” Juliette said, handing Harmony the phone.

“You hung up on me and you hung up on Pat—I guess we're worried,” Neddie said.

“I wish you'd told me it was Pat's wedding day,” Harmony said—then she remembered, a beat too late, that Pat had been keeping that very fact a secret from her older sister.

“What wedding day?” Neddie asked.

“Oh, no … now I've done it, won't the night ever end?” Harmony asked. “I forgot it was a secret, but there's no harm done, she was thinking about breaking up with the guy anyway.”

There was dead silence on the line, for several seconds: Harmony could imagine the look on Neddie's face; it was the kind of look that could easily make a selfish person like Pat shrivel up until she felt about the size of a grain of sand.

“This family gets more like the CIA every day,” Neddie said, in her same, matter-of-fact voice. “Of course, if I was gonna marry Rog Blankenship I'd keep it a secret too, at least until I could arrange to divorce the son of a bitch.”

The conversation just seemed to end there; whether she hung up on Neddie or Neddie hung up on her, Harmony didn't remember—she had begun to feel very tired. At that point she sort of faded for a few minutes; actually it must have been longer than a few minutes. When she opened her eyes again Gary was there, and also Jessie and Myrtle. Juliette had evidently taken the initiative and called a few people—Harmony was relieved to see that there didn't seem to be any hostility between Gary and Juliette.

“Harmony, it's the worst thing ever, I'll never get over it,” Gary
said. It was obvious he had been crying a good deal, his eyes were red. As for Jessie, she was a total basket case, that was only to be expected. Jessie had never been a strong person.

“Oh, Harmony, what will we ever do without her?” Jessie said. The whole front of her dress was wet from tears. She tried to come over and hug Harmony but just wasn't up to it; her legs began to go out on her and she had to flop into a chair, she was really upset. Jessie had known Pepper since birth; Harmony was touched that she took it so hard.

Myrtle was harder to judge; she was rapidly drinking a bottle of vodka that Jimmy Bangor had left behind. After quaffing about three glasses she wobbled over and gave Harmony a hug.

“You poor thing, what killed that precious child, was it a mugger or what?” Myrtle asked.

“Myrtle, I don't even know, it's in the letter but I never got past the cremated part,” Harmony said.

Then she started crying again, and so did everybody else, even Myrtle. The last time Harmony could remember Myrtle crying was when her beloved goat Maude passed away.

When Eddie came downstairs for breakfast, carrying Ernie in one hand and Bert in the other, he was surprised to see his mom and Jessie and Gary and Myrtle and Juliette all in the living room—the TV was on but nobody was watching it and it wasn't on the right channel anyway—no
Sesame Street.

“Is it a birthday party, Mom?” Eddie asked. He had never seen so many people in their house so early in the morning. If it was a birthday party Eddie was glad, he liked them, although he knew it couldn't be
his
birthday party because his birthday came in October.

“Eddie, it's not a birthday party, your sister died, now you'll never meet her,” Harmony said.

Everyone in the room took the position that the sooner she told Eddie the better; now that she
had
told him, she really didn't think it was for the better. Eddie had come downstairs looking like his confident, happy self. Sometimes it amazed Harmony that her own body had yielded up a little boy as confident and as happy as Eddie. But there he was, you couldn't doubt it, not if you were in Eddie's company for five minutes.

“She deaded?” Eddie asked—it seemed to him a better word than died.

“Yes, but your aunts are coming today,” Harmony said. “Your Aunt Neddie and your Aunt Pat, they haven't seen you since you were three.”

“Could I have a waffle with real maple syrup before they come?” Eddie asked. “Aunt Pat is so squeezy, I want to eat my waffle now, before she gets here.”

“He doesn't understand it, he's too young, bless his little heart,” Myrtle said.

“Is it okay if I change the channel?” Eddie asked, grabbing the remote. “Sesame
Street
is on.”

“It's good that Eddie has a positive attitude,” Gary said, wiping away some more tears. “I wish I had one.”

“Are you crying because she deaded, Mom?” Eddie asked. He had never met his sister, Pepper, and had only heard her voice on the telephone, once or twice. It was too bad that she deaded, if it was going to make his mother sad, but the main things on his mind were the waffle with real maple syrup and watching as much as possible of
Sesame Street
before the school bus came to take him to school. He wanted to see Kermit and Grover and Bert and Ernie, of course, and also Oscar the Grouch, if he had time.

All the women went into the kitchen at once, to make him his waffle.

“There's four ladies in the kitchen,” Eddie said to Gary. “What if they make too many waffles?”

In fact Harmony and Jessie and Myrtle and Juliette all wanted to make Eddie his waffle—it would give them something to do and help get their minds off the tragedy for a few seconds.

“Harmony, let us do it, you'll just wear yourself out,” Jessie said. “You need to save your strength.”

“I don't need to save it, either, Jessie,” Harmony said, a little annoyed to find herself suddenly squeezed out of her own kitchen. They weren't going to let her make Eddie's waffle, though, so she opened the door and went out into the bright Nevada sunlight. The heat of the morning sun felt good—it was the first thing that had felt good since she opened the letter and read that Pepper was dead. Besides the sunlight, the only other thing that felt good was the sight of Eddie coming down the stairs, his usual cheerful self. Inside the happiness that sight gave her was a pain, though, for now her two children would never meet one another: Pepper would never know what a beautiful little brother she had, and Eddie would never meet his talented sister. Of course she was always sending Pepper pictures of Eddie, and had shown Eddie a great many pictures of Pepper; but it would never be face-to-face, brother and sister, as it should have been. Eddie and Pepper would never sit and talk, or call one another in the night if
there was a crisis—the way she had just called her sisters, Neddie and Pat. Once or twice Pepper had vaguely mentioned that she might come home someday and meet Eddie, but she never found the time, one show followed another, she had to think of her career—that was something Harmony certainly understood; only now it was too late, that was that.