Stones in the Road (24 page)

Instead of showering, I put on a bathrobe and padded down the hallway to the kitchen, where Jackson had a pot of coffee prepared. His mom and dad sat at our small kitchen table. Noah followed me dutifully, standing about an arm’s length away, as though he wanted to be just close enough so that he could grab me should I make any attempt to suddenly disappear.

“I didn’t know we had company,” I said.

“We’re not company,” Mrs. Ledbetter said. “We’re family.”

“How are you feeling?” Mr. Ledbetter asked.

“I’m still not dead,” I said.

Mrs. Ledbetter chuckled, took a drag on her vape pen.

“Someone has the boo boos, and I need to take a shower and get ready,” I said, glancing at Jackson.

“Don’t look at me,” Jackson said, holding up his hands. “When he gets into the boo boos, he ain’t got no use for me.”

“‘Ain’t got’?” Mrs. Ledbetter repeated. “You’ve been down here too long, Jackie.”

“What are the boo boos?” Mr. Ledbetter asked.

“He gets insecure sometimes,” I said.

“Not uncommon for a child of his condition,” he replied. “Would you like us to watch him for you?”

“He won’t let anyone near him,” Jackson said. “Not when he gets into one of his moods. Only his daddy.”

“You don’t look very well,” Mrs. Ledbetter said to me. “Are you sure you’re up to the visitation? You don’t have to go, you know. I don’t think anyone would begrudge you.”

“It’s my papaw,” I said.

“I’ll watch him,” Mr. Ledbetter vowed. He waved at Noah, motioning for him to come over.

Noah shook his head.

Mr. Ledbetter got up and approached, reaching out to take Noah’s arm. Noah jerked it away, a frightened look on his face, grunting unhappily.

“It’s all right,” I said.

“Let’s watch TV,” Mr. Ledbetter said loudly to Noah, mouthing the words in an exaggerated fashion. He pointed to the television.

“Really, it’s okay,” I said.

“Come along,” Mr. Ledbetter ordered, reaching out for Noah’s arm once more.

“Hah!” Noah grunted angrily, jerking his whole body away as though Mr. Ledbetter was a giant, scary monster.

“Dad, leave him alone,” Jackson said. “
I
can’t even get through to him, much less a stranger.”

“You should encourage him to get out of his comfort zone,” Mr. Ledbetter admonished.

“Good luck with that,” I muttered.

“Is there anything we can get you?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked.

“Coffee sounds good,” I admitted. “And maybe a lobotomy.”

“I can see the tornado hasn’t killed off your sense of humor, Willis,” Mrs. Ledbetter said.

“Not at all, Mrs. Deadheader.”

She beamed, her eyes sparkling with what seemed like an unusual amount of merriment. She really did march to her own marching band, this woman.

I took the coffee and headed back to the bedroom.

Jackson and Noah trailed after me.

Jackson ran a bath, and, as modestly as I could, I got undressed and sank myself into it. Jackson lathered up my hair, rinsed it out. I dried off, sat on the toilet so he could comb my hair back into a ponytail.

All the while Noah stood and watched.

I brushed my teeth, trimmed my goatee while he stood about an arm’s length away, staring at me with the saddest blue eyes, as if memorizing me to prepare for the day when I was inevitably not there, never once saying a word. He was like a small, strange ghost haunting my footsteps. He seemed upset that I’d gotten the bandages wet around my chest, as if I had broken the rules. He dabbed at them with a hand towel, trying to dry them.

Jackson laid out clothes on the bed, helped me dress.

Help me tie my shoes
? I asked Noah, sitting down on the bed and not knowing how I was going to lean over and tie them, what with my ribs and my arm in a cast.

He knelt down dutifully and laced up my dress shoes. Then he stepped back, biting at his lip again.

“Come here,” I said, motioning for him.

I pulled him close, kissed his hair. He stood there, rigid like a statue. I pulled back, looking at him carefully, smiling, letting him know I was still there, that it was all right, that everything was going to be all right.

