Need

by Stephanie Lawton

  “Good morning. Even though I’m probably the least talkative member of my family, I’ve been asked to say a few words about Uncle Robert, and with good reason. Many of you sat in this very church for my daddy’s funeral. Well, here we are and once again, I’ve lost an important man in my life. Technically he is my mother’s brother, which makes him my uncle, but in spirit and in love, he was my father. My sisters’, too, though he and I shared a special bond.

  “He taught me to drive. Taught me to fish. Taught me how not to fix an outboard motor when you’re miles from shore. Uncle Robert read me the classics, forced me to finish my homework, and later gave me my first taste of beer. Sorry, Mama, it’s true.” A quiet chuckle works through the crowd and I continue.

  “More important, he taught me how to be a man. Some may say he failed miserably, but not for lack of trying. He led by example. His favorite saying was ‘Chivalry is not dead,’ and as long as I’m alive, I plan to carry out that lesson. So long as I do—and I encourage all ya’ll as well—a part of him lives. As long as there’s kindness, compassion, gentleness, and honest-to-goodness love, a part of Uncle Robert is here.

  “Finally…” I draw a blank. How do I put into words the musical talent and discipline he shared with me and so many others? “Well, I could tell all y’all about the hours he spent torturing me on the piano, but I think I’m better off showing you the results, but don’t be offended because I’m not really playing for you. Someone once told me I say much more with my music than my words. Uncle Robert, I hope you’re looking down because this belongs to you.”

  It feels right to sit at the piano bench I was forced to vacate, and even more right to play the piece that’s been running through my head since I went to Uncle Robert’s to retrieve his suit.

  What comes out is part lament, part love song. It sounds nothing like my usual stuff, nothing like the heavy Russian classics I gravitate toward. This is lighter, almost pastoral, but makes use of the full range of the keyboard as well as nearly all the modulation my prematurely arthritic fingers can handle. As often happens when I play, I’m both completely here in the moment, yet somewhere else altogether. I imagine the notes floating up toward the pitched ceiling, bouncing around, and returning to fall like soft Boston snowflakes on Uncle Robert’s closed, draped casket.

  The music recalls every minute detail about his sepia bedroom full of sentimental knickknacks, vases filled with dusty eucalyptus, and most important, the time-tinged photo of a happy couple, surrounded by a mother-of-pearl frame. Knowing Uncle Robert’s been reunited with the love of his life is a huge comfort, even as selfish sadness threatens to devour me.

  When the song ends, I stand to rejoin my family, but on the way I stop next to the casket and place my hand on its smooth surface. I say a silent prayer. I will make you proud. I will be the man you knew I could be. But I’m gonna miss you something fierce, old man. Say hey to my daddy for me. Love you.

  Mama presses a hand to her mouth before giving me the biggest, best hug I’ve had in a good long while. The rest of the service is a blur, except for communion and Pastor Landry’s final commendation. I focus on the white magnolias artfully arranged on the altar.

  “Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant, Robert Charles Cline. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.”

  “Amen.”

  We file out of the church, and Dave and Conrad appear at my side as well as Aaron and Wes to help lift the casket into the hearse. Jayne slips in between me and Dave and does her part. I spot Heather trucking across the parking lot to her car.

  I’m on her in four strides. “Oh, no, you’re riding in the limo with me.”

  She shakes her head. “Isaac, no. Go be with your family.”

  “Please?” She opens her mouth to protest but I cut her off. “I need you. Plus you owe me an explanation.” She quirks her eyebrow. “Let’s go.”

  She takes my hand but I have to practically drag her across the parking lot. Mama, my sisters, their husbands, and Jayne and Brent are already inside the limo. We cram ourselves in, with Heather practically in my lap, not that I mind. I catch Aaron and Wes smirking, but my sisters look less pleased. I don’t care. In her ear that’s closest to the car door and away from my family, I whisper, “What was the deal with Uncle Robert’s obituary?”

  She shakes her head.

