by Brett Baker
There beneath a spinning fan that fruitlessly attempted to cool the room, I felt woefully ill-prepared for the day. Whit’s cat, some yellowish brown hybrid breed that somehow looked like both a tiger and a possum, weaseled his way through the bedroom door, jumped onto the bed, and brushed his whiskers against my cheek as I tried to find a way to secure some darkness to help me regain sleep. My cat allergy, more psychological preference than biological ailment, led me to instinctively push the cat away. I launched him much too hard and instead of just falling off of the bed he flew eight feet, just missing the large dresser against the wall to the right of the bed. I sat up, checked to be sure he wasn’t dead, and then decided to call him over to try to make amends. I quickly realized I didn’t know his name, and when he didn’t respond to “Here, Kitty,” and instead looked at me with a combination of indignation and disgust, I told him to scram, and covered my face with a pillow.
After sitting on Whit’s porch and drinking a Diet Coke while gazing at the house in which I grew up, and where my parents died, I came inside and found Johnny sitting at the kitchen table.
“You’re up early,” he said. “Couldn’t sleep?” I shook my head. “Neither could I. Justine’s sound asleep and I spent the past two hours just watching her. So peaceful. I’m jealous. Nice of Whit to let us stay with him, but I wonder if I would have slept better in a hotel. Just knowing how much time mom and dad spent here, sitting on the porch, eating dinner, playing cards, I swear they’re still here. A magazine fell off the side table in our bedroom during the night and it made me wonder if they were visiting us.”
“I’m dreading this. I’ve always thought that I could do anything, but that was before I knew I’d have to face this day.”
“We’ll be fine,” Johnny said. “It’ll be tough, and I can’t believe that we’ll never see them again, but if we can just keep it together for a few hours then it’ll start getting easier.”
“It still all seems like a dream. Like we’re just going through the motions of what we’re supposed to do, as if it’s not really happening to us. It makes me wonder if there’s going to be a point where the reality of it all suddenly hits us, and then we’re demolished.”
“Not for me, I think,” Johnny said. “It seems real to me. There have been a few times since we got here that I thought ‘I should ask dad about that,’ and then realized that I can’t ask him. Seeing them in those caskets, meetings all of those people, hearing the stories. So much we didn’t know about them, and now that we know, we can’t ask them.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “As tough as this is, I can’t imagine going through it alone.” I walked up behind my brother and hugged him.
“We’ll make it through,” Johnny said. “We really have no choice. What else can we do?” He patted my hand. “Let me make you something to eat. It’s going to be a long day.”
Johnny made hash browns, eggs and toast for breakfast and we sat at the table and ate together. Just as I finished the last bite, Justine came into the room. Johnny made breakfast for her, and then for Whittaker, and the four of us sat and talked. Despite the gravity of the day, our conversation was rather light-hearted, and I appreciated the diversion.
The day’s services began with another hour-long wake before the funeral service. With the previous night’s lengthy wake, few visitors attended. The pastor from the Methodist church conducted a brief funeral service that perfectly balanced a spiritual reflection on death and loss with a celebration of everything that made my parents so special.
A motorcade led us to the small cemetery three miles outside of town where my parents chose to be buried. Generations of the Mathis family rested eternally in that ground, and we’d known for years that my parents would follow suit. We were surprised though to discover that they’d already purchased a plot, away from the rest of the Mathises. Situated at the top of a small crest, in an area devoid of trees, we looked down upon the western Alabama landscape and could see for miles during the brief graveside service. When the pastor finished his remarks, a complete silence overtook the entire area, with only an occasional sniffle breaking the calm quiet.
Alabama tradition held that family and friends of the deceased gather somewhere for a lunch after the burial, which would serve as part celebration of life, and part final goodbye, as, for some, the only link that united them was gone. We followed suit and arranged for a lunch at the VFW catered by two different restaurants in Eutaw. We expected a large turnout, and I had looked forward to the slight relief provided by sharing a somewhat joyous meal with people who loved my parents.
