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by Fha User

  made their way through the exit doors, walking briskly toward his car. Once

  there, Clayton put the bags in the trunk, opened the rear door for Carol then

  helped Janae into the front passenger seat.

  No one said a word on the short ride from the airport. Carol sat quietly in

  the back, while Janae stared out the passenger window, with puffy red eyes.

  Clayton cleared his throat and opened the windows on his old beater. The

  lack of air conditioning didn’t matter so much at this time of the day, as a

  gentle breeze blew inside the car. He thought about how he and Craig spent

  half the day last Saturday trying to fix the air conditioning in this very car.

  After several hours, Clayton recalled telling Craig it didn’t make sense to

  waste the rest of a perfectly good Saturday on this when his new truck would

  be arriving soon.

  The new truck! With everything that went on today, he’d completely

  forgotten about it. He’d been so hyped about picking it up earlier today,

  and for weeks it was all he and Craig had talked about. They’d made plans

  to rent a couple of dirt bikes, haul them in the back and drive across the

  country on their next vacation. At a red light up ahead, Clayton quickly

  checked his incoming calls and saw the dealer had tried to reach him four

  times today. After everything that happened this afternoon, it would have to

  wait. Picking up the new vehicle now seemed so insignificant.

  Janae was deep in thought, hardly aware of traffic speeding by outside her

  window. All through high school and even after she went off to college and

  Craig moved away from home, she and her brother had remained close. She

  always thought about the two of them married with kids of their own, those

  kids would be close just like she and her brother had been. Now, for some

  reason, she felt cheated because Craig would never get married or have kids.

  Her kids would never play with his. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, as

  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

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  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

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  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

  CHAPTER

  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

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  type of flowers to order, and would there be a soloist? The list of questions

  seemed to go on and on. The last item to decide on turned out to be the

  easiest—changing the funeral home music to that which Cynthia had chosen.

  Both she and Clarence decided Craig’s favorite music should be piped in,

  instead of traditionally solemn organ music. Further bucking tradition,

  Clarence suggested to Vi that they lay Craig out in his favorite Mets jersey

  instead of a suit. “He wore a suit maybe six times in his whole life. I think

  he’d like to rest in something comfortable.”

  Vi agreed with Clarence and promised the director she’d bring Craig’s

  personalized Mets jersey by later in the day. The jersey had been a birthday

  present from Clarence, and Craig wore it to every home game the Mets

  played. She remembered Craig joking before each game – the Mets couldn’t

  win unless he was watching them in his lucky jersey.

  They were just about to leave when the funeral director thought to ask if

  there would be pallbearers for the procession. Momentarily stumped, Vi

  looked to Clarence for help. Clarence, bless his heart, didn’t let her down.

  “That nice young man Clayton mentioned yesterday there might be close to a

  hundred officers at the funeral from the state and county police. It seems

  they always turn out when someone in their ranks is laid to rest. Maybe, we

  could ask him about pallbearers, dear?” Clarence suggested in his gentle,

  baritone voice.

  It took nearly two hours to undo the things Cynthia had put in place. They

  worked to change the funeral arrangements to what she and Clarence felt

  Craig would want. Feeling calmer now that it was all done, Vi walked out

  of the mortuary arm in arm with Clarence, the anger she’d felt earlier

  completely gone. Outside the sun shone bright, positioned high in a

  cloudless sky. Rush hour was over and only sporadic mid-morning traffic