Family Thang (39 page)

A monk, he promised. If Jesus got him out of this, he would become a monk.
Promise! On my dead
momma’s grave!
The man rubbed his nose and dug his feet deeper into Eric’s crotch, pressing his genitals in a most painful manner.

Certain he would lose his most vital organ, Eric grabbed a throw pillow, lifted the man legs, extricated himself gently but quickly and lowered the man’s feet onto the pillow. He tiptoed to the door, eased the chain free and quietly unlocked the deadbolt.

Free at last, thank God almighty, free at last!

He opened the door. If the man awoke now, no chance could he catch him. Not in a million years.

Eric stuck out his tongue at him and whispered, “You better lay off the steroids, mercury mouth. They’ll give you titties, shrink your stones.” When he turned to leave, a woman appeared in the doorway.

“Who the hell are you?” she said. Eric tried to push past her, but couldn’t get around her wide body. “Who the hell are you?”

Eric tried again to push past her, and she knocked him back with her substantial stomach.

“Walter!” the woman screamed. “Walter!”

Eric saw the man getting up from the couch. No time for bullshit now! He faked toward the woman’s right, then broke through on her left. On the porch, gearing up for top speed, he felt hands grab his wrist, pulling him.

“Walter! Walter! Walter!” She held on tight. Eric jerked hard; the woman’s grip loosened. He jerked again, pulling free momentarily…The woman caught hold of the sleeve to his favorite shirt, a gold silk Sean Jean that Shirley had bought him for Father’s Day. The shirt slid down his shoulder…She was pulling it right off his back.

“Walter!”

Eric pulled the woman into the front yard. “Lemme go, lady! Lemme go!” He grabbed her wrist to prevent her pulling his shirt off. “Let…me…go!”

The woman fell on her butt, using her weight for leverage, almost pulling him down with her. “Walter! Walter! Walter!”

Where the hell Walter?

Eric dragged the woman halfway across the yard, almost to the sidewalk. He heard a ripping sound and saw his shirt tearing at the shoulder seam. He made a fist with his free hand and waved it in her face.

“Let go! Or I’ll knock the shit out of you!” She didn’t. He reared back…and saw Walter running out of the house, looking distressed, a shotgun in his hands. He stopped a few feet short and aimed the shotgun at Eric’s head.

“Stand clear, Colleen!” Walter yelled. “I got him!”

Immediately the woman let go and rolled away. Eric stood there, paralytic, apoplectic, his only thought on two black holes. When something came out of those holes, his life would be officially over.

Kabooom! The noise was deafening.

“Run!” a voice yelled. “Run!”
Am I in heaven?
“Run!” He opened his eyes…Linda was on the man’s back, covering his eyes with her hands. “Run, Forest, run!”

Who the fuck is Forest?

“Run, fool!”

So he did, faster than he’d ever run in his life. He continued running, through the neighborhood, into the woods, along the highway, through more woods, down a dirt road, and finally up four steps and into a mobile home.

Inside he fell to his knees, huffing and puffing, vaguely aware Darlene, sitting on the couch, and Paul and one of his friends, lying on the floor in front of the television, were staring at him.

“Who’s he?” Paul’s friend asked.

“My daddy.”

Eric fell face first to the floor.

“Is he al’ight?”

“Daddy, you al’ight?”

Eric raised his head from the floor and sputtered, “Where’s…your…momma?” Then he vomited and dropped his head into the mess.

“He’s al’ight,” Paul said. “He’s al’ight.”

Chapter 35

Leonard watched people get on the Greyhound bus. All he had to do was get out of the car and get on that bus. To hell where it was going, just get on it and go, leave all his headaches and worries behind in this chickenshit town.

Dawson, Arkansas, wasn’t big enough for Greyhound to station a hub; only a small sign of a greyhound hanging on a stanchion outside of Quik-Print.

The car, Leonard thought
. I can’t leave it here and get on the bus. I’ll have to return it to the rental
company in El Dorado
. The bus departed. He sat in the car for a few more minutes before driving away.

Ida’s car was gone when he arrived at the house. He assumed she’d gone to the store. He called Robert Earl’s number. No one answered. Then he called Shirley’s friend’s number and no one answered there. The house was dead silent and there was a smell he couldn’t quite place.

During the drive back, he decided the best thing to do was call a family meeting. Bring everyone together and have them lay their grievances on the table. He would set the tone by apologizing to Ruth Ann and Robert Earl, and, he hoped, Shirley and Ruth Ann would do likewise.

No blood spilled, no bones broken, no fratricide; and then everything would return to normal: dismal and depressing, though normal.

