by A. L. Jambor
Ginger sighed. "I guess I'd better contact the funeral home." Ginger had been to several funerals in the last ten years -- the older the decedent, the smaller the crowd. "Do you think anyone will come to the funeral?"
"You'd be surprised. He was well-known around here. He was our mayor for thirty years. Some of his friends are still alive. They'll attend it."
She smiled. "I guess that's what we do at our age, isn't it?"
He smiled. "The golden years."
She tilted her head. "Would it be crass to ask how much his estate is worth?"
"Not at all." He looked through the papers and found the one he wanted. "With the house, his stocks and bonds, you're looking at an estate worth around seven million."
Ginger felt her throat tighten. "Dollars?"
He smiled. "Yes, dollars. It's a lot less than his wife's estate, which is why I doubt his children will fight you for it."
Ginger's heart was racing. She'd never imagined her brother was so rich.
"I guess I'll need something to show the bank so I can close his accounts."
"All that will be taken care of after probate is filed. You have nothing to worry about. We will handle the paperwork for you."
Ginger's hands were shaking. "So I wait until I hear from you."
Bertram nodded and then looked at his watch. "I'm sorry, but I have to go to court now. Give my office a call before you go back to Wisconsin."
He ushered her out of the office and walked her to her car.
"Again, I'm sorry about Charlie."
"Thank you."
Ginger had gone back to Charlie's house that afternoon and fallen asleep. She woke when she heard his phone ringing. It was the funeral home returning her call. They wanted her to come in to sign some papers so they could take possession of the body.
The funeral was to be held at McGinty's, a well-established funeral parlor run by the same family for over a hundred years. The home itself was a large Victorian off Main Street. The family had paved the back yard for parking, and painted the house white with black shutters.
Ginger met with the director, a man in his late fifties, and they discussed Charlie's plans for his funeral. As she feigned interest in the preparations, she thought about what she would wear and decided she had to go to the mall in Oceanville to find a proper dress. When the man stood indicating the end of the interview, Ginger realized she hadn't heard a word.
"We will place Mr. Jackson in the Harmony Room. I expect a crowd of about two hundred since Mr. Jackson was a former mayor. No matter what the outcome, we'll be prepared. Don't you worry about a thing."
Dear God. Two hundred people. Ginger was still reeling from her meeting with Bertram and the bequest she'd received from Charlie. Her mind was in a fog as she shook hands with the director, a man whose name she couldn't remember.
The haze of disbelief stayed with her as she tried on clothes that fit her budget. Four million dollars. She felt as if she'd won the lottery, and then felt guilty for having such thoughts.
"He was your brother, Ginger," she said to her reflection in the mirror, but it was hard to feel more than pity for him. His children didn't care that he had died, and he'd chosen to stay in New Jersey when he could have retired near his sisters. He wanted to be alone, and no matter how she tried, she didn't feel a sense of loss that usually accompanies the death of a loved one.
But he must have cared about you, she thought, and that only made her feel more contrite.
Now, as she walked away from the lighthouse heading back toward town, she pondered what it must have been like for her mother living so far away from her family in Wisconsin. Birdie had told her how she and her sisters would run on the beach, how much they enjoyed the ocean, but little about how her mother coped with it all. Birdie had also told her that their father spent most of his time away from the lighthouse, but she was loath to denigrate her father's character since he had died in the war. As she walked toward town, Ginger wished she had learned more about her parents, but Birdie had always been reluctant to talk about them.
When Ginger got to town, she saw the young woman she'd picked up earlier sitting on a bench in the park. She was an odd girl, but Ginger liked her. She had to be at the funeral later, but it was still early in the day, so Ginger went up to Mari and smiled.
"I see you sitting here all alone. Would you like to have lunch with me?" Ginger noticed Mari's hesitation. "If you don't want to..."
"It isn't that," Mari said. "I drift off sometimes." She patted her head. "Head injury."
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"No worries. I'd love to have lunch with you."
They walked to the café, which, despite it being a rainy Saturday, wasn't full of customers. Mari led Ginger to her favorite table. They sat and ordered their sandwiches, and then they watched the parade of tourists fleeing the town so they could beat the traffic on the parkway.
"This is a lovely town," Ginger said.
"I love it here."
Mari reminded Ginger of her own daughters. Loneliness was a new sensation for Ginger, who had always had family nearby.
"Were you born here?" she asked.
"No," Mari said. "In north Jersey. Before the accident I lived in New York City."
"Oh, my, that must have been exciting."
Mari's winsome smile said it all. "I do miss it."
"I've always lived in a small town myself," Ginger said. "I don't know what I'd do in a big city like that."
"I'm not sure if I want to go back either, but that's where the jobs are, at least for me."
"What do you do?"
"I do research for television shows."
"Really? Which ones?"
"The one I was working on was Historical Homicides."
"I don't think I've heard of that one."
"It's on a small cable network. We churn out about twenty shows a year, and then they just show them over and over. They're cheap to produce, sort of like those old pulp fiction books."
