The second fight between Gus and Abby’s parents was about the visitation. Her family wanted an open casket and Gus was against it. Truthfully, Abby was against it, too. She told Gus she didn’t want anyone to see just how badly the cancer had changed her. But Abby’s parents insisted it should be open. So the tradeoff was the casket would be open for just her parents, her older brother, Douglas, and a cousin named Robert who showed up with them, but it would be closed once the visitation officially started.
Gus has been standing guard by the casket just in case her family decides to go against Abby’s wishes.
The line to pay respect to Abby is out of the door and around the corner. I didn’t understand why Gus was so against this but now I get it. There are so many people here. They’re staring at Gus, staring at her family, whispering about the friction between the two of them and most of them never even met Abby when she was alive.
“How much longer?” Gus asks. He was very clear with the funeral director that the visitation was over precisely two hours after the doors were opened, no matter who was still in line.
“Twenty minutes,” I answer.
An older couple steps up to the casket. The wife says, “Gus, we’re so sorry for your loss. How are you holding up?”
I can see the tic in Gus’s jaw. This is the dumbest question people can ask. And the most common question he’s gotten tonight. How’s he supposed to answer that?
I’m fucking miserable, but thanks for asking?
Instead, he says, “Fine. I’m fine.”
The woman moves closer and puts a hand on Gus’s arm. “If there’s anything we can do, please let us know. It’s a shame Abby was taken so young.”
And that’s the second most common thing I’ve heard tonight. It’s a shame Abby was taken so young. Again, what are you supposed to say to that?
Gus nods at them and they move on only to be replaced with another couple mumbling the same words. And on and on and on it goes.
I glance toward the back of the room and I see Maggie in line with her mom, who I recognize from the casserole delivery a few days ago, and a man I’m guessing is her dad. He’s a big guy. Looks like he was a linebacker back in high school with his broad shoulders and height but then let himself go once he was done playing and now sports a big gut that hangs over his belt.
We watch each other from across the room and I know it’s crazy for me to expect her to walk toward me, claim me in front of her parents and all of these people, but that’s all I really want her to do.
“Are we almost done?” a voice behind me asks.
I glance over my shoulder and see Robert, Abby’s cousin. He’s a couple of years older than me and seems like a decent guy.
“Yes, thank God,” I answer. He’s the only rational person in Abby’s family.
“Let me know when we’re shutting the doors. I’ll take Aunt Susan and Uncle John out of the side door. You take Gus out the back. I think it’s best if we keep some distance between them,” he says.
I nod. “Thanks for your help. I’m not sure I could have handled all of this without you.”
“Yeah, same here.” He slaps me on the back and says before walking off, “It’s almost over.”
Robert moves back to stand next to Abby’s parents and brother while I count how many more people Gus has to talk to until it’s Maggie’s turn. It’s excruciating waiting for her to make it to the casket. Gus notices her when they’re still a few people back, then calls the funeral director over.
“Yes, Mr. Trudeau. What can I do for you?” he asks. This has to be the most difficult funeral this guy has ever had to plan.
Gus points to Maggie and her family. “After them, we’re done. Time’s up. I want everyone out of here and I want Abby brought to the orchard.”
The guy swallows hard, glances at the long line still stretching out of the door, and then to Abby’s parents across the room. He straightens his shoulders and steps in front of the people behind Maggie’s family.
“Okay, folks, I’m sorry but we’ll be moving Mrs. Trudeau to the private burial. I know you’ve been waiting to pay your respects but please respect the wishes of Mrs. Trudeau’s family.”
Confused looks are passed between people and groans fill the room. Abby’s dad looks like he’s about to protest, but thankfully Robert pulls him aside and talks him down. He can’t stop Abby’s mom’s loud cries, though.
The director starts herding people toward the door just as Maggie and her family step up to Gus.
Maggie’s mom says, “Oh, Gus, we’re so sorry. How are you holding up?”
“How do you think, Mom?” Maggie says. “This is completely devastating for him.” She moves past her mother, who’s frozen with a shocked look on her face, and hugs Gus. “This sucks so bad,” she whispers to him. “Really sucks.”
He hugs her back and for once this afternoon, he doesn’t look like he’s about to kill someone. He looks sad but grateful not to have to exchange pleasantries. “You have no idea how bad this sucks.”
Maggie moves away from Gus and steps up to me, then throws her arms around my neck. I hesitate only a second, because honestly I’m stunned, then I wrap my arms around her.
“Maggie, honey, I don’t think we’ve met your friend,” her dad says.
Gus answers for her. “This is Owen. He works for me and he and Abby were close before she…died.”
Maggie’s mom says, “Oh,” but you can tell she still doesn’t understand how Maggie knows me.
Sooner than I’d like, Maggie pulls away and walks to the exit, her parents following close behind her.
Abby’s family is long gone, ushered out by Robert a few minutes ago, so now it’s just Gus, Abby, and me.
Gus puts his arm around me, leading me toward the director’s office. “Let’s get Abby home.”
