When Horses Had Wings
Page 22
Mourning our separate losses together, we clung to each other.
Sean dropped the shirt into his lap and latched onto me. “Why, Mom? Why? Why did this have to happen?”
I’d been asking myself the same question. Of the few reasons that had come to mind, Sean wasn’t yet old enough to comprehend any of them.
I was struck by the absurdity of our lives, Kenny’s and mine, by the degree of wasted energies, money, and time we’d both spent fighting over...what? Our own basic needs? Our child? And to what end? This one. Ridiculous. Stupid, stupid losses.
Sean stiffened. Pulling away, he looked peculiarly angry. “They better not have taken his wallet!”
“Who?” I asked, stupefied.
He looked at me as though I should know. “Those hospital people.”
I lifted the package that had fallen to the floor. “Oh, hon...they wouldn’t take his billfold. It’s probably in here, right inside this bag, with his other things.” Rummaging through the contents, my hands emerged with the leather wallet. “Here it is. See?”
Sean rubbed his freckled face on his sweatshirt and squinted. He snatched the billfold from me and opened it. “I wonder how much money’s in it. I’ll bet they took his money,” he said, splitting the seam. He stared inside. “I knew it! They did.”
I peered into the gaping wallet and counted four George Washingtons—exactly what I would have expected. Nothing about that man had changed. “I doubt that seriously. The whole time I was married to your daddy, he never carried more than a few dollars on him at any time.”
“Hmm.” Sean ignored my comment and continued inspecting the billfold compartments, as though somewhere inside one of them he might find the clues to a critical mystery. But I knew the answers he sought wouldn’t be located that easily. The explanations he needed were too large for a wallet to hold.
Sean moved to the photo section, unsnapped the outer cover, and hollered, “Look!”
If I have to witness that photo of Neta Sue one more time, I’m going to toss my lunch. Just glance, smile, and try to say something nice.
I braced my better instincts against a concrete wall of contempt and directed my attention to Sean’s discovery.
“It’s the only one in here,” Sean said. “Probably the only one he had.”
I gulped. “Omigod.” Through filmy plastic layers I’d seen many years before, my own eyes laughed back at me. Somewhere between then and now, I realized, Kenny had replaced his mother’s photo with mine.
Was it possible that he’d actually loved me in his own warped way? Had I been the high point in Kenny’s seemingly otherwise meaningless life? All that time, I’d thought he’d hated me. Confronted with new evidence, I could no longer be sure. Why would a man carry around the likeness of an ex-wife he despised? Given Kenny’s distorted views, could he have been simply doing the best he knew how? And had his final thoughts included me even as I’d stood outside his hospital doorway paralyzed by fear?
My heart ached from all the false judgments, disappointing failures, and lingering hurts we’d caused each other. Our innocence had been stolen from us long before we’d realized its value. If we’d only lived our lives differently, maybe Kenny would still be here.
I pressed my thumbs against the translucent overlay and stared closely at the photo of Sean and me. The image had been snapped on the porch steps in front of our old duplex. I’d been seated on the stoop, hugging Sean by his hips. Sean’s tiny fingers were interlocked, his hands high in front of his forehead to shield out the sun. My face was turned toward Sean’s, my mouth wide with laughter. It had been then, as it was now, a painfully bright day.
~
You can’t predict much about February weather, or for that matter, a funeral. Someone’s going to get buried. Maybe it’ll rain. That’s about it. Anything else can happen.
The funeral director met us inside the foyer. “Good afternoon,” he said, first shaking hands with Sean and then me. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he uttered, as if he hadn’t repeated that line too many times for it to hold any meaning. His voice was measured and breathy, in a way that might put some people at ease.
I wasn’t one of them.
The funeral attendant wore the hairstyle of a televangelist and smelled of cheap aftershave and disinfectant. I didn’t want to touch him. And Sean didn’t either. We were both in a pretty bad mood, seeing as how, for good reasons, neither of us wanted to be there.
Earlier that morning, Sean and I had fought. He’d been generally mad about everything: the unexpected sunshine, the missing grave monument—something he didn’t understand takes time to produce—and the navy suit his dad had been dressed in, an outfit Kenny had never worn in his life, not even on his wedding day.
“Whose idea was it to put that stu-pid red-striped tie around his neck?” Sean asked. “My dad hated those things. He said only men who wanna be pulled around by the necks wear shi…crap like that.”
