by Kim Karr
Soft organ music plays and I open my eyes to stand. When it stops, we all sit. The priest begins reciting the Final Commendation and Farewell and I move through the rest of the funeral in the only way I can . . . mechanically and distanced. The organ starts to play again and this time when we all stand, I hold my sister’s hand. When I do, I notice her ex-husband sitting next to her and my skin prickles. Jason Holt, Caleb’s brother and my sister’s ex-husband, is a dirt bag. No matter what he does, he always will be. Once my sister divorced him, his visits with Trent were minimal. His goal was always to see my sister through their kid. I don’t care how far he climbs the ladder at work—to me he’s a piece of shit.
I tug my sister’s hand and start to lead her out of the pew. I step in front of her and Jason moves aside, allowing us to pass. He’s a tall, well-built guy used to demanding respect wherever he goes, so I’m surprised he lets me take the lead. I walk slowly to the front as we make our way to say our final goodbyes. Serena goes first and I stand back, twisting my head, unable to watch. But my turn comes way too fast. Cautiously, I approach the white casket. I can see my mother’s body and wish so much she were alive. My hands clench and unclench at my sides and I take a deep breath as I bow my head. My knees buckle beneath me and I don’t know how I’m going to make it without her. I can’t even find the right words to tell her how sorry I am that we didn’t get to spend the last years of her life together. I swallow, holding back the tears that I’ve forced away for days.
Voices murmur from behind me. “Ben,” my sister whispers quietly in my ear.
Ignoring her, I drop down even further to kiss my mother’s cheek. When I lift my head, I catch sight of her wedding ring shining so brightly and clutch her hand. Fuck, why? Why you, Mom? My sister takes my hand, and this time she’s the one who tugs me away and back into the pew.
“Mom and Dad are together now,” she says in a broken voice.
“I know,” I say, and then my tears come in mindless streams that I can’t control. And she’s right. My only solace in any of this is that our parents are finally back together and I know they’ll take care of each other.
“Come on, buddy,” Caleb says, pressing his hand on my shoulder again. I glance up front one last time and turn back with a feeling of complete emptiness. This time I let Caleb lead the way, guiding my sister and me out of the church. I don’t turn to look for Dahl because I know this time she doesn’t need me; she has someone to take care of her and I am strangely at peace with that.
Time seems to speed by and the funeral is over before I even realize we’ve moved from the church to the cemetery. I loosen my tie and look around. Branches of a Redwood block the brightness of the sun. I tilt my head to try to catch any shape of a cloud, but all I see is broken fragments of the sky. Swiveling my gaze, I notice the limo is parked just a few feet away. Caleb and Jason are inside waiting for us with the door open. I glance around and suddenly notice everyone else has left. I vaguely recall handshakes and soft-spoken words of condolence. I watch my sister as we both stay frozen in place, two orphans mourning the death of our mother. Then my eyes dart to the ground where our mother’s casket has just been lowered into her grave. And I feel it: grief.
I’m also filled with guilt, regret, and sorrow. I’m left wondering if her death was my fault. Did my return to California put too much stress on her and cause the stroke? When we took Trent to the rehabilitation center, should Serena and I have insisted that she stay home? Should I have taken my mother to the emergency room the minute she said she didn’t feel well? So many questions and not a single fucking answer.
“Are you okay?” Serena asks for the second time.
I cup her cheeks. “Stop worrying about me. Okay?”
Her eyes flutter shut and she leans against me. I want to be there for my sister, be the strong one, and see her through everything. But in reality she’s the one seeing me through it. She is seven years older than me, but we’ve always been close, except for the last three years when everyone thought I was dead. But we stepped right back into our easy relationship when I returned—until she thought I’d overstepped my bounds. She was upset at me for not telling her when I found Trent strung out. No matter how many times I try to tell her Trent made his own choices, she still blames herself that he’s ended up in rehab. Blame is a strange thing; it consumes you, haunts you, takes over your life. Hell, she should blame me. I was the one who was the strong male influence in his life until I up and disappeared from their lives. But in the end, my nephew is getting the help he needs and that is really all that matters.