Sooner than the dust settled, he would get the hell out of Bucktussle and return to Chicago. Once there he would seek Vi
ctor and tell him he still love
him, tell him the lure of money had gone to hi
s head, made him talk foolish.

Leonard got up and headed toward the kitchen. He stopped, one foot on the diamond-white linoleum in the kitchen, the other on the red tile in the living room.

A scream rose to his throat…The kitchen was devastated, as if a typhoon had hit it. The refrigerator door was wide open, all its contents--eggs, milk, butter, Arm and Hammer baking soda, soda pops, ice cubes, orange juice, water jugs, pork chops, lettuce, chicken, and half a watermelon--scattered in a heap in front of it.

His mother’s microwave hung by the cord in front of a cabinet. The dinette table was flipped on its side and two of the four matching chairs were missing. His mother’s china set in a million pieces near the back door.

All the cabinet doors were open, the shelves bare. Broken bottles, dented canned goods and crushed boxes littered the floor.

Leonard saw a busted Heinz vinegar bottle
and realized it was what he
smelled in the living room. On the stove was a burnt piece of paper. Leonard, thinking the worst--
an aborted suicide note
--stepped closer, noodles crunching under his shoes. Though the paper was burned to ash, he could still make out the heading.

Again he almost screamed.

He ran from room to room calling his mother. “Mother!…Mother!…Mother!” Running to the bathroom he remembered his mother’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

Mother had seen the will he’d absentmindedly left on the kitchen table and she’d gone berserk. Feeling faint, Leonard sat on the floor inside the bathroom.
Mother poisoned Daddy!

The realization made his head hurt. “No!” he shouted. “Lord, no!”
Yes, she did. You know she did
.

The gopher poison in the closet, her repeated confessions, the wrecked kitchen, all pointed to one person.

Mother!

“Ruth Ann!” and jumped to his feet. He would have to warn her.

He sped down the highway, dangerously passing other vehicles, so focused on preventing another family tragedy he didn’t realize the Lumina clocked eighty-miles-per-hour. His mind raced faster than that.

Ruth Ann could be a bitch at times, a greedy, selfish bitch. Still she didn’t deserve to die. His mother--
God, she’s an old woman!
Her husband just died.
She killed him!
Could you really blame her? Daddy wasn’t exactly a loving husband. His shit-talking, someone was bound to knock him off sooner or later. Mother, she just hurried things along. A mercy killing, all it was.
A mercy killing
. Any judge with common sense would understand that.

She’ll proba
bly have to do some jail time.

He envisioned his mother in a cell, hunkered on the floor under a bunk, while a hirsute dyke shouted salacious obscenities at her. He stomped the accelerator to the floor; the speedometer maxed out at a hundred and twenty.

Find Ruth Ann, take her to a motel out of town, and then find his mother, bring her home and put her to bed.
Then what?
Figure it out when you get there, he thought as he slowed down on the curved road leading into the park.

Seconds later he slammed on the brakes, almost slid into a tree, jumped out and ran up the trail, not noticing Robert Earl’s rusty Datsun parked nearby.

Nearing the cabin, he shouted, “Ruth Ann?” No answer. He started yelling for Shane when Ruth Ann appeared in the doorway. “Ruth Ann, thank God I found you!” She said nothing, only stared at him, looking frightened. “What’s the matter? Have you seen Mother?”

“No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Good. Get your shoes, I’m taking you away from here. Go on, get your shoes. You’re coming with me. I’m taking you someplace no one will find you. Hurry up!”

“You need to do something, Shirley!” said someone inside the cabin. The voice sounded like an adult trying to imitate a child.

Shirley appeared in the doorway, pointed a gun at him and shouted, “Freeze, sugar britches!” 

“What are you doing?” Leonard said.

“Get those hands up where I can see them!”

“Shirley, what--” She cocked the trigger. His hands shot up. “Why are you pointing a gun at me?”

Shirley stepped out onto the porch. “Hey, you behind the door, get out here and tie this young man up.”

“I don’t think so!”

“Who is that?” Leonard asked. “Robert Earl?”

“No, it
isn’t
!”

Ruth Ann stepped out and stared at him over Shirley’s shoulder. “Why, Leonard? Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what? Ruth Ann, what the hell is going on?”

Ruth Ann gave him a nasty look. “You killed Daddy.”

“What! Shirley, talk to me, please! What the hell is going on here?”

“Where were you planning to take Ruth Ann?” Shirley asked.

“To a psychiatrist. Next to a mall where she can get out of that dirty T-shirt. I’m here to save her life. For my troubles I’m rewarded with you sticking a gun in my face.”

“What did you mean telling Ruth Ann someplace no one will find you?”