Mean Season

by Heather Cochran

  “I didn’t know you thought he was dead!” Tommy said. “It’s not like we were allowed to talk about him.”

  “Hey!” Vince said again.

  “Stop it!” Momma snapped.

  There was a lot of staring around the table. Angry staring, sad staring, uncomfortable staring. Joshua interrupted it by showing up, and as soon as he did, the electricity flicked back on.

  “Well, that’s something,” Judge Weintraub said.

  Chapter 20

  What I Can Remember

  To this day, I don’t really know how it all got done. I don’t look to know, either. I don’t need to open up and inspect that week again, not just to figure out who brought which casserole.

  I know that the power company guys righted the pole that had fallen, round about the time our electricity snapped back on. I know that Lionel dropped by to mow the lawn and that he was in tears as he did. I know that Scooter and Paulie restained the back deck and the front porch and over-saw the professional guys who took down every dead tree in the stand of oaks at the far side of the house.

  I remember that there were all sorts of flowers and cards. People from town, from my work, from Momma’s work and even Tommy’s work. Grant Pearson sent a bouquet and Judy and Lars did, and even the folks from Hollywood Express, which I thought was quite considerate, seeing as how they had lost someone, too. Someone from “Move Your Body, Move Your Mind” must have phoned all the way to Mexico, because Raoul—Beau Ray’s favorite physical therapy assistant who’d left the day Joshua arrived—he sent a big basket of fruit and a card full of funny things that he recalled Beau Ray had once done or said to him. Of course, none of us could read it straight through for at least a month, but I’ve still got it somewhere.

  We buried my brother that Thursday. There had been talk of waiting until Saturday, but most everyone Beau Ray had known still lived around Pinecob—or had arrived by Thursday. Susan’s husband, Tim, came up with the kids, and Momma’s cousin Nora, the one with the gift for musical theater. So there didn’t seem reason to postpone the inevitable.

  Time doesn’t really matter in those circumstances anyhow. That’s one thing you forget and then learn again. Nothing makes a day pass any faster or slower. Waiting to put Beau Ray in the ground wouldn’t have kept him more alive. And rushing to get him buried wasn’t going to let us slog through our grief any faster. Like a cut you get on the bottom of your foot, the kind that won’t keep a bandage on for anything. The body will do what it needs to do in its own time. The mind, too, it turns out.

  There was a wake the day of the funeral, but no in-church memorial service. Beau Ray’s death put Momma in a mood to have at God, and who could blame her? So Susan got voted down and we held the wake at the funeral home in Charles Town where Beau Ray had been taken after the hospital. It was crowded. Lionel told me afterward that it near to shut down Pinecob, but like I said, I wasn’t too much involved in logistics.

  The police called it a special dispensation, letting Joshua leave our house to attend. I don’t think they’d have fought the request even if Judge Weintraub himself hadn’t filled out the forms. I was glad they’d let him out. Joshua had stuck pretty close to me in those first couple of days. Not in a romantic sense—that wouldn’t happen again—but it seemed like he was often nearby, like I could reach an arm out and nearly always grab hold of him.

  He looked about as terrible as someone that beautiful can look. The only time I remember seeing him smile was on Wednesday, the day before the funeral. I don’t know what time it was or what we were doing, but the phone rang and I answered it to a woman’s voice.

  “Is Joshua there?” she said. “Joshua Reed…or Polichuk.”

  I asked who was calling.

  “I’m…can you tell him that I know him from way back? My name’s Jackie. Reed? I knew his family in Rackett.” She sounded nervous. “You’re not Leanne Gitlin, are you?”

  “That’s me,” I told her.

  “You run the fan club,” Jackie Reed said.

  “I did,” I said.

  “Someone sent me the newsletter. I read that interview you did with him. About his name?”

  “He told me all about you,” I told her. I didn’t mean to sound standoffish, but I had a hard time working up good cheer those days. All the same, I knew he’d want to talk to her—or if he didn’t, that he ought to anyway.

