Once again, Lonnie’s dad and Los Brujos performed an impromptu piece, this time a Spanish song titled, “En las manos del Ser Divino.”
Brother Elrod read from the book of Romans. He preached a short sermon, and then led everyone in prayer. When he was done, a couple of workers from the Pineview Cemetery lowered the casket, and everyone in attendance was given an opportunity to sprinkle soil from a container into the grave.
With tears in his eyes, Lonnie scooped a handful of dirt and whispered, “I love you, Mommy,” before dropping the soil into the ground.
They returned to the church, where some of the ladies had prepared a meal. Lonnie walked around the fellowship hall to get reacquainted with some relatives he hadn’t seen in a long time. He met up with Enrique, a cousin his age. What Lonnie remembered most about him was that when Enrique was little, he was so bony, his ribcage protruded from his body. He always smelled of urine and seemed to have a permanent dirt ring around his neck.
Now, Enrique stood five-feet eight and weighed a hundred seventy pounds. He didn’t have a dirt ring around his neck, and the only smell Lonnie detected from him was cologne. Enrique attended Red Adair Middle School in Abilene, where he played wide receiver on their football team.
Lonnie was telling him about how he hoped to play football some day when a shouting match erupted behind them. He turned and saw his dad and his grandpa Salinas arguing.
“But you don’t have a job, Richard. How are you going to support Lonnie if you don’t work?”
Hearing his name, Lonnie left Enrique and made his way toward them.
“He’s not gonna live with you, Arthur. You hear me? Lonnie’s my boy. He belongs with me.”
“What’s going on?” Lonnie asked.
“Your grandpa doesn’t think I can take care of you,” his dad said.
“All I’m saying is that it would be better for Lonnie if he came to live with us until you can find a job.”
“No! I’m his father. He needs to be with me. That’s the way Becky would’ve wanted it.”
Lonnie’s grandfather stepped back and crossed his arms. “Are you sure about that, Richard?” he asked smugly. “Are you really sure that’s what Becky would’ve wanted?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Did you know Becky was planning to leave you?”
“What?”
That revelation jolted Lonnie as much as it did his dad, although it shouldn’t have. His parents had been squabbling for years, and he figured it was just a matter of time before something like this happened.
“That’s right. She discussed it with Lourdes and me. Becky said she wanted to divorce you, and she asked us if she and Lonnie could stay at our house until she found a new place to live.”
“That’s a lie!” Lonnie’s dad shouted. “Becky loved me. Even Beto said so. Are you gonna tell me that he lied in front of God and all those people when he talked about how much she loved me?”
His father-in-law nudged his chin in the direction of his wife, who was sitting nearby, watching. “Ask Lourdes. She’ll tell you.”
“This is low, Arthur,” Lonnie’s dad said in a guttural voice. “This is really low. I just lost my wife, and Lonnie lost his mother. And now you wanna make things worse by trying to split us up? Well, I’m not gonna let you do it. You’re not taking Lonnie away from me.”
“What do you plan to do for money then? How are you going to support him?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“I’m making it my business, Richard. And if I find out that my grandson isn’t being taken care of properly, I’ll sue you, if I have to, for custody. You better believe it.”
Lonnie’s dad wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get outta here.” Before leaving, he glared at his father-in-law and uttered something Lonnie didn’t catch. It was just as well. He probably didn’t need to hear what he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TUESDAY, LONNIE RETURNED TO SCHOOL. All day, teachers and students approached him, offering their condolences, repeating the same things he had heard a million times: “You’re in my thoughts. You’re in my prayers. You’re in my thoughts and prayers, blah, blah, blah.” After a while, he was sick of all the attention and wished everyone would leave him alone.
With the exception of Yvette Sosa.
As soon as he entered Texas history class, she greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Ordinarily, that kind of display would have elicited silly howls from the guys. But it was understood that there was nothing romantic about Yvette’s affections.
“I wanted to talk to you at the funeral, but there were so many people around you that I didn’t get a chance,” she said. “But please know how sorry I am about what happened to your mom.”
