Authors: Fha User
she realized this was probably the first of many disappointments to come.
43
She turned away from the window, looked across the front seat at Clayton
and voiced some of her inner turmoil.
“Ya’ know, Clay, it’s so unfair. I mean, I just realized Craig will never get
married or have kids. We always talked about the future and how our kids
would be really close.” She sniffled a bit before continuing, “I feel so
cheated and selfish for even thinking about that now and how it’s going to
affect me.”
Taking his eyes off the road briefly, Clayton looked over at her and quietly
shared some of his feelings too. “I know how you feel,” he said reaching
over to stroke the back of her hand that lay flat on the seat between them.
After a time she asked. “How are Tony and my mom holding up?”
“Tony should be home by the time we get there. As for your mom, man,
your mom is like a rock. Craig always said she was a strong woman and
today I’ve seen it for myself.”
“Oh God, Clayton, it’s going to be awful without him.”
He closed his hand around hers, holding it tight in silent agreement.
It was late when they reached Janae’s house. Luckily Tony had arrived
moments before they got there. Clayton stood by and witnessed mother, son
and daughter pull together into a grieving trio of sorrow. He watched
Janae’s aunt, Mrs. Edwards, walk over and hug her friend Carol before
leaving to give them a little privacy. With no place to go and nowhere
particular in mind, he left the house through the front door and wandered into
the backyard.
He sat down on a redwood picnic bench and looked around the backyard,
letting his mind drift. Clayton immediately recalled the many barbeques and
family gatherings they’d had in this very yard. Functions he’d been invited
to where everyone had treated him like one of the family. He remembered
distinctly the first time he’d been over here. Everyone clapped him on the
back and gave him a warm welcome and a pleasant warning, “
Clayton,
around this house, you serve yourself or starve”
Amid loud music and
contagious laughter, Clayton had been ushered over to a table laden with
food and a cooler stacked full of ice cold beer.
The memory faded as a cool breeze slipped through his open shirt front.
He shook slightly and sat at the picnic table taking in his surroundings. It
was really quiet out here, he thought. A pleasant fragrance emanated from a
well-tended flower bed a short distance away, and tall arbor vitae’s sectioned
off her backyard from the neighbor’s. He wondered idly about this family
and how it must feel to have someone to turn to at a time like this, someone
who could lessen your pain by just being there. The love displayed in this
44
family was foreign to him. No one had ever said they loved him and he, in
turn, had never loved anyone.
The only memories he held of his childhood were bad ones. The stench of
two drunken parents, the filthy apartment they lived in, and having to care for
his younger sister because his parents were too intoxicated to care. His
father had two stages to his drinking. Stage one was drink until he passed
out. Stage two was to drink and then beat the hell out of Clay and his
mother if she tried to stop him. If he had to compare childhoods, Craig’s
would have been “Happy Days,” while Clayton’s was closer to “Nightmare
on Elm Street.” His parents, Lyle and Mamie, still lived in the seediest part
of town over on Chestnut. His nostrils flared as he caught an imaginary
whiff of his baby sister’s diaper, which his mother hadn’t bothered to change
all day. When his sister ran away on her fifteenth birthday, Clayton wasn’t
far behind, leaving home at an early age and never looking back.
He hadn’t thought about his sister in years and thinking about her now
made him remember how he grew up, fending for the two of them as best he
could. He was just a kid himself and not much of a cook, but he did what he
could to make sure his little sister had a meal. Unfortunately, what little
money his parents had was usually squandered on alcohol, leaving very little
for food. He’d taken to stealing sometimes—food items mostly—so he and
his sister would have something to eat. One day he got caught stealing
produce from the market down the street from their apartment. Instead of
calling the cops, the store manager made him work off what he’d stolen by
sweeping and cleaning the market after school. It was the first act of decency
he’d ever experienced and probably was the first time he felt useful. After a
time, the manager started giving him food and vegetables to take home. The
store manager claimed the items were stale and ready to be thrown out, but
Clayton suspected he knew Clay’s family had no food and, thankfully, took
the items home. The store manager had been kind to him and Clayton
remembered watching him interact with his own family in the store. Their
influence made him realize all families were not like his and that there was a
better life outside of the way his family lived.
The sound of the glass doors sliding open interrupted his thoughts, and
Clay looked up as Mrs. Simpson stepped out onto the back patio. When she
walked over to him and asked if he’d like to stay the night in the spare
bedroom, Clayton respectfully declined the invitation. Although he didn’t
relish going home to his empty apartment—where reminders of Craig would
be everywhere—he figured he’d probably already overstayed his welcome.
He rose from the redwood bench, preparing to leave. “No, thank you. I
should go.”
“Clayton, I hate to think of you facing that apartment alone.”
45
He wondered again how she could worry about him, or anything else for
that matter, at a time like this. “It’s okay,” he said in a reassuring tone. “I’ll
have to face it sometime. Oh, I almost forgot, I’ve been given time off work
until after the funeral. So, anything you need, just let me know.” Unsure if
he was overstepping his bounds again, he plundered ahead. “I mean, I can
box up his things for you. Or, if you wanted to do it, I could help out or
disappear if you need to be alone. Just say the word.”
