The inland side of the road was lined with forest, thickets of needles and leaves, trees and brush, ever advancing, always encroaching, threatening to swallow up the road. Victoria had grown up surrounded by woods, always hated them, couldn’t even stand being near them, with their spike-sharp, lichen-scraggle branches, pinching earwigs, snakes, and skunks. As a child, she’d played only in the backyard, well away from the branches’ bite and the gloom and the silence. You never knew what lurked in the trees, and you were better off not finding out.
As Tino drove, Victoria finessed her extraction plan.
“How’re you doing there, Vic?” Tino asked.
“I just want to get back home,” she said, and stared vacantly ahead for effect.
“Okay, we’ll get there in time for dinner. Mamma’s making meatballs,” Tino said as he parked on the side of the cemetery access road. Most of the gravestones were shiny and new and took the form of squat, polished slabs inscribed with life stories told in five words or less, but there was also a smattering of life-size granite archangels and kindly saints to relieve the monotony.
“Meatballs. That’s nice,” Victoria murmured, having no intention of seeing anybody after this insanity. A hot shower followed by a large glass of Blue Nun would help her put Tiger Moody, this day, and this place behind her once and for all.
Graveside
From her parking place across the cemetery, Jessie watched the burial service attended by a random group of Moodys, friends of Moodys, and Baineses who couldn’t avoid coming, but she was too far away to hear anything. What was the point of praying? she wondered. If Tiger was going anywhere other than the cold, black ground, it would be someplace considerably hotter than Maine in February and they all knew it, except maybe Frenchie, but she was his mother and so, Jessie supposed, allowed a little self-delusion.
The graveside service dragged on, but what interested Jessie was her daughter. Vicky was standing to one side of the coffin, looking like she might take off running. Tiger had done the same thing on their wedding day. Somehow he’d made it through “I do,” but it was only because her father was standing right behind him with her brother at his side and a Louisville Slugger on the front seat of the family pickup in the parking lot. She was seven months pregnant at the time and foolish enough to think it would all work out once the ring was on her finger. Everyone was stupid at seventeen, she supposed. Automatically, her hand went to her pocket to confirm that the rabbit’s foot was still there.
Vicky was twenty-eight now. How could that be? And who was that big blond guy with her? Her boyfriend, maybe even her husband? Jessie hoped not. From behind the bar at the club, she’d seen more of his type than she could count—probably still a virgin, out for a dirty thrill, drunk by the second beer, and giggling at the first pair of tits. Not that she’d ever been any great judge of masculine character—three husbands and three divorces, one uglier than the other. At least Tiger was finally gone. She had no idea where the other two were, probably in jail. Maybe they were dead, too.
“Dare to dream,” she muttered.
Vicky looked good, and as Jessie watched her, she remembered the little strawberry-blond child with the iron will and the shrewd green-eyed gaze. She’d almost never regretted letting her go, even though she knew she should. Clearly Vicky had been better off with Earlie and Mill, and the truth was, after five years of motherhood Jessie had had enough and was relieved to be done with it. She’d missed her daughter and thought of her often, but the visits dwindled over time. Not once had she felt even the slightest urge for another baby.
Beneath the darkening clouds, the mourners bowed their heads and appeared to speak in unison one final time. Peace be with you.
“Good luck with that,” Jessie said. She watched the funeral-goers hurry away from the burial site and back to their cars. Spike Lemay’s boy Dougie—how did weedy little Spike ever produce such a good-looking kid?—lagged behind, his eyes locked on Vicky. That was interesting.
Vicky and her blond friend stood in an awkward knot with Earlene, Frenchie, and Millhouse, then Vicky hugged her aunt and grandmother, patted Mill’s shoulder, and took off, her startled-looking funeral date trotting behind. “That’s right, sweetie, run away, fast as you can,” Jessie whispered.