13
I’m hoping our third lunch together actually lasts all the way through lunch. This time, I get to the table first and most of the students in the cafeteria are over it and don’t seem to care that I’m waiting for Pippa. I’m taking this as a small personal victory.
I glance at the sign-up form for the lacrosse team I picked up from the office on my way to lunch. Luckily I already have gear, but there’s a two-hundred-dollar fee to join since it’s a club sport. Folding the paper and shoving it in my pocket, I decide to worry about how I’m going to come up with that money later since Pippa is heading toward me.
Her bag hits the table and then she drops down in the seat across from me. I slide a package of Reese’s across the table and she stops it before it flies off the edge. “Think we’ll make it all the way through lunch today?” she asks.
I smile. “Just wondering the same thing. I guess it depends on if any of your boyfriends decide to check on you again.”
“You’re baiting me and I’m not falling for it.” Then she ruins her brush-off by looking behind me to see if anyone is approaching the table.
I pull out my sandwich and she does the same. “Since the school is doing your play this year, I’m guessing you’re involved with the group putting it on?”
Pippa tilts her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘involved’?”
“I mean, you’re part of the production, right?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess although they’ve just announced auditions so there’s not that much going on right now. Why?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“You want a part?” she asks, laughing. “There’s a ghost in the story but he only hangs around during the first act before he disappears for good. You’d be perfect!”
I grab my chest and fall back in my seat. “Your aim was perfect,” I whisper as if taking my last dying breath.
She covers her laugh behind her hand.
I straighten back up and say, “Uh, no. I want you to help disguise me.”
Pippa takes a bite of her sandwich and looks at me while she chews. I take a bite of mine and watch her just as closely. When she finally swallows
down her bite, she asks, “Why do you need to be disguised?”
“So I can go to the auction on Saturday. The one where they’re selling every possession we have. Or I guess, had.”
She puts her sandwich down and props her chin in her hands. “O, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to that. Are you even allowed to be there?”
I shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be allowed to be there? It’s open to the public. And I am part of the public. And I have to go.”
“No. You don’t. There’s nothing good that will come from that.” She puts the rest of her uneaten sandwich in her bag.
“Nothing is going to stop me from going, but it’ll make it a lot better if I’m not recognized. I hate when I walk in a room and everyone stares at me then starts whispering.” At some point yesterday after I tried to visit the house I got it in my head that I had to be there when they sold our things, and it’s probably the only way to get something for Mom. Whether I have to buy it or steal it.
She throws her napkin at me, making me look up at her. “So you think you’ll put on a wig and a fake mustache and no one will recognize you?”
“I don’t know,” I say and throw the napkin back. She’s smiling and I can’t stop smiling back at her.
“If you want to go, go. But go as you. Hold your head high and walk through your house. Look every person there in the eye. Don’t be an ass to anyone, because seriously, everyone will be expecting that. Just be you. Or at least the Owen I used to know.”
I nudge her foot under the table. “I’m the Owen you used to know.”
She shrugs. “You know what I mean. No one wants to blame you for what your dad did, but you made it so easy for everyone to do just that when you walked in here with that huge chip on your shoulder. Like you’re so much better than the rest of us. Don’t be that guy.”
“So you don’t think it’s crazy for me to want to go?”
“No. I get it. But I still think it’s a bad idea. But if I were you, that’s the way I’d handle it.”
“That’s what you’d do, huh? Just march right into that front door and stand there while people paw through all of your things and smile at them.”
She nods. “Yep. It’s the only way to do it.”
“Will you go with me?”
This catches her off guard but it’ll be hard for her to say no after that little speech.
She drops her head on the table, covering it with her arms, and lets out a low moan.
“Do I take that as a yes?”
She lifts her head and looks at me. “Well, I can’t very well say no now, can I?”
I pop the last bit of sandwich in my mouth. It will be hard for me to walk in there but maybe with Pippa by my side, I won’t completely freak out. “Perfect. Auction starts at ten on Saturday. I’ll pick you up at nine thirty.”
“So we’re really doing this?”
“Yes, we’re really doing this. And how bad do you think it’ll be if I actually bid on stuff?”
Pippa rubs her hands across her face, clearly frustrated with me. And I may be egging that on just to see her reaction, but I’m serious about bidding on something. In the end, it’s better than stealing it, but there’s no way I’m leaving there without getting that bracelet for Mom. “What are you going to pay for it with? Do you have any money?”
“Not much.” Gus has been paying me even though I tried to refuse it, saying the use of the truck was enough, but he insisted I was earning more than the use of the truck was worth. Truth is, Gus told me if I didn’t take the money not to come back.
“But people are going to think you’re buying stuff with their stolen money.”
I lean forward, getting as close to her as the table between us will allow. “Pippa, they’re going to think that about me for the rest of their lives no matter what I do.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “But you’re not, right? I mean, of course you’re not.”
I scoot my chair back and grab my stuff off the table. I’ve got to get out of here because it completely crushes me that she has any doubts about whether or not I’d use any money Dad stole.
