Inn the Doghouse

by Heather Horrocks

  I nodded. “Like Dad.”

  “Somebody ran over him?”

  “No. Uncle Gene just…died. Sometimes it happens that way.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that Gene killed himself. That was a reality I didn’t want my son aware of at his young age.

  But the death was so upsetting to him, he began to cry. So, for the second time today, I held someone dear to me in my arms, only this time, I cried right along with Zach.

  Finally, he looked up at me with his tear-stained face. “Are you going to die, too?”

  “No!” I said forcibly. Although I couldn’t know what might happen, I also wasn’t about to cause Zach needless worry. “I will never leave you.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise, baby.”

  And I planned to do everything within my power to make sure I kept that promise.

  ~ ~ ~

  Friday, November 4

  I hesitated on the porch of the Hullinger Mortuary. This was where I came to make arrangements for Robert’s funeral just two years before and I had a hard time stepping inside.

  Liz was struggling, too. DeWayne talked to her so softly, I couldn’t make out the words. Finally, she nodded and, when he opened the door, she stepped through.

  Too bad he couldn’t spare some of his whispering encouragement for me. Suddenly, DeWayne looked back at me and held out a hand. I nodded and said, “Thanks,” as I passed him. He patted my shoulder. Too bad he wasn’t my type, because DeWayne Smith was an awesome guy.

  We stepped into the lobby, a large space with an ornate desk against the wall to the right, a fireplace at the back, and a sitting area on the left, with a padded loveseat and two armchairs.

  Chad Hullinger, the mortician, stepped forward from one of the rooms and extended his hand to Liz. “Mrs. Eklund, I am so sorry for your loss, and I am here to help you in any way I can to make this difficult experience a bit easier for you.”

  Chad went through school with us. A gentle boy, he was brave enough to step in and protect other kids from bullies. He’d grown up to become a gentle, compassionate man, the kind well suited for offering comfort to bereaved widows like Liz. And me.

  Shaking her hand first, then DeWayne’s, he held mine in both of his and smiled tenderly. “You’re looking well, Mrs. Butler.”

  I assumed he meant I looked much better than the last time he saw me after Robert died. “I’ve heard it said that time heals all wounds.”

  “It does indeed.” He nodded, releasing my hands and turning back to Liz. “Would you like Hullinger Mortuary to handle all the arrangements, Mrs. Eklund?”

  “Yes,” she replied shakily.

  “Then please come into my office.”

  The office was another large room, with a cherrywood oval table and cushioned chairs. Ornate framed artwork hung on the walls, and an antique cabinet held a triangular, folded flag, among other things.

  Chad sat at the head of the table. The flashback from two years ago was uncanny and unsettling.

  I barely heard him make the same presentation he did when Robert died. Everything he showed us on his laptop, he also displayed on the wall so it was easy to read and see. He walked us through the costs, the options and the schedules. He said they’d have to wait for the body to be released, but that it was no problem. Liz could make all the pertinent decisions today.

  After about an hour, Chad offered us bottles of water. Then it was time to go downstairs and see the caskets.

  So many memories. Two-year-old painful memories for me. Fresh, painful memories for Liz.

  We began to walk down through the assortment of caskets, which lined the small, open-ended, rooms that I recalled wove back and forth through several aisles. There were all kinds of caskets: large and small, ornate and simple, expensive and astronomically expensive.

  Only a few steps in, she touched one of the more beautiful caskets. She ran her fingers a few inches across its gleaming surface and whispered, “Gene always loved cherrywood. Let’s use this one.”

  Then Liz started to cry. DeWayne and I caught each other’s gaze. Before Gene’s death, Liz never cried. Yet here she was, once again, with tears streaming down her face.

  DeWayne moved first. He put an arm around Liz’s shoulder.

  I pulled out a tissue from one of the many boxes strategically scattered on small tables here and there, and handed it to her.

  She took it and wiped her face and eyes. “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stop crying lately.”

  “I cried all the time after Robert died,” I said, trying to comfort her.

