A Sad Soul Can Kill You

by Catherine Flowers

  Franny saw him enter the room and tried to smile, but the hostile look in his eyes stopped her. She returned her focus to the nurse who continued going over the discharge instructions with her.

  Homer fixed his eyes on the nurse’s back and tilted his head to the side. There was something familiar about her stance and the sound of her voice.

  “Do you have any questions, Ms. Woodard?” the nurse asked.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t,” Franny said softly. She looked past her shoulder and pointed to Homer. “My son’s here now to pick me up.”

  The nurse turned to say hello. Her mouth opened, but the words came to a halt somewhere between her vocal cords and her tongue.

  Homer struggled to greet her. “Hel-lo, Tia.”

  Tia regained her composure. “Hello,” she said stiffly.

  “Oh, you two know each other?” Franny asked.

  “No,” Homer said quickly. He pointed to her name tag. “Her name’s right there.”

  “Oh,” Franny let out a weak laugh, “that’s right. I forgot about that.”

  “Are you ready?” Homer asked impatiently. “I have my flashers on.”

  Tia looked at Franny. “I’ll send an assistant in to take you downstairs.” She glanced at Homer as she walked past him. “I’m all done here,” she said as she left the room.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Homer pulled the zipper of his coat up as far as it would go as he dropped the garbage bag into the bin behind his house. He stopped to look at a squirrel that seemed to have made his home in his backyard. February was almost over, but there were still icy mixtures of snow that randomly covered the grass and created shiny borders along the edges of the walkway.

  He kicked at a section of semifrozen gravel and discovered a handful of stones buried underneath the icy blanket. He picked up the rocks and tossed them back and forth in his hands as he thought about the way Tia had treated him—not just at the hospital but the last time he’d talked to her on the phone, the same night Sandra had left him several weeks ago.

  He’d been trying to reach her ever since their last telephone conversation when she’d abruptly hung up on him, and she hadn’t returned any of his calls. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number again. It rang several times before transferring over to the automated voice instructing him to leave a message at the sound of the beep.

  “Hi, Tia,” Homer said in a deep sultry voice. “Call me when you get this message. I’d like to see you.”

  He disconnected the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. The wind was blowing furiously as he took a few steps toward the squirrel. Homer remembered when he’d met Tia at the grocery store that day in January. The meeting had not been accidental. He’d been curious about his neighbor and her daughter for months. He liked the youthfulness both of them displayed, and he had been watching them come and go on a regular basis. It had been a Saturday afternoon, and Homer had been looking at Tia’s house from his basement window when he saw her garage door go up.

  The urge to follow her had hit him instantly, and he remembered running upstairs, grabbing his coat and car keys and getting into his car. He’d followed her from a distance, and when she’d pulled into the parking lot of a large supermarket just a few miles down the road, Homer had pulled in too.

  He’d been careful to keep some distance between the two of them, and he’d parked his car several rows down from the row she’d parked in. Then he’d sat in his car and waited until Tia had entered the grocery store.

  She hadn’t been easy to find. The store had been crowded with shoppers buying groceries to replenish their kitchen cabinets and pantry shelves. Homer had roamed up and down each aisle, placing random items in his shopping cart until he’d turned the corner and spotted her. She was standing over a bushel of apples in the produce section, and he’d gathered his composure and pushed his shopping cart in her direction.

  He remembered the startled look on Tia’s face when he’d introduced himself. He hadn’t meant to startle her; he’d just wanted to get to know her and he’d wanted her to know him too. He’d wanted her to know that he gave a good massage . . . before she had a chance to notice his limp.

  Once he’d told her about his special skill, it was her curiosity that had piqued. And that had been exactly what he’d hoped would happen. Homer had meant what he’d said when he’d told Tia that if she needed anything, he was her man. She’d taken him up on his offer once. Now she was ignoring him.

  The squirrel took a few steps back just as Homer threw one of the rocks in its direction. It scurried to the right, barely saving the end of its unkempt tail from the impact.

  Homer sighed. He felt like he would never escape his unlovable fate. The wind died down, and the next two rocks Homer threw at the squirrel produced a game of dodge ball. Then, he made a fake lunge toward the squirrel, and it stood up on its hind legs, looking at him with fanatical eyes.

  Just then, he heard the hinges on the back door creak. He glanced over his shoulder. “Go back in the house, Franny,” he said sternly.

  He heard the back door creak again as the squirrel stretched its neck up high as if a newfound sense of courage and dignity had been instilled into its blood.

  Egged on by a feeling of hopelessness, Homer threw the fourth rock, and it caught the squirrel on the left side of its chest. The squirrel dropped back to the ground and rested on all four limbs.

  Homer took a few steps forward, but the squirrel did not run away. It just kept its distance, watching him. He pulled a small red apple out of his coat pocket and stretched out his hand toward the squirrel.

  “Here, squirrelly, squirrel,” he whispered, “come and get your apple.”