  “I can’t believe J.P. actually remembered me,” she said. “He hardly knew me.”

  “Some people put down deep impressions,” I told her. “I’ll get him for you—”

  “No, wait!” Jackie Reed said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

  I listened to her hem and haw a little.

  “Can you maybe tell me a little what to expect?” she asked. “What’s he like these days?”

  “Joshua?” I said. “He’s a good guy.” And what’s funny is that I meant it.

  Joshua and Jackie talked a while, and when he hung up the phone, it was the first time in days he’d looked anywhere near to happy. I was jealous—not of her, but of that emotion.

  “So, the famous Jackie Reed,” I said. “Of Rackett, Texas.”

  “I’m going to see her,” Joshua said. “She’s going to come to the set.”

  “Do you think she’s the same?” I asked him.

  He seemed to think on that a while. “I don’t,” he said, finally. “But I don’t think that matters. I think she’s still something.”

  Thursday morning before the wake, I noticed Vince and Joshua sitting together in the backyard. It was one of those all-over, way-too-hot August mornings—the afternoon was sure to be even more oppressive—and they were just sitting here, in chairs with their feet in the wading pool Paulie had given us.

  From the back, they looked so much alike. Vince’s hair a little lighter, a little redder and a little shorter, but their shoulders were the same breadth across, and the way they sat, each slouched a little, like they were depressed and casual at the same time. I wanted to go out and sit between them. I had my hand on the handle of the sliding glass door even, but something told me to let them be.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The voices clouded on their way through the glass and humid air. But I could tell that Joshua was talking and Vince was listening, leaning forward a little now and nodding his head. Joshua’s hand motioned. Something about the backyard, maybe? Then he hunched forward and dropped his head into his hands. Vince glanced at Joshua, then turned his gaze toward the trees, and said something.

  I stepped back from the sliding door when I saw Vince stand and head for the deck. When he came inside, I grabbed for his arm and pulled him near.

  “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m getting us some iced tea,” Vince said.

  “Is Joshua okay?” I asked him.

  “He’ll get there.”

  “He’s not still blaming himself?” I asked, and then it was clear to me why Vince might have something to say on that subject.

  “Well, if he could leave, he would,” Vince said.

  “You know what that’s like.”

  Vince nodded. “I do remember it, yes. I ought to get him that tea.”

  I stepped aside to let Vince get by. I knew I could trust that he’d be back.

  The first time I saw Max again was at the wake. He and Judy and Lars walked in, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell right after them, like maybe they’d all shared a car. I watched Max head first to Momma and give her a long hug. I watched him make his way around the room, greeting Lionel and Paulie and Scooter, greeting Susan and Tommy, and seeing Vince again for the first time, saying “Wow, look at you,” then shaking his hand. Eventually, Max made it over to me.

  “Leanne,” he said. He opened his arms and I let myself lean into him. He smelled the same and that’s what stung. I figured he’d smell of palm trees and suntan lotion and whatever else California smelled like, but he just smelled like Max, as if whatever was Max at the core would remain su
ch, no matter where he paid rent.

  That got me to crying something fierce. I pulled my arms in and pushed at his chest until he released me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, which was a stupid question, because it was my brother’s wake, and me, a mess of tears and still mad at him for leaving without a phone call and so, no, of course not. I turned from him and made for the back room, which the funeral director had shown us was a good place for privacy. But Joshua caught me right before I could duck inside.

  “Hey,” he said. “Here.” Joshua handed me a tissue and put his hand on my shoulder. I think he’d learned, in the four days past, that extra words were unnecessary.

  I stood there a while, Joshua beside me, hand still on my shoulder. I looked up once and caught Max looking our way, but after that, he was scarce. There were a lot of people, like I said, and I figured he’d gone outside with Lionel and the rest of the guys.

  Once I’d pulled myself together, Joshua and I walked back into the wake. We were headed toward Vince and Grant Pearson, who’d been talking for quite a while, when I saw Sandy, Alice at her side. I froze. Joshua saw them, too, and waved at Sandy.

