Severed

by Corey Brown

  Head hanging low, Cody works for air, his throat is burning even though he never vomited. He spits, trying to get rid of the rotten taste in his mouth. A thread of saliva dangles from his mouth. Cody coughs, licks his lips and swipes at the spittle. The city seems to fall silent, the world seems to wait for him and Cody inhales, long and slow then exhales in much the same way. He does it again, labors to inhale, exhale. The process is painful, each breath an exercise in misery.

  Cody coughs again, spits and says, “Won’t this fucking day ever end?”

  Chapter 13

  The half dozen expensive cars parked in front of his house tells Glen Harris his wife’s girlfriends have arrived. Unconsciously, Doctor Harris tenses. The thought of having to face any one of them, let alone the whole gaggle, unnerves him.

  Still, in a way, Harris is glad. He has just spent the last hour driving aimlessly around the city, sorting it all out, trying to figure out what he should do to protect his family; trying to decide if he should do anything at all.

  Now, with his wife otherwise occupied, Harris knows he will be left alone and he can hide away in his home office with a bottle of something that will calm his nerves.

  Pressing the small gray button on his remote, Harris watches the garage door slowly lift open. Its jerky, upward motion reminds him, as it does every day, the opener needs to be serviced. It has developed the irritating habit of stopping mid-way, requiring, at times, manual assistance. He hopes the damned thing will work tonight. To his relief, the overhead door completes its journey and Harris quietly rolls into the dimly lit, four-car garage.

  Getting out of his metallic gold Lexus, Harris closes the car door and looks at the stamped, colonial-style door leading into the house. Harris’s shoulders sag, his exhaustion magnified by the idea of going through the ritual of smiles, introductions and disingenuous greetings.

  Forget that, Harris thinks, I’ll go around back, go in from the patio, right into my study. Skip the women altogether.

  Making his way to the garage’s side door, Harris remembers his daughters, recalls their pool party. In order to skirt his wife’s party, he might have to face his daughter’s friends. Harris feels a flush of embarrassment. He hopes the pool party is over, not wanting his girls to catch him skulking around.

  Then he remembers Cody’s warning, how Cody had said anyone can get to you, if that is their intention. Harris remembers Cody’s tone of voice, flat, without affect and it scares him shitless all over again. Once more, Doctor Harris’s mind overflows with dread.

  He pulls the side door open and steps out into a lush garden, full of Moss Rose, Periwinkle, Black-eyed Susan, and Primrose. The unexpected heat wave has drawn the flowers into a premature blossom and the sweet odor hangs thickly in the air. Harris moves quickly, thinking if the girls are okay, he will need a really stiff drink.

  Taking the stone path leading to the pool, Harris breaks into a trot, heading to the gate of an impressive wooden privacy fence. Even though Harris has jogged only a hundred feet, his breath comes in short, ragged gasps. He feels as though he has just completed the Boston Marathon.

  Harris stares at the numeric keypad mounted next to the reinforced wood gate. He has to enter the security code to release the latch. But his mind is blank. Drops of sweat form above Harris’s temples and he feels the nudge of panic.

  “Damn it,” he says. “What’s the code?” Harris fumbles with the keypad, now on his fourth attempt. If he fails five times an alarm will be sent to the security company, something he does not need right now.

  His chest starts to tighten and Harris tries to calm himself. Then, drifting over the tall fence, is the sound of voices. Harris listens intently, trying to slow his breathing. He cannot understand what they are saying, but there is no mistaking the sound of youth, teenagers laughing and calling to each other. Harris’s daughters are safe and still enjoying their pool party.

  Sudden relief floods the doctor’s mind and he clumsily steps back from the gate. Overwhelmed with emotion, Harris collapses onto a nearby garden bench and sobs.

  «»

  The setting sun brings a measure of relief from the oppressive heat but the air is still thick and wet. Car windows down, Cody drives the back streets. His car bounces over rough roads, a vehicular beating in tribute to New Orleans’s poor infrastructure.

