Fortunes of the Dead

by Lynn Hightower

  George was up on his feet, making a beeline for the French doors, whining and looking at Kate. He grumbled low in his throat, and lowered his head. A ridge of fur rose like a stripe down his back and the slam of a car door sent him into a frenzy, his bark hoarse and fierce.

  Kate was on her way to get the .38 she kept in the utility room off the kitchen. The gun was hidden behind the horse meds. The front door opened before she was halfway to the kitchen. George threw himself into the doors between the great room and the foyer, and they bulged outward with the force of his weight. Any second and he’d be going through the glass.

  Cory Edgers paused in the doorway, keeping an eye on the dog. My husband is home, Kate thought. The black cloud for every silver lining. Kate noted how pale Cory was, as if he’d been ill. She put a hand on George’s collar and pulled him back, but it was not until Leo woke up and shrieked “Daddy!” that George stopped barking and retreated.

  Kate stood beside the couch, feeling so detached she might as well have been catching a glimpse of strangers through a window. There was the father lifting the little boy to his shoulders, a father who never talked to the little boy, or played with him, or picked him up for a hug unless there was someone to watch and notice. The little boy was smiling—a scene right out of Family 101. The weight was back on her chest, and she felt the spark of hope fading, felt herself retreating behind the façade of happy mommy, happy wife.

  She had allowed herself to picture it, a life without Cory. Watch Kate leave the mountain. See her settle in that empty cottage on the family farm … there is Leo, and George and Sophie. Watch Kate raise her son in Kentucky. See the new baby in the crib. See how happy Kate is to be home, where she goes to her favorite grocery store and she knows where everything is on every aisle, where she goes to the movies at her favorite theater, where she runs into people she knows at Fayette Mall. See Kate sit in her mother’s kitchen, anytime she wants. See it all slip away.

  Kate sat on the couch, arms wrapped around her chest, grateful for the soft weight of George’s muzzle, as he rested his head on her feet. It only took a look at her son’s face, his glow in his father’s presence, to make Kate realize how selfish it would be to break this family up if Cory was willing to make the marriage legal and give their life together another chance.

  “So when did we get a pet?” Cory smiled, showing his teeth. He had always opposed getting a dog, mainly, Kate thought, because she wanted one. Kate braced her feet against the floor.

  Leo scrambled away from his father, who only just managed to catch him before he fell and lower him gently to the floor.

  Leo grabbed George around the neck, and kissed him on the head.

  “Who is this critter, Leo? It’s too ugly to be a dog. Has your mama gotten us some kind of a razorback pig?”

  Cory leaned down to pet George, who growled deep in his throat. His smile took effort. “I guess he’ll have to get to know me.”

  “Looks to me like he already does,” Kate said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just joking.” Kate realized that in less than a minute she had gone from contented comfort to beaten-down fatigue. How long had it been since she loved this man? Because going through the motions of loving him dominated her life, and she realized that she no longer even liked him. She had read the books and magazine articles; could this marriage be saved, how to keep the romance in your relationship, ways to please him in bed, increase your intimacy, the ten things men love to hear. All marriages had ups and downs, and seasons of desire and affection; but Cory, Kate decided, was not so much a soul mate as a seriously bad habit.

  The habit opened his arms and grinned. “Hey, honey child, how’s my girl?” Cory moved in on Kate with a smile that was not a smile, a look he reserved especially for her.

  He hates me, Kate thought, really hates me. How could she not know this until now?

  He was uncomfortably close, and his hand closed around her wrist. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m home early.”

  Kate used to wonder why Cory always kept a hand on her, just on the verge of uncomfortably tight. It made sense, now that she knew how he felt. Once the context changed, a lot of things made sense.

  Cory opened his arms to give Kate one of the hugs that hurt, and her ribs ached before he even touched her, memories of all his past affections. His face was too close to hers. She could see that he had not been sleeping. The tiny lines around his eyes and nose were deeply creased and he looked as worn as she felt.

