He takes a seat to the left of his father, who is saying something that Cullen cannot hear. He tries intently to read his father’s lips but can’t seem to pick up on what he is saying. Bored with this, he reaches across the table to take the lid off a huge silver platter. Just as he does so, a hand slaps his away. It is Shirley Dumas, who smiles at him and shakes her head as if to say, It’s not time yet, young man. He smiles, picking up his glass to take a sip of whatever has been poured into it. He tastes nothing, though, and puts it back down. He looks across the table and beside him and down at the opposite end. Everyone is smiling. Talking. Laughing. He feels hands placed on his shoulders and turns to find Gabriel, standing there with a guitar strapped around his neck and arm. Gabriel smiles down at Cullen and walks over to their mom’s end of the table. He pulls out the empty chair to her left and stands up on it, beginning to tune his guitar. Cullen looks around; everyone has stopped talking. Their smiles remain.
His brother begins to strum the guitar with what looks like skill but sounds to Cullen like nothing but silence. He wonders when his brother got back and when he learned to play guitar. He sits back in his seat, though, and watches intently as everyone begins to move slowly to whatever song Gabriel is playing. He looks up to see Gabriel’s lips moving. He is singing now. His eyes are closed. He is really killing this silent song, Cullen thinks. He watches the guests watching his brother, Mena resting her head on Lucas’s shoulder, Oslo holding a cigarette lighter in the air, his mom wiping happy tears from her eyes. And then he sees something out of the corner of his own eye. It is red, black, and white, and it is fast. He looks up at Gabriel, still strumming, still singing, and he sees resting on his shoulder a two-foot-tall Lazarus woodpecker. He looks around to find that no one seems to be concerned with it. He looks directly at John Barling and tries to call out to him, but no words leave his lips. John Barling sits in silence, a big dumb smile on his bristly face, with Shirley Dumas swaying beside him. The doorbell rings. Cullen jumps up, runs through the kitchen, and sees Vilonia Kline standing behind the screen door. He motions her in. She shoots him a smile. She walks in front of him and takes a seat, waving to everyone at the table but then looking up to admire Gabriel’s performance.
Cullen stands in the back corner of the room. He examines the faces of his friends, his family, of people he barely knows and people he can’t stand the sight of. He leans his back against the wall. He still hears nothing. He tries to scream “HELLO!” but nothing comes out once again. His father looks back at him and motions for him to sit down. He does. He watches his brother with everyone else. He wishes he could hear the song. He wishes he could hear his brother’s voice one more time. He looks at the bird. It looks back at him and flaps its wings one dramatic time. Its beady eyes are fixed on his. It opens its mouth, perhaps making a sound, but maybe not. Cullen can’t tell. He cringes at the closeness of the bird’s large bill to his brother’s neck, wishing it would fly away. It doesn’t. It stays there and begins moving its head up and down as if dancing in its own way to the silent song. Cullen looks across the table at Neil and then over at Russell, whose jaw is beginning to droop strangely. He motions to Russell, pointing to his own jaw, but Russell waves his motion away and points up to Gabriel. He looks over at Oslo and sees the same thing happening to his jaw. His eyes also begin to droop. His face becomes completely contorted. He looks back at Russell; his eyes are doing this as well. Cullen stands up, backs away from the table, and realizes that everyone around him is beginning to look very strange. His back bumps into the wall, and he lowers himself to the floor. The people in front of him become zombies, moving slowly, standing up, all leaning to one side or the other, eyes hung low, mouths open, and swinging dead-like. They all stand in place, still focused on Gabriel, who remains normal, still strumming, still singing. He looks down at Cullen. And though his lips are still moving, he appears to be frightened. Cullen looks to Lucas Cader but finds a zombie in his place. He stands up and reaches for his brother. Gabriel does not move. Cullen shakes his little brother’s shoulder, and the guitar falls to one side. The bird flies off across the room and lands on Oslo’s head. Gabriel looks at him blankly, his face still human, his eyes still frightened, and he mouths Cullen’s name before crashing headfirst onto the table. Cullen backs away again, tries to make his way to the door, but runs into something. He turns around and sees his house full of these same unhuman beings. They all walk toward him, their arms outstretched, their heads bobbing, their feet dragging. He climbs up on the table and tries to lift Gabriel’s head. He suddenly finds nothing in his hands but empty clothes. He begins to scream and nothing comes out. He does it again. Still nothing. He closes his eyes. He clenches his fists. He opens his mouth as wide as it will go and lets out the loudest sound he’s ever made. He opens his eyes to find himself sitting on the table in an empty room. He counts the chairs; there are four on each side. He hops down, shakes his head, and straightens his hair with one hand. He walks into the kitchen and sits down beside his brother at the breakfast table. His brother looks over at him and says, in a whisper, “This is how it ends.”
