Lacene Lords

by Fornataro, Nancy

  She walked away from him, further down the length of the table, and said softly, "You can't tell me how to feel. You can't tell me how to think or react. I'm not like Chad or Karl or Meg. You don't own me."

  Facing him again, she continued, "You can't tell me who to love. But how well you know that. I love all my children equally, which is more than I can say for you. You've always loved Karl the most. You think of Meg as a little girl still. And Chad..."

  Her hand came up to her lips, then dropped to her side. "Chad wanted your love. He bent over backwards to try to prove himself to you, time and time again. But you never seemed to notice him. It was always Karl who was number one. Karl this, Karl that, I'm sick of it."

  Harshly, he replied, "Well, get used to it, because there's two left, and one's a loony."

  "You shut up!" she yelled, eyes flashing, "How do you know what she saw last night? It would serve you right if Chad came back to haunt you, you son-of-a-bitch!"

  Her voice echoed in the large room, and a strained silence followed the outburst as the two faced off.

  Big Jakes voice was careful and controlled now. "You'll act the part today, Lila. Today, pretend you're really here instead of off in that dream world of yours."

  She sniffed. "My dream world is a damn sight better than here. And Chad would agree, if he was still alive."

  *****

  Spence dressed slowly for the funeral, thinking of Chad all the while. He'd gone back to his room and left Meg sleeping in her room in the early morning hours Saturday. But he wasn't able to sleep last night. His mind went back to the murders, his parents, voices in the night, visions, and most of all Chad.

  They would bury him today then celebrate, like there was something good about his death. It seemed like some macabre ritual to bust out the old forty-fives and dance like there was no tomorrow. To Spence, death was a sad time, a time to grieve, as he'd done when his parents were killed.

  But he wanted to respect Chad's last wishes. If this is what his friend wanted, then that was that. End of story.

  He combed his hair and looked at his reflection. He tried to imagine dying; when you knew it was coming. The car crash, head on, the truck going over an embankment, or a slow death from some deadly disease. Would there be panic, or just a slow realization? Pain, or peace?

  Had Chad slipped away in his sleep, or was there a moment of knowing that his living days on earth were over?

  And the vision. Meg's vision. Was it Chad? And why would his spirit wander?

  He and Chad often swapped ghost stories. Camped in the back yard, flashlights under their chins, they'd tried to be eerie and scary and had always ended up laughing uproariously in the end.

  "This is no ghost story, Chad old buddy," Spence said aloud, "this is the real thing."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Half an hour later, Spence and Meg sat at a table in the dining room, sorting out old forty-five records.

  "Okay," he said, "I'm looking for 'Bongo Rock' by Preston Epps."

  "Never heard of it, but I'll look," Meg replied, as she flipped through the records. "Most of these I've never heard of. 'See you in September' I know, but who are The Murals?"

  "Just a group who did it first. These are really some classics. Chad knew his stuff when it came to this."

  "Spence," she began slowly, "about Saturday..."

  He looked over at her. She was dressed for the funeral in a black, sleeveless dress, and her hair was in a twist. He reached up and stroked one of the curly tendrils of hair by the front of her hairline. "I hope it was good for you," he said quietly.

  "It was perfect. A little too perfect."

  He looked at her quizzically.

  She sighed and put the records down. "I'm getting used to you. And that's not good."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "I just don't want to get used to you being here, helping me, and fulfilling my needs. Then, wham, you'll be gone like you were twenty years ago. I just can't do that scene again. I understand why you left. I would have left too."

  He nodded. He didn't know what to tell her, because the same thoughts had occurred to him. He didn't want to stay here. Not now, when his roots were in California. This town held nothing for him. Nothing but Meg. And, after all, what would he do with her teenage son? He knew little to nothing about teens.

  She continued, "I really think we shouldn't sleep together again, Spence. It's just too complicated." Her eyes met his and she smiled slightly. "Agreed?"

  "Just don't tempt me," he teased.

  Big Jake came in a few minutes later, wearing a black suit, a black cowboy hat and a solemn expression. "You ready?"

  They both nodded.

  Chad's funeral was held at the cemetery not far from where Spence had visited his parent's plots. He walked along now, his feet crunching on the gravel path, as he steadied Meg. There was no rain, just a bank of low, white clouds scudding along in the sky. A stiff, hot wind blew. It was monsoon muggy and Spence felt his shirt getting wet under his suit coat from perspiration.

  As they drew closer, he realized almost the whole town had shown up. He looked over a sea of black clad people, and nodded to those he recognized. Big Jake and Lila followed and took their places by the minister. Karl and Willie stood behind them.

  "Daddy won out," Meg said under her breath as they reached the gravesite.

  "Baptist minister?"

  She nodded.

  Spence felt anxiety clawing at him. Same place, same people, and again he faced death head on. A gnawing sensation started in his gut and sent bile up into his throat as he gazed at the ornate casket.

  Meg felt Spence's grip tighten on her arm, and she looked up at him. His mouth was in a hard line, and a muscle in his cheek moved slightly. She knew what he was going through his mind and she knew she couldn't make it better.