  He crushed her close, pulling her up off her feet, holding her arms down and pressing close with his hips. Kate felt his erection through the thin sleeping shirt she wore. “You smell good,” he murmured into her shoulder. “Katie, my Katie, have you missed me? Let’s put Leo to bed and go upstairs.”

  Somehow George had worked his way between the two of them, and Kate took advantage and pushed away. She did not want to go upstairs, but she knew she would give in, she would fall down into that dark abyss of habit and expectation. She stretched her hand out just far enough to feel the fur on the top of the dog’s head.

  “Leo and I are sleeping downstairs tonight.”

  Cory was already on his way up. He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. “What?”

  “We were cold. We built a fire, and decided to sleep downstairs.”

  “That’s not practical, Kate. I want everybody upstairs in their room.”

  Kate smiled, like she was making a joke. She found that you could say terrible things if you smiled when you said them. “You go sleep in the bedroom. Me and Leo and George will sleep down here.”

  “Who the hell is George?”

  “This is George. Leo’s new dog.”

  “Dog doesn’t look new to me.”

  Kate took a quick look at her son. Leo seemed oblivious to the conversation. He shook George’s paw, tuning his parents out, sliding back into the niche of his private and solitary world.

  “Kate, I am exhausted. It’s been one hell of a week, and I’ve driven home all night just to see you.” He beckoned her with his fingers. “Put the dog on the porch, or in the basement, and come on up to bed.”

  “You go to bed, then, Cory, nobody’s stopping you. We’re settled in down here and we’re staying. You coming home when you find a convenient moment doesn’t change my plans.”

  “Oh, hell, Kate. You’re going to do that to me tonight? The overtime again?”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Don’t punish me because I’m ambitious and I work hard. That’s how I show my love to this family.”

  “Do you also show your love by taking me off the auto policy? And taking a life insurance policy on me that you don’t even tell me about?”

  “What the hell are you going on about? I did not take you off the auto policy, and we talked about the life insurance.”

  “No we didn’t.”

  “Yes we did, Kate, twice. But, hey, I’ll cancel the policy tomorrow if that’s what you want.” Cory opened the door to the woodstove. “Your fire’s out. There’s no point to this, Kate. Come to bed.”

  “We’ve got a good bed of coals, we’ll be fine here.”

  Cory stared at the floor with his sad look, but Kate had seen it before.

  “Okay, if that’s the way it is, how about I get that fire started back up for you?”

  “I can do it.” How polite I sound, Kate thought.

  “Are you just going to stay mad at me, Kate? Because of the working hours? I just walked in the door thirty seconds ago, and it doesn’t seem like I’ve been here long enough to piss even you off. And if you want me to come home, you ought to make me welcome when I get here.”

  There was a time when that threat would have caught her. The easiest thing, the course of action that would keep the peace and restore the façade, would be for Kate to give in and go upstairs with him.

  “Leo and I are having a campout by the fireplace. It’s kind of a special thing. I promised.”


  Kate saw it in the set of Cory’s shoulders, the tightening of his jaw, the argument that would come like wave after endless wave.

  “Leo needs to learn to sleep in his bed. Look, Kate, if you’re mad you’re mad, I take your point. But grow up a little, okay? Don’t act like a spoiled brat and sit down here and pout.”

  There were many things Kate could say, but she decided to say nothing. It was an intriguing idea, not trying to bring Cory to her point of view, not trying to compromise, or seek his approval. Why had this never crossed her mind before?

  Cory looked at his son. “Leo, go on. Run on up and get in bed.”

  Leo curled up on the couch next to Kate and pulled the blanket over his head.

  “It’s three against one.” Kate spoke softly and smiled, like it was all a pleasant joke.

  And she wondered, really wondered, what it was that had been holding her. Was she that afraid of change? Was it something so superficial as refusing to give up the fairy tale that promises the prince and the princess live happily ever after? Was it just a sort of laziness or lack of energy that made her stay with what is at least familiar, or, even worse, was it that she chose this man, and would not admit she was wrong?

