Full Circle

by Susan Rogers Cooper

  ‘Gawd! Mother!’ At that point she whirled around and stomped up the stairs, while I un-muted the TV to find out what Tim Gunn had to say.

  At about that same time, Megan came flying down the stairs, heading for the front door. I sighed and muted the TV. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked her.

  ‘Out,’ she said, door opening.

  ‘Stop!’ I yelled.

  Her entire body heaved a giant sigh as she turned and stared at me. Not a word passed her overly lipsticked lips.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I repeated, a phony smile on my face.

  ‘Out,’ she repeated.

  ‘Shut the door. You’re letting the air-conditioning out and the heat in!’

  She shut the door, standing with one hip stuck out and her hand on the doorknob. Her shorts were too short, both top and bottom, her top showing too much cleavage and too much tummy.

  In the time-honored tradition of mothers everywhere, I said, ‘You’re not going anywhere in that outfit.’ She rolled her eyes, still keeping her hand on the doorknob. Oh, Lordy, this was going to be a fun year. ‘Upstairs. Change. Then we’ll talk about where you’re going. And if you’re going.’

  ‘Gawd, Mother,’ she said, letting go of the doorknob and stomping back up the stairs.

  It was heavenly quiet for almost fifteen minutes before the doorbell rang. I muted the TV, sighed my own sigh and headed for the door, almost getting knocked over as Megan jumped down the stairs to beat me. We grabbed the door at the same time. I wrestled the knob out of her hand and opened the door.

  The boy standing there was a vision. Shorter than me, he wore a knit cap pulled low over his head, touching his eyebrows, with grungy-looking long brown hair falling out of it. His eyes were covered with shades, and he wore a baggy T-shirt over even baggier cut-off jeans. He wore high-top red sneakers that had seen better days and was carrying a skateboard under one arm. I caught all this in the thirty seconds the door was open before Megan slid out on the porch to join him, trying to pull the door closed behind her.

  ‘Megan—’ I started.

  ‘I won’t leave the porch without telling you,’ she said and the door closed.

  She had at least changed her top to a T-shirt that covered her from neck to shorts. Unfortunately it was tight, showing off how well-endowed my fourteen-year-old daughter was. Which is, needless to say, way too well-endowed to my way of thinking.

  At that point Elizabeth came down the stairs. ‘Alicia’s on her way over,’ she informed me.

  ‘I told you next week,’ I said, heading back into the family room. ‘What part of being grounded did you not understand?’

  She made a sound of great indignation. ‘I didn’t think you were serious!’ she said, as if totally shocked.

  ‘When have I not been serious about grounding?’ I said. The one parenting tip I took from my own mother: stick to your guns on punishment.

  ‘That’s just ludicrous!’ she said.

  ‘Do you want to go for next week, too?’ I said, looking at her with what I hoped was a stern eye.

  ‘But she’s on her way over here!’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Call her and tell her she can’t come.’

  ‘Mom, she’s a foster kid! She doesn’t have a cell phone, for God’s sake!’

  I moved closer to her and glared down at her. ‘Watch your tone, young lady, or you’ll be grounded for the rest of the summer!’

  Tears popped into her eyes. With Megan I couldn’t trust tears – she was way too dramatic and could conjure tears at the drop of a hat. Bessie, on the other hand, rarely cried. ‘Mom, she’s riding a bike she borrowed from someone to come over here. It’s like two miles away or more,’ she said, her voice softer now, as she tried to keep the tears from spilling.

  Ah, hell, what could I do? I sighed. ‘You are in real trouble, young lady. But after Alicia leaves. Do you understand?’

  Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped in relief. ‘Thank you!’ she said, and ran back upstairs.

  When I was in the sixth grade, a new girl transferred to our school. Her name was Teeny, like some very large men are called Tiny. She was an Amazon by our grammar school standards. In sixth grade I had grown to the gargantuan height of five foot four inches. Before Teeny, I had been the tallest girl in my class, even taller than a good many of the boys. Teeny towered over me – and all the boys – and I loved her for it. For the first time that year I could stand up straight, shoulders back, as my mother dictated umpteen times a day.

