Too Big To Miss

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  The eulogy was given by Anna Garcia, owner of Abundance. Sophie had modeled for Anna many times. Like Sophie, Anna was an activist for the rights of large women. Her words at the memorial were touching, funny, and thoughtful.

  The service began at four o'clock and was through shortly after five. The pastor made an announcement that all were welcome to attend the light supper following the service at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Seth Washington. Directions to the Washingtons' could be found on the table in the back by the guest book.

  I had ridden to the service with Seth and Zee. Their children did not come, but would be at the house later. Zee and I stood by the car, accepting and giving condolences, shaking hands and passing hugs, while Seth supervised the packing of the flowers and photos for moving to the house.

  Among those greeting us were Glo Kendall and her husband Blaine. As much as we loved Glo, her husband was another matter. I suspected that he would fit in nicely with my step-family, and I generally referred to him as Tennessee trailer trash. Zee chided me for being so mean, but I noticed she never stood up for him with positive comments.

  "Beautiful song, Glo," I said to her. "Thank you so much. Sophie would've loved it." I gave her a big hug. After me, Zee gave her another.

  "Y'all know my husband, Blaine," Glo said in her thick accent. "Honey," she said to her husband, "this is Zenobia and Odelia. I think you've met them before."

  "Yeah, I have," he said in his own thick accent.

  He pulled a baseball cap out of a back pocket of his trousers and put it on. It was a red cap with the emblem for the Tennessee Smokies on the front. I was mildly surprised he hadn't worn it in the chapel.

  "I always remember you two," he said, once the cap was in place, "'cause of your peculiar names. Hey, I've been meanin' to ask ya. With those funny names, you two aren't kin, are ya?"

  I smiled tightly at him, very tightly.

  "Why yes, Blaine," Zee answered, her voice dripping with honey. But I noted the underlying tone was as plastic as my smile. "We're sisters. Same daddy, different mothers."

  "I thought so," he declared with pride. Full of satisfaction for the mystery solved, he nudged Glo and headed towards the parking lot. Glo smiled weakly and trotted after him.

  I turned to Zee. Her face was strained, her patience shot. I could tell Blaine Kendall's stupidity did not set well on top of recent events. My own patience was at ground level as well. Following my failed shopping expedition, I had gone home and sobbed hysterically for almost an hour. It had been cleansing, but exhausting. Right now, I just wanted to get through today.

  "Well, at least you know he's just ignorant and not a bigot," I said, trying to lighten both our moods.

  Before she could answer, a commotion started not too far from us. One man was about to get into his car. He stood with his hand on the handle of a late model black Mercedes with the door slightly open. He was very tall and elegant, and dressed expensively. I was struck immediately by how handsome he was with his wavy salt-and-pepper hair and beautiful yet rugged face. He looked like a middle-aged movie star; maybe even the next James Bond.

  Another man stood next to the Mercedes and had grabbed the door. He was thin and wiry and about a half a foot shorter than the other man. He was dressed nicely but not in costly clothes. His face was plain, his hair thinning. The two looked about the same age. I didn't know either. The shorter man stood facing the other, his face distraught and contorted.

  "You happy now?" the shorter man said. He wasn't yelling, but the anguish in his voice carried the sound to the rest of us.

  The other man didn't answer. His face wore contempt as well as his body wore his tailored suit. He stood towering over the man accosting him, sneering openly.

  "She's dead now. You happy?" the smaller man said again. The pain in his voice was as real and solid as the blacktop covering the parking lot.

  Without answering, the taller man pulled his car door open even further. He started to get in, but was stopped by the other man, who lunged forward and gripped his upper arm.

  "I know you, Hollowell," the shorter man yelled. "I know you had something to do with this."

  The man he called Hollowell shook off the hold easily. With a quick move, he grabbed the lapels of the smaller man's jacket, almost lifting him up.

  Like lightning, Seth Washington was between them, loosening the grip and breaking them apart.

  "Gentlemen," he said, his voice deep and full of authority, "this is not the time and place for such things."