  But no, it was none of those things. It was something very simple. Before tonight she felt that staying with Cory was the best thing for Leo. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Cory looked down at the dog, who stared steadily back. Kate thought that George was like no other dog she had seen before.

  Cory pointed a finger at George. “You better learn to like me, if you want to stay.”

  And it was over. Cory headed upstairs and Kate was All-Powerful, Goddess of the Night. Kate ran a hand over George’s head. “You don’t have to like him if you don’t want to. And you don’t look like a pig. You’re very handsome.”

  Kate was up early the next morning. She had done farm chores too many years to enjoy sleeping in on the weekends. She kept to the downstairs part of the house, and Cory stayed upstairs. She wondered that he did not come down to get something to eat, but was relieved when he didn’t. She had leftover stew for lunch, and a piece of potato bread with real butter. She was starving today, and after she got Leo down for his nap, she headed downstairs to finish up the last of the stew.

  She was halfway down the steps when she heard Cory calling from the bedroom.

  “Kate, hurry. Come quick. I need you.”

  Kate stopped midstride and sighed, and ran back up the stairs. The blinds on the second floor were tightly shut, leaving the hallway in shadow. The bedroom door was open, and Kate ran through, only to be felled by the dressing table bench that was inexplicably right in the doorway. She fell headfirst, hitting her chin on the floor.

  “Now you see what it’s like.”

  Kate had bitten her tongue, and she swallowed a tinge of blood. Her chin was throbbing and tingly and it was going to be sore as hell. She got up on her feet and flicked the light switch. Cory was leaning up against the far wall of the room, arms folded, his smile patronizing and gentle.

  “I didn’t want to have to do that, Kate, but it seems like the only way to get my point across with you these days.”

  Kate took it all in; the neatly made bed, the strong smell of cigar, a wet towel on the antique dresser she had refinished herself. On its side in the entrance to the bedroom was the bench she left in front of her small dresser where she kept her makeup and perfume. It was a fragile piece, originally belonging to her great-grandmother; a mahogany frame supporting a cushion covered in musty-smelling, green, watered silk.

  Cory has never liked the bench. He objected when Kate brought it into the bedroom, and continually hounded her about leaving it in front of her dresser, insisting she keep it wedged at the end of the bed. His justification was that he stubbed his toe against the mahogany bench legs when he walked past the dresser in the dark. Kate’s suggestion that he turn on a light has never been considered satisfactory.

  Kate saw it in her mind’s eye: Cory carefully closing all of the blinds, turning off the upstairs lights. Placing the bench across the doorway and shouting for her to come quick. At this point her thought processes jammed. Kate was not even aware she had picked up the bench until she heaved it across the room, legs out.

  Her aim was damn good, but Cory ducked and the bench hit the wall at an angle, gouging a two-inch scar, and splintering into five jagged pieces.

  Kate turned and ran down the stairs, wiping the blood off her lip with the back of her hand. She could hear Cory behind her, and smell the cigar smoke that filmed his clothes.

  “Kate.”

  She pretended not to hear, heading into her little feed and tack room to change into her oldest barn boots—the battered whiskey-brown ones, a half size too big so she could wear double socks in the winter and stay warm in the barn. The boots were cracked and streaked with dried mud, and the leather was so dry it looked thirsty. She stopped by the refrigerator to throw some carrots into Sophie’s feed and took a carrot for herself.

  Cory was waiting for her, blocking the front door, hands in his back pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. Kate pushed past him and outside. Her heart was beating hard.

  “Kate, we need to talk.”

  Not with a carrot in my mouth, she thought, heading down the drive to the barn.

  “Now, Kate. This is a little more important than playtime with your horse.”

  Kate spit the carrot into the dirt and looked at Cory over her shoulder. “Nothing is more important than playtime with my horse.”

  Her hands were shaking; she walked very fast.

  The usual peace eluded her until she was halfway through cleaning Sophie’s stall. The mare had outdone herself, and the wheelbarrow was spilling over with wet shavings and manure. Kate took a rake and exposed the stained wet concrete, sprinkled powdery stall sweetener over the soiled areas, and raked clean shavings to the side of the stall. High time for a good airing out. It was breezy today, and sunny. A perfect day for it.