  Her thoughts wandered as the minister began speaking. She remembered the years with Chad and his diabetes. The shots, the trips to the doctors. A minor cut on his foot would send a flurry of activity through the house, as they battled the disease. And he was left weak from it. She remembered when his kidneys failed two years ago, causing trips to Rushburg, then a dialysis machine in his bedroom. Nurses, doctors, and whispered nighttime conferences.

  But, in spite of it all, he had remained cheerful. She couldn't think of a time he'd complained. He just took life as it was offered. Like a gift, one day at a time.

  She felt ungrateful when compared with her big brother Chad. She'd led such a charmed life, no financial worries, she had Willie, yet she'd still found fault with herself and tried to end her life.

  Dust to dust, ashes to ashes...

  For the hour is coming in which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice and come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.

  Do I believe in the word of God or Satan?

  Immortality is a gift from God. But remember this my children: For dust you are and to dust you will return.

  The minister finished the service and, one by one, the family set roses on the coffin. When it was her turn, she whispered, "I know I'm an ungrateful person. Find it in your soul to forgive me. I love you, Chad. Rest well."

  *****

  Maria stood in the kitchen, her hands on her hips, wondering what to do next. The catering men were out in back, setting up the barbecue, so that was taken care of. They'd brought the potato and macaroni salads, and the beans were cooking on the stove.

  She thought the beans needed more onions, so she went to the cupboard, retrieved one, and began cutting it up. When she was almost done, the doorbell rang and she went to answer it.

  "Si," she told the delivery men, "in here, gracias." They were delivering the chairs and she instructed the men to place them around the outside of the living room, in front of the tables.

  But, when she returned to the kitchen, her cutting board was on the floor, along with the scattered onion pieces. She though
t, who would do this? She peered outside, and the men were still trying to light the barbecue. "Dios," she exclaimed heatedly, and she proceeded to clean up the mess.

  The two delivery men wheeled in six chairs at a time on a dolly and left them standing upright six deep. Soon, in various spots, they had many piles of chairs.

  One looked at the other. "Is that it, Harry?"

  "Yeah, they wanted a hundred total. Jesus, it's freezing in here. They must have the air on sixty or somethin'."

  They talked of taking a break, but before their eyes, one by one like dominoes, the piles of chairs tipped over with a deafening clatter. The two covered their ears.

  "Jesus Christ! How'd you set those up, Frank?"

  Frank's face was ashen. "Just set 'em up like usual. Never saw that happen before."

  "Oh-oh, here comes that Mexican dame, an' she don't look happy."

  *****

  "Maria, calm down." Lila threw her purse on the kitchen table. From the little she could understand of Maria's excited broken English Spanish mix, an onion had spilled on the floor, some chairs had fallen, and the men out back couldn't get the barbecue started.

  "Maria," she said again patiently, "you'll have to speak English."

  Maria took her hand. "The spirit...senor Chad's spirit is here. Dios, it is trapped."

  Lila sat down heavily. She felt drained from the funeral. Now, she lit a cigarette and pondered. She believed Maria. The two were the same in their beliefs. But why? Why would Chad wander? Her mind went back to Meg's vision. She knew there was something left undone here, and it was important. Spirits wandered in an attempt to finish a problem or they had a score to settle. So, she thought, today she'd buried her son, but he wasn't really gone.

  Willie came and sat across from her. "You okay, grandma?"

  She smiled at him affectionately. How he resembled Meg! And now, how fine he looked all dressed up. "Yes, Willie."

  "I know Uncle Chad was sick for a long time. Did you ever think it was better this way?"

  Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "I'd rather have him here." As Willie took her hand, she realized she still had Chad, in a way. The spirit of Chad still roamed the large house looking for a release. And she would see that he got it, one way or another.

  *****

  Pap Miller came back from the funeral exhausted, and irritated that he couldn't seemed to do the things he used to do. "I want to be able to go out for an hour," he complained to Davey, "without someone telling me I look like shit."

  Davey laughed and poured his father a brandy. They sat in the study of Pap's trailer, discussing the funeral.

  "Meg looked great," Davey said.

  "Got her mother's good looks. You stay away from that girl, you hear? She's not right in the head. Don't know if it's permanent or not."

  "Calm down, Pap. Just making a comment is all."

  "She's too old for you anyway." In the silence that followed, Pap thought about his wife, Jenny. There had been a twenty year difference in their ages. She'd died so long ago, it seemed like forever. She gave birth to Davey then pined away before his eyes. He never could quite understand what was wrong. The doctor said she starved to death, some medical name for it, and he always blamed himself.

  Now, he peered at Davey. "You saw. Them two were here. Askin' me questions about his parents. Maybe you could find the file."

  Davey sat down across from him. "What for? That's old news. I'll just tell him I can't find it or something."

  "Look for it. Never know. It might be there."

  The two were silent before Davey spoke. "Guess Chad was pretty bad diabetic. I heard he had a nurse in there once a day."

  Pap nodded, and took a sip of brandy. "He had to have that...where the blood gets cleaned."

  "Dialysis. Yeah, I heard. They did the autopsy."

  Pap nodded again. "They're supposed to, unless he dies in a hospital."