  “Who’s that standing next to Sandy?” he asked. “Why do I know her?”

  Without the wig and heavy eye makeup, Alice looked different. But I was still afraid that Joshua might remember his meeting with Nicolette.

  “Just a friend of Sandy’s,” I said. “Maybe she’s at AA?”

  Joshua shrugged.

  “You know, I think she came by the house for the Fourth of July party.”

  “Maybe that’s it. What’s her name?”

  “Alice.”

  Joshua nodded, but frowned. “That doesn’t ring a bell. But I swear I’ve seen her. So is she a friend of Sandy’s or more than a friend?”

  “She’s Sandy’s girlfriend.”

  “Man, there are good-looking lesbians in West Virginia,” he said. “It’s not fair.”

  Joshua was headed for the bathroom when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Leanne.” It was Judy.

  I didn’t want to turn around and look at her, but knew that the sooner I did, the sooner it would be over. So I turned. “Judy,” I said, right back at her.

  “I just wanted to say how sorry I am for all that’s happened. I wish you’d think about continuing with the fan club.”

  “I can’t,” I told her.

  She nodded. “And I’m sorry about our misunderstanding over Charlene,” she said.

  “It wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I told her.

  “Okay, my misunderstanding,” she said.

  “It wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I told her again. “Like you said, it was priorities. Only I wish you’d told me that from the start.”

  “Point taken,” Judy said. “I’m truly sorry for your family’s loss.”

  “Point taken,” I said, before excusing myself.

  After the wake, there was the funeral itself, and after the funeral, some folks came back to our house to eat some of the food that the people of Pinecob kept bringing by. Lionel was there a while, and Scooter and Paulie and even Loreen dropped by to pay her respects. But Max stayed away. I didn’t even see him leave the funeral.

  By dark, just the core of us Gitlins remained, and we were all wretched tired anyhow, so I don’t even know how it began. Susan was down in the basement putting the kids to bed, and Momma had already gone upstairs for the night. But I was there. As usual. And suddenly, Tommy and Vince were sniping at each other.

  Tommy said something like, “What do you know, you’ve been God-knows-where for the past ten years. You let our mother go on thinking you were dead.”

  And Vince said, “Like you couldn’t have called and said something? Like you’ve been around?”

  And Tommy said, “At least people knew I was alive.”

  And Vince said, “You didn’t even send Beau Ray a present for his thirtieth birthday.”

  And Tommy said, “I have a job. I have a life I’m trying to keep together. He knew I cared.”

  And Vince said, “Yeah, well, he knew I cared, too.”

  And finally I told them both to shut up, just shut up, because there were kids trying to sleep downstairs and Momma trying to sleep upstairs and it hadn’t exactly been an easy day for anyone. They looked up at me.

  “Face it—neither of you were here. Neither of you have been around for years now. It doesn’t make a lick of difference at this point. It’s all sunk. You want to come back, come back. But only tomorrow and every day after that should matter when you think about it.”

  “I was thinking maybe I’d come and stay a while,” Tommy said.

  “I was planning on staying here,” Vince said.

  “It’s not like there isn’t space,” I said. “Maybe one of you can take my room.”

  I knew I had to talk to Momma about what I’d been thinking, so I caught her in the kitchen the next morning. We were the first two people up in a house crowded with family.

  “It sort of feels like it used to,” Momma said. “Doesn’t it? There’s a huge hole, but around the hole, it feels a little bit the same.”

  I could see that, and at the same time, I was afraid I was about to pull the hole larger still.

  “You think Vince coming back is a gift from God?” I asked her. “Like Susan said?”

  Momma shook her head. “I think it was time, like he says. I think he had to get past things his own way. He always did. I do miss your pa, but I can’t say I’m sorry I wasn’t doing the driving. I’d hate to live life thinking I might have been able to stop that damn drunk.” Momma turned off the stove and looked hard at me. “You want to tell me something?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. “Tommy said he was thinking about coming to stay here awhile.”