  A shadow blocked the sun and Kate looked up. Cory stood on the other side of the wheelbarrow, examining the ropes where she’d tied back the door.

  “This won’t hold, Kate. Didn’t your daddy ever teach you to tie knots?”

  She was across the stall in two quick strides and smacked his hand from the door. She clenched her fingers on the handle of pitchfork, choking on the words.

  “This is my barn and you are not welcome. I will talk to you after I’ve had my time with Sophie, and not until.”

  Cory was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke his voice had gentled. “I’ll help you, Kate. With two of us we can speed things up.”

  “No!” Kate grabbed the metal edge of the wheelbarrow just as Cory gripped the wooden handles. After a ludicrous moment of fierce tug-of-war, the soiled shavings slid over Kate’s gloves, and the wheelbarrow tipped over on one side, dumping all the manure she had shoveled into a churned-up heap.

  “What in the hell’s gotten into you, Kate?” Cory kicked shavings off his feet. A mound of manure streaked the bottom of his khakis and stuck on the top of his shoe. He had worn casual loafers to the barn, and Kate looked at his feet with contempt.

  “Idiot,” she said, but quietly, so he could pretend not to hear.

  “How did we get here, Kate? How did it come to this?”

  Kate saw tears in her husband’s eyes. Her hands began shaking again and she felt like the stall was shrinking, smothering her so she could barely breathe.

  “No crying allowed in the barn, Cory. You might want to try something else.”

  Cory’s face went blank, then hard like a brick, and Kate felt sick to her stomach. He’d almost had her; she’d been a hairsbreadth from being sucked back in. And it hit her like it never had before, that every move he made was nothing more than a calculated attempt to get what he wanted.

  He walked away.

  Has he always been like this? Kate wondered. It was as if she had been in a coma, and wakened to a world where e
verything had changed. Kate went back to work, she needed to be busy, and she righted the wheelbarrow, picked up the pitchfork and started cleaning up the mess. It was quiet again. The smell of horse and the physical labor regulated the beat of her heart, and kept her focused on the tasks at hand. The rest of her life faded. She way overfilled the wheelbarrow and was going to have to be careful not to tip it over again.

  Kate’s arm muscles were strong, and though the wheelbarrow was overloaded, she had it under control as she rolled it to the other side of the barn. She stopped at the edge of the manure pile and tipped the wheelbarrow down on its nose, letting the contents slide down the side of the mountain to the series of heaps from earlier loads. Later, she would spread it out a bit and plant grass to cover it over, to make a little oasis in the woods.

  She righted the wheelbarrow and the feeling that one gets when one is not alone pulled her out of her world. Cory stood just a few feet away, watching her, and for some reason he had picked up the muddy sweater she’d hung on the side of the stall till her next trip to the dump.

  Cory held the sweater up in one hand. “What is this, Kate?”

  “It’s a sweater, Cory, what do you think?” Kate was tired, suddenly; she wanted to curl up somewhere quiet and sleep.

  Cory’s eyes narrowed and his breathing got heavier the longer they faced each other. Kate thought about the pitchfork that was still in the stall. Then a rustle of dead dry leaves made her look up, and she saw George coming round the back drive to the barn. Leo was right behind him and heading their way. George ran to Kate, tail wagging, trotting sideways so he could let Kate pet him but still keep an eye on Cory, who stood motionless by the side of the barn. Leo sang to himself with that little chirpy noise he made instead of singing real words.

  Cory turned his face away, and stared out over the mountain. “I mean where did it come from?”

  “What’s the big deal, Cory? George dragged it in.”

  “If that’s true, how come you kept it? Why did you hang it on the side of the barn?”

  “Because I wanted it out of his reach. I didn’t want the dog dragging it up on the porch, or worse, in the house. Nor did I want to have to clean up shreds and pieces of it all over the yard.”