  So I pinch her ass. To her credit, she doesn’t cry out or let on that anything happened.

  “Tell me or I’ll do it again, harder this time.”

  She pretends to be embarrassed, but I can tell by the way she shifts on my lap that she’d like more.

  “Tell me…” This time I slip my fingers under the hem of her dress and work my way up her thigh. Thankfully, everyone else is too caught up in their grief, or else they’re purposely ignoring us. Brent and Jayne are counting the homeless people they see.

  She shifts on my lap. Oh, sweet revenge.

  “Tell me now.”

  She twists around to look at me. “Your Aunt Angela’s maiden name was Carter?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Guess what my mama’s maiden name was?”

  “Really? But it’s a common name. Doesn’t mean anything.”

  She shakes her head. “It does. I remember now why that picture in his bedroom looked so familiar. I’ve seen it in my grandparents’ house.”

  I drop my hand from her leg and smooth her skirt back into place. In my head I construct a quick family tree while I try to compute the ways we could possibly be related. All the lap-wiggling in the world wouldn’t get me up at this particular moment.

  The rest of the ride is quiet as we navigate the narrow streets of Mobile to Magnolia Cemetery. As usual, the paths resemble miniature swamps. I help Mama step over a rather large puddle as she gets out of the car and follows the other mourners to the green tent that’s been erected over Uncle Robert’s burial place. The air is still, but the scent of early blooming Louis Philippe roses permeates the cemetery.

  Heather walks with my family as I hang back to help carry Uncle Robert’s casket from the hearse to the grave. That’s when it hits me, smack-dab in the middle of my chest. The back of my throat aches, followed by burning in my nose as tears threaten. I sniff them back. Jayne takes my hand and together we wait for Mr. Dotson to open the back of the hearse.

  When he does, I lose it. I put my hand to my mouth to stop the sob, but it comes out anyway. I have the sudden urge to kick the bumper of the hearse or, hell, flip the damn thing over. There is no way my larger-than-life uncle is in that goddamn box about to be lowered into the ground. Dave pats my back but I shake him off, and no matter how much I swallow, I can’t seem to dislodge the lump in my throat.

  Little fingers twine with mine as Jayne leans against my arm. I take a deep breath and get my shit together. For her, I can do this. For her and for my family, I can man-up and do what has to be done.

  “You ready, Baby Jayne?” She nods, her cheek making a scratchy sound against my suit sleeve. “You stand in front of me and behind your daddy, okay?” She nods again. I notice her chin quiver, but she’s tougher than me and doesn’t shed a tear. Mr. Dotson and his assistant motion to us to take our places and remove the casket. Aaron and Wes are at the head, Jayne and Dave are in the middle, and me and Conrad bring up the rear. We navigate the wrought iron fences, the marble angels and low-hanging branches, and gently slide Uncle Robert onto the raised platform that hovers over the gaping pit in the ground, the one that will swallow him whole before the day’s end. My head knows this is what must happen, but the rest of me hasn’t caught up yet.

  Mr. Dotson places a large magnolia spray on top of the casket before scurrying away. The sickly sweet smell fills the tent. Not sure I’ll ever be able to disassociate magnolias from this moment.

  Pastor Landry stands at the head of the casket and opens his book. “Keep our brother, whose body we now
lay to rest, in the company of all your saints, and at the last, raise him up to share with all your faithful people the endless joy and peace won through the glorious resurrection of Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.”

  “Amen,” says the crowd, a few people crossing themselves.

  There are more words, more tears, handshakes, and awkward hugs, but they don’t really penetrate the thick fog that’s wrapped itself around me. I find myself back in the limo, though I couldn’t tell you where we’re heading. Heather’s holding my hand, but I couldn’t tell you if it’s hot or cold.