  Except for the occasional lamplight, the quiet streets are all dark. A right turn, a left, another block and the house is close. Like sentries, live oaks and magnolia trees spread their branches over the roadway, offering protection from the outside world.

  Easing into the driveway Cody smiles when he sees the lone figure sitting on the gallery. There he is, tipped back on the hind legs of a plain, wooden chair. The old man’s form is silhouetted by light leaking from the front windows. An unseen weight bearing down on Cody’s shoulders seems to lighten at the sight.

  Rolling to a gentle stop, Cody kills the engine and listens. The peaceful sounds of suburbia reach his ears; the metallic hum of air conditioners, broken voices of children playing, people are settling into their homes for the night.

  Like Cody’s place, his in-law’s house is a shotgun style but older and larger and far more elegant. The stout building is made of worn brick and painted dark green trim. Jet black ironwork graces a second story balcony as well as the wrap-around wooden gallery. Moss covers parts of the roof while a distinctive chimney raises high above the house.

  Stepping onto the cracked cement driveway, Cody makes his way up the narrow walk toward the house. At the foot of the steps he stops and stares at his father in-law.

  “Oh, for Godsakes,” Cody says. “Gus, what are you doing?”

  “Jus’ waiting for you, boy.” Gus says, his gravelly voice heavy with an old Cajun accent.

  Gus Dubois, Jamie’s father, is a grizzled man in his late-sixties, his face round and lined. Thick, gray hair on his head matches the ever-present facial stubble and a flat nose, giving Gus the appearance of a retired prizefighter. He is not tall but what he lacks in height he makes up with tenacity.

  Right now, he is wearing a gray tee shirt and threadbare blue jeans that are held up by wide, red suspenders.

  “You know what I mean,” Cody says, pointing. “What are you doing with that?”

  Gus looks down then lifts the rifle lying across his knees. “What? This old thing?” The grin of an old fox crosses his face. “Ain’t nothin’,” he says. “Jus’ keepin’ my little girl safe.”

  Cody climbs the steps. Reaching the top, he catches sight of the Mason jar at Gus’s feet.

  “And what about that?” Cody says, pointing at the glass container. “Gus, you just can’t do this. You can’t be sitting on your front porch, getting liquored up with a loaded rifle on your lap. What’ll your neighbors think?”

  “This is New Orleans, son. Everyone is liquored up. This thing ain’t loaded, an’ I don’t give a rip about the neighbors. So you got no worries.”

  “Oh, that’s great. If it’s not loaded, and the bad guys do show up, how’re you going to shoot ‘em?”

  “Make up your mind, boy. You sound like a woman, you want it loaded or not?”

  Cody shakes his head, rubs his scalp. “That is not the point,” Cody says, knowing he does not have any traction. “What I mean----”

  “Forget it,” Gus says. “The rifle is just the bark.” He produces an old Colt 45 revolver. “But this,” Gus shakes the pistol, “This is the bite.” Then he lowers his voice and says, “I’ll blow their goddamned heads off.”

  From somewhere inside the house, comes a woman’s voice, calm and measured.

  “Don’t you be taking the Lord’s name in vain, Mr. Dubois,” she says. “Or you’ll need a lot more than silly talk to save your worthless hide.”

  Cody mocks a wince then leans in close. “Good going, now she’s going to kick your ass.”

  “And you’ll be first, Cody Briggs.”

  Marion Dubois is now standing just a few feet away at the screen door
.

  Cody flinches, her stealth is uncanny. But the hint of a grin works the corner of his mouth.

  “Oops,” Cody says. “Sorry Marion.”

  “Yeah, sorry Ma,” Gus adds. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  Jamie’s mother is a thin woman with wispy, white hair and high cheekbones. Her sloping shoulders seem hardly able to hold up her blue cotton summer dress. Like her husband, her narrow face shows signs of a hard life but her eyes sparkle with the brightness of a woman in her youth.

  “Well, that’s better,” Marion says, smiling. The screen door creaks as she opens it. She studies Cody. “You okay?” Then Marion frowns, starts to reach out, maybe to take his hand but she pulls up short and says, “What happened to your forehead?”

