by Ann McMan
Harold said his mama loved the Dixie Chicks more than anything, and he was determined that her final farewell would feature the music she adored. Besides . . . Myrtle Anne wasn’t much of a churchgoer.
Neither was Lonnie Pollard, come to that. But Eunice and The Wives felt like the music played at his wake was more of a testament to their tribulation than it was a monument to Lonnie’s eternal reward.
In fact, some of the men clustered at the back of the DMZ near the water cooler speculated that, according to reports, ole Lonnie already had his eternal reward—in spades. There were rumors that the coroner had actually had to use a pry bar to separate him from Myrtle Anne.
Maddie and Syd arrived at Buford’s early and paid their respects to Eunice—and to Sonny and Harold. Decorum required that they stay on for at least thirty minutes before they could leave. So they stood in the DMZ and chatted quietly and amiably with people who drifted back and forth between the two parlors.
Maddie was used to being sought out at events like this because she was the family physician to so many members of the small community, but also because her role as county medical examiner meant she was privy to the most lurid and discreet details of any unnatural death. And tonight, the room was full of people who hoped she might let an unknown tidbit slip if they asked her the right combination of questions.
Syd shook her head after the last interview ended, and the disappointed inquisitors moved on.
“You’d think by now they’d know that you aren’t going to give anything up,” she whispered.
Maddie smiled. “You can’t really blame them for trying.”
“Yes I can,” Syd said. “My one good foot is killing me, and I want to get out of here so we can get some dinner.”
“Why don’t we go inside so you can sit down?” Maddie asked with concern.
Syd’s eyes grew wide. “Are you nuts? I don’t need any more associations than I already have with that group of jilted wives.”
“I’d hardly call you jilted, Syd.”
“You know what I mean,” Syd whispered. “They ought to have t-shirts.”
Maddie had to fight not to laugh. “Ten more minutes, then we can leave.”
In Parlor Two, strains of “I Can Love You Better” could be heard, floating up over the din of conversation.
Maddie and Syd looked at each other.
“Okay,” Maddie said. “Maybe five more minutes.”
Just then, something cut loose in Parlor One. A low-pitched wailing started and slowly gained in intensity like an approaching police siren. There was a general commotion, and the sound of scuffling. They could hear chairs being knocked over.
Cries of “Eunice, no!” and “Somebody stop her!” filled the air.
Maddie managed to haul Syd to the side just as Eunice Pollard exploded from Parlor One, with half a dozen of The Wives in hot pursuit. They looked like the deranged offensive line from hell’s football team as they roared across the DMZ toward Parlor Two. Eunice was clutching the urn containing Lonnie’s ashes close to her ample chest, and screaming, “I’ll give you a piece you’ll never forget, you whoring bitch!” at the top of her lungs.
Most of the bystanders just stood there, too surprised to take action.
Several of Harold’s “boys” tried to block Eunice, but she plowed through them like they were made of papier-mâché. Once The Wives crossed into enemy territory, their objective changed, too. They now appeared to be running block for Eunice, who was hell-bent on reaching what was left of Myrtle Anne.
“Whore! Bitch! Cunt!” Eunice shrieked as she fought her way to the front of the room.
Harold stood bravely in front of his mother’s casket, watching his friends fall by the wayside as the demon woman approached. He seemed prepared to be Myrtle Anne’s last defense against this final indignity.
He probably wished right then that he’d used that membership to Gold’s Gym his daddy gave him last Christmas . . .
But it was too late now.
Eunice tossed him aside like a dried-up sponge roller.
“Here,” she screamed, as she uncapped Lonnie’s urn. “Have a mouthful of this, you cheap tramp!”
She upended the urn, and gray dust exploded into the air around the casket. It drifted across the room like a toxic cloud and sent people scrambling for cover—maniacally slapping at their hair and clothing as they fled to safety.
Stunned, Maddie took hold of Syd’s arm.
“Let’s get out of here,” she hissed.
Syd looked up at her like she wasn’t really seeing her. “Did that really just happen?”
Maddie nodded.
Syd shook her head. “And to think, I almost didn’t come.”
Maddie carefully steered her through the crowd toward the street door. Behind them, she heard someone comment that ole Lonnie always did like to spread it around.
Just as they reached the exit, the big door opened, and they found themselves standing face to face with two men in Army uniforms—officer’s uniforms.
At first, they stood there locked into a kind of awkward standoff. The chaos raging in the background made the scene even more unreal. The soldiers looked confused, as if they were unable to make sense of the pandemonium going on behind Maddie and Syd.