  I will always remember Teeny for that, and for one other rather important detail. She and my best friend Mary Beth and I were walking to the store after school one day and Teeny let slip that her older sister was going to have a baby. Mary Beth and I were very excited, talking about showers and new houses, and all the other things we knew our aunts and our mothers’ friends did when they were expecting. So I asked the question I always heard my mother ask: ‘Is it her first?’

  Teeny looked at me as if I was crazy. ‘Well, yeah,’ she said. ‘She’s like fifteen, ya know.’

  Well, no, we didn’t know. ‘And she’s married?’ Mary Beth asked.

  Teeny sighed. ‘No, she’s not married!’

  And then I asked the most important question I’d asked anyone up to that point in my life: ‘Then how’d she get pregnant?’

  And Teeny told us. In detail. OK, so maybe Mary Beth and I were incredibly naïve for eleven-year-olds in the 1970s, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, when Elizabeth’s new friend Alicia walked in the front door, I could have sworn Teeny hadn’t aged – she looked that much like the girl who stole my innocence all those years before.

  But where Teeny had been full of bravado, Alicia was shy, barely raising her head when she spoke to me, and then only saying, quickly and quietly, ‘Nicetomeetya.’ She had long, straight, dusty-looking brown hair hanging in wings that covered most of her face, and what hair didn’t cover, large, black-rimmed glasses did. She was dressed in a mixture of Goth and Pentecostal – no make-up that I could see, but a long-sleeved black turtleneck under a gunmetal gray jumper that hung way below her knees, black tights, and large, clunky black shoes. And she was wearing this while biking in the afternoon of a central Texas summer day. She had to be part reptile.

  She and Elizabeth ran up the stairs to Elizabeth’s room, without even giving me the chance to ask her if Megan was still on the front porch with skater-boy. So I took that opportunity to open the front door and look. They were sitting on the two-seater swing on the front porch, bodies touching, hands entwined, staring into each other’s eyes. I turned around and shut the door. There are some things I just don’t want to know.

  BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

  ‘Lester, Roy, L-E-S-T-E-R. Lester. Yes, I’ll hold.’ I’d been on the phone for four days – OK, maybe just an hour – with the Codder County Utility Commission trying to find out about Roy’s insurance. Finally the woman came back on the line. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t give out information on Mr Lester unless he gives his permission in writing.’

  ‘Look,’ I said, my already anorexic patience wearing exceedingly thin, ‘as I’ve explained to just about anybody who will listen at your company, Mr Lester is dead.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ she said.

  I sucked in a deep breath, counted to five – ten was totally out of the question – and said, ‘Mr Lester is deceased, so therefore he will not be able to write to you to give you permission to give me the information I need. Are you with me so far?’

  ‘Look, lady, don’t go getting snippy with me, awright?’

  I sighed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just need to explain what’s going on . . .’

  ‘Look, they don’t pay me enough to take guff offa nobody!’

  ‘I understand that. Is there a supervisor I can talk to?’

  ‘One moment please.’

  And I was on hold, again. Finally another woman came on the line. ‘This is Mrs Harp. May I help you?’

  ‘Mrs H
arp, hello!’ I said. ‘My name is E.J. Pugh and I’m the executrix of the estate of Roy and Terry Lester. Mr Lester is the late manager of your utility.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ she said.

  ‘Good. As you may have read in the papers, his youngest child, Elizabeth, is in serious condition in the hospital. As executrix of the estate, I need to assure the hospital that the bills will be paid. I assume Mr Lester had his health insurance through the utility?’

  ‘We’ll need confirmation from Mr Lester’s attorney that you are the executrix of the estate before we can give out any information.’

  ‘I understand that you won’t be able to pay the bills until you get such information, Mrs Harp, but all I want to do now is to be able to assure the hospital that there is insurance so that they won’t toss Elizabeth out in the street. The child is very ill, Mrs Harp, and she’s only four years old.’

  ‘Maybe Mr Lester should have thought about that before he took that shotgun to his family, Mrs Pugh. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can tell you at this time. Goodbye.’