I should have taken care of everything for today. Instead she organized all of the funeral arrangements while dealing with her son’s situation. I wanted to help but I couldn’t see past the blur of the last two weeks.
“Hey, Ben, did you hear me?”
I lift my eyes from the ground to hers. “What did you say?”
“Come on, we have to leave. Everyone’s waiting for us at the restaurant.”
“Go ahead of me. I just want to say a few more things to. . . .” I don’t finish because flashes of light blind me. I look over to the tree line at the edge of the cemetery and fuck me if some asshole isn’t snapping my picture. “Stay here,” I warn my sister and then storm over to the perpetrator. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now,” I yell as I grab his camera and throw it against one of the trees. But he isn’t smart enough to shut the fuck up.
He points a shaky finger at me. “Aren’t you the guy who was supposedly shot a few years ago in a car jacking?”
I level a glare at him. I don’t need this shit right now.
“You are. I know you are,” he shouts. Then he removes his phone from his pocket and tries to snap another picture.
I don’t know what comes over me but a switch goes off inside my brain and a rage is unleashed that I can’t control. After the first swing he falls to the ground but I don’t stop. I just keep punching him until my sister pulls me by the collar of my jacket.
“Ben, stop it!” she screams.
Before I know it, Caleb is pulling me off him and Jason is quoting some bullshit to him about invasion of privacy. When I stand up and look at my bloody fists and then the perp’s bloody face, I shrug Caleb off me and hastily move toward the limo.
“Hey, man, wait up,” Caleb shouts behind me.
I keep walking.
“Ben, talk to me.”
I can’t catch my breath. I sit in the limo and cradle my head in my hands. “Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?”
“Hey, no one can fault you for laying into that slime ball.”
I look up at him and give him a twisted smile. The photographer’s camera is in his hand. “Thanks, man.”
He shrugs. “I found it.”
I shake my head then ask, “Where’s Serena?”
He points to a bench near the mausoleum. She’s wrapped in Jason’s arms and my stomach turns. I drop my head. I know he’s a dirty cop. I’ve known it since they divorced. I never had proof; I could just feel it in my gut. It was the things Serena would tell me that made me realize the way he was living his life didn’t add up to the life he was living. Although she’d never admit it, I’m pretty sure Serena knew it and that’s why she divorced him. And now with their son fresh off to rehab, he wants to be here for her. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Chapter 2
Wicked Games
Voices echo through the small space as we arrive at the restaurant and I look up at the gathered crowd. I brush the doorway with my shoulder not really watching where I’m going and stare unseeing at the thirty or so people scattered around the room waiting for us. There’s a buffet filling a long table off to one side. Some of the flowers from the church are situated in the corners in a failed attempt to brighten the dismal surroundings. As I look around, I wonder how Serena could have possibly arranged all of this.
“Ben, I can’t do it,” Serena says to me with tears in her eyes.
“I don’t understand,
” I mumble.
“A few words about mom, I can’t get up there and say a few words about her,” she whispers.
I take her hand. “I’ll do it.”
The one thing I’m good at, the only thing that never fails me, is finding the right words. With a newfound strength, I make my way around and talk to those who knew my mother. Then as people begin to fill their plates, I find my sister and we stand together in the front of the room.
I clear my throat and everyone silences. “My sister and I want to thank all of you for coming today, for being a part of the celebration of our mother’s life. She was an amazing woman who endured a lot in her lifetime. She was the person who kept the people around her from falling apart. I suppose some of her superpower came from the loss of her husband and from being left to raise two children alone. In some people that hardship might have led to a hardening and pulling away. But not Grace Covington; she held a softness that everyone who knew her found amazing.”