Finally, one of the men spoke up. “Perhaps you can help us? We’re looking for a Dr. Stevenson. A man at her residence told us we could find her here?”
Maddie was even more surprised. “I’m Dr. Stevenson. How may I help you?”
“I’m Captain Jacobs,” he said. “And this is Lieutenant Washburn. We’re from the Department of the Army.”
Maddie and Syd exchanged nervous glances.
“I’m sorry to say that we have some unfortunate news about Corporal James Lawrence,” the Captain said.
THE ONLY PLACE open at eight-thirty on a Thursday night was Waffle House—or Awful House, as David liked to call it.
But that didn’t really matter. Neither of them had much of an appetite.
Maddie ordered coffee, even though Syd told her it was a mistake and would likely keep her up all night.
Maddie just stared at her with that textbook raised eyebrow.
“You’re right,” Syd said. She faced their server. “Make that two coffees.”
The server nodded and wandered off. It was a slow night at Awful House. Only two other tables had diners. Well. Only one table had diners. A very large man occupied a booth at the back of the tiny place. He appeared to be in an advanced stage of somnolence. His snores could occasionally be heard above the country music radio station playing in the background.
Syd was obsessively sorting the contents of a container loaded with artificial sweetener packets. Pink. Blue. Yellow. Pink. Blue. Yellow. Pink. Blue . . .
Maddie laid a hand on top of hers. “Honey?”
Syd sighed and pushed the container away.
“Once a librarian?” Maddie asked.
Syd shrugged. “I guess.” She met Maddie’s eyes. “What are we going to tell him?”
“The truth. What else can we tell him?”
“God. This is awful.”
Maddie agreed. “It is. But at least he’s alive, and he’ll be coming home.”
“I know. You’re right—of course.” Syd ran a hand through her short blonde hair. “How long is his convalescence likely to be?”
Maddie shrugged. “I honestly can’t say. So much of it will depend upon him, and what kind of access to rehab he has. According to Captain Jacobs, he’s lucky he didn’t lose both of his legs.”
Syd covered her face with her hands. “God. This damn war just needs to stop.”
“No argument from me on that one,” Maddie said.
“He’s only twenty-five years old, for god’s sake.”
“I know that, honey.”
“It’s just so fucking pointless. The casualties aren’t just the soldiers. They’re mothers and fathers—wives and husbands. And they’re kids, too.” Her eyes met Maddie’s again.
“And this time, it’s our kid.”
Maddie nodded.
Their server brought over two steaming mugs of coffee. “You folks know what you want to eat?”
Syd gave Maddie a hopeless look.
“Sure,” Maddie said. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of Bert’s Chili?”
“Just one of each?” the server asked.
“Yes, please. We’ll share.”
“Cheese on the chili?”
“Why not?”
Maddie handed him the menus.
“Got it. Have that right up for you, Doc.” He walked off.
“Doc?” Syd asked.
Maddie shrugged.
Syd shook her head. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
Maddie smiled at her. “On the contrary. You can take me everywhere.”
They stared at each other.
“I love you,” Syd said. “But that’s not going to make me overlook all that cheese you just ordered.”
Maddie laughed.
“I guess if there’s any good news in all of this, it’s that James is now out of Afghanistan.”
“That’s true,” Maddie said. “And, hopefully, he’ll make a full recovery and find a way to make a new life.”
“With Henry,” Syd added.
“With Henry,” Maddie echoed.
“God. How are we going to give him up?” Syd closed her eyes. “Even thinking about it is like a kick in the gut.”
“I know, honey. Believe me. I feel exactly the same way.” She reached across the table and touched Syd’s hand. “But we’re not there yet. So let’s try to take this one step and one day at a time.”
Syd gazed across the small restaurant. Hanging on a narrow strip of wall above the counter were framed and badly faded photos of various county landmarks. There was one photo of the high school band—taken the year they won the Southern States Championship in Chattanooga. Syd thought about her students, and how three-fourths of them lost their instruments in the tornado. They weren’t going to be competing in any festivals for a long time to come.
The casualties of that storm were far-reaching, too.
Next to the bleached-out band picture was a newer, brightly-colored photo of two men posing in the parking lot in front of the restaurant. Syd squinted at it. They were proudly holding up a red-rimmed car headlight—just like it was the winning catch at a bass tournament.
Oh, good god.
She looked back at Maddie, who was gazing at her with concern.
“I’m sorry to be so selfish,” she said.
“Don’t be,” Maddie said. “I feel the same way.”