Their conversation was cut short by the bell, and they took their seats. Lonnie thought that maybe after class, he and Yvette could walk down the hallway together. But as soon as Texas history ended, she left with her friends, and Lonnie headed to math class alone.
While Mrs. Ridley demonstrated on the board how to divide with decimals, a girl walked into the room with a note for Lonnie to report to Ms. Hoffman, the guidance counselor.
Oh, great. Someone else who’s going to tell me how sorry she is to hear about my loss.
Lonnie didn’t have a problem meeting with Ms. Hoffman, though. She was young, probably no older than twenty-five or twenty-six. And pretty, with long, dark-brown hair and deep blue eyes. At the beginning of the school year, she helped Lonnie register for classes, and he found her to be pleasant and easy to talk to.
When he knocked on her door, however, it was the school’s other counselor, Mr. Bigelow, who opened it. Lonnie had never met him before, but he had seen him around. Mr. Bigelow was a short, roly-poly man, who reminded Lonnie of Tweedledum and Twiddledee. He wore a yellow, short-sleeved shirt with a red paisley tie and purple pants that were hitched up to his chest, covering his enormous belly.
“Good morning, Lon,” he said. “I’m Mr. Bigelow. Come on in.”
“Where’s Ms. Hoffman?” Lonnie asked, looking around for her. He had never been inside her office, which looked more like a living room. There was a sofa with end tables and lamps on each side, a loveseat and two overstuffed chairs. A tall, wide bookcase stood behind the couch, with books, photographs and figurines neatly organized in it.
“She’s on campus doing other things,” Mr. Bigelow said. “I’m using her office temporarily while mine’s being painted. Won’t you have a seat, please?” Mr. Bigelow spoke with a lisp, and the words seat, please came out as theet, pleathe.
“Where do you want me to sit?” Lonnie asked.
Mr. Bigelow swept his hand over the couch and chairs, as if he was a salesman trying to sell him a piece of furniture. “Anywhere you’d like, Lon.”
Lonnie took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs, and Mr. Bigelow sat across from him on the couch. The counselor opened a file folder and skimmed over the information he had gathered.
This wasn’t the first time Lonnie had to deal with a grief counselor. When he was in the third grade, counselors from the district’s counseling services had gone to his school to talk to the students after Mr. Lee, the crossing guard, was killed. A woman in too big of a hurry ignored the school zone speed limit and hit Mr. Lee with her car as he was helping some kids cross the street.
“Lon Chaney Rodríguez,” Mr. Bigelow read aloud. “That’s quite an unusual name.”
“I was named after a horror film actor,” Lonnie told him. “Do you know who Lon Chaney was?”
“Yes, of course. (Yeth, of courth). He played the Wolf Man in that old monster picture from the thirties.”
“Actually, The Wolf Man came out in 1941,” Lonnie corrected him. “And it was Lon Chaney Jr. who starred in it, not his father. But Lon Chaney Jr. wasn’t a junior, ’cause his real name was Creighton. After his father died, Creighton got into acting and took his father’s name. Anyway, I’m named aft
er the original Lon Chaney.”
“My goodness, Lon,” Mr. Bigelow said, sounding impressed. “You’ve certainly done a lot of research on your name.”
Lonnie shrugged. “My dad told me about him. He loves horror movies. That’s why he named me Lon Chaney.”
“Did you and your parents enjoy watching horror pictures together, Lon?” Mr. Bigelow asked.
Here we go. Mr. Bigelow doesn’t want to know about my name. He’s just trying to find a way to get me to talk about my mom.
“Me and my dad watch them. My mom doesn’t care … My mom didn’t care too much for horror movies.”
“What sorts of things did you and your momma like to do together, Lon?” Mr. Bigelow asked. “I mean, just the two of you.”
“Can you call me Lonnie? That’s what everybody calls me.”
“Yes, of course … Lonnie.” Mr. Bigelow sat the file folder down and leaned back with his hands folded over his stomach. “Tell me about your momma. What are some of the best memories you have of her?”