However, Hertz’s visit changed that. Knowing that Abner Chamberlain had some sort of interest in me, despite me not even recognizing his name or knowing who he was, worried me. Success in The Summit required anonymity, which I’d worked hard to maintain. Although Hertz hadn’t connected Chamberlain’s death with my involvement in The Summit, nor had he indicated that he even knew The Summit existed, I couldn’t help but make the connection.
With the ceremonial obligations of my parents’ death fulfilled, I felt an urgency to return to Chicago and get to the bottom of what Chamberlain knew about me, which I had a feeling would mean revealing the secrets and circumstances of his death. Johnny and I had planned to remain in Eutaw for a few more days, but when I explained to him that I had to return to Chicago to take care of something very urgent, and that I couldn’t explain, but asked him to just take my word for it, he did. Throughout my life I’d always been able to count on him, and in the wake of my parent’s death, Johnny showed that some things would never change.
As expected, the funeral lunch ran much longer than the scheduled two hours. Dozens of people attended, some of whom I recognized, but all of whom seemed to have an interesting or funny story about my parents. After almost three hours, there were only a handful of people remaining in the VFW. I sat at a table with Johnny, Justine and a couple my age, Lisa and Jed, who knew my parents from their involvement in the local theater company, which, until a few days before, I didn’t know existed. We were all held captive by Migsy, who had consumed at least four Cuba libres, which had the awe-inspiring effect of removing the last, smallest filter in her brain. She’d been speaking almost non-stop for twenty minutes, and had reached the point where every other word seemed to be an insult or a vulgarity. She’d spared no one in town from her verbal wrath. Lisa and Jed seemed to be the only residents of Eutaw whom she could tolerate.
“The problem with Eutaw is that we just have too damn many people still living. All these numbnuts running around, breathing, doing stupid shit and just annoying the fuck out of me. I’ve never seen anyone in Eutaw with any common sense. Get rid of the whole damn lot of them is what I say. The blacks, the whites, the old, the young. A few years back I was encouraged when the Mexicans started showing up. I thought, ‘Maybe these are people who knows their asses from a hole in the ground,’ but fuck a duck, I was wrong. They’re just as stupid as the rest of them.”
Justine interrupted her. “Migsy, did you ever stop and think that maybe you’re the problem? If you don’t like everyone you encounter, what’s the only thing they all have in common? You!”
“Are you from Eutaw?” Migsy asked Justine.
“No, I’m not. You know I’m not from here. I grew up in Austin.”
“Well you could have fooled me because you’re just as painfully stupid as the rest of these shitheads around here.” She turned her attention to Johnny. “I’m the problem? I thought you married a smart girl here, Johnny. She impressed the shit out of me the other day. But then she goes and mouths off this stupid shit. I’m the problem!” Her gaze fell back upon Justine. “I’m not the problem, sweet tits! I’m the solution. The thing about assholes is that most of them don’t even know they’re assholes. They just live their lives in blissful ignorance, not even understanding that they’re ruining the world for everyone else on earth. But then they meet me. And when they’re an asshole around me, I’m not shy about it.” M
igsy leaned back in her chair, turned to the side, cupped her hands around her mouth as if calling for someone far away, and yelled toward no one in particular, “Hey you! Yeah, idiot, you, the guy standing in the middle of the fucking aisle while I’m trying to pass with my shopping cart. You’re an asshole. If you don’t fix yourself you’re eventually going to piss someone off so bad that they’re going to have no choice but to beat the living shit out of you. So if you know what’s good for you, get on the damn ball, and stop being an asshole.” Migsy nodded, clearly pleased with herself, and took a drink of her Cuba libre. “I just saved that guy’s life.”
“But there was no one there, Migsy,” Justine said. “You’re yelling at no one. That old guy coming back from the bathroom just about pissed himself.”
“It’s a metaphor, hot lips! Jesus Fuck, don’t they teach metaphors in school anymore?”
“They do, but not usually like that,” Justine said, glancing around at the table to make sure everyone else thought Migsy seemed crazy, also.
“Well maybe if they did teach it like that we wouldn’t have so many assholes walking around. I know you think I’m just some batshit crazy old lady, but I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know. So shut the fuck up and listen!”