  The squirrel inched forward, hesitated, and then moved a few feet closer. Homer’s other hand held the last and biggest rock. He raised his hand with the rock in it over his head. He was trying to figure out the distance and precise amount of force it would take to put this creature out of its misery. The squirrel continued to inch closer to the hand that held the apple, then suddenly darted in the opposite direction.

  Smart squirrel, Homer thought as he limped back to the house. He stopped just before opening the back door, and wondered how big the rocks would have to be for a person.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It had only been one day since Franny had moved into Homer’s house. She knew it would take time for her feelings of awkwardness to decrease. But she hoped the dark vibe she encountered when she first walked through the foyer of his home would not remain. It threatened to suffocate her, and many times she felt as though she could not breathe properly. Then there was the incident with the squirrel that had created a dreadful feeling within her.

  Even though she’d closed the back door after Homer instructed her to, Franny had continued to watch him from the kitchen window. It had been disheartening to see him throw rocks at the squirrel; that had been cruel enough. But when the last rock he’d thrown had actually hit the squirrel, Franny let out a small moan as if she, herself, had been hit.

  When she saw him lift his hand with the rock in it over his head, she’d turned away from the window. Surely, he wasn’t trying to kill the squirrel! She covered her mouth with her hand. Why would Homer do such a thing?

  After dinner, Franny began washing the dishes. Homer had not allowed her to cook but had delegated her to cleaning up the kitchen instead. She put away the leftovers from a meal that she and Homer had eaten in separate rooms; he’d eaten his meal in the living room in front of the television set, she’d eaten hers in the kitchen.

  She stood scrubbing the last metal pan as she entertained herself with thoughts of paradise, her paradise, which she imagined to be an environment that was faultless and unsullied . . . nothing like the unforgiving atmosphere she now found herself living in. She dried the pan and put it away, then went into the dimly lit living room to watch television.

  She sat down on the leather sectional, then got back up. “Homer,” she said walking over t
o the closed blinds, “why do you keep it so dark in here?”

  “Don’t open them,” he said sternly. “The light hurts my eyes. Besides, when you let the light in, it reflects off the TV, and I can’t see the picture clearly.”

  Franny walked over to the small Tiffany lamp sitting on the end table next to the sectional. She bent down slightly and pulled the chain. A small amount of light mingled with the semidarkness. She sat down and sighed as she began watching a man on the television screen.

  He was sitting behind a desk with a small stack of papers in front of him and a computer situated behind the papers. “How far would you like to go?” he asked the woman on the other side of the desk.

  The woman shrugged her shoulders and said, “At least 2,000 miles or so.”

  “That’s not far enough,” Franny mumbled as she began thumbing through the pages of an outdated Seventeen magazine. “She should go farther.”

  “You mean like you did?” Homer asked.

  Franny stiffened.

  “I waited,” he said.

  She turned toward him. “I tried to explain to you years ago, Homer,” she said. “But you wouldn’t or couldn’t hear me.”

  “I can hear you now,” he said. “Try again.”

  “Can you?” She looked at him with tired eyes.

  “Try again,” he repeated.

  Franny removed her glasses. “I was seventeen, Homer,” she said. “I was young and, of course, very naïve.” Even though Franny hoped she would be able to make amends between herself and her estranged son, she was discouraged by the possibility that it would not happen if he continued to remind her of her mistake every day for the next two months.

  “I thought my mother could take care of you much better than I could,” she continued. “She had the experience and she wanted you.”

  “So you left me with her and ran off to another city, right?” he said harshly.

  “I didn’t just leave you, Homer,” she said rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I left you with family, with someone who loved you.”

  “You think that makes a difference?”

  She looked at him. “Actually, I do,” she said. “It was better than leaving you with a stranger.”

  “Why’d you have to leave me at all?” His voice was hard and cold.

  “Your grandmother was going to take me to court if I didn’t make her your legal guardian. That showed me how much she wanted you, so I signed the papers. I’m sorry, Homer.”

  “If you would have been there for me, she wouldn’t have had to go that far.”

  Franny looked at him with sad eyes. “Is that what she told you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said lowering his head.

  “Homer. I’ve asked God to forgive me, and He has. Now, I’m asking you to forgive me.”

  Homer remained silent.

  “What do you know about Jesus, Homer?”

  He jerked his head up and stared at her from across the room. “Really?” he said. “You’re asking me what I know about Jesus?” A look of bewilderment spread across his face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It has a lot to do with everything,” Franny said. “Now, and when you die.”

  “I already know about God,” he said returning his eyes to the television set.

  “But I didn’t ask you that,” she said gently. “I asked you what you knew about Jesus.”

  Homer crossed his leg and wiggled his deformed left foot.

  Franny’s eyes traveled to the deformity that was hidden by the cotton socks Homer had on.

  He stopped wiggling his foot. “I know a little something about Jesus,” he said. “And the part I know is that He didn’t abandon anybody. But that’s cool.” He uncrossed his leg. “Everything’s cool.”