  Back at the church there’s a dinner, laughter, kids running around and stories of Uncle Robert when he was my age. Mrs. Green relates an anecdote about him nearly passing out at his wedding and this makes Mama laugh. For that I’m grateful. I don’t taste the food and I don’t even feel Jayne tugging on my sleeve until Heather shoves a wet finger in my ear. She and Jayne giggle and I smile to ease the tension. That’s what they’re looking for, anyway. I struggle to the surface in time to see them exchange glances. Something tells me these two have been in cahoots since I checked out.

  “On the count of three,” Heather whispers. Jayne nods. “One, two, three!” They each plant a wet smooch on either cheek, eliciting my first real grin of the day.

  “Now that,” I say while hooking them both under an arm, “is a good way to get yourselves in trouble.” I hug their necks until they both squeal, and Jayne wriggles out of my grip. Heather stays put, leaning her head on my shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine, fine.”

  “Liar,” she says while tugging on my tie.

  “Yeah, well…”

  “Have you done your duty? Can you leave?” she asks.

  “Not yet. Gotta stick around to make sure everything’s square with the pastor and Mr. Dotson. Then we’re headed back to Mama’s house for a bit.”

  “I’m going to go back to the house, then. I’ve intruded on your family enough today, so I’ll just meet you there.”

  “How on earth have you intruded? I asked you to be here. I needed you here, and I wish you’d come over to Mama’s.”

  “Sorry, big guy, but I’ve got some unpacking to do. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you when you get back, how’s that sound?” Her smile is sweet, but the glint in her eyes is not.

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Definitely.” She kisses my cheek and I watch her glide across the room to Mama, where they exchange a few words and pat each other’s hands. Not five seconds after she’s out the door, my sisters are on me like white on rice.

  “Are you two serious?”

  “When did this happen?”

  “What about her mama?”

  “You sure she isn’t using you?”

  I shake my head at the rapid-fire questions. “Not here, okay? I’ll tell you what you want to know back at the house.”

  Christie points a finger at me. “I’m holding you to that. You’re not disappearing without spilling your guts, little brother.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I tell her and give a little salute. “Is Mama okay? Ready to go yet?”

  “Yeah,” Tiffany says, “she’s ready. I think she needs a nap, honestly. Been a lot for her to handle.”

  Then I remember that Heather drove us here. “Can I catch a ride with one of you?”

  Fifteen minutes later I find myself folded into a position I did not know was possible, a crying baby just inches from my face on one side and my niece’s elbow digging into the other. This is, hands down, the best form of birth control. In the driveway, the mayhem continues as two packed cars of Laroches and half-Laroches fall out of their cars and cram through the back door of our childhood home. I’m determined to get in and out as quickly as possible.

  Mama stands in the kitchen with her purse in her hand, a lost look on her face. I take her bag, set it on the counter, and fold her into a giant hug. “You okay, Mama?”

  “Suppose so. I have to be, don’t I? Life goes on,” she says and sweeps her arm toward the crowded living room.

  “Want me to tell them all to go home?”

  “No, no, we all need to unwind is all.”

  Don’t care for her pale cheeks and glassy eyes. “Did you eat anything at the church?”

  “Hmm?” She absently fiddles with the salt and pepper shakers on the counter, aligning and realigning them. “Sure, honey.”

  “Sit. Now.” I pour her a glass of sweet tea and rummage through the fridge. The neighbors and church ladies have dropped off enough food for a family reunion. I look out the window. A few more cars full of relatives have appeared, so I guess it’s a good thing. I put together a pimento cheese sandwich and plate it with some apple slices, then set it in front of Mama with instructions to eat.

  “When did you get so thoughtful?” she asks. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. My mind, it just…”

  “No need to explain. Just eat.” While she does, I text Heather to come get me. I find Christie in one of the bedrooms with baby John.

  “Hey, little brother. You did good up there today.”

  “Thanks. Listen, I need to get home for a bit. I don’t think I can stay and make nice with all these relatives, but Mama doesn’t look so good. I made her eat something, but she needs to rest before she keels over, too. Can you make sure she goes to bed?”

  “Not really. I’ve got my hands full with John and Jayne. Maybe find Aaron and tell him to watch her?”