Book Title #86: Zombie Dinner Party.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
You Couldn’t Find a Nicer Guy If You Tried
It was hard for Alma to surrender to the fact that returning to Lily was probably in her best interest. She was no longer in college, having dropped out during her third semester because of morning sickness, two Ds, and one F. Lily, she thought, would be simpler than Savannah. More familiar. More supportive. And most important, Lily would have less Cabot Searcy. Since she’d left him, Cabot had continued harassing her, calling late at night, showing up with flowers or candy or big stuffed bears, sending messages to her through friends and acquaintances. His efforts had proven unsuccessful, and this became quite evident when he was served divorce papers by a short, stocky man named something like Carl or Joe.
Beverly paid for Alma’s flight home. She hugged her tightly. She cried. She whispered into her only granddaughter’s ear, “You are so loved.” Alma boarded the second flight of her life and within two hours she was back in Arkansas, standing near baggage claim and waiting to see her mother appear on the escalator. When she did, everything was good and nobody was sad. The crowd moved around them, people running into one another, mothers trying to keep up with their children, husbands telling their wives to hurry up, luggage wheels rolling and squeaking, an electronic voice announcing a delayed flight.
Cabot Searcy had talked to his wife only once since she’d moved back to Arkansas, and just long enough for her to beg him once again to sign the papers so she could get on with her life. In response to his endless questions as to why she’d left him, Alma hung up the phone. This was the same day that Cabot Searcy fell asleep and saw what he called a heavenly vision. He stood alone in a treeless field, nothing but stumps and dead limbs scattered around him. From above his head a beam of slightly green light set his body aglow. He heard a voice and saw himself look up into the sky. When he woke up, he repeated what little he could remember, a verse from Hebrews about Enoch: “Taken up so he should not see death; and he was not found.”
“What’s it matter if they find that bird or not?” Alma Ember asked her mother some weeks later.
“Well, sweetie, something like this could cause a lot of business and such to come to town. Lily could use all the people it can get, ya know?” her mother replied.
“Guess so.” Alma shrugged.
“Plus, isn’t it excitin’ to think that something can just come back like that?”
“So it’s just been hiding here for all these years?” Alma asked.
“Yeah,” her mom said back.
“Seems like it didn’t wanna be found,” Alma said, filing her fingernails.
That night in bed, Alma Ember thought about how similar she and the Lazarus woodpecker were. They both left. They both came back. They both wanted to be as invisible as possible. She imagined herself sitting by the river and watching hun
dreds of birds fly all around and above her. She laughed at the thought of being there, seeing that amazing thing that was giving everyone in town so much hope. She decided then that if ever she were to catch a glimpse of the bird, she would tell no one. She would simply smile, nod her head, and continue on with whatever she was doing, knowing that she had saved the bird in some small way.
