Hole: A Ghost Story

by Rod Redux

“Yeah… No…”

  “Just… whenever you’re ready, Hank. There’s no hurry.”

  “I know.”

  Hank sat behind the wheel, thinking of how beautiful Mary was when she slept. When she was asleep, her face went very smooth and she got this peaceful look, one she rarely had when she was awake because she was such a worrier. She looked like an angel when she slept, so serene. He used to stare at her in the mornings if he woke up before her. He remembered the way the baby fuzz on her cheeks gleamed in the morning sunlight, the tilt of her lips, her childlike chin, her long dark eyelashes.

  Stop! It hurts too much!

  “Okay, let’s go,” Hank said. He jerked the door handle up and kicked the door open, then slid out from behind the wheel—

  --And his knees buckled under him.

  He’d heard of people saying their legs turned to rubber, but he’d never experienced it himself until the last two days.

  As Hank climbed from his car to go inside and make his wife’s funeral arrangements, his legs collapsed under him like they were soggy noodles, refusing to carry him to the deed.

  He went down on his knees with a surprised, “Oof!” his fingers scrabbling at the car door. His head swam and a moment later, he found himself on his hands and knees, Steve running around the car to help him up. His vision had narrowed to a pinhole, and everything outside that bright aperture was echoey and foggy.

  “Hank! You okay?” Steve cried.

  That’s the million dollar question, Hank thought.

  He felt cut loose from the world around him, like he was floating away from it. Everything was far away, like he was looking at it through the wrong end of a spyglass. The tarmac beneath his hands was a black cratered moonscape, his arms a million miles long. The car behind him was a mountain of steel, plastic and glass.

  “Yeah…” he said, shaking his head to clear it.

  He’d gotten stoned one time at a party—smoked some weed that was laced with something, he wasn’t sure what— and his high had felt like this. Dreamy and unreal.

  Steve scooped him under his armpits and helped him to his feet. The funeral director hurried from the office at the same time, looking terribly concerned.

  “Mr. Stanford?” he called. “Is this Mr. Stanford? Is he okay?”

  Hank swatted at Steve’s hands, saying, “’S okay, man. I got it.”

  “No you don’t ‘got it’,” Steve said grimly, hauling him up.

  The funeral director and his brother-in-law bracketed him on both sides and walked him into the office. While Hank sat with his head in his hands, Steve fanned him and the funeral director raced off to get Hank something cold to drink. A paper cup with ice and Coke in it was placed in his hands. Hank drank, and after awhile the fog began to lift.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Hank apologized.

  From Steve: “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

  Mr. Kelley: “Don’t worry about it. It’s totally understandable.”

  After a while, he felt well enough to go on with the arrangements.

  ***

  Hank was surprised how smoothly it all went. The funeral director, Arnold Kelley, was very genial. He sat with Hank in the office and took down Mary’s information for the obituary and the register and the memorial booklet. He asked about their religion, any wishes Hank or the decedent might have had regarding funeral arrangements. Steve helped Hank out as much as possible, supplying names and dates when Hank floundered, and then it was time to go to the display room to choose a casket.

  Hank wandered up and down the aisles for quite a while. He and Mary had talked about their funerals a few times in the past. Mary always claimed she wanted to be cremated or have an inexpensive funeral if she should happen to die before him, but when it came down to it, Hank couldn’t bear the thought of having her cremated, or putting her in the ground in a cheap casket.

  He opted for one of the more expensive ones. It was a rose colored casket with cherubs on the sidebars. It cost a bit over five thousand, but Steve agreed that Mary would have thought it was very pretty, and stood patting Hank on the shoulder while he wept over the casket for a few minutes.

  Before they left, as Hank was drinking one last cup of soda, the mortician asked if he would like to see his wife in the reposing room.

  Hank looked at Steve with horror in his eyes and shook his head.

  “I can’t,” he whispered urgently. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just can’t do that!”

  Hank’s brother-in-law put his arm around his shoulders and shook his head at the mortician. “I don’t think he feels up to that,” he said, even though the man was standing right there and saw Hank’s reaction for himself.