“You just don’t show it.”
Maddie shrugged. “I grew up learning how not to.”
Syd looked at her with all the love she felt. “How about we make a deal? How about we show each other everything?”
Maddie gave her a slow smile. “I thought we already did that—many times, if memory serves.”
Syd rolled her eyes. “Sleaze.”
“Hey?” Maddie touched her hand. “We’ll get through this. Together.”
Syd nodded. “That’s the one thing I’m sure of.”
“And we’ll always do what’s best for Henry.”
Syd sighed and slowly nodded her head. “I never thought I wanted kids. Now, I can’t imagine my life without one.” She hesitated. “Without this one.”
“I know what you mean.”
The server arrived with their food.
“Here you go, folks. I went ahead and split your chili into two smaller bowls.” He smiled as he unloaded their food. “You get more cheese that way.”
Maddie looked at Syd smugly and picked up her spoon. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
Behind them, the sleeping man snorted—loudly.
They all looked at one another. The server shook his head. “I should charge him rent on that damn space.” He wandered off.
Syd picked up her own spoon and pushed her mound of cheese around.
“I don’t know who Bert is, but if he ate much of this, I’ll bet he’s now wearing a toe tag.”
Maddie laughed. “It won’t kill you.”
Syd lifted a pyramid of the gelatinous orange goo out of her bowl. “Really?”
“Scout’s honor.” Maddie held up three fingers.
“Scout’s honor?” Syd asked. “I thought you said you flunked the physical?”
“Well,” Maddie ate a big spoonful of the chili-cheese, “now you know why.”
“Thank god the rest of your advice is generally reliable.”
AT THE BACK of the restaurant, the large man in the corner booth stretched and smiled. Life was good. He had another hour until his shift at the glass factory started. He was in a warm place away from his wife’s bitching. He had a bottomless cup of fresh coffee. And he had two great-looking women to admire in between catnaps.
He couldn’t think of a better way to liven up a dull Thursday night in Jericho.
Chapter 10
JAMES LAWRENCE WAS the lucky one.
He was the only soldier to survive the blast when the Humvee he was riding in hit a roadside IED near Kandahar. James was thrown from the vehicle, but his two companions died after the vehicle caught fire and exploded.
James was airlifted from the scene, and woke up thirty-six hours later in a post-op ward in Landstuhl, Germany. The attendants there told him three things: he had lost his left leg below the knee, he was on his way home, and he was no longer an active-duty soldier.
The rest he would figure out in due time.
He was transported from the U.S. Military Hospital in Landstuhl to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, where he would undergo post-operative care and rehabilitation for his transtibial amputation. He would be fitted for a permanent prosthetic leg once his wound was completely healed, but his regimen of therapy would begin almost immediately.
The speed of his recovery, his success in rehab, and the pace of his psychological adjustment to the injury would determine the length of his stay at Walter Reed. The physical therapist Maddie spoke with said that James would likely be there from eight to twelve weeks. After that, he would be discharged and allowed to return home. For the time being, home probably meant Kannapolis, where he would be close to his mother and have ready access to the VA Clinic in nearby Salisbury.
Before enlisting in the Army, James had been employed as an auto mechanic, and it was entirely possible that he could return to this line of work if he chose to do so. He was young and strong, and his doctors expected him to make a full recovery.
Maddie also talked directly with James and with his social worker at Walter Reed. They all agreed that it would be useful for Henry to visit with his father in Maryland during his rehabilitation.
James wanted to see his son.
James also relied on Maddie and Syd to explain the nature of his injury to Henry, and to try and prepare him for the change he would see in his father’s physical condition. Maddie sought professional advice for that, and she and Syd talked together with a field agent from the Wounded Warriors Project. They all agreed that they should take Henry to see James as soon as it was feasible. But first, they had to tell him about what had happened to his father.
MADDIE AND SYD wanted to keep their conversation with Henry on an even keel, so they decided that it would be important to talk with him under the most normal conditions they could muster. Henry gave them a perfect opportunity for this when came he home from school the next day with some pictures he had drawn of B4.
He spread them out on the kitchen table so Maddie and Syd could admire them.
In fact, they were pretty good drawings.
B4 was standing next to the barn with a mouthful of hay, and a large, wagon-wheel-like object was perched on her back.
Syd pointed to it. “What’s that, honey?”
Henry looked at her with surprise. “That’s my steering wheel.”
“Oh,” she said. “Of course
it is.”
Maddie chuckled.
“Can we show these pictures to Daddy when we talk to him this week?” he asked.