  I sat there with a dial tone buzzing in my ear, wishing I’d gone down to the utility in person so I could slap Mrs Harp’s face. I was so angry that my hands were shaking as I put the phone down. And I knew instantly that I was going to have to become very thick-skinned to get through this – for Bessie’s sake, if not my own. I was sitting there, my hand still on the phone, when it rang, startling me.

  ‘Hello?’ I said.

  ‘E.J.?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Reverend Rush here.’

  ‘Hello, how are you?’

  ‘Very well thank you. How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, and sighed. I would ask no more questions – with Berry Rush this could go on for days.

  ‘I spoke with Mrs Karnes,’ he said.

  There was a silence. Finally, I said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘She said she had just spoken to you.’

  I felt as guilty as necessary, then said, ‘Yes. She was quite upset.’

  ‘Of course. I understand you and Willis are the executors of the estate.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you and I must get together to make funeral arrangements.’

  I sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  In his most officious tone, he said, ‘I think we should consider a private funeral with closed caskets, under the circumstances.’

  ‘Closed caskets, certainly,’ I said. ‘But why a private funeral?’

  ‘Under the circumstances, E.J., I’m afraid we will be inundated with curiosity seekers.’

  ‘That is certainly a possibility,’ I said, consciously speaking as pompously as the good reverend. ‘But Roy and Terry had a lot of good friends in this town. I wouldn’t want anyone to think they were being slighted. Everyone has a right to say goodbye,’ I said, thinking except Mrs Harp. She can definitely stay home.

  There was a long, chilly silence. Then he spoke: ‘I really think a private funeral would be best.’

  Having had run-ins with Berry Rush prior to this, I knew he was used to getting his way. After my run-around with the utility, I just wasn’t in the mood to lose this one.

  ‘Well if you really think so, Reverend Rush, I suppose we can get David Bailey at the Codderville Methodist to officiate and have the service there.’

  ‘Now, E.J.—’

  ‘I know it would be best at Black Cat Ridge Methodist, but I understand your feelings.’

  There was a silence. I smiled into it.

  Finally the Reverend Mr Rush said, ‘Of course I’ll officiate, E.J. If you want an open service, then as executrix that is your prerogative. I would just like to go on the record as opposing the idea.’

  ‘So noted,’ I said.

  GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

  I come home from taking Lotta to work and found some long-haired skater dude grubbin’ my sister! I almost slammed his head into the wall, except I knew Mom would hear it and come out and then there’d be hell to pay. So I said, ‘Hey!’ real loud.

  The dude jerked up from where he’d been lip-suckin’ my sister and jumped to his feet. ‘Whoa man!’ he said. ‘Nothin’ happenin’ here!’

  ‘Megan! Go to your room!’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, and who made you King of the world, asshole?’ she said.

  Such language! I thought. ‘You!’ I said, pointing at skater-dude. ‘Outta here!’

  ‘See ya, Megs,’ he said, and rode his board off into the sunset.

  Megan whirled on me. ‘Mom knew we were out here! If she didn’t mind, then who are you to butt in?’

  ‘Some day you’ll thank me,’ I said, opening the front door. ‘That dude’s a real loser.’

  ‘Well it takes one to know one!’ my witty (and I’m being sarcastic here) sister said.

  Inside I found Mom in the kitchen starting dinner. ‘You know what your daughter was doing?’ I demanded.

  ‘Which one?’ Mom asked, not paying nearly enough attention to what I was about to tell her.

  ‘Megan—’

  ‘On the front porch with the skateboard boy. Touching. I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Yeah touching! He was all over her—’

  ‘Graham, did you not hear what I said? I don’t want to know!’ she said.

  I sighed and finally had to ask it. ‘Mom, have you had the talk with the girls?’

  That got her attention. She put down the knife and whatever vegetable she was abusing, and looked at me. ‘What talk would that be, Graham?’ she said.

  Ah, man, that woman loves to put me on the spot. ‘You know what talk, Mom.’

  ‘Have you had a talk with them, Graham?’ she said, emphasizing my name for some reason.