I love you, little man
, I signed.
Do you love me
?

Ever so imperceptibly, he nodded. He reached out to put a hand on my shoulder, as if he meant to lecture me about something or other. Instead, for long moments, he gazed at me, searching for something. What, I did not know. He stared at me for almost a full minute. Then, apparently satisfied, he turned suddenly and walked out of the bedroom.

“He gets stranger and stranger every day,” Jackson said softly.

“He’s just scared,” I said in his defense.

W
E
GOT
out of the Jeep in the parking lot at the funeral home. Mr. and Mrs. Ledbetter were uncharacteristically subdued, had been all the way from Tupelo. They stood now, side by side, both looking very elegant and proper.

I don’t want to go inside
, Noah signed, looking up at me with misery in his eyes.

We have to say good-bye to Papaw
, I signed.

No!

We have to!

I don’t want to go in, Daddy.

Please?

No!

Why?

He went away.

I know he did. And we have to say good-bye.

We can’t say good-bye because he’s dead.

He can still hear us.

Everyone goes away. I hate it!

That’s not true. I’m here.

But you’re going to go away too.

I am not!

You’re going to go to B-o-s-t-o-n with J.

Who told you that?

K.

Really?

She said you’re in love and you’re going to go away just like Mom did
.

I shook my head slowly

It’s true
, he insisted in his stubborn fashion.

I’m not going anywhere. Neither is J. What’s wrong with you?

Papaw hated me.

He did not.

He hated me and I hate him.

Don’t say that.

He hated me, and he went away. And Mama hated me, and she went away. And J hates me, and he’s going to go away too, and you’re going to go with him. Everyone goes away, and I hate it! Everybody thinks I’m just a big stupid dummy! I know I’m no good. I’m sorry I’m no good, Daddy. I’m sorry!

What are you talking about?

I saw him.

What did you see?

I can’t tell you.

Why?

Because he’ll hate me and he’ll go away and you’ll go with him
.

Noah looked scared, agitated. But he wasn’t just upset; he was coming unglued and incoherent. He looked like he wanted to jump right out of his skin. He had seen Jackson do something. But what?

Jesus H. Christ, what?

What’s wrong with you
? I signed, my right arm hurting from having to bear the weight of the cast while I signed.

He began to cry.

What
? I signed, crouching down and putting my good arm around him.

He shook his head, filled with misery.

Talk to me
, I urged.

But he retreated into uncomfortable silence.

We can’t fix things if we don’t talk about them
, I said.
And you know I would never leave you. Don’t you know that? And J isn’t going to leave either. And J doesn’t hate you. Why do you say that
?

He turned his eyes away from me, shutting off our communication. I put my finger on his jaw and turned his head in my direction, but he closed his eyes.

What did you see
? I asked silently.
What, Noah
?

I glanced over my shoulder at Jackson, who stood talking quietly with his parents.

What did you see
?

P
APAW
WAS
dressed in his blue suit—the only suit he owned, the one he wore to my father’s funeral many years ago when he’d been much younger and, it seemed now, taller and fuller somehow, more complete.

Papaw’s goatee had been tamed, hair neatly combed and swept back off his high forehead. He looked incredibly old, small and vulnerable, but the mortician had put a nice lifelike blush on his cheek. For once in his life, he seemed completely at ease. Mama had arranged rosary beads in his hands.

I stood in front of the coffin, hardly daring to breathe.

Oh, Papaw
.

Tears that I had been trying not to cry came in a hurried, sudden rush, causing agony to explode across my face. Mama had told me not to come, not to risk it, but I had not listened. How could I miss my last chance to see Papaw, even if his face was stilled in death? How could I not say good-bye to the only man I had ever loved as completely and wholeheartedly as I had loved my grandfather, the only man who had ever loved me completely and without reservation in return?