I pause and look around the room filled with those who loved her—Joe the banker, Barb the florist, Noel the guy who took over my father’s shop, his wife, Faith, who was my mother’s best friend. Then I spot Dahl and River. I respect him for being here with her and comforting her. I’m not sure if I were in his situation, I could do the same. I continue speaking.
“I’m her younger child and I really don’t remember that young mom who was married to the man she loved beyond reason. But my sister told me what she remembers about our parents. She told me that in the loss of her husband and through her sorrow our mother only grew in wisdom and strength. She reached out in ways that I am just now becoming aware of. Through her loss she gained a different perspective on being a mother. She learned that love can help put back together things that don’t seem repairable.” I stop, choking on sobs as I try to get the words out. I glance up and spot the emerald green dress and red hair of S’belle Wilde. Suddenly my thoughts gallop off in a new direction. I know she’s a party planner—my sister must have hired her to plan all of this. She’s clearly in charge, pointing her finger and directing those around her what to do.
But my sister picks up the slack for me when I can’t find the words to continue. She takes a piece of paper from her purse. “I was thirteen when I read the following verse at my father’s funeral and the words are just as true today as they were then. ‘For this reason I bow my knees . . .’” She recites the bible verse she has kept close to her for so many years. Once she is done, together we thank everyone again for being there and I excuse myself needing some air.
I stagger outside and block out my surroundings for the longest time.
“Ben, I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.” I’d recognize his voice anywhere.
I swing around to glare at him, trying to figure out if I should keep my mouth shut but I decide against it. “Jason, look, I know what you’re up to.”
“What would that be?”
“Using our loss and your son’s addiction to get back with my sister.”
“Is that what you think? Because the way I see it—she needs someone.”
“She has me.”
He moves toward me locking his fists at his side but quickly relaxing them. “You know I always thought of you as more than just Serena’s little brother. You were mine, too. I appreciate and admire what you did for them when I couldn’t—the way you took care of my family. And I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now—losing your mother, your girl, and having your life turned upside down—so I’m going to let your attitude pass. But, Ben, remember, I’m on your side.”
I want to punch the righteous right off his face. “Oh, is that the way you feel? I’m glad you settled that between us.” I snort.
“One more thing. Since we’re having such a heart to heart. Trent is my kid, not yours. The next time he gets into trouble, call me. Don’t think you know what’s best for him, because you don’t.”
My patience for his arrogance has long passed. I move closer and press my finger into his chest. “No, Jason, that’s where you’re wrong. You don’t. You never gave that kid the time of day. I’d even go so far as to say you’re more worried about how it looks that the kid of a vice detective went to rehab than you are about what put him there.”
“I wish that were the case,” he mutters.
“Ben, stop it,” my sister calls out as she approaches us.
I raise my hands and try to talk but she cuts me off. “That’s enough. Just enough for today.”
“Right,” I say and walk away. I’ve had enough for today, too.
***
Fires have raced up the brushy hillsides and I feel just as pelted by the Santa Anas as those whose homes are surrounded by the blaze. I’m trapped in the flames of misery—lost inside my own ninety mile an hour winds, as time seems to pass so slowly.
I’m alone. Caleb left town shortly after the funeral. And Serena’s spending more and more time with Jason. He’s been going with her to check on Trent in rehab. But for me the days only bleed into nights. I decide to move out of my house. I can’t stay there. The ghosts are everywhere. I end up catching a break in that there’s a young couple ready to rent it. I move into my mother’s empty house where more ghosts haunt me, but right now, I have no choice. At least I can live off the rental income until I find a job, which isn’t going to be easy. And to boot, that fucking douchebag photographer from the funeral has decided to sue me. Let him see what he can get even if he wins. The house is in Dahl’s name and I have nothing else to speak of.