"I remember those from the fifties. They had racy covers."
"Those are the ones."
They finished their sandwiches and Ginger looked at her watch.
"I'd better get going. I have to be at the funeral home at six."
"Give me your phone number," Mari said. "Just in case I'm running late."
They exchanged numbers and Ginger insisted on paying for lunch. Mari left the tip. As they walked outside, Ginger took Mari's hand.
"Thank you for coming tonight."
"No problem."
"I'll see you later." Ginger let go of her hand. "Oh, and it's at McGinty's."
"McGinty's at seven. Got it."
Ginger smiled and walked to her car. She watched Mari go into the drug store before driving away. She was a unusual girl, and Ginger liked her and looked forward to seeing her again.
Mari
Mari went into the drug store and bought some ibuprofen and a bottle of water. She took four pills, and then started walking toward the beach. Phil wouldn't be out of work for another hour, and she was still irritated that he had gone to the cottage alone. She would see it and prove to him that she would be fine, that she could handle seeing where Charlotte had died.
The lighthouse was busy as intermittent rain kept the tourists off the beach. Mari felt a few drops as she walked to the wooden walkway. She saw Charlie standing on the walkway, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. Her courage was still high from crossing the town line, so she kept walking until she was just a few feet away from him.
"You don't scare me," she said.
She walked past him and down the walkway. The bushes surrounding the cottage were gone, and as she got closer, she saw that the windows had been removed in preparation for its demolition. A big dumpster had been put in front of it and it was filled with furniture and old appliances. Mari glanced around before climbing through the empty window frame near the front door. Again, she was face to face with Charlie.
"Screw you."
Sh
e walked through him and into the living room. Even without the windows, the place still reeked, but the breeze from the ocean made the air inside tolerable.
She stopped and looked around. The light from a window shone through the bedroom door and illuminated the brown stains on the Oriental rug. When Mari saw it, her stomach flipped. Charlie appeared again, trying to block her from moving. She felt her heart beat faster, and breathing became difficult. Whatever he was trying to do was working, but Mari wasn't going to let him stop her.
"You're a freaking ghost," she said, "get the hell out of my way."
She went through him again and focused on breathing slower while her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room.
Mari walked to the bedroom door and around the edges of the stains on the rug. Now she could see the bed and the sheets covered in large brown stains. Again, Mari's stomach flipped. It had happened. Charlotte had bled to death. Seeing her bed made it all too real, and the people involved were flesh and blood humans rather than grainy black and white photos.
Tears stung her eyes as she looked around at the squalid little cottage and thought about Charlotte living there all alone. How lonely she must have been, and how desperate for human contact.
Mari began to feel dizzy. The place was hot and damp, with a heavy scent of mildew and death. Her head began to swim, and she turned to leave by the front door, but Charlie blocked her path. She stumbled and fell backward onto the blood-stained Oriental rug.
"So, do you really want to know what happened....." Charlie hissed.
He stood over her, his eyes blazing, his hatred for her palpable, and she thought about crawling to the front door, but her curiosity was too great. She had to know what happened.
"Yes," she said. "Tell me."
Mari stood, and she kept her eyes on him as she waited for something to happen, and then she looked out the door and saw that the rain had stopped. She walked to the front door and saw a rocking chair on the porch. She glanced at the white walls. Everything looked clean. Checkered curtains hung on the windows and as Mari's eyes fell to the Oriental rug, the bright red, yellow, and blue pattern was clearly unimpeded by large brown blood stains.
She turned her back to the wall and slid to the floor. A sofa with an end table on each side separated the living room and kitchen. Each table held a brass oil lamp. A dining table with two chairs were on the right near the entrance to the bedroom. She could also see the top of an icebox and stove in the kitchen.
The cottage smelled of salt water and the open door allowed a cool breeze to rush past her leg. Mari looked at the blue and pink-streaked sky. Mari, an audience of one, had been chosen to bear witness, and she wondered if she would make it out of there alive. Still, when the players appeared as misty figures, she held her breath in anticipation. They were there to tell a story that would consume them in an ocean of blood.
Charlotte
As the images sharpened, Mari saw two people sitting at the dining table -- Charlotte and Josh. She looked tired, and when he went to touch her, she recoiled and turned her head toward Mari, revealing a black eye.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
She shook her head. He reached for her hand again and held it, but she wouldn't look at him.
"It looks good on you," he said.
At first, Mari thought he was referring to the black eye and she couldn't believe he'd say such a thing, but then Charlotte put her hand to her throat.
"It was sweet of you. I've never had a birthday present before."
Now he put both hands on hers.
"I'll never forget your birthday."
Charlotte winced, and Mari wondered when she had received that black eye. Was that a birthday present, too?
Charlotte was slow to pull her hand away. When she did, she got up and went to the kitchen, and Mari saw her pregnant belly. Charlotte put her hands at the small of her back and waddled as she walked.
"Do you want more coffee?" she asked.