“I have been listening,” Justine said. “We’ve all been listening. You’ve been talking non-stop for an eternity. And actually, I’m almost past the point of listening. It’s all starting to sound the same!”
“Hey, no one’s forcing you to listen to me. Since you’re so fucking smart and you’ve got the world figured out, feel free to pick your little ass up and move along.”
Migsy frequently joked aggressively with people she liked, and she’d enjoyed Justine’s company before because Justine didn’t cower in her presence. But Migsy’s aggressiveness seemed to have moved beyond playfulness.
“I hate to break up the party,” I said, standing and grabbing Justine’s arm, while also walking around the table toward where Migsy sat. “But I’ve got a flight to catch.”
I wrapped my arms around Migsy as she sat in her chair. Although full of spirit, I knew full well that people her age could be gone at any time. Since I didn’t know when I’d return to Eutaw, I fully expected this to be the last time I’d ever see Migsy. “So great to catch up,” I said.
“Skipping shitstorm, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Migsy asked me. ?’?
“Skipping shitstorm?” Justine asked. “You’re just making up phrases now.”
“I make them up all the time,” Migsy said. “Someone’s got to keep inventing or the language is going to grow stale. I know you’ve never seen a revolutionary before, but don’t be so naïve.”
“Whatever!” Justine said, dismissing Migsy with a wave of her hand.
“I’m sorry Migsy, I have to get back to Chicago.”
“No!” Migsy said. “We just buried your goddamn parents and you’re already leaving? What the hell is so important that you have to leave town so quickly? Don’t tell me there’s some idiot boyfriend waiting for you back there. Or worse. Wait a minute, you don’t have a couple of asshole kids, do you?”
“No, I don’t have any kids,” I said.
“And you probably shouldn’t refer to kids as assholes, either,” Justine said. “I’m no etiquette expert, but that seems a bit harsh to me.”
“Fuck you,” Migsy said, never even looking Justine’s way. “You have to stay, Mia. We’ve barely even caught up. I was going to have everyone over to the house tonight. Sort of a ‘We love you Mia!’ celebration with the old crew from the store.”
“That sounds sweet, Migsy, but I can’t. I have to get back.”
“Well I’m not going to let you go until you tell me what’s so important,” she said. “The bodies aren’t even cold yet and you’re racing out of town. People have responsibilities, Mia. Your parents did a lot for you. Don’t ditch out on them now.”
“With all due respect, Migsy, there’s nothing Mia can do for my parents now. And if they were here, they’d want her to go back. She’s got something important to take care of, and they’d understand that. And frankly, they’d be appalled at the way you’ve acted the past hour or so, and they’d tear you apart for talking to my sister like this.”
“I haven’t seen her in years,” Migsy said, glancing toward Johnny, but not really looking at him. I want to talk to her. I want to catch up.”
“I’m sorry, Migsy. I really have to go.” I paused for a second and tried to look Migsy in the eye. If anyone in the entire building should understand the need to leave in an unexpected hurry, it should be Migsy. No one else knew about The Summit, and of my involvement with it. I blamed her reaction on the alcohol and the emotion of the day, since she seemed entirely devoid of any recognition as to why I might have to leave in a hurry. “I’ll try to make it back soon.”
Migsy just shook her head and folded her arms like a petulant child. “Don’t bother. If you don’t want to stay with us now, then we don’t want you to come back later.”
“You don’t mean that, Migsy,” Johnny said. “At your age, and with everything that’s happened the past few days, I’d think you’d understand the importance of telling people how you really feel about them.”
“I just did,” Migsy said, reaching for another sip.
“That’s not true,” Johnny said. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. “Lucky for you, Mia knows you feel about her whether you tell her or not.”
I smiled at Migsy and then said my goodbyes to everyone else at the table. I thanked the few people remaining for coming to lunch, and accepted their condolences. We all promised to keep in touch, even though we all knew that we wouldn’t.
Whit gave me a hug, thanked me for staying at his place, and told me that he loved my parents more than anyone else in the entire world, but that I was a close second.