  "He killed her!" the smaller man cried. "He may not have shot her, but he killed her just the same."

  He tried to get past Seth, to throw a punch at Hollowell, but Seth quickly grabbed him and held him back. Hollowell never said a word during the whole exchange, but instead chuckled. It was an ugly, mocking sound, the type of self-satisfied snicker that made me want to throw a punch at him myself, pretty face or not.

  Seth continued to hold onto the angry man. He firmly but gently steered him away from the Mercedes as Hollowell got in and drove off. I went over to where they stood. The man was crying softly, his head lowered in grief as Seth loosened his grip and released him.

  "Now what was that all about?" Seth asked him.

  With grace, Zee broke up the onlookers and directed them to head on over to the house.

  I moved in closer, not wanting to miss the man's response. This was about Sophie, about her death. This man had accused Hollowell of killing her, and Hollowell had offered no rebuttal. I felt my hands shake as it dawned on me that this might be Greg Stevens, Rocknrlr from the e-mail.

  "She's gone," the man said quietly to Seth, looking directly into his eyes with overwhelming grief. "She's gone forever."

  "Mister," Seth said gently, "why don't you come on back to the house and have some coffee and a bite to eat. You'll feel better."

  "We will all miss her," I added, my own cried-out eyes threatening to spill over again. I put a hand softly on his right arm. He covered my hand with his left hand and squeezed it warmly. I noticed he wore a wedding ring.

  "Are you Mr. Stevens?" I asked.

  He shook his head from side to side. "Who I am doesn't matter." He turned back to Seth. "Thank you for the invitation, but I need to get going. I'm sorry that I've behaved so badly. Didn't mean to cause a ruckus."

  "No problem," Seth answered. "We've all been upset by this tragedy."

  The man still had his hand over mine. He picked it up and squeezed it gently. "I'm so glad Sophie had good friends like you folks."

  After shaking Seth's hand, the man walked away. He climbed into a late model pickup truck. Without a look back, he drove off.

  Chapter Seven

  "WHO'S MR. STEVENS?" Seth asked me on the way back to the house.

  "A friend of Sophie's who e-mailed me this week. He said he doesn't think Sophie killed herself. By the way that guy behaved, I thought it might be him."

  I sighed with relief when Seth dropped the issue.

  Most everyone was already at the Washingtons' by the time we got there, but no one had started eating. Pastor Hill was holding the blessing until we arrived.

  Usually when I'm stressed, I'll eat everything not nailed down. Only small children and family pets are safe. And okra. I won't eat okra under any circumstances. But there are times when my emotional arc runs so close to the sun that I can't eat a thing. Now was one of those times.

  People lined up at the catered buffet to sample honey-baked ham, smoked salmon, and turkey breast, along with various salads. An assortment of desserts, all lovingly brought by friends, were set on another smaller table along with coffee and soft drinks. I picked at a few appetizers and raw vegetables before giving up.

  Seth and Zee have a large, lovely home with a roomy backyard, perfect for entertaining. Small tables and chairs were placed outside on the patio and along the pool edge. Many folks were also gathered inside in the living room and den. After making the rounds dictated by courtesy, I took a soda and escaped to the tabl
e farthest from the house. Hannah and Jacob, Zee's children, were already seated there eating their dinners. It was now early evening and the air was beginning to cool down nicely.

  "Hey, Aunt Odie," Jacob greeted me, his mouth half full.

  "Don't talk with your mouth full," his sister scolded. She rolled her eyes at me. "It's so rude."

  Jacob made a face. "It's so ruuuuuuuuuude," he mimicked, then went back to shoveling food from his heaping plate into his fourteen-year-old body.

  He was a younger version of his father, and it was easy to see that, in a few years, he would gain the same height and solid build to his body. Both children had their mother's beautiful smile.

  Hannah picked at her food. "Aunt Odie, why would your friend kill herself?"

  "Mama said it's a sin," Jacob chimed in. "No one but the Lord should take a life."

  "I don't know why Sophie killed herself," I answered truthfully. Maybe she didn't, I said to myself silently.