  The mortician nodded. “That’s all right! That’s all right! Some people do. That’s why we ask, but don’t feel like you’re obligated to do it. I know this is a hard time-- for you especially, Hank. And believe me, I know how you’re feeling. I lost my wife six years ago, God rest her soul. You just put it out of your head, and don’t feel guilty about it.”

  They stopped for lunch at a Chinese restaurant and discussed Mary’s funeral arrangements while they ate, deciding who should be pall bearers and what music Mary would like to have played at her service. Hank knew she liked a particular song, but couldn’t recall the title or the artist who sang it. Something to do with a father’s eyes. Steve had no idea. He listened to techno.

  “Ah, well, maybe it’ll come to me,” Hank sighed over his bowl of wonton soup.

  After lunch, they drove across town and picked out the flower arrangements.

  By the time they were headed back home, Steve behind the wheel, all Hank wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep the next twenty-four hours, but when they neared his house, he saw his sister and mother-in-law’s cars in the driveway and knew his day was far from over.

  12.

  Hank’s sister was waiting on the patio with his mother-in-law when they arrived. He was hoping to grab a quick nap—just an hour or two of rest—but it didn’t look like that was going to happen today. No rest for the wicked, he thought. Still, he was glad to see his sister, and judging from the way her eyes lit up when he pulled into the driveway, she was glad to see him, too. She looked at Hank like a damsel in need of rescue when Hank and Steve got out of the car to greet them. Harriet Klegg was standing over her, running her mouth, as usual.

  “Hey, sis,” Hank said tiredly, crunching across the driveway toward them.

  Hank’s sister Susan was a heavyset blond, a couple years younger than him and just starting to show her age. Despite her weight, she was a natural beauty, with olive skin and sweet, round features. She was divorced, no kids like Hank and Mary, and taught junior high math.

  Susan rose to sweep him into her arms. “Hey, big brother. I am so, so sorry about Mary,” she said. “How you holding up?”

  Hank hugged her back, too exhausted to get emotional, but it was good to have his sister here, good to have her arms wrapped around him. “I’m doing as well as can be expected, I guess,” he answered, closing his eyes and taking in her good smell, the welcome comfort of her plush warmth. “Is Mom on her way?” he asked, when their embrace finally broke.

  Hank’s mother had remarried a couple years after Hank’s dad died. After getting hitched, she had moved out of state to live with her new beau in Tennessee. Her new husband, a horse rancher named Trenton Goddard, owned a big spread just south of Nashville, not far from George Jones’s estate. They’d met at the riverboat casino where Hank’s mother worked at the time as a blackjack dealer. Trent was kind of old, but he was rich and charming and very, very southern.

  “I don’t think they’ve left yet,” Susan answered, keeping one arm around her brother’s waist. “They were packing last I talked to her.”

  Hank’s family was scattered across half the Midwest. Sue in Kentucky. His mother in Tennessee. A whole slew of aunts and uncles and cousins sprinkled from Alabama to Chicago.

  Hank chuckled. “I think funerals are the only ti
me we all get together anymore.”

  Susan nodded. “I know. It’s kind of sad. Billy Joe called me from Memphis. He said he and Terri are headed here for the funeral.”

  Billy Joe was Hank’s cousin. Nearly the same age, they’d been inseparable when they were teenagers. Billy Joe was an Elvis impersonator now, did a couple nightly performances at an Elvis themed restaurant in Memphis, Tennessee. His wife Terri eerily resembled Priscilla Presley. They had five kids.

  Strange, what corners the winds of fate blew you into, especially when you resembled the king of rock and roll.

  “That’s good. Mary loved him to death when we were younger. Lord, I haven’t seen him since Aunt Nell died. It’ll be nice to catch up with him and Terri and all the kids.”

  Meanwhile, Steve and Harriet confronted one another uneasily on the patio beside the two siblings. Their relationship had frayed to the point of snapping when Steve came out of the closet. Harriet, a zealous Baptist, picked no bones about her feelings toward homosexuals, and had all but disowned her son over his “deviant lifestyle”.