Josh got up and went to her, and Mari imagined him putting his arms around her. Mari got up and walked to the bedroom door so she could see what he was doing. As she approached them, Mari saw Josh kissing Charlotte's neck, but the look on her face spoke volumes. Fear mixed with revulsion. Mari thought she saw Charlotte's hand trembling and moved closer.
"I'm here," Mari whispered.
But what could she do? She was here to bear witness and nothing more. There was no hope of saving Charlotte.
He ran his hands over her breasts and she looked up as if looking for a way to escape.
"I need to sit, Josh," she said.
He stopped, and he didn't look happy. He took his hands away and let her walk away, but he wasn't far behind and when she sat on the sofa, he was right beside her.
"You shouldn't be here," she said. "You know your mother is watching us."
"She doesn't know I left the house. She thinks I'm in my room studying."
"She just wants you to do well. You're going to college."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I want you to come to Philadelphia with me."
"We talked about this before. You know I can't do that."
"Why not?"
He leaned forward, and Mari moved toward the front of the cottage so she could see Charlotte's face. She also saw Charlotte's swollen legs.
"We'll get married," he said. "We can get a room together."
"It's a lovely dream..."
He stood so fast that Mari jumped.
"It isn't a dream. I love you. I want to be with you and the baby."
He looked so young and earnest that it was hard for Mari to believe he had given Charlotte a black eye, but everything about Charlotte screamed battered woman, and Mari's heart fell as she realized that Josh wasn't the golden boy after all, that theirs had not been a sweet love story, but a frightful nightmare.
Charlotte laid her head on the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Mari watched Josh sit beside her again and put his head on her shoulder. He ran his hand over her stomach and smiled.
"I wonder if it's a boy. Wouldn't that be great? I could teach him baseball and football, and you can teach him manners." He grinned, and then looked at her face. "What's wrong? Why do you always have to look so sad?" He got up and paced the floor. "You always look so miserable."
Charlotte looked weary, like someone much older than her twenty years, and when Josh wasn't looking at her, Mari noticed she also looked angry. Maybe that's how she got the black eye. She had let her guard down and Josh saw that she wasn't as in love with him as he thought.
"Leave, Charlotte," Mari said. "Just get up and leave."
She didn't leave. Instead, she said something that felt like a deliberate attempt to provoke him.
"I went to an agency," Charlotte said. "They said they have a nice couple who can take her."
Mari saw the hard look on Josh's face as he turned to look at Charlotte.
"What are you talking about?"
Charlotte raised her head to look at him.
"They are going to adopt the baby. They said she would have a good life, and a good home."
"And you don't think I can do that, right?"
He stood over her, but she wouldn't look at him. She stared at the ceiling and exhaled.
"No, Josh, you can't, and if something happens...if I die...then she will be just like me, all alone in an orphanage. I can't let that happen to her."
"My son will never be alone. He'd have a whole family to take care of him."
The hairs on Mari's arms rose as Charlotte sat forward, and then with some difficulty, stood. She walked around the coffee table to avoid passing Josh and folded her arms over her chest. Her eyes lingered on Josh for a few seconds, and then, as if accepting the blow she was expecting to receive after what she was about to say, stood up straight and thrust out her chin.
"I've already signed the papers."
At first, he looked as though he might cry, but then his face reddened with anger.
"H
ow could you do something like that?" He moved closer to her. "All I wanted to do was marry you, to love you, to take care of you and the baby."
Her resolve seemed to melt as he moved closer, and she backed away holding her stomach as if to shield it from his animosity.
"You can't give it away." His voice was hard. "I won't let you give it away."
"It's for the best." Her voice was just above a whisper.
Mari jumped when all of a sudden, Josh grabbed Charlotte's arms and held them.
"Please don't do this," Charlotte said. "Please don't hurt me."
"Why not?" he asked.
His derisive tone had a startling effect on Mari, who sensed that things would soon be escalating out of control. She backed away until she was against the wall.
"Why shouldn't I hurt you?" he asked. "You don't care about me. I'll bet you never even loved me."
Josh let go of her and circled around the coffee table, poised like a tiger ready to pounce. His hands shook. Was he trying not to hit her? He moved closer, one inch at a time, and Charlotte backed away from him and moved so the coffee table would be between them.
"So, did you?" he asked. "Did you ever love me?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I still do."
Mari believed her, which is why this was so sad. No man could ever understand what it meant to love someone who could hurt you so badly, and yet you still keep on believing that he can change, that he will change, that your love, which is so precious to you, can make him be what you want him to be.
Mari saw his balled fist before Charlotte did, and when he threw the punch, Mari instinctively ran at him, trying to knock him down so Charlotte could get away. She stood where Josh stood and saw the terror on Charlotte's face as she was sent back onto the sofa.
"Why do you make me do that?" he said.
She held her cheek and whimpered.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry."
"You're not sorry." He moved toward her. "You're never really sorry."
Charlotte tried to get up. Mari felt the intense energy in the room and felt her chest constrict. Anger filled her, anger toward Charlotte, a blind rage that consumed her.