  “Okay. Talk to you soon, then.”

  “I’m holding you to that, now. Don’t be a stranger just because the funeral’s over.”

  “I promised Jayne I’d stop over more often, so I’ll be around. Think you can trust me to start giving her lessons again?” I’m pleased when she turns red.

  “Yes, of course. That would be lovely. Now, shoo. I need to feed the baby.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I back into the hall and check my phone. No message from Heather. I send her another text telling her I don’t have a ride and can she please come pick me up before I get sucked into the Laroche vortex.

  Back in the dining room, Mama has finished her sandwich and is washing her plate in the sink.

  “Mama, let that be for now. We’ll get it later. You need to rest.”

  “Shush, you. I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re pale and your hands are shaking. I’m putting you to bed.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. I have a houseful of guests relying on me. What kind of hostess would I be?”

  “You’ll be a sick one if you don’t take care of yourself. Now come on. Want me to pick you up and carry you? I will.” I pretend to reach for her and she swats my hands away, but I’m glad to get a giggle out of her as well.

  “Maybe just for an hour or so.”

  “Good girl. Come on.” I stick out my elbow and she curves her hand around the inside. She’s rearranged her bedroom since the last time I was in here. Can’t recall exactly when that was. She kicks off her house shoes and sits on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m so glad to have you back, Isaac. I’d have never gotten through the last few days without you.”

  “Just doing what I should’ve been doing all along—watching out for you. Lord knows you did enough of that for me.”

  “But I failed in so many ways.”

  “Stop it, you did not. Now clear that overactive mind of yours and get a little shut-eye. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I pull up the quilt from the foot of the bed and spread it over her. She hands me her glasses and I set them on the nightstand, right next to her alarm clock. “I’ll set this for an hour, okay?”

  “Okay,” she mumbles, but she’s already slipping away. I’m half tempted to crawl onto the other side of the bed and join her, but I need to get going. Which reminds me…

  “Dammit.” Still no message from Heather. What the hell? She better have a good excuse for leaving me stranded here. “Mama, is it okay if–” But she’s
totally out. On my out, I notice a framed picture collage on the wall near the door. In it are the usual baby pictures of me and my sisters, but there are a few old snapshots I haven’t seen. I lean in and I recognize a much younger version of my mama, as well as Uncle Robert, who was wearing sweater vests and bowties even back then. In one of the pictures is a young blond woman with a straight nose, a squarish jaw, and great legs. It’s my Aunt Angela, but if I look quickly, it could be a young Marcie Swann. Ice water replaces my spinal fluid. Yep, time to get the hell out of here before things degenerate further. Heather and I need to talk.

  But first I have to get home, and it looks like I’ll be borrowing Mama’s old Cadillac.

  ***

  I bring the metal beast to a stop in the driveway. Wouldn’t you know it, Heather’s car is there in the driveway. She better be puking her guts out or dead on the floor or have some other damn good excuse for not answering my texts. I’m sure it wasn’t her intent, but leaving me to borrow my own mother’s car to get home on the day of my uncle’s funeral is pretty fucking degrading.

  I want to slam the car door shut, but there’s a chance it’ll fall off its hinges. She needs to hear me coming and know I’m pissed. A string of cusswords flows from under my breath until I mount the steps to the front door and see it’s cracked open. With numb fingers, I push it a bit more, peer into the foyer, and pray to whoever’s listening that my gut instinct is completely wrong.

  It’s not. The air smells of fear. The house is too quiet, except for a small huffing sound to the right. Nudging the door all the way open with my elbow—I’ve seen enough detective shows to know not to touch anything—I enter the foyer as quietly as possible. Next to the door is an umbrella stand I bought when I moved back to rainy Mobile. I select the large metal-tipped umbrella and grip it like a baseball bat while slowly inching my way further into the house. I’m tempted to call the police, but that instinct’s overridden by the need to first find Heather and make sure she’s safe.