  “Yes, but you weren’t divorcing him at the time.”

  “Nevertheless, you still loved him.” DeWayne spoke in a soothing voice as he rubbed her shoulder gently.

  Liz nodded and hiccupped. “I’m supposed to be in court, but how can I go there like this?” She indicated her tear-streaked face.

  DeWayne shook his head. “You need to call the office and take some time off. You can’t do it all right now. Your husband just died, and you have the funeral to arrange. You’re always so strong on the outside, but at times like this, you need to rely on your family and friends and let us help you. We’ll help you.”

  That started her crying even harder, and she turned into his shoulder.

  He wrapped both his arms around her, and just stood, protecting the woman he loved—the woman he’d always loved—from anything that might harm or frighten her.

  The moment was so intimate, I stepped away toward Chad, who stood at the end of our aisle and the next.

  “My sister will be okay in a minute,” I said, slightly uncomfortable at the display.

  “Widows are always distraught. Just as you were.”

  But when we looked at DeWayne and Liz, I couldn’t help thinking that, no, this wasn’t anything like how I was. I could tell from Chad’s expression, though he tried to keep his face neutral, that he was also shocked.

  I hoped people wouldn’t look at the two of them and judge them. DeWayne had loved Liz for many years. Most Silver City residents already knew that. And I suspected Liz loved DeWayne, too, or could very easily. After Gene’s bad behavior, perhaps she’d appreciate DeWayne’s good qualities more this time around. I wasn’t sure what went wrong with their romance before, much less why Liz married Gene.

  I hoped people wouldn’t say anything was going on between them all along. But we’d have to weather that storm if and when it blew in.

  I turned away—and the first thing my eyes focused on was a casket like the one I’d chosen for Robert.

  I reached for a tissue.

  Chapter Seven

  AFTER HER EMOTIONAL MELTDOWN IN the basement of Hullinger Mortuary, Liz completed her business with Chad. As we left the building amid a light November snow, we climbed into DeWayne’s truck. Liz told us she needed to pay a visit to Gene’s mother in Park City to inform her of Gene’s death.

  Mrs. Eklund had Alzheimer’s, so she might not understand, but Liz had to at least try.

  Which was why, fifteen minutes later, DeWayne and I followed her into the nursing facility. The Golden Hills Residential Living Center was upscale, trendy, and pricey, catering only to the wealthiest of the elderly. Gene’s father had died several years earlier of a heart attack and there was no one to care for his mother, so for the last year and a half, she’d been residing here. Only sporadically could she remember people, places, and things that were once familiar and played dominant roles in her life.

  Alzheimer’s is a horrible disease that manages to touch everyone around the person afflicted.

  Liz said, “I hope she’s lucid today. I haven’t seen her for a few weeks, but she was in and out the last time I saw her.”

  I figured even if she were lucid today, she’d forget by tomorrow. And, in this particular case, it was probably for the best. It seemed cruel to burden a fragile mind with the death of her son.

  “I’m not sure I’ll even say anything. It depends on how she is. If she can’t reme
mber the news, there’s no point in upsetting her for even a fleeting minute.”

  I was glad to hear Liz say that.

  We walked down a wide, plush, carpeted hallway, passing caregivers with carts and medicines. Everyone was very friendly and greeted us warmly.

  About two-thirds of the way down, Liz stopped in front of room 105. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered as she knocked on the door. A passing nurse stopped and said, “Go right on in. She’s not able to respond much today, but I know she’ll love to see you. Talk to her just as you normally would.”

  Liz nodded and opened the door. I followed her in and DeWayne trailed behind, looking uncomfortable in the hospital-like setting that was decorated like a fancy hotel.

  A frail, little old woman, her wispy, white hair nicely arranged, sat hunched over in a wheelchair. The television set was on a Spanish telenovella.

  Liz turned it off, knelt down beside the wheelchair, and spoke gently. “Mom? How are you doing today?”