  Hannah sighed. I could see recent events were bothering her. "I met her a few times with Mama. She didn't seem sad."

  "She didn't seem sad to me, either, sweetie. And I knew her very well."

  "She didn't look like a porn star, either," Jacob said as he took his last bite.

  "Jacob!" his sister snapped.

  "Well, she didn't."

  "So, Jacob," I asked, "you've seen lots of porn stars?"

  He didn't answer. Instead, he buried his face in his cup, pretending to drink, avoiding my eyes.

  "Maybe, Hannah, we should do a little search and seizure of your brother's room."

  She snapped her fingers in the air. "Just give me the word and I'm there."

  "I swear, Hannah," Jacob said, getting worked up. "You touch my room and Pastor Hill will be saying a few words over you."

  "I'm gonna tell Mama you said that."

  "Kids, kids, kids," I said, trying to bring order to the situation. "Calm down. No one's telling. No one's searching. We were just teasing."

  We moved on to the topic of school, which I thought would be a safe discussion. In a few minutes the bickering started up again. This time it centered on a boy who Hannah liked. Jacob thought he was a butthead, and said so. I was so busy soothing teenage ruffled feathers, I didn't notice someone approaching our table. Jacob saw him first.

  "Hi," he said to the man.

  "Hi back," the man answered.

  I turned around to see a man in a wheelchair. A nice looking man, a very handsome thirty-something actually. I remembered seeing him briefly at the memorial service. But like many in attendance, he was unknown to me.

  "I hope I'm not intruding," he said.

  "No, not at all," I answered, giving him a slightly embarrassed grin. "We're just having a little family discussion."

  The kids didn't seem to recognize him, either, so I made introductions.

  "This is Hannah and Jacob Washington. Zee and Seth's children."

  He held out his hand and the kids politely took turns shaking it and saying a proper hello.

  "And I'm Odelia Grey."

  He took my hand, shook it, and held on, looking straight into my eyes. "I know. I'm Greg Stevens."

  I withdrew my hand quickly, as if burned. Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit. Here was the man himself, and it wasn't the little guy at the service.

  I fought the urge to laugh out loud, to cackle insanely until someone subdued me with chemicals for my own safety. From start to finish, today had been too much. I wanted to put some of it aside, on account so to speak, to deal with later when my emotional reserves weren't so spent. But I had no idea when that time would be, so I gathered myself together for the next round.

  "We need to talk, Odelia," the man named Greg Stevens said to me.

  As if on cue, the kids rose to leave. A part of me wanted to tell them to stay, but I knew that eventually this man and I would have to speak. I also knew that the children were upset enough, and there was no need for them to hear this discussion.

  "I have some homework to do," Hannah said. She leaned over on her way by me and gave me a kiss on my cheek before departing. "Hang in there."

  "Thanks, sweetie."

  "Later, Aunt Odie," Jacob said, walking away with his empty plate.

  "You too big now to give me a kiss?"

  Jacob walked back, rolling his eyes for Greg's benefit. Greg chuckled. Dutifully, the boy bent down and pecked me on the cheek. I pecked him back. He lingered, his mouth close to my ear. I smelled after-shave, and wondered to myself when had he gotten old enough to wear it.

  "We're not gonna find out you're some sorta closet porn star, too, are we?" the boy whispered in my ear.

  "What?" I sputtered, then realized I had given him exactly the response he wanted.

  Grinning, Jacob walked away, leaving me flushed and speechless. And alone with Greg Stevens.

  "That must've been some remark," Greg commented with a smile.

  "Some days, I just want to beat that boy. Out of love, of course."

  "Easy to see they love you back. Have you known them long?"

  "Jacob was a gleam in his daddy's eye when I met Zee. Hannah was just a toddler. They're almost like my own. Sorry you walked into that family bickering. They go out of their way to torment each other." I fidgeted, not sure what to say.

  Greg laughed. "Siblings. It's natural. I have a brother and a sister. I'm in the middle, literally and figuratively. You from a big family?"