“I’m sorry, O. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t think that.”
“Maybe tomorrow will be the day we make it all the way through lunch,” I say before leaving the cafeteria.
• • •
Gus ordered a part for the cleaner, whatever that is, and he’d gotten word yesterday that it was in so I stopped by the small local hardware store on my way to work to grab it for him. I’m stopped at a red light and realize I’m a block away from Mr. Blackwell’s office. Mr. Blackwell owns a transportation company that mostly just moves frack tanks from well to well. And in the fenced yard behind the building is row after row of almost brand-new trucks. Trucks that should be out for the day, earning money for his company, but have nowhere to go since Louisiana Frac is shut down.
If any business has been hit hard with Louisiana Frac closing, it’s got to be Mr. Blackwell’s.
And if there’s anyone, other than Mom, who knew Dad best, it’s Mr. Blackwell. He was one of Dad’s closest friends before all of this happened. And just like whatever is inside me that’s pushing me to go to the auction, that same force has me turning the wheel and pulling into the closest parking spot.
“Hi, I’m Owen Foster. I’m here to see Mr. Blackwell,” I tell the woman at the front desk. Even though Dad screwed up his business, I’m hoping he’ll still talk to me.
She gives me a look, then motions for me to have a seat. She makes a quick call and then says, “He’ll see you in a moment.”
I can feel her staring at me while I stare at the floor. A few minutes later, a side door opens and Mr. Blackwell stares at me. He’s a small guy, probably not even five eight, and really lean.
“Come on back,” he finally says. He doesn’t seem happy to see me.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
I follow Mr. Blackwell back to his office and sit in the chair in front of his desk. He takes a little longer to settle in and then we’re both staring at each other.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he starts.
“Yes, sir,” I answer. By his expression, I can’t figure out if he’s pissed I showed up or pissed I waited this long to come by. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”
He shrugs. “Not really.” He leans back in his chair and waits for me to continue.
“Well, I wanted to come see you, to ask you if you believe what the police say. That Dad stole all that money. And if you do, why do you think he did it?”
“I do believe he did it. As for why…I have no idea. I wish I did,” he says. Then he cocks his head to the side. “I really wish I knew where he was.”
There’s no mistaking the meaning behind those words.
“Yes, sir. I do, too.” I hesitate a second before asking my next question. The one that’s on the top of the list when I see Dad. “Do you think he started embezzling from the company right after he took over or do you think he did it later, once he started having money problems?”
This question makes Mr. Blackwell lean forward. He props his elbows on the desk and takes a deep breath.
“Son, honestly I don’t know. I thought I knew your dad. I considered him one of my closest friends. I think when he offered the initial stock options to the employees, it was a legitimate offer. He couldn’t have captured the business he did without using that influx of cash for inventory, supplies, and new hires.”
“I can’t believe he did that to all his employees.”
Mr. Blackwell nods. “Me, either. I’m thinking he didn’t handle things like he should have and I imagine at some point found himself in a bind. I bet the first time he skimmed some money from the company, he thought he’d pay it right back. But then that hole just got deeper and deeper. Money has a way of corrupting like nothing else.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but I feel like I want to punch something.
“Everyone b
elieves he had help. Do you think Mr. Frazier helped him? Or someone else?”
Mr. Blackwell shrugs. “You know, it’s hard to steal that much money without leaving behind a trace of where it went or how it was done. He didn’t just drain those accounts right before he ran away, he’s been taking from them for years. Could he have done it by himself? Maybe so, but he would have had to have hidden it from a few key people. Frazier being one of them. Your mother being another.”
“Mom didn’t know what he was doing,” I say. “Things have been tough for her.”
Mr. Blackwell’s forehead creases and he pinches his lips together but doesn’t say anything. I can tell he has his doubts about her innocence.
“She didn’t. If you saw her…talked to her, you’d know that. She’s devastated over this. Won’t leave my aunt’s house. Doesn’t sleep. Jumps at every sound. You have no idea.”
Mr. Blackwell nods, but he’s placating me.
“Have you heard Mom’s been getting threats? Someone is calling, harassing her, breaking into our house.”
He seems genuinely surprised to hear this. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Owen.”
“Do you have any idea who it could be?”
“Maybe someone who worked for your dad? Or someone who believes she was involved. I just don’t know.” Mr. Blackwell leans back in his chair, lost in thought. “You know, I remember a couple of months ago we were playing golf and your dad was on the phone with someone. I don’t know who it was, but he was yelling so loud I thought we were going to get kicked off the course. I asked him what that was about when he got off and he said someone from his past was in town. Made it sound like he had a real problem with the guy and wasn’t very happy to hear he was back.”
“What do you think that means?” I ask.
Mr. Blackwell shrugs. “I asked him that very question. He said the guy left here a long time ago and he thought he wouldn’t have to ever deal with him again but now he’s back. Sounds like he was bracing for trouble.”
I soak in everything he’s saying, trying to match it to what I know about Dad’s past. “Do you think that’s who it could be?”
The Lying Woods Page 14