  Gingerly, Cody touches the small contusion above his right eye. “I bumped it on.…”

  What had happened? Where did his welt come from? Cody thinks about it. He has a vague memory of sitting in the car, of being in an outland--- whatever that means--- he almost remembers hitting his head on something. The memory is elusive, like the after-taste of food having been washed away by drink.

  “Oh, never mind,” Cody says, sighing, wishing he knew exactly how he had injured himself. “I’m all right. How’s Jamie?” Cody stands, reaches for the screen door. “And Todd, is he upstairs?”

  “Jamie’s asleep,” Marion says. She draws in a breath, she waits, sighs. “But Todd is not here,” she says. “He’s still with Lucas. Todd wanted to stay with him tonight.”

  “What? I told Jamie to bring him here.”

  “Hush, now,” Marion says. “You’ll wake Jamie, and she just fell asleep.”

  Cody stares at her. In his heart he does not blame Marion, but in a small way he feels betrayed. And Marion can see that emotion in his eyes.

  “I have to get Todd,” Cody says, turning to leave. “He can’t be with Lucas. Todd has to be here with me.”

  Cody plants one foot down on the first stair step but Marion catches him by the elbow.

  “Hold up,” Marion says. “Jamie didn’t like the idea either. None of us did. But all things considered, maybe Todd is safer where with Lucas.”

  Marion looks at Cody, offers an expression of kindness and understanding. Cody feels it, senses the weight of her concern, feels like his shoes have taken root on the stair tread.

  “Under the circumstances,” Marion says, quietly. “Maybe it’s best to just leave him be.”

  Cody is not sure if Marion is hinting at the argument he’d had with Todd this morning or if she’s talking about the attempt on Jamie’s life. For a second, he wonders about these things then dismisses them as he uses both hands to massage his temples.

  “You don’t understand,” Cody says. “I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t protect him if he’s not here.”

  “If things are bad,” Gus says. “Like you say, then these assholes will have a hard time finding him if he ain’t with you. They got no idea who his real dad is.”

  “Oh Gus,” Marion says, looking at her husband. “How can you say such a thing? Cody is more of a father than Lucas could ever be.”

  Gus Dubois looks away, “Sorry, Cody,” he says. “I ain’t mean it that way. I just, well, maybe little Todd be safer if he ain’t around here.”

  Cody passes his gaze between them for a few seconds. He looks down at his shoes, each one on a different step, one foot up, one down. His feet seem to be positioned the same way he feels. He is split apart, going in different directions.

  He needs to know, for certain, that Todd is safe and Cody’s heart tells him that proximity is the only way to guarantee Todd’s safety. But in his head Cody knows Gus is right.

  “I just want him here, with me,” Cody says, quietly. “I have to see him.”

  “I understand,” Marion says. Her tone is soft, understanding. “It’s hard, being without your child, but Gus has a point.” Marion hesitates. “But you know what’s best for your boy. If you want to get Todd, Gus will go with you. Just say so, he’ll go along.”

  Cody sighs. He looks at Marion then glances out at the Dodge parked in the driveway. He sighs again and Marion knows that he has decided not to go after Todd.

  “C’mon inside,” Marion says, “You must be starving. I’ll fix you a bite to eat.”

  «»

  “Hey Dad, what’re you doing here?”

  “Hi kiddo.”

  Harris smiles weakly at his youngest daughter as he emerges from the overgrowth enveloping the gate and fence then looks at the rest of the teens. “You guys having fun?”

  A round of hello’s and echoed affirmations are offered in response. Dripping, Harris’s oldest daughter, Brooke, intercepts him as he walks toward the sliding glass door. She puts a wet hand on his forearm, she sees his swollen eyes.

  “Are you okay, Dad?”

  Harris nods then smiles, puts his hand over hers. “I’m fine, sweetheart. I received some disturbing news which only made a long day even longer, but that’s all. Don’t worry, everything’s all right. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” She says, her bright eyes, clouding, filling with concern.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Um, why did you come around this way?”