  I thought about that. The anticipation of another agonizing Mother's Day sat in my stomach like mayonnaise in the sun.

  "No," I admitted. "I'm an only child. My parents divorced when I was about thirteen. My father remarried a woman with two kids who are much older than me."

  "My parents have been together forty-two years," he said. "And amazingly, they still seem nuts for each other. I've been lucky. You get along well with your step-family?"

  I thought about it before answering. "If you asked them, they'd say we get along fine. As for me, I keep my mouth shut for the purpose of getting along. I keep the peace for the sake of my father."

  "At great expense to yourself, no doubt."

  I was tempted to ask Greg Stevens if he was a shrink, but held back. He certainly knew how to get to the meat of a matter and how to make someone comfortable enough to spill their guts. Under the stress of recent events, I was ready to lay back on a couch and talk over my problems for hours. I wondered how much this man would charge, and if I had enough in my savings to cover it.

  "I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss my childhood," I said instead.

  He shook his head. "No, I didn't. I came to say goodbye to a good friend." There was a pause. "And I came to meet you."

  Again, a quiet lingered between us. It wasn't an awkward silence, but, strangely, a comforting one. There was definitely something soothing about this man. He seemed so self-assured, so genuine. I looked him over, wondering what his relationship was with Sophie. Was he yet another secret?

  He was definitely attractive. Not beautiful like Hollowell, but good looking in an athletic, wholesome way. Except for his lifeless legs, his body was toned and strong, especially his upper body. His hair was medium brown, worn on the long side, but well cut and styled. His eyes were hazel and sparkled with life, in spite of his obvious grief. Dressed in a nice shirt and lightweight sports jacket, he looked successful but not wealthy. Independent rather than mainstream.

  "You really saw her die?" There it was, the bonus round question.

  "Yes, I did. I was the one who called nine-one-one."

  Detective Frye had told us that one of the watchers of the web site had made the emergency call. I found myself giving quick thought to who this man was and why he was watching Sophie that morning.

  "You didn't really know her, did you, Mr. Stevens? Not in person anyway."

  Bottom line, this was a paying customer of an adult web site. He wasn't a friend of Sophie's; he was a guy who watched her sexually. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling all that warm a
nd fuzzy about Greg Stevens.

  "No, unfortunately, I never met her in person. But I knew her well."

  I leaned in toward him, not wanting my voice to carry. "I seriously doubt if jacking off to an image constitutes knowing someone."

  I got up to leave, but he reached out a hand to stop me.

  "You're right about that, Odelia. It doesn't." His voice was firm but kind. "But I spoke with Sophie at least once a week by phone. And not phone sex, either, so don't even go down that road. I worked with her on her web site. This is the cyber age. You don't need to meet someone in person to know them and work with them. We were friends, just like you and she were. We just never went shopping together."

  I winced at the mention of shopping.

  Shaking his hand off my arm, I started, once more, to walk away. My face burned with frustration sprinkled with anger. I wondered how many more of Sophie's cyber fans were here, eating, talking, and discussing her like they truly knew her.

  "I knew she had a kid," he called after me. "And I know who Hollowell is."

  I stopped dead in my tracks. My head swam with confusion, pushing aside the anger for the moment. He knew she had a son, but I didn't. Why would she tell him that and not me? Or even Zee? For some reason, Sophie didn't trust us. That hurt. I wanted to keep walking, but the second half of his remark prevented me. He knew Hollowell, too. My personal feelings were fighting with my curiosity. I was never going to get to the bottom of this if I behaved this way. Then I remembered that Sophie had left this man something in her will. Reluctantly, I walked back to the table and sat down.

  His remark had been used as bait, and I was biting. I only hoped I didn't wind up dipped in corn meal and pan fried.

  "Mr. Stevens, I don't know what your game is, but like you, I have doubts about the suicide."

  "There's no game, Odelia. We both loved Sophie. Neither of us believe her capable of suicide. Give me a chance to help."

  He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a business card, and passed it to me. It was for a business in Huntington Beach called Ocean Breeze Graphics. The card said "Gregory W. Stevens, Owner."