  Mrs. Eklund turned toward Liz and her face lit up. Oh, good. She was more clearheaded than we expected. Reaching out, she stroked Liz’s face, saying, “Janice! I haven’t seen you for a long time. Why don’t you come to see me more often?”

  Janice was Gene’s sister and Liz mentioned that she visited every day. Liz flicked a disappointed glance at me and went along with it. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  They chatted for a few minutes, with Gene’s mother frequently repeating herself and obviously much deeper into Alzheimer’s. I felt another pang of sadness for her and their whole family. Physical diseases were hard enough to deal with, but when someone slowly loses her memories, painful or otherwise, right in front of you, it must be hell for everyone concerned. It’s as if Liz faded from her memory like Marty began to fade in the photograph in the movie Back to the Future, nearly out of existence.

  DeWayne stood behind Liz, as if protecting her still. The poor guy could apparently pine for my sister forever.

  I sank into a chair. Now I understood why Liz said she wasn’t sure if she would tell her mother-in-law because she wouldn’t understand or remember. I didn’t realize she was so far gone.

  There was another knock on the door. DeWayne opened it and Gene’s brother, Jeff, stepped inside. His eyes narrowed when he saw us.

  I could never understand the whole name-all-your-children-with-the-same-beginning-sound thing—Gene, Jeff, John, Janice. Although, if you called a child by the wrong name, you’d at least start out right. I was mentally rambling again, as I always did under stressful situations.

  DeWayne held out his hand and Jeff shook it. They knew each other, having met at various family gatherings. Jeff shook my hand, as well. His shoulders and hands were tense.

  Liz stood and Jeff shook her hand, too.

  Then he leaned over and gently put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Hi, Mom.”

  She turned her faded eyes to him and tilted her head, obviously confused. “Are you the new doctor?”

  “No, Mom. I’m not.” He sounded somewhat resigned and turned to Liz. “Did you tell her yet?”

  Liz shook her head. “It will just upset her and she won’t even know who he is.”

  “It will not upset me,” the old lady insisted, sounding surprisingly normal. “I want you to tell me.”

  “All right,” Liz said, smiling brightly at her mother-in-law. “I’m dating a guy seriously. We’re talking about marriage.”

  “You are? Janice, that’s wonderful!”

  In her late twenties, Janice was a dedicated career woman, and Gene’s mother always wanted her to marry and have children. Liz knew she wouldn’t remember this conversation by the time Janice visited tomorrow, but for just a few moments today, Liz might’ve made her happy.

  “I’m going to tell her,” Jeff said, stepping forward.

  Liz took a firm stance between Jeff and his mother, staring him down, silently daring him to tell his mother anything that could upset her to no purpose. “We came to do that, but only if she could handle it. She can’t. Leave her be, Jeff.”

  After a tense moment of silence, Jeff backed down. “Fine. Have it your way, Ms. Attorney-at-Law.”

  The visit continued with friction, while Gene’s mother kept talking to “Janice” and occasionally “Doctor Jeff” and “Nurse” (me). Once, she turned to DeWayne and said, “Are you a movie star?”

  Jeff paced until Liz turned to him and said, “Please stop pacing. You’re just adding to the tension.”

  “You mean the tension from having my brother kill himself?” He mouthed the words kill himself so his mother wouldn’t hear, then raised his voice again. “Maybe you don’t care because you were divorcing him. In fact, that may have been why…” he mouthed again, “…he killed himself.”

  “Wait a minute,” DeWayne said.

  When we finally left, Jeff followed us out. He turned to DeWayne. “Are you the investigating officer?” His voice sounded confrontational.

  “One of them,” DeWayne said in his usual friendly tone, but I’d known him long enough to notice the tightening of his lips.

  The room crackled with the potential confrontation, until Liz said, “I understand you’re upset. Now would you excuse me?” Liz took me with her to find a restroom. Afterward, while washing up at the sink, and alone in the restroom, Liz said, “I don’t like that man. He’s always been worried about getting his hands on his mother’s estate, even before her death. That’s why she made Gene the executor of her estate when she started showing symptoms.”