  Momma nodded. “He mentioned that. That son of mine could use a little solid ground.”

  “And Vince,” I said. Momma kept on nodding. “That’s two more people to take care of—”

  “Leanne,” Momma said. “You’re not a child no more, but I want you to listen to me all the same. You take care of yourself. We’ll all get through this. All of us.”

  “It’s not like I was looking to go far.”

  “Why not?” Momma asked. “Bill’s poked at me about it over and over this summer and he’s right. It hasn’t been fair on you, me pressing you to hang back so long. You were always so good with your brother, with Beau.” Momma’s eyes began to well.

  “I can stay,” I said, not sure what I wanted anymore.

  “For heaven’s sake, girl. You’ve already proved that. Go prove something else.”

  Chapter 21

  Getting Somewhere

  People tell me that running a marathon isn’t about physical stamina so much as mental. You’ve got to train your lungs and legs of course, but mostly, you’ve got to train your mind, because that’s what’s going to want to stop. Your mind’s the thing that’s going to want to take a break at every mile. Heck, it might not even want to haul out of bed the day of the race, and somehow you’ve got to convince it that pushing forward is the thing to do.

  I wouldn’t know. I don’t run marathons. But I know from experience that regular old life can be much the same. And that, too, you’ve got to keep pushing through.

  Beau Ray died and was buried next to my father, and the rest of us were left trying to figure out what to do next. After the wake, Grant Pearson had come by our house and talked some more with Vince and a little with Momma. Turns out that he had been made head football coach at Potomac Springs Senior High and had asked whether Vince might be interested in being his assistant. Vince said yes and that Saturday, he unpacked his green army duffel in Susan’s old room, where he planned to stay for a few months while he got settled. Joshua offered to switch rooms, but Vince said that a different scene out the window was probably a good thing.

  That same Saturday was Joshua’s first scheduled day on the set of Musket Fire. S
unday was his second, and on Sunday, Susan and Tim and the kids all headed back to Elkins, so the house was quiet again, even more than before. It was so quiet that I dragged myself out to the Winn-Dixie—I hadn’t been there since before Beau Ray died—just to hear a little noise.

  I got my cart, and found myself glancing over at the managers’ office where Max once took his breaks. He’d given notice weeks before, but of course I still expected to see him there. And of course, he wasn’t there.

  I carried a lot of regrets about Max—some my doing, some his, some that seemed the result of life butting in uninvited. I wished we had spoken more during Beau Ray’s wake or the funeral or afterward, but Max had kept his distance from me, and I had to figure that he’d done so on purpose. In sunnier times, I might have had the strength to poke and prod him. Or even the strength to walk toward him and hold out my hand. But you lose someone dear and it seems a superhuman feat just to make it into the shower.

  I was Momma’s daughter, that’s for sure. I knew I was giving up Max the same way she’d given up Vince, those long years back. To an outsider, it might look like a harsh thing, like inaction of the worst sort or a purposeful forgetting, but when you’re the one choosing to look away, you know it’s because your heart is simply trying to make it to tomorrow. Your heart is scared to death, and it would rather not know than take a chance on being destroyed by the whole truth.

  So I’d looked away, and as the days passed, it seemed more and more like a dream, me and Max, like I’d made up the whole thing. I’d heard from Lionel that Max was headed back to Los Angeles that Monday. Lionel said that Sasha had been true to his word and that Max had been offered the part of a scientist in the next Bond film. I had concentrated on looking happy when he told me that.

  And there I was, in Max’s old Winn-Dixie, pushing a shopping cart, same as ever. Then I turned down the condiment aisle, and he was there, Max Campbell, looking down at a jar of olives with the slightest smile on his face. In the moment before he saw me, I was tempted to spin my cart around and high-tail it out of the store. But I reminded myself that Pinecob was as much my turf as his. I might not be a brave person, I might not run after, but I sure as hell didn’t run from.