  "Aneurism can happen to anyone, I guess. You or me either for that matter."

  "Speak for your fucking self, boy. And yes, you are included in the will. All this can be yours one day, son, if you play your cards right."

  Davey laughed and grabbed his hat.

  *****

  Flowers were delivered to the house as fast as Maria and Meg could place them on the tables. The time for the wake was coming up; they only had a few hours left. Rain fell in a relentless stream, now, and smattered against the windows.

  Looking at the flowers on the tabletops and the floor, Meg said to Maria, "Don't they smell lovely?"

  "Si, little one. But the darkness comes." She repeated the happenings in the house that morning then left the room, muttering in Spanish.

  Meg stared out the window, and listened to the downpour. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed across the sky. Was darkness descending on the house? Was there some supernatural force at work, which she thought she saw in the living room?

  Her heart was heavy as she realized how much she would miss Chad. He was her protector and confidante. Often times, when they were younger, they would sneak out at night and end up in the tree fort Big Jake had built in the yard.

  Secrets. They told each other secrets, and more. She even told him when she lost her virginity to Spence.

  There was silence after she'd said the words. "No," he'd finally said softly.

  "It had to happen sooner or later," she'd told him. "I'm not a baby anymore, Chad. And I'm sick of Big Jake treating me like one."

  She was startled out of her reverie as a voice behind her said, "Missy, you got everything ready for the wake, then?"

  Big Jake. Leave it to him to push all the responsibility on her. How things had changed since the tree house days, she thought.

  She turned to him. "Where's Lila? Seems to me she could help us. There's only Maria and me you know."

  "Your mother's lying down."

  "She's always lying down."

  "You okay from last night?" he said, suddenly changing the subject.

  She smiled ruefully. "Don't worry, I'll tell my shrink all about it."

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It just doesn't help, is all. Things are hard enough..." his voice trailed off.

  "You think I want to see things?" she whispered, moving closer to him, "Hear things? Have images in my brain that prickle and fester until I can't stand it?"

  He moved back a step and said gruffly, "'course not. Don't be so touchy."

  Clattering of chairs being righted again sounded and the cloying sweet smell of beans wafted from the kitchen.

  Big Jake cleared his throat. "Where's Spence?"

  The mention of his name made her warm and calmed her feelings. There was no doubt in her mind. She loved that man. Turning back to the window she said, "Try the dining room table. We were sorting records."

  She heard Big Jake's boots thumping as he left the room, and she continued reminiscing about Chad.

  Spence put the last record on his playing stack. The dining room table was littered with records, and he began piling the ones he didn't plan to use in boxes.

  Suddenly, a feeling flooded over him and Meg came into his mind clearly. He could see every detail of her face, her hair and her body. He just stood there, not really wanting to move, enjoying the moment. Yet, at the same time, he thought something was not right. The moment...it was intrusive. It was as if he had no control.

  Willie came in and broke the spell. Spence smiled at the kid. He was a younger version of Jake, but with blond hair.

  "Hey, Spence."

  "Hey yourself, Willie. How're you holding up?" He continued packing the records.

  "Pretty good. But actually, I never knew a person who died before. It's like, one minute they're there, the next they're gone. Kind of a weird feeling."

  Yes, thought Spence, I can really relate to that. "Well, kid, I guess death is a part of life. I had someone tell me one time that we're all going to die, it's just a question of when."

  Willie snorted. "Hope they weren't a go
od friend of yours. Sounds kind of lame to me."

  Spence laughed. The man was a kid's shrink he'd seen after the murders. At the time, he thought the guy talked down to him and he'd felt the same way Willie did about the trite remark.

  "Help me with these boxes will you?" Spence asked him.

  They took the record boxes to the kitchen where they stacked them in a far corner of the pantry.

  Maria stood, still muttering, stirring her beans.

  Big Jake came in and said, "We ready to rock 'n roll?"

  Jake's half-hearted smile got to Spence and a lump formed in his throat. He couldn't speak for a minute. "Ready as we'll ever be," he said finally.

  The townspeople began arriving early for the wake. As Spence set up the record player and speakers, he found himself avoiding their eyes. He expected the whole town to turn out for this wake. They were just too curious. They couldn't stay away.

  As usual, they started forming groups of cliques. There was the country club set, the over fifty-five set, the ultra rich group and, by far the largest, the poor people. The noise level grew.

  Spence tinkered with the adjustments on the amp and realized he was putting off playing the music. One side of him was reverent and didn't want to play it, out of respect for Chad. The other side of him was What the Hell.

  The What the Hell side won.

  He started with a love song. No one danced. A few people looked surprised.

  The room was icy cold, in spite of all the people, and Spence caught Meg's arm as she walked past. "What's with the air?" he said.

  "I don't know. We've been having trouble with it lately. I'll check it."

  "Where's Lila?"

  "Good question," she said dryly. "I'm going to check on her as well. She'd better not stick me with this whole friggin' mess or I'll kick her ass."

  Grinning now, he said, "You always were a hothead."

  She smiled. "Yeah, and Lila always was a do-nothing. Some things never change."