  “I don’t understand the whole estate thing,” I said. “At least not when large sums of money are involved. Who inherits when she dies?”

  Liz’s eyes widened and mine did, too. We realized it at the same time. Liz was going to be a very wealthy woman, by inheriting all of Gene’s money and possibly some of his mother’s estate. She whispered, “That’s not good. It’s a good thing it was a suicide, or people might talk.”

  Twenty minutes later, we rejoined DeWayne.

  We found him sitting in the foyer of the nursing home, visiting with another old woman in a wheelchair. When he saw us, he bid her a fond farewell and said he’d be back to visit her.

  He probably would, too.

  As we climbed into his truck, Liz slid in first and I took the door.

  Pulling out of Park City and heading back toward home, DeWayne said, “Gene’s brother didn’t like him very much.” It was more of a question.

  Liz shrugged and repeated what she told me.

  DeWayne swung left onto the old highway connecting Park City and Silver City. “After you left, he let it slip out that he thought Gene was smart, but not very honest, although he didn’t elaborate. I wonder what all that was about?”

  Liz pondered his comment. “I really don’t have a clue. As far as I know, the only thing Gene lied about was his other women. Other than that, he was pretty honest.”

  I caught the quick glance DeWayne flicked over at Liz, before his eyes returned to the road. He was smart enough not to touch that one with the proverbial ten-foot pole.

  ~ ~ ~

  That evening, I sat with David on the Inn’s front porch swing. We swung gently, mostly sheltered from the crisp November breeze by the big house, and snug in our coats, hats, and gloves, visibly exhaling each breath. The modern light flickering from the old-time lantern fixture illuminated our faces.

  David motioned to the house behind us, where lights blazed forth from many windows. “What’s going on inside tonight?”

  “Eight rooms rented.”

  “That’s great.” He smiled. “But not what I meant.”

  “I know.” I shrugged. “Brief family update? My brother, Eric, and his wife, Tina, checked out this morning. I feel lucky to have finally gotten a chance to visit with them because I was beginning to think they were avoiding me in their quest for a romantic getaway. Grandma’s still trying to talk Liz into drinking some of her monster toddy. Liz finally agreed to let me call the cruise line and leave a message
for our parents telling them about Gene’s death. And my mother is talking to her on the phone right now, telling Liz to call her counselors to handle the funeral luncheon.”

  “Tough part of being a mother, I guess,” he said.

  “Plus, she’s the president of our local women’s church group, and has been for several years; part of her church job is to handle funeral luncheons.”

  “Tough church job, too.”

  I nodded. “Zach wanted to pass out cookies for me in the parlor so I let him.”

  “And eating one for every two he hands out, no doubt.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  We swung gently for a few more minutes in companionable silence. Finally, David asked, “How is your sister doing?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “I don’t expect she’s doing well at all.”

  A truck came into view on the road. As it passed into the light at the far end of my driveway, I recognized it. “DeWayne’s here.”

  “That reminds me. I heard something interesting today.”

  “About DeWayne?”

  He nodded. “Apparently, the infamous divorcee, Crystal Maynard, has invited said officer for Saturday dinner at her place.”

  Amazed, I asked, “Who told you that?”

  “Said officer.” He motioned toward the approaching truck.

  As DeWayne parked his truck and turned it off, I lowered my voice. “Is he going?”

  “He was undecided when I spoke with him earlier. I think he’s still carrying a torch for your sister, but a man can only survive on unrequited love for so long.” He shrugged. “However, your sister has just become available again. I suspect his level of hope is rising.”

  We grew quiet as DeWayne climbed down from his truck and headed toward us, his first words being, “How’s she holding up?”

  “Come on in and see for yourself,” I said. David and I stood at the same time.

  We followed DeWayne inside and I locked the door before leading the way downstairs.

  As we came around the corner into the great room, Liz said, “I love you, Mom. Thanks.” She tucked her cell phone into her pocket, and when she saw DeWayne, she said, “Buddy,” using his nickname from high school.