  ‘It’s not my place to have the talk with them,’ I said, enunciating clearly, afraid that she was going through early on-set Alzheimer’s. They did a segment about that on TV once.

  Mom sighed. ‘Yes, I had the talk with them. Two years ago. Are you having sex?’

  ‘Mother!’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just thought I’d throw that out while your mind was on something else. See if you’d actually answer.’

  ‘I answered you the last time you asked! No, I’m not having sex!’ Although, and I kept this part to myself, I think about it 24/7 and I’m practicing like crazy.

  Then it dawned on me. Megan hadn’t come in behind me. I was so busy trying to teach my mother how to be a parent that I’d totally forgotten. I whipped around and headed for the front door, slamming it open.

  They were back on the swing. The asshole’s board was on the porch. I picked it up and flung it out to the street.

  ‘Hey!’ skater-dude yelled.

  ‘Hey, yourself, asshole! I told you to get the hell outta here!’

  He got up and headed for the street at a slow pace, trying to show me he wasn’t afraid of me, although I think he shit his pants, just between you and me. ‘Hey, Megs,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘get rid of the babysitter and maybe I’ll see you again!’

  At which point my sister jumped up from the swing and, with all her weight, shoved me, knocking me on my ass. It was embarrassing.

  ELIZABETH, APRIL 2009

  Elizabeth’s cell phone rang as she was leaving fourth period English, heading for her geology class. She didn’t recognize the number. Flipping it open she said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Bessie, it’s me, Aldon.’

  Elizabeth stopped dead in the hall. The girl behind her bumped into her, said, ‘Retard!’ and kept going. Elizabeth barely noticed her.

  ‘How did you get this number?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s not important,’ he said. ‘What’s important is that you’re in danger. I need you to meet me—’

  ‘This stopped being funny a long time ago, Tommy, or whoever you are. Don’t call me, don’t email me, don’t IM me. If I hear from you again, I’m calling the po—’

  ‘Bessie, whatever you do, don’t call the police! They’re in on it. At least that friend of E
.J.’s is – that Elena Luna. She and E.J. were both in on this from the beginning—’

  ‘In on what?’ Elizabeth said, stopping traffic around her. She’d spoken louder than she intended. Seeing kids staring at her, she moved closer to the lockers that lined the hallways and spoke more softly into the phone. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You didn’t buy all that bullshit they told you, did you? This goes high, Bessie. Way high. You know Dad worked for the utility commission, right? At the beginning, when they were setting it up. Who do you think was the utility commissioner back then? J. Patrick Reynolds, that’s who. You know who he is now? Railroad commissioner, Bessie! Do you know what that means? That makes this guy the most powerful man in Texas, next to the governor. Do you know what the railroad commissioner does, Bessie? He’s in charge of transportation, sure, but he’s also in charge of oil and gas. What’s the biggest cash crop in Texas, Bessie? Oil and gas. And where do you think he’d be right now if Dad had been able to get the information he had to the right people? In prison, that’s where. No railroad commission, no millions of dollars to control – and take. Like he took from the utility commission. And none of this came out back then, did it? No, it was all swept under the rug. By who? By your precious E.J., that’s who. Along with her pal the police detective. I’ve been in hiding for nine years, but it’s time I came out. I want to see you! I want what’s left of my family back, Bessie! You’re all I have! But once E.J. and Willis and that Luna woman find out I’m back, we’re both in danger. Do you think they’d let you live now that you know what’s really going on?’

  ‘Go away!’ Elizabeth hissed into the phone. ‘You’re insane!’

  ‘No, Bessie, I’ve finally come to my senses. I’ve been hiding too long—’

  ‘OK, if you’re Aldon, then who did we bury ten years ago?’ Elizabeth demanded.

  ‘I hate to think who it might have been,’ Aldon said in a hushed voice. ‘Some poor kid, a runaway maybe. They killed him and put him in my place.’

  ‘My God, you sound like a bad made-for-TV movie!’ Elizabeth tried, attempting a laugh. It came out sounding slightly deranged even to her own ears.