  “Oh,” Harris says. He pauses, looks back at the wooden gate. “Well, I was in the garden and I, uh….”

  “Wanted to avoid Mom’s friends,” Brooke says, a knowing look emerging across her pretty face.

  Harris grins. “I don’t know about that.” He shrugs, smiles weakly. “Maybe.”

  Brooke seems to understand everything that goes on in the family, all the unspoken feelings, all the undercurrents. She is the peacemaker, the bridge builder, and the quintessential daddy’s girl. Although they have never talked about it, even though Harris has never even hinted, he is sure that Brooke knows about his dying marriage; she knows that her mom and dad are no longer in love.

  Harris looks at Brooke, his heart filling with emotion for his daughter, he wonders if she will sense this new strain on the family. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek.

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. I understand. Hey, pizzas are on the way and we rented a really scary movie, want to join us?” Her eyes sparkle. “It’ll keep you safe from Mom and her henchwomen.”

  Harris chuckles, a conspiratorial smile working onto his face. “No, honey, I---- ” He stops mid-sentence, realizing he has not spent much time with his girls lately. Harris looks into Brooke’s brown eyes, sees how much she loves him. His body relaxes, feeling a weight lift. “Yeah,” Harris says. “I’d like that.”

  “Really?”

  His smile changes, becomes a look of endearment. “Yes, really. Let me put on something more comfortable.”

  “Cool,” Brooke says. “Mom just ordered, it’ll be about half an hour. You’re going to love this movie, it’s a Wendy Ekerson film. Oh, and it was written by that guy who just won the Oscar for best screenplay.”

  “Wendy Ekerson?” Harris says. “The Queen of Fright?

  “The one and only,” Brooke says.

  “Okay, I’ll be in my office. Come get me when the pizzas arrive.”

  The sliding door rolls shut, closing with a graceful thud. Harris leans against the glass, closes his eyes and for the moment he feels safe. He is home and all the worrisome events of today seem to be out there, away from him and his girls.

  Harris quietly pulls the office door open and looks down the darkened hall. The dull sound of conversations mingled with flatware on china tells Harris that his wife and her friends are in the dining room, still eating, still occupied. Slipping off his shoes and toeing them back into his office, Harris pads toward the stairway.

  At the foot of the massive, curving oak staircase Harris pauses, trying to see what his wife is doing, knowing he should just get up the stairs. The dim light of a second floor fixture casts a shadow and in the semi-darkness, Harris catches sight of Diana sitting at the head of the dining room table, presiding.

  For an ins
tant their eyes meet. Or do they? Harris’s heart sinks. Diana will beckon him to make formal introductions, even though he already knows most of these women. Then he’ll be stuck chatting, making small talk, wasting time.

  But Diana looks away, continues with her conversation. A second later, her eyes cut back to the dark stairway. Harris stands motionless, looking back at his wife. He feels like a stranger in his own home, a thief, like someone who steals away from the watchful eye of the homeowner.

  A thief?

  How absurd. Shaking off the feeling, Harris quietly sighs. He can tell Diana no longer cares if he is there. Otherwise occupied, Mrs. Harris has dismissed her husband. She won’t assail him with words or requests tonight. Doctor Harris shakes his head, starts up the stairs.

  Chapter 14

  “She’s fine.” Marion says, giving Cody the medical report on Jamie as he shovels food into his mouth. “Lakeside Hospital says she’s in perfect health.”

  “Did she tell the doctor why she was there?” Cody says. “What did she tell him?”

  “The truth, more or less. She said that she’d been in a car accident earlier in the day and had felt fine at the time, but was now a little sore and just wanted to be sure.”

  Cody takes another bite of pot roast, swallows it. “Thank God she’s okay,” he says. “She paid cash, right?”

  Marion nods. “Just like you said.”

  Wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, Cody pushes back from the table. “Thanks, Marion,” he says. “A great meal, I really needed that.”