  “No, Homer, it’s not cool,” Franny said. “It’s never been cool. And I understand why you’re angry.” She wanted to move closer to him, to hug him or even touch him which she had not done in two years. Instead, she remained seated. “Homer,” she said gently, “I can never apologize enough for leaving you. I’m sorry, and I’d like to have a relationship with you for whatever length of time I have left on this earth.”

  He looked at her and a stab of guilt pierced his conscience. He snickered in an effort to convince himself that her sparkless eyes were due to her old age and not his unpleasant demeanor directed toward her. She was just getting what she deserved. It was karma.

  “You want a relationship now?” he said. “After fifty-one years? It’s kind of late, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “it’s kind of late. But it doesn’t have to be too late. I’m willing to try if you are. It might be the death of me. But I’m going to try if it’s the last thing I do.”

  He stared at her hard. “Can a leopard change its spots?”

  She stared back at him. “Well,” she said slowly, “since God made the leopard, anything is possible.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was three thirty in the morning when Franny got up quietly and tiptoed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. An increasing feeling of uneasiness had come over her ever since she’d seen Homer throwing rocks at that squirrel.

  She began to wonder if she’d made a mistake by moving in with her estranged son. She tried not to remind herself that she still had 59 days to go before an apartment would be available for her.

  As she passed Homer’s closed bedroom door, she noticed a faint light flowing from underneath the opening. The dark spirit that encompassed every room of the house grew even darker, and she hurried on to the kitchen.

  On her way back, she heard soft irregular tapping sounds coming from behind his door. What is he doing in there at this time of the morning? She stopped to listen; she heard three taps, a burst of taps in rapid succession, and then one final tap.

  Suddenly, the light went out, and Franny hurried down the hall to her room. The water in her glass rocked back and forth like a pendulum leaving liquid teardrops on the hallway floor. She closed her door and sat down on the bed.

  “Franny!” Homer yelled knocking hard on her door.

  She jumped, and more water escaped from the glass to her nightgown. Her hand shook as she placed the glass on the nightstand. Ever since the squirrel, she didn’t know what Homer might be capable of.

  “Franny!” His voice sounded like thunder. “I know you’re awake. You spilt water all over the floor.”

  Her chest heaved up and down as she opened the door. His menacing figure blocked the doorway, and his hazel eyes frightened her as he stood looking at her.

  “Well?” he said.

  She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

  “Water.” He pointed to the hallway floor. “Mop.” He spoke to her as if she were a child—no—less than that—as if she were an idiot. “Now,” he barked over his shoulder as he walked away.

  Franny held on to the doorknob with one hand and the wall with the other hand until her trembling subsided. When she heard Homer’s bedroom door slam shut, she got the mop from the utility closet and quickly swabbed away the wet spots on the floor. She made sure to return the mop to its exact resting position in the closet when she had finished.

  She went back to her bedroom and changed into a dry gown. Her heart was still beating rapidly as she got down on her knees to pray.

  “Heavenly Father,” she started, “forgive me for my sins as I forgive those who sin against me. I tried to make amends, Lord, but my son is full of anger. Touch his heart, Father. Prepare him to receive Jesus Christ as His savior, and let his soul be healed. Thank you, Father. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.”

  She rose slowly and got into bed. She turned onto her side and pulled the cover up tight around her shoulders. Her body had become weakened by disease, and her heart was heavy from loneliness and pain. The thought of living under Homer’s roof for another six weeks had now become unbearable to her.

  Three hours later, a familiar heaviness returned to the center of h
er chest. As it traveled to her left arm with greater intensity, sixty-eight years of living passed before her in a flash. She remembered part of a prayer she’d been taught as a child . . . If I should die before I wake, I pray, dear Lord, my soul do take. A chill passed through her as she sighed heavily. And then she saw the paradise she’d been dreaming of.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was early Sunday morning when the ambulance pulled into the cul-de-sac. Its siren was silent. Homer walked calmly to the front door and let the paramedics in. He led them to the room where Franny lay still, eyes closed with the covers still pulled up around her neck. The glass of water she’d gotten in the middle of the night remained untouched.

  “What happened?” the paramedic asked.

  “I got up around eight o’clock this morning,” Homer said nonchalantly. “I called her name and she didn’t answer. I went to check on her,” he stretched his arm out toward the bed where she lay, “and there she was.”

  The paramedic looked at him strangely. “Was she on any medications or did she have any illnesses?”

  “She had a heart condition.”

  The paramedic opened the folder he was carrying, pulled out a pen, and began writing down the answers to his questions. “What kind?”

  “I’m not sure,” Homer said. “But she just had a heart attack recently.”

  “Was she on any type of medication?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The paramedic stopped writing and looked up at Homer. “She just had a heart attack and you don’t know if she was on any medications?”

  Homer looked directly into the paramedic’s eyes. “No, I don’t.”

  “And you said she’s your mother?”

  Homer looked down at the blanket his mother had wrapped herself in. “That’s right,” he said.