After the casket had been lowered and the morticians had removed both the hydraulics and themselves from the cemetery, Jessie climbed out of her car into the dingy, low-sky afternoon. The clouds were spitting snow in sparse, hard flakes that bounced off the matted tufts of brown grass and frozen mud. Her fishnets provided no protection from the cold sweeping up her thighs as she hurried over to the plot where Winston Fellowes, the town gravedigger, held his shovel.
“Hey there, Win,” she said, startling him so that he gave a little squeak.
“By gorry, I thought I was all alone here, ’cept for Tiger. How you been, Jessie?”
He spoke as if they’d just run into each other in the cereal aisle of the IGA. Even though they’d been in the same class in high school, they’d never been friendly, and Jessie was surprised he remembered her after all these years, especially since she’d dropped out so early. Except for being a few teeth short of a full set, Winston hadn’t changed much since his teens.
“I’m good, thanks. Just wanted to say goodbye to Tiger if that’s okay.”
“I s’pose so.”
He nodded, started to turn, but stopped and said, “You know, I was just thinkin’ about this one time in junior high, Spencer Trout was about to give me a swirly in the boys’ bathroom. Usually beat me up after he did that. Tiger come in right when my head was about to hit the water. Grabbed Spencer by the scruff and laid him out, one punch, just like that. Never said a word about it.”
After shouldering his shovel, Win said, “I’ll just give you a minute, then.” And with a grace that both surprised and touched Jessie, he gave a little bow and moved soundlessly away.
Tiger
I’m glad they picked burying instead of burning. Hopefully it’s a sign of where I’m going—up rather than down. I’m glad Jessie showed up, too, even if she does still hate me. Which reminds me: I never meant to hit her with that snowmobile, let alone kill her. I was just trying to get her attention, but she was drunk and she stepped right out in front of me in the pitch dark, so whose fault was that? Didn’t seem to matter much to the jury, or that bastard judge. Attempted murder, history of domestic violence, danger to the community, bullshit. Anyone who lived with Jessie for more than five minutes would’ve hit her eventually.
By the time I got out of jail, my daughter was settled with Mill and Earlene, and Jessie was gone, already married to some guy up to Bangor. What else could I do except start over? It wasn’t like Vicky ever missed me. I know she missed her mother, though. Mill said she cried herself to sleep most nights for the first year she was with them.
Since I didn’t seem to be going much of anywhere, up or down, after the service, I followed the procession to the cemetery. It was nice to be near Jessie, just for old times’ sake. Forty-five years old and that woman still has an ass you could bounce a quarter off, but that wasn’t why I went. It wasn’t the only reason, anyway. Tell the truth, I wanted to see whether she’d actually throw that rabbit’s foot away.
Meltdown
As she pulled up in front of Mill and Earlie’s sprawling green colonial, Jessie was surprised to see her daughter in the driveway with the blond guy. They were standing between two cars, arguing by the look of it, and Vicky seemed to be trying to keep him from going into the house. Jessie parked her Caprice across the street and got out.
At the sight of her mother, the look on Vicky’s face was unmistakable—horror followed closely by panic. Jessie wasn’t surprised, but it still stung. Vicky grabbed the big guy by the coat sleeve and tried to yank him toward the Toyota parked at the foot of the drive, but he stood rooted to the spot.
“Vicky?” Jessie called as she limped up the driveway.
Victoria Moody froze.
&n
bsp; “Victoria?” Now it was Tino speaking. The three of them stood staring at each other until Tino extended his hand.
“Tino Benedetti. I’m Victoria’s fiancé.”
“Oh, ah, hi. I’m Jessie—Vicky’s mother. Pleased to meet you, Tito,” Jessie said, wondering what kind of parents named their kid after a member of the Jackson 5, and not even the famous one.
The young man’s mouth dropped open. “Sorry, no, not Tito, Tino. Short for Valentino.” He was looking back and forth between Victoria and her mother, like they were playing tennis. Valentino, Jessie thought, good Christ, that’s even worse.
Now Victoria was trying to pull him toward the house, but still Tino would not be moved. Fixing his gaze on Victoria, he said, “You said you didn’t know her. You told me your mother was dead.”