Lonnie shifted uncomfortably in his chair and turned away. He didn’t want to discuss his mother with him. Those memories were private. They belonged to him. And to anyone he chose to share them with. They weren’t for the taking, just because a counselor asked for them. Thinking about his mother made his eyes well up.
“That’s all right, Lon,” Mr. Bigelow said gently. He reached for a Kleenex box and offered it to him.
Lonnie took a tissue and wiped his eyes. He collected himself and straightened up. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t talk about my mom right now. Is it okay if I go back to class? I’ve missed a lot of assignments, and I really can’t afford to be out anymore.”
Science class had just started, and Lonnie wasn’t particularly looking forward to being in there, but it beat having to pour out his life story to Humpty-Dumpty.
“Your teachers understand that you’re going through a grieving period,” Mr. Bigelow said. “Don’t worry about your grades, Lon. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. Your teachers will work with you to make sure you don’t fall behind in your studies.”
“Yes, sir, I know. But I’m trying to get back into my regular routine.”
Mr. Bigelow picked up the file folder and read over his notes again. “There’s no need to rush back to your classes, Lon … I mean, Lonnie. You’re carrying a lot of emotional weight right now, and I’m simply here to help you unload some of it.”
What’s this joker’s problem? Doesn’t he get it that I don’t want to talk to him?
“I appreciate that, sir,” Lonnie said, trying not to sound frustrated. “But I’m fine. Really. Me and my dad are pretty close, and we’ve talked a lot about what happened.”
That was a lie. Ever since his mother died, Lonnie and his dad had hardly spoken to each other. His dad was in mourning, Lonnie realized — they both were—but Lonnie was beginning to grow concerned about him. His dad had begun to slip into a deep funk, and Lonnie didn’t know how to get him out of it. All weekend, he sat in front of the TV, staring blankly at it, while downing one beer after another.
“That’s good, that’s good,” Mr. Bigelow said cheerily. “It’s important to be close to your daddy, especially at a time like this. Well, if you’d rather go back to class to be with your friends, I’m sure it’ll be all right. I’ll stop by every once in a while to see how you’re doing. In the meantime, feel free to come see me if ever you need anything.”
He asked Lonnie where he was supposed to be. Then he escorted him to the science lab.
After class, Lonnie ran into Jo Marie in the hallway. Even though he found her annoying, he felt he needed to apologize for his rude behavior at church.
“That’s okay, Lonnie,” she said. “I know you didn’t mean any of those things. You were hurt and upset. Sometimes when bad things happen to us, we blame God. But instead of blaming God, we need to trust Him. We need to be like Job, who —”
“Please don’t preach to me, Jo Marie,” Lonnie said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like hearing a sermon right now.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a Bible tract. “I want you to read this little booklet when you get a chance. It’s filled with really powerful Scriptures that can bring you comfort during this hard time in your life. And when I see you in church Sunday, I’ll give you some other materials that can help you better understand the nature of God.”
Lonnie took the Bible tract and thanked her, but he had no intention of reading it. He was done with church. With his mother gone, he no longer had to pretend to go there.
At lunch, he asked Axel if Mr. Barnaby had ever shown up at school, and Axel said he hadn’t. Lonnie thought perhaps Mr. Barnaby was too distraught to follow up on his hunch. Or maybe he realized he was no longer a cop and shouldn’t be conducting investigations on his own. Or he might have decided there were far bigger problems in the world to deal with than a few punk troublemakers.
Lonnie invited Axel to come over to his house after school, thinking that they might hang out at Catfish Creek. “You can tell your parents that since I’ve missed a lot of school, you’re going to help me catch up on my studies.”
Axel said he’d call to let him know.
“Make sure your phone’s charged,” Lonnie told him before they separated to go to fourth period.
In Progressive Reading, he handed his book project to Ms. Kowalski. Although it was almost a week overdue, she accepted it, saying she would give him full credit for his project without deducting any points for late work.