I fall into a routine . . . same thing, different day. I go out, get drunk, come home, and descend into oblivion. But the numbness from the alcohol is starting to wane and the pain isn’t fading as quickly anymore. Tonight a new antidote dropped itself right into my lap. I was at the Cliff and just before closing, a chick slipped her hand into my back pocket while I was playing pool. I saw only the back of her before she ducked out, but it was enough to intrigue me. I pulled the note out and read it. I’ve been watching you all night. Meet me around back if you want to know what reward and punishment feels like. I couldn’t turn that down. I exited the bar through the same door as her. I walked around the corner to the parking lot. She was sitting on top of a car, waiting for me. I stared at her as I tried to place her familiarity.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Ben Covington.”
I was still trying to figure out how I knew her.
“I didn’t think you’d recognize me. We went to high school together. We were in the same English class.”
I couldn’t fucking place her and by now it must have been evident.
“We were partners on the Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn projects. I made the Mississippi River for you and the blue epoxy stuck to my fingers for days.”
“Fuck, yes. How the hell are you . . . ?”
She laughed. “Dawn, Dawn Buckley.”
I lazily swept my eyes over her and recognition finally hit. She wasn’t the Dawn I remembered. That Dawn was a little freaky—goth, heavy eyeliner, black fingernails. This girl couldn’t look more different. Long, blonde hair, sexy legs, and hot.
“Yeah, I know I look different so I didn’t expect you to remember me.”
“No, I do.”
“I always had a crush on you, you know?”
I laughed. “Really? No, I didn’t.”
“You want to get out of here?” she asked.
She didn’t have to ask me twice. We left in my car and she started things off right when she showed me how this little game of hers was going to go—road head was my reward for inviting her back to my place.
The porch was pitch dark when we arrived and she began undressing while I fumbled for my key. When we finally made it in the house, we stayed where we landed—in the family room.
Time must have flown by afterward because now when I stand up and glance out the window I suddenly notice it is light outside and wonder how the night flew by so fast.
“What time is it?” she asks,
squinting as the sun breaks through the blinds.
“I can’t even tell you what fucking day it is, let alone what time it is.”
“It’s Sunday or maybe Saturday.” She laughs.
I shrug and scratch my head wondering why this chick is still here. I should tell her that it is time to end this party, but her presence is helping me forget the things I don’t want to remember. In the kitchen I grab a drink and steel a look at the clock—nine a.m. Fuck, we’ve been at this for hours. I walk back in the room after chugging down another beer and she has a scowl on her face.
“Did you change your mind?” she asks.
“No I didn’t.”
She points to the ground. She wants to punish me and I’m going to let her. Why not? I already knew it was coming—she warned me. She wanted me to go down on her after she got herself all worked up, but I wasn’t into it. Since I refused—punishment it is. I drop to my knees, facing the couch as she instructs. She stays silent. She’s dead serious about this and I try not to laugh. She ties my ankles to the bottom rung of the coffee table with some ribbon she found on my mother’s desk. When she’s done she lies on the sofa and fingers herself. She’s masturbating in front of me and it’s fucking hot. Her method isn’t entirely worthless because I definitely want to touch her now, but her pussy is too far away. Obviously this is working just the way she planned it—entice me with the view. And I’m enticed. My dick swells while watching her and once she starts humping from her own touch, I take it in my hands and start stroking myself.
She jumps up in an instant and whips the belt off my shorts. “No, no,” she purrs from behind me. She grabs my hands and tucks them inside the seat cushions of the couch. “Now, don’t make me tie these, too.”
I’m so turned on by this chick’s forcefulness that my heart is racing . . . I’ll do whatever she wants as long as the rush doesn’t leave. I’m sitting here, naked, on my knees, my back to her, when I feel the cool metal of the belt buckle slide across my ass. From my peripheral vision, I can see her slap it lightly against her palm and my blood starts pumping even faster. How big can a guy’s dick get before it explodes? My ass muscles clench as I prepare for what I think is to come. But she isn’t going to give it to me that easily. She yanks my hair, pulling my head back. “You’ve been a naughty boy. I asked you to do something and you refused. Maybe the next time I ask you—you’ll do it.”