“She’s dead to me.”
As if she’d been slapped, Jessie took a step back and put her hand in her pocket. The words came in a rush.
“I just wanted to give you this. It was Tiger’s and I thought maybe you’d like to have something from him. He won it throwing balloon darts at the Blue Hill Fair, I don’t know, before we was married and anyways he give it to me when you were born. For good luck…”
“Good luck? Are you kidding me? Good luck? Listen, my luck started the day you gave me away. Remember?”
“It was just supposed to be till I found a job. By the time I got set up you were so happy here, and then you were all grown up and … I don’t know … then you were gone.”
“I was not gone. I was right here. For fourteen years. You hardly ever visited me, not even on my birthday, or at Christmas.”
“I didn’t want to upset you, make it worse,” Jessie lied. “I always sent presents. Didn’t you get them?”
“Big deal, Twizzlers and Barbies. Somebody find me an application for Mother of the Year.” Jessie took another step back.
“Oh Victoria, don’t say that,” Tino said.
“Why not, Tino? It’s the truth.”
The screen door slammed. Earlene Moody hustled from the house, her feet sloshing around in Millhouse’s boots, a dish towel slung over her shoulder.
“Jessie.”
“I’m not here for trouble, Earlene.”
“No you are not.”
Jessie could see that the conversation was over, so she pressed the rabbit’s foot into Tino’s hand, then retreated down the driveway to her car and pulled away. There was no point looking back.
Truth Time
It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment the situation spun completely out of control, Victoria mused later while waiting for Earlene to post her bail. Certainly things took a turn for the worse when her mother showed up at the house. After that, she had no choice but to take Tino inside for the funeral reception.
Hanging on to the last shred of her composure, she’d pushed past Dougie Lemay, to her old bedroom, and locked the door. Tino followed but eventually gave up trying to coax her into opening it and went downstairs, which was when, she supposed, he must have learned that her father had done a stretch in Thomaston for attempted murder by snowmobile.
Victoria finally pulled herself together and wandered back down to the party. She stopped outside the living room, around the corner from where Spike Lemay, with Dougie by his side, was telling Tino the story of Tiger’s demise.
“We was up to the Olde Towne Triple X video store in Bangor—I got Coed Spank Fest and something else, I forget the title. They let you preview everything, and Tiger brung his flask, so we was there till the well run dry, as it were. Anyways, Tiger was waitin’ to pay, and by Jesus, when he saw that meter maid writing him a ticket, he went after her like a raped ape. Poor bastard missed the door and went right through the front window, and that was it. Carotid artery. Bled out in about two minutes. Made a fuckin’ mess, lemme tell ya. But at least he spent his last hours doing what he loved.”
“Oh my God, Victoria said it was a … a … heart attack,” Tino stammered.
At that point Uncle Bud must have wandered up to the group. Victoria listened in dread as he called Spike a filthy name, introduced himself and his silent shadow, Uncle Mert, and asked Tino how he and Victoria got together.
“We met at church, well, not at Mass. It was an Ave Maria Singles mixer,” Tino explained. Victoria braced herself.
“That so? And what do you do at those, the St. Vitus dance?” Bud crowed as the men dissolved in helpless, shit-faced laughter.
Victoria slid past caring. With all the lies she’d told and the repulsive sideshow her family was putting on, she knew she would never become Mrs. Tino Benedetti, never be part of a normal family, never get shed of her trashy name and shameful past. She rounded the corner intending to have done with it; apparently, however, Tino had mellowed after a couple of whiskey sours, because he was giggling along with everyone else.
“Excuse us,” she said as she grabbed Tino’s arm and pulled him past Dougie into the kitchen, where she took off the engagement ring and held it out. Tino refused. Apparently he’d bonded with Millhouse and even accepted some fatherly advice.