It was by chance that Alma ran into an old friend from church at the grocery store one day. He asked her how she was, told her she looked great, and with all the confidence in the world asked her if the rumors were true about her getting married. She hid nothing, laughing through the entire conversation, and said little about Cabot save for mentioning that he had gone “a little bit crazy.” This encounter was the first time since she’d moved back that Alma felt unjudged. The first time she’d been able to talk about it without feeling stupid. And all of this with some high schooler she hadn’t seen since she graduated. Yes, Lucas Cader had made her day. And though their conversation had ended minutes before, Lucas approached her once more in the parking lot and asked her a surprising question.
“You know Cullen Witter, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, what’s he up to?”
“Well, here’s the thing. Cullen’s a great guy, my best friend in the whole world. Couldn’t find a nicer guy if you tried. So I was thinking, since you’re suddenly back in town and all, you might want to come out with us tonight.”
“With you and Cullen?” Alma asked, confusion on her face.
“No, no. Me, Cullen, and Mena.”
“Mena Prescott?” she asked.
“Yeah. We’ve been dating for a while.”
“Oh. That’s good, Lucas. She’s so pretty,” she said.
“So it’s a date, then? Tonight?” Lucas asked.
“Umm, are you sure?” Alma asked.
“It’s just a movie with some friends. You know this town is boring you to death already,” Lucas joked.
“You’re right. I’m in.”
“Pick you up about six fifty, the show starts at seven fifteen,” Lucas said, walking away in reverse.
“I’ll be ready.”
“See ya.”
“Bye, Lucas, thanks.”
Cabot Searcy had never been to Arkansas before the day he landed at the Little Rock airport. He had also never rented a car before stepping into the dark green Ford Taurus and taking the entrance ramp onto the interstate. Terrible at directions, Cabot was relieved that he had only to travel this one road in order to eventually stumble on Lily, Arkansas, where he hoped to find and patch things up with his runaway wife. He listened to the radio loudly as he passed exit after exit, casually noting the number on each glowing sign as he sang along and snapped his fingers wildly. This time he would sit her down, hold her hand, and cry if he had to. He would apologize for his behavior. Promise a new start. Ensure her a perfect life.
After getting off the interstate, he drove some ten or fifteen miles before coming upon a wooden sign illuminated only by a single spotlight secured to the ground below it. The sign read in big, bold red letters: WELCOME TO LILY! and underneath it had been added, in slightly smaller letters of black and green, HOME OF THE LAZARUS WOODPECKER!
“I’ll be damned,” Cabot said to himself, turning the radio off.
He had told Alma the night before on the phone that he would sign the papers and mail them to her attorney in Savannah. He had lied, of course, and had instead gone straight to his uncle to beg for enough cash to buy a plane ticket. After passing through the dismal, dimly lit town, Cabot pulled up to a small motel with several of its sign’s neon letters burnt out. He had just enough for one night, and turning the key to room 16, he glanced over to his right to see, leaning against the side of the building, a large, new sign reading, in unlit neon letters, THE LAZARUS MOTEL.
Waking up with his Bible beside him, Cabot stuck a finger into his left eye to adjust his contact, stood up, and then knelt down on the floor, placing his elbows onto the bed. He silently asked God to provide him with the answers he so desperately searched for. Why wouldn’t Alma come back to him? What was the point of his finding Benton Sage’s journal? Why had he ended up in Lily, Arkansas? He coughed. He said amen. He walked into the bathroom and took a shower.
It was around noon when Cabot found Alma’s house, and only knew it to be so from her maiden name stuck to the mailbox in tiny black and gold letters. For curiosity’s sake, he opened up the mailbox, rifled through the envelopes, and threw them back in. There were no cars home. He walked into the carport and tried his best to peer through the high window of the side door. He saw nothing but a darkened kitchen. As he turned to walk away and back to his car, he heard the door behind him open. He turned around to see Alma’s mother standing there with the screen door still shut in front of her.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Ma’am, I’m Cabot. I’m Alma’s husband,” he said, walking closer.
“I know who you are. Why’d you come here?”
“I wanna see Alma. Is she here?” he asked, still walking forward.
“Stay where you are, okay? She’s not home.”
“Can I wait for her then?” he asked.