She smiled in response and thought about pressing the issue of his staying
the night. She was certain he was unaware of how drained he looked and she
started to say just that when he spoke, cutting her off.
“Don’t worry about me, really. You should go back inside, your family
needs you and you look real tired.” He started walking away, in his colorful
shorts and sandals. Reaching the gate that led to the front of the house, he
opened it and walked along the path. He had almost made it around the side
of the house when she called his name. Clayton turned around to face her
again.
Wanting to express her gratitude for all he’d done for her today, Vi
struggled with the right words. He’d gone out of his way the entire day;
going to the airport, coming over to tell her the sad news and practically
lending a strong shoulder for her to lean on all day. Finally, she gave up
trying to find the right words and told him what was in her heart. “Clayton,
thank you for everything today, I don’t know how I would have gotten
through today without you.”
He nodded slightly, a brief, warm smile curving his lips before he turned to
leave again.
“Clayton, wait.”
When she called his name again, Clayton turned around once more. He
watched her quickly dash back into the house, only to return in a few seconds
holding a small dish covered in foil.
“I know you haven’t eaten all day. Warm this up and eat something
tonight, okay?”
Thanking her, he took the foil covered plate from her outstretched hands,
said good night and left.
His apartment complex, like half a dozen others in the neighborhood, was
fairly new. Initially, he had planned to live alone and lived in this apartment
by himself for five years. Further renovations to the complex, driven by
expensive homes coming up in the area, forced his landlord to increase his
already exorbitant rent. When that happened he decided to start looking for
a roommate. The first thing he did was put a flyer on the bulletin board at
46
work. There were several officers Clayton knew he could never share
quarters with, but Craig appeared to be different. He was the only candidate
who didn’t bat an eye when Clay told him about his one rule regarding
cleanliness. In fact, for some reason Clayton didn’t examine too closely,
Craig had been the
only
candidate. Later on, after the two men agreed to be
roommates, Craig sheepishly admitted that he had taken down Clay’s flyer,
fearing someone might get to the apartment before he could. He remembered
sizing Craig up and laying out some ground rules from the get go.
“My parents were alcoholic pigs. I lived that way for so long, I refuse to
ever live that way again. I’m not a fanatic, but I like to keep the place neat
and clean. If you can handle that, then we can get along,” he’d told Craig.
Craig looked him square in the eye and responded, “When my father died,
my mom had to go out and work. She would make us do chores, and if they
weren’t done right, we’d do them all over again until she was satisfied. I
cook, clean, do laundry and windows and I don’t have a problem with being
clean and keeping it that way.”
The two men had summed up each other carefully. Apparently satisfied
after this brief assessment, they shook hands and moved Craig’s stuff in the
very next day.
When he opened the door, everything looked normal. Craig’s running
shoes sat next to the door and his coat still hung in the hall closet. Clayton
walked through the living room and past the kitchen, stopping at Craig’s
open bedroom door. Lingering there, the full force of his partner’s death
suddenly hit him. Craig’s holster lay on top of the dresser and laundry lay on
his bed. The way he left things, it looked like he might walk through the
door at any minute. Moving further into the darkened bedroom, Clayton sat
down on Craig’s bed and gave into the tears burning the back of his eyes.
47
SEVEN
When Clarence answered the phone the next morning, he knew Vi was
very angry by the tone of her voice.
“Cynthia’s really done it this time,” she told Clarence in greeting.
Inquiring with a kindhearted sarcasm, Clarence asked, “What has your
lovely sister done this time?”
“Clarence, she’s gone too far this time. Too far.”
While Vi quickly explained to him what the funeral director told her this
morning, she could hardly contain her annoyance. “Can you believe her
nerve?” Not waiting for Clarence to reply, what Cynthia had done this
morning tumbled at break-neck speed from Vi’s lips. “Clarence, I have
never been so mad in my life. When the funeral director told me Cynthia
had already been there and made all the arrangements, I could hardly believe
it. She knew I had plans to go over there this morning to make those
arrangements.”
“Now Vi, don’t go getting yourself all upset.” The fact Cynthia had done
something like this did not surprise Clarence in the least. However, trying to
put what happened in perspective. “We all know how Cynthia meddles in
everything,” he added.
“But, she….”
“Shhhh,” the calm in Clarence’s voice helped soothe Vi’s already frazzled
nerves. “Don’t waste anymore time on it. What you and I have to do is go
down there right now and undo what she did, and then we can fix everything
to the way you want.”
Vi took a cleansing breath and fought to control her temper. Clarence had
unknowingly volunteered for what she planned to ask him when she woke up
this morning. “Oh Clarence, I had hoped you would come with me this
morning. Thank you.”
He stopped any further discussion and told her solemnly, “Sweet girl, you
have touched an old man’s heart. In fact, I was just on my way over there to
catch you before you left, hoping to tag along.”
At the mortuary, Clarence’s help turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
There were many things they needed to decide on, and discussing her ideas
with Clarence made quick work of it. There was the choice of casket, what