Lonnie should have been grateful, but he didn’t care what grade he got. The only reason he turned it in was because he had put his project in his backpack the night his mother died, and it was still in there.
His dad told him that he needed to start doing better in school because it was what his mom would have wanted. He’d never shown any interest before, so Lonnie thought it was lame of him to use her death as an attempt to motivate him to work harder. His mom was gone and nothing Lonnie did was going to change that. He could make straight A’s, but that still wouldn’t bring her back. Like he told Axel, there’s no cure for zombie-ism because there’s no cure for death.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AFTER SCHOOL, LONNIE FOUND HIS DAD sprawled on the couch, asleep, with crushed beer cans on the coffee table. He thought that after the argument with his father-in-law, his dad would be out looking for a job, but it didn’t appear as if he had left the house all day.
Axel called. He told Lonnie that his parents didn’t want him hanging out at his house anymore, now that his mom was gone. What did they think would happen? That Lonnie and his dad would don leatherface masks and chase after Axel with chainsaws? Lonnie was finding it difficult to maintain his friendship with Axel when his parents didn’t feel they could trust him.
He went to the kitchen to grab something to snack on, and for a second, he expected to find his mom in there, singing along to a song on the radio.
Fixing dinner would probably fall on him now. His dad’s cooking skills were limited to nuking stuff in the microwave, and he wasn’t always successful doing that. Lonnie knew how to make scrambled eggs, sandwiches and quesadillas. But he would have to learn how to prepare other meals.
Then there was the housework. His dad had never lifted a finger to do any of it. As a truck driver, he would be gone for days, and he expected the house to be clean when he returned. Sometimes Lonnie helped out by polishing the furniture and sweeping the floor. Now, it appeared that he would have to do all the cleaning, including scrubbing the toilets.
Lonnie also wondered about the wash. Who was going to do that? He had absolutely no idea how to wash clothes. He didn’t even know how to turn on the washing machine, and he doubted his dad did, either. Lonnie would have to learn in a hurry. He would also have to figure out how to iron and fold clothes, plus everything else his mom used to do that he and his dad had taken for granted.
All these thoughts burned in Lonnie’s mind, and h
e needed to get out of the house to sort things out.
His dad was still asleep, and nothing short of a nuclear explosion was going to wake him, so Lonnie didn’t let him know he was leaving. Anyway, he had his cell phone, and unlike Axel, he always kept it charged. If his dad grew worried about him, he was just a phone call away.
Lonnie crossed the street and headed toward the back of the Winfield Road Presbyterian Church. He climbed over the fence and hiked up the hill to the railroad tracks, then down the other side to Catfish Creek. Having taken this same route countless times, he had formed a walking path in the grass.
Near the bank of the creek, he sat on a boulder and took in the scenery. Minnows blew tiny bubbles in the water as they swam along. Dragonflies flitted back and forth above them. A couple of turtles crawled on a rock to bask in the sun.
Lonnie thought about all the Sundays he had made his mother believe he was in church when the whole time he was out here, playing hookey. Was hookey the right term to use? Can a person play hookey from church, or does that apply only to school?
The first time he came to Catfish Creek was to sneak out of church. But he kept returning because it was the only place where he could truly be alone, where he could meditate and reflect on life. In a way, he felt closer to God out here than he did inside the church.
Lonnie had gotten over his anger toward God, although he still couldn’t understand why He had taken away his mother. What was He planning to do with her soul? Lonnie knew what Brother Elrod preached, concerning the hereafter. Still, he was curious about what really happens to people when they die. Do they go to heaven? To hell? To purgatory? Do they become angels? Was his mom now an angel? Had she been issued a harp and a pair of wings? Was she flying around like those dragonflies near the water?
In pictures Lonnie had seen of angels, they usually wore white choir robes with halos encircling their heads. Somehow he couldn’t imagine his mom as an angel, unless she was an angel with a gun belt strapped around her waist and a badge on her robe.
On the Other Side of the Bridge Page 8