I breathed out through my mouth, struggling to calm myself. It was not likely that the bones in my face would go flying apart, but the pressure in the facial muscles from too much crying and carrying on could push the bones apart, or so the nurse had told me, and everybody else. So I breathed as deeply as I could, expelling breaths, trying to be calm.

Fat lot of good it did me.

My nose was quickly dripping with snot, and Jackson put a tissue in my hand. Noah wrapped his arm around my waist and stared at Papaw with large, uncertain eyes. After a long moment, he turned and buried his head against me.

“You all right?” Jackson said softly in my ear.

“Do I look all right?”

“It was a rhetorical question. You promised you wouldn’t get too upset….”

“I’m fine.”

“Just take it easy. Unless you want to go back to the hospital….”

“I said I’m fine!”

“I wish I could help you,” Jackson confessed.

“Oh, please God, would you leave me the fuck alone!” I snapped, my voice too loud.

Jackson backed off, frowning.

I reached out and touched the back of Papaw’s hand, which was cold.

The last time I had felt this miserable, I’d been in this same funeral home saying good-bye to my father when I was ten years old and so brokenhearted I had cried and carried on for days. Why I had carried on in that fashion was a mystery even to me; my daddy certainly didn’t deserve it. And no one else had carried on. Just me. I don’t know why I took it so hard or why it hurt so much.

Standing there now, my hand on Papaw’s cold hand, I thought about my daddy but quickly pushed the thought away.

I struggled to get hold of myself, aware that people were looking.

Mama sat nearby on a sofa, crying into a hankie while she talked to Aunt Margret, Daddy’s sister, a large woman with a large mouth who could be heard halfway down the block. Uncle Fred, Mama’s only surviving brother, sat by himself off to the side. Uncle Fred had moved to Memphis years ago and was something of a stranger to us now. Cousins, friends, and other relatives milled about, including Noah’s maternal grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Warren.

All these people would want to talk to me, I knew, so I tried to hurry up. I gently pushed Noah away, signing,
I need to talk to Papaw
.

He nodded solemnly.

I bent close to Papaw’s ear, whispering that I loved him and always would. There was so much more I wanted to add, or thought I should add, but could not. Instead, I removed the note I’d written earlier from my pocket. I fingered it for a moment, then placed it in Papaw’s pocket, the one inside his suit coat. With one last look and a pat on Papaw’s chest, I turned away.

“S
O
IT
’
S
true,” Aunt Margret said as I stood there with Jackson and Noah.

“Excuse me?” I asked, mystified.

“You’re sleeping double in a single bed,” she said, letting her eyes take in Jackson, the disapproval more than obvious. “Leandra said it was true, but I didn’t believe it. But Leandra said she heard it from Millie, who used to teach with your mama. Millie is friends with Debbie, who used to work in the cafeteria. Debbie said she heard it from somewhere or other. She said y’all even go to mass together. Bless my soul, but I would have never imagined! Ever since I moved away, everything just keeps changing.”

While Aunt Margret didn’t tower over me, she was taller and far wider and made for an imposing presence. Her closely cropped hair had been moussed into spikes and dyed three different shades of blonde in a vain attempt to mask her advancing years. Her makeup, which looked like it might have been applied with a trowel, also kept the years at bay. Her meat-hook hands were decked with the sort of jewelry that said she married well. She was my daddy’s older sister, and most times she kept her distance.

“Leandra even said she heard y’all were planning to get married. I said, Leandra honey, don’t be ridiculous. Two men getting married? Maybe they do that sort of thing in Hollywood, but they don’t do it down here, and for good reason. Really? Getting married? And that poor boy of yours… I wonder how he must feel. I’ve known you your whole life, Wiley. I can’t imagine what you must be thinking.”

While she delivered these comments, Jackson’s parents came to stand with us.

“But you’re a very large woman, aren’t you?” Mrs. Ledbetter said, putting out her hand. “I’m Eunice Ledbetter. Jackie’s mother. Such a dreadful thing, death. And you are?”