The ride to the airport passed quickly as Justine recounted almost every word that Migsy spoke, and indignantly refuted most of her claims. Justine was convinced that Migsy had suffered some sort of mental break, and was dangerous not just to herself, but to everyone around her. Johnny and I tried to convince her that she was just an old woman who really didn’t mean any harm. She had opinions and wasn’t shy about sharing them, but she had a good heart. Justine didn’t believe us, and although she found Migsy entertaining at times, she hoped never to have to see her again.
Johnny dropped me at the airport with a quick hug, and a promise to talk soon. He planned to stay in town for a few days and begin wrapping up my parents’ affairs, while also trying to find answers from the Eutaw Police Department regarding their investigation and whether they had any idea who was responsible for my parents’ death.
Since I had my own investigating to do, I was anxious to get on the plane and get back home. The emotions I’d felt surrounding my parents’ murders had lost their edge since we made it through the day. I’d begun to think that Johnny was right; with the difficult part behind us, now things would get easier.
18
Chapter 18
The flight to Chicago unfolded without incident, a fact that surprised me a great deal. I’m not a fearful flyer, but after talking with Hertz, and all the run-ins I’d experienced in previous days, I fully expected someone to try to kill me on the plane. Of all the things The Summit had given me, I disliked my endless sense of paranoia the most. Living a life in which someone is often out to get me, it’s understandable why I think that someone is always out to get me.
This perpetual edginess caused me to always be on guard, and as I opened my apartment door I did so slowly. I used the door to shield my body, and peeked around the edge to get a quick look at the living room. Nothing seemed out of place, and the extra sense I’d developed for determining the presence of an intruder remained relaxed. I dropped my bags on the floor, and went to the refrigerator for a can of Diet Coke. Although I had no food in the refrigerator, my eagerness to remain in my apartment and relax for a few hours won out ove
r my hunger. I planned for a warm shower and a nap in my own bed to rejuvenate me for the afternoon. I hoped to talk to The Summit and glean some information about Abner Chamberlain, but I needed to work from a clear head, so I had to decompress.
I opened the door to the bathroom, realized I still had the Diet Coke in my hand, and stopped to take a drink. As I walked through the door I lowered the can from my mouth, and two events—the can flying from my hand, and the sound of a gunshot attacking my ears—happened so quickly that they might as well have been simultaneous, even though the same action—the firing of a bullet—caused one and then the other.
The bullet hit the bottom portion of the can and sent it up into the air, and toward my face, hitting me just under the right eye. I had no time to react, and the combination of the sound of the gunshot and the impact of the can against my face stunned me. It must have stunned the shooter as well, because as soon as I realized I’d been shot at, I waited for a second shot, but none came. Instinct pushed me two steps back into the hallway, away from the shooter, but The Summit taught us how to overcome instinct, and I lunged forward, into the bathroom, toward the shooter. I waited for a second shot as I realized that the shooter sat on the toilet, where she’d been waiting for me to come home. As I jabbed toward her, I grabbed the first thing I came in contact with—her ear. With a firm grasp, I pulled her off the toilet, and down to the ground. As she fell, she squeezed the trigger and a second bullet ricocheted off something. I couldn’t have cared less what she shot as long as it wasn’t me.
She landed on her back, with the gun pointing toward me. I fell on top of her, planting a knee just above her stomach, squarely on her diaphragm, forcing an involuntary, “Umph,” out of her. She squeezed the trigger again, and a bullet missed me again, this time making contact with a corner of the shower wall tile, a fact made evident to me by a small piece of ceramic hitting the back of my neck as I lowered my head to protect myself, one hand still firmly grasping her ear. I used my other hand to grab the gun, the barrel of which retained a surprising amount of heat. She pulled the gun away from me, but I wouldn’t let go, and instead clenched it as I let go of her ear and punched her three times in the temple. The punches stunned her enough to make her loosen her grip on the gun, and I lifted her hand and slammed it again the cold tile floor, and the gun slid from her hand. I stretched just far enough to grasp it with my fingertips, and pushed it across the floor, onto the carpet in the hallway.