“He told me no family’s perfect, and that you must really love me to be so afraid of losing me, and some other stuff, I forget. Did you know he can get me a limited-edition Corvette Grand Sport at cost? Not that it matters. Anyway, Victoria, I love you and I want to get married, so just promise you’ll never lie to me again and we’ll start over in the morning. I’ll call Mamma and tell her not to wait up.”
And so for a couple of brief, hopeful hours, it looked like things might just work out for Victoria Moody. Until about three drinks later, when Tino showed Chubby the rabbit’s foot.
Earlene
I knew we were in for it when Jessie Martin showed up at Tiger’s funeral. It had been at least ten years since I laid eyes on her, but I could see she was still rougher than the back of a ditch. I can’t say I was shocked when she walked into the church, but I never expected to see her at my house. When Jessie came limping up the driveway, with her go-go boots and that mop of red hair, and introduced herself to Tino, the look on his face was priceless. I was watching through the kitchen window. Mill told me not to interfere and I didn’t, not until Vicky started hollering. She’s half Moody after all, and I never met one who didn’t like a good fight once in a while.
After I put away the liquor, the funeral crowd disappeared pretty quick. I should’ve figured something was up when Frenchie asked me for a blanket right before she left. I never saw Mill’s sister Chubby go to the toolshed, but I guess that’s where she got the pickaxe and the shovel.
We got the call from the gravedigger about five minutes after we turned out the lights. He tried to run the Moodys off the cemetery grounds but gave up after they threatened him with the garden tools. He told us he’d have to call the sheriff because digging up the dead was illegal even if they didn’t plan to snatch the body, plus there was no drinking allowed on the premises, or bonfires either, but he figured Millhouse might want to get his mother out of there. I gather she intended to swaddle Tiger against the cold, and Chubby wanted to put a rabbit’s foot in his casket. Later, when I asked her why, she said, “Without some goddamned luck, how the hell is he ever going to get to Jesus?” She had a point. What the others intended, beyond boozing and blazing, I still don’t know.
The only people in the house sober enough to drive were Vicky and me, but I’d had about as much Moody foolishness as I could stand for one day. It was probably a mistake to let Tino go with Mill and Vicky, but he insisted and I think Vicky wanted to keep an eye on him. He was pretty tight, but he was wide-awake, one of those energetic drunks, and he kept repeating some nonsense about a chubby bunny.
I love Victoria Moody like my own, always have. Three pregnancies I prayed for a girl, and three times God sent me a big wild boy. Vicky was His consolation prize to me, I never doubted it. But I still let her spend that night in the lockup, along with Millhouse and all the rest. After Sheriff Largay arrested everyone but Frenchie—he
had his deputy drive her back home owing to her age and bereavement—he called to let me know they’d been taken in. I told him a night in the clink wouldn’t hurt any of them one bit after the stunt they pulled, and he agreed. I believe parents these days call it “a teaching moment.”
I bailed out my jailbirds the next morning, right after I picked up Tino from the hospital. He didn’t remember much about the night before, but he did recall seeing Vicky tussle with the sheriff, who was trying to break up the fight between himself and Chubby. He had no idea why getting that rabbit’s foot back was so important to him or even how he got the concussion.
I wouldn’t say Vicky is happy being back in Wellbridge, but after her conviction for assaulting an officer, she lost her job down in Portland, and needless to say, the wedding was canceled. She heard Tino took the trip to Rome with his mother.
Between appointments with her probation officer and working at the dealership, Vicky keeps quite busy. Millhouse says she’s a whiz with the computer. She set up a slick bookkeeping system for him and is almost done sorting through the paperwork for his tax audit. It’s good to have her home. I just wish she’d spend a little more time at church and less with Spike Lemay’s boy. That Dougie has never been anything but trouble.
STRIPTEASE
Imelda Levine was three years old the first time they put her in a straitjacket. It wasn’t because she was crazy; that didn’t happen until much later. No, her initial experience with restraints was the result of eating an entire bottle of orange-flavored baby aspirin for breakfast one sleety February morning in 1940. The tablets tasted like candy.
The Northern Reach Page 13