  “Mother,” Steve said tersely.

  “Steven,” Harriet snapped back.

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  “I’ve been waiting here a while. No one would answer their cell phones. I don’t know what good it is having a portable phone if no one bothers to answer them.”

  “We’ve been kind of busy today. Where’s dad?”

  “He couldn’t come. He’s too sick. This has all been a terrible strain on him. You know how your father was partial to Mary. I had to take him to the emergency room last night and get him a breathing treatment. He’s at home resting right now.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Steve lit a cigarette, ignoring his mother’s sniff of disapproval.

  “Well, let’s not stand out here all day,” Hank said to everybody. “Let’s go inside where it’s cool and make ourselves comfortable.” Hank went to the door, taking down the sign he’d taped to it for Sue. “I left the door unlocked. You guys could have went inside.”

  Sue shrugged. “It was so pretty out today...”

  “The weather certainly is nice,” Harriet remarked.

  “Anybody want a cup of coffee?” Hank asked as he stepped into the kitchen. “I know I could drink one. I’ve only slept two hours.” He crumpled the note and tossed it in the waste bin.

  “I’ll take a cup,” Susan answered.

  “Me, too.”

  Harriet said, “Oh, no! No, thank you, Hank. Coffee plays havoc on my kidneys.”

  Hank put some coffee on while everyone sat at the dining room table. When the Bunn finished bubbling and everyone had a mug of coffee-- everyone except Mary’s mother, who asked for a glass of ice water— they reminisced about Mary.

  Hank listened, smiling at times, getting a little teary eyed at others, while everyone shared their favorites stories about his late wife.

  He laughed aloud as Susan confessed how jealous she’d been of Mary when Hank first started dating her. That jealousy had turned to abject hatred when they got married. “It was just so petty,” Susan admitted with a smile, her plump cheeks crinkling as she recalled their younger days. “Mary was such a beautiful woman, and I felt like she was stealing my big brother away.”

  Hank laughed, “Oh my God! Do you remember, after we got engaged, how you tried to convince me Mary had a ‘reputation’?”

  Susan laughed guiltily. “I was such a spoiled brat! You know I made all of that up. I was just trying to break the two of you up.”

  “I knew what you were trying to do. Even back then. Besides, I knew Mary was a good girl.” Hank snorted, wiping his eyes.

  “She was. She was probably about the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know how you managed to snag her.”

  “I don’t know either.”

  Sue smiled sadly. “I apologized later for all the trouble I tried to cause, and you know what? She forgave me before I even had the words out of my mouth. We became very close after that. She was like the sister I never had. You know, Mary had a good soul, Hank.”

  Hank nodded. “I know she did. She was way too good for me, anyways.”

  Harriet seemed to tire of reminiscing about her daughter, and steered the conversation toward the funeral service. She announced that Dean had arrived that morning, and she thought it would be appropriate if he delivered the eulogy, being the eldest of the siblings.

  “Now I know you two boys had a falling out with him a couple years ago, but I thought it would be nice to show some solidarity. That we’re a family, even if we can’t always get along,” Harriet said.

  Seeing Hank tense, Steve interjected quickly, “He’s already got someone to do the service, Mother.”

  In truth, Hank hadn’t yet called anyone to lead the funeral service, but he was grateful Steve had stepped in to derail the woman. He did not want that child molester presiding over his wife’s funeral, family or not. He wasn’t even sure he could trust himself to be around the man without lashing out at him. Most of Mary’s issues stemmed from the abuse she’d suffered at her brother’s hands as a child, and Hank carried a heavy burden of resentment toward the man.

  “Really?” Harriet asked, her voice rising to a whine. She needled Hank with her tiny gray eyes. “Are you sure? It would make me so happy!”

  “Yes, Mother!” Steve said hotly. “Now drop it!”