“No. That’s not a good idea. Do you have the papers?” she asked him, opening the screen door up just enough to let her hand through, her palm facing upward.
“I mailed them yesterday. To the lawyer,” he said.
“Good. Then why don’t you go on back home now? She’ll be gone for a while. She told me y’all were through. Now, I’m sorry. But that’s that.”
“Ma’am, let me in. Please.”
“Cabot Searcy, you turn around and get back in your car and get outta here,” she said, closing the screen door back.
“I have to see her,” he said. “I need to. Just to say good-bye.”
“You’ll wait in the car then, across the street. And don’t you walk back over here unless I say so. You got it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks,” he said, walking toward the car, where he would wait for thirty-seven minutes, each one counted intently by Alma’s mother.
Alma Ember rounded the corner in her mother’s maroon Honda and pulled into the driveway. She got out, looked across the street, and saw her husband staring at her from a green car. She stood there, waiting for him to walk over, but he did not move. Her mother opened the door and shouted, “Alma, I told him to stay over there until it was okay!” Alma looked back at her mother, held a finger up as if to say Give me one minute, and began to walk across the street. Cabot had already rolled the passenger window down when she approached the car and rested one hand against the door. She leaned down and looked in at him. He had been crying.
“Cabot, what the hell?”
“Alma, I know we can fix this. I know it,” he said, reaching for the door handle.
“Stay in the car, Cabot,” she said.
“I just … I’m so glad to see you. You look so good and I just—”
“You need to go home now. You need to go home and mail those papers and you need to stop all this.”
“Alma, I love you,” he said, leaning over to get closer.
“Cabot, it’s done. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got to get ready to go somewhere. I have a life here. I think you should go back to yours in Georgia.”
As she walked away, Alma began to think of all the things she hadn’t said to him that she should have. She should have told him to see a therapist. She should have told him that he was a kind, good guy who just couldn’t seem to hold himself together right. She should have told him that she had moved on, had been dating someone, had gotten over him completely. She should have lied through her teeth to ensure that he would get the point. And so, she turned back around to see Cabot still sitting there, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his head leaned down. She walked back up to the window, stuck her head inside, and said this:
“Cabot, you weren’t the worst husband in the world. It was good. A lot of it was good. But I knew i
t was over and so I just had to go. I’m sorry. That’s the way it happened and there’s no way to fix it. So I’m gonna go in and get ready for my date and you’re gonna drive back to Little Rock, get on a plane, and go home. Okay?”
“You have a date?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“With who?” he asked.
“Cabot, you don’t know anybody here. What’s it matter?”
“At least tell me his name and I’ll go. I promise. I’ll go.”
“His name’s Cullen. He’s nice. You’d like him. Please leave.”
With that, Cabot Searcy started up his rented car and soon disappeared from Alma’s view. That would be the last time Alma Ember ever saw her husband. Rounding a curve, Cabot Searcy began to think about his life up to that point. He thought about the many girlfriends he’d had in high school. The one-nighters he’d bragged about to his friends. The casual encounters. He thought about college. Those first few months where he felt like he ruled the world. He thought about Benton Sage and his honest words. His suggestion that Cabot change his ways before he screwed everything up. He remembered packing up Benton’s things. Reading Benton’s journal. Finding the notes in the margins at the school library. He pulled into a grocery store parking lot and killed the engine. He walked inside. He scanned the large room for anyone who looked useful to him. Walking around the checkout lanes, Cabot grabbed a pack of gum, tossed it down onto the nearest cashier’s conveyer belt, and tapped his fingers on the counter. On his way out, he stopped and turned to a tall bag boy with closely cut hair and asked him his name.
“Neil,” he said.
“Okay, Neil. Here’s the thing. You know a guy named Cullen?” Cabot asked.
“Yeah. Cullen Witter.”
“Yeah? Friend of yours?”
“Went to school with me. He’s a year younger, though,” Neil said.
B003UYURTC EBOK Page 15