  Rather than get angry, Harriet played the martyr card and pushed away from the table abruptly. “You don’t have to be so short with me, Steven Allen Klegg! You’re not the only one hurting here. She was my daughter!” She stormed outside then, slamming the door behind her.

  Steve scowled at Hank and Susan, eyes wide. “Fuck...” he hissed under his breath.

  Hank patted his brother-in-law on the forearm. “Thanks, Steve. I’m glad you said something. I don’t think I can take Dean getting up there and preaching at Mary’s funeral. I’d lose it for sure.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. That’s one thing that is never going to happen. I’ll make sure Dean stays far away from you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Susan, who had gotten to know Mary well enough in the last couple years to be in on at least some of the secrets the Klegg children kept, looked from Steve to her brother, her eyes wide and horrified.

  “I mean, I’m going out to Mom and Dad’s house tonight to lay it on the line for Golden Boy. You notice he was too gutless to come out here with Mom today. He knows you know what he did. I don’t think you have to worry about him, but just to make certain, I’m going to tell him what’s what.”

  “Steve, you don’t have to do that…” Hank started.

  Lighting another cigarette, Steve said, “Oh… yes, I do.”

  Hank didn’t think Steve would want to know just how much he looked like his mother when he was angry.

  Harriet returned from the patio a few minutes later, wiping her eyes. She sat at the dining room table with a huff. She coughed and flapped her hand at Steve’s cigarette smoke, a look of irritation on her face, then rejoined their conversation as if nothing had happened.

  After a while, Harriet announced she needed to go home and check on her husband. Hank followed her to the door and gave her a brief hug as they said their goodbyes. She always smelled of bleach and old woman sweat to him, but it was Mary’s mother. He told her to be careful going home.

  Susan left a little while later, to get settled in her hotel room.

  “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Hank asked.

  “I think Mom and Trent are planning to sleep here.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Then she was gone, too.

  Steve stayed and helped Hank pick Mary’s pall bearers, then told Hank he was heading over to his mother’s house to talk to Dean. Steve started to embrace Hank, hesitated, then made a “what the hell” gesture and gave his brother-in-law a big bear hug.

  Hank accepted it gratefully. “Be careful over there,” Hank said, squeezing Steve’s bon
y shoulders in his hands. Steve was a head shorter than Hank and thin as a rail. “There’s no use making a scene.”

  “If he don’t start no trouble, there won’t be no trouble,” Steve said tartly.

  Hank laughed. “All right. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. I might be asleep when you get back. I think I’m going to lay down for a while. I’m wiped out. But now, listen... I can go with if you think--”

  “No. Just stay here and get some rest. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll be back in an hour or two.” Then, with a wave, he stepped out onto the patio.

  His brother-in-law turned and started toward the little green Kia sitting in the driveway. Hank stood in the doorway while Steve got in the car, started the engine, and then backed out of the driveway. Hank’s brother-in-law blipped his horn, and then he was gone, the whine of the compact car’s engine diminishing slowly into the distance.

  All alone.

  Hank closed the door and confronted his empty house. It suddenly seemed very alien to him, menacing almost. Dimly lit with evening’s shadows. Too quiet. The air was thick with the residue of human voices. Mary’s absence was overwhelming.

  He walked from room to room, turning on the lights. Ruddy sunset glared through the west facing windows, the day gone red and guttering on the horizon. Red as blood. The artificial lights looked weak and yellow, like a cancer patient’s smile. It made him shudder.

  He didn’t want to stay here, but he was exhausted. Physically. Emotionally.

  Hank plodded up the stairs to his bedroom. He stripped off his jeans and shirt, then sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his socks. Throwing back his covers, he swung his legs onto the bed and curled up under the blanket to sleep for a while. Though it was only 7:00 p.m., he didn’t set his alarm. If Steve needed him when he returned, he would wake him.

  He pulled Mary’s pillow toward him. He could smell her perfume, the fragrance of her shampoo. Breathing in Mary’s fading scent, Hank Stanford shut his eyes to sleep.

  It’s just me now, Hank thought as his exhausted mind began to drift. I’m all alone.