The boy’s emotions were in a tangled mess, and mine weren’t a great deal better. Besides watching my son go through the most difficult day of his life, I was heading into a hostile environment—one that included a dead body—alone. I say “alone” because Sean didn’t really count. He was an insider, so to speak, a member of the Murphy family, a clan from which I’d been divorced for more than seven years.
My kinfolk would be conspicuously absent at the services. Momma couldn’t get off work, she’d said. But I knew it was more like she couldn’t afford to miss a day’s pay, and that was all right. She probably couldn’t have handled seeing her grandson cry or her former son-in-law lying there inside that copper-handled casket. Besides, if Momma had come, Ricky would have shown up, too, possibly with greasy fingernails and stringy hair. And that would have given Neta Sue another chance to make sour remarks about my family. All things considered, Momma’s absence was for the best.
Daddy had offered to fly in from California, but I’d asked him to stay put. That had been before I’d known Momma wasn’t going to attend the funeral. I’d figured I would have enough on my hands without dealing with Momma and Daddy seeing each other for the first time since their divorce. There was a limit to how much stress a person can manage in a single day. That definitely would have exceeded mine. Despite the forecast, you might say I was flying a single-seated aircraft straight into a thunderhead. Turbulence was to be expected.
Neta Sue pinpointed us right off. “Here he is-s-s.” She made her way over to us.
I gripped Sean’s hand tightly, and then let go. “I’m going to let you visit with everyone...but I’ll see you before the services start. Okay?”
My goals for the day were directly at odds. I wanted to be there for Sean and, at the same time, I hoped to avoid conflict. It seemed clear that Sean would sit up front with Neta Sue and all her sisters and brothers-in-law, in the family section. I figured I’d find a place somewhere in the back of the room with Kenny’s friends and acquaintances, since most likely there wouldn’t be a designated area for remorseful ex-wives.
Sean spun and grabbed me by one arm. “Where’re you going, Mom? I want you to stay with me. Pulleeze?”
I studied his fragile face, his flushed cheeks, and pleading eyes. Never before had I wanted to grant one of his requests so badly. But that was Neta Sue’s son in there in that coffin. And Sean was her only grandchild, the final proof of Kenny’s existence, Neta Sue’s sole link to him now. If a choice had to be made, for today, for the first time I could remember, Sean rightfully belonged with her. He didn’t need to sit with me, the woman who’d once contemplated murdering his daddy. “I’m just going to walk down the hall,” I said. “I’d like a few moments alone, that’s all.”
Neta Sue tugged at Sean. “Come over here. I got somebody I want you to meet.” Apparently sidetracked by introductions, she didn’t acknowledge me.
Sean followed his grandmother, but over his shoulder he gave me a bewildered look. I nodded back at him, indicating his momentary departure was okay. Then
I quickly slipped down a hallway leading to a small empty chapel.
Inside the undersized sanctuary, I slid into an oak pew and sobbed. In there, I was finally alone, away from the penetrating glares and hurtful accusations. Just me and God. As I considered the word “God,” I experienced my greatest sense of abandonment. And right there, I held a silent dialog with my Creator.
Don’t you see? I’ve never fit in anywhere, especially not here and not now. Why didn’t you take me? It would’ve been better. If you were going to take Kenny, why’d you wait until now? Why didn’t you spare me all those years of pain? Why didn’t you do it when he was beating me, before Sean was old enough to even remember him? Why make Sean suffer? Why? I don’t understand.
I cried until I shook from my separateness. My chest heaved. I felt I might drown at any minute, sitting there in my self-pity. Then I noticed an altar at the front of the chapel. Inscribed on the centerpiece were the words, This do ye in remembrance of Me. I don’t know what it was about that sentence that jostled me from my despair. But all at once, I realized how much God loved me, how painful it must have been for Him to watch me suffer. And I understood that I was not, and never had been, alone.
Draping my elbows over the pew in front of me, I began to pray.
I lifted my head and observed the sunlight flickering like liquid gold through the chapel’s intricate stained-glass windows. Patting my eyes dry with a tissue, I paused to check my watch. It was time. And I would be brave. I would be all right—because I was not alone.
Someone touched me lightly on the shoulder. I turned, expecting to see Sean.
Neta Sue looked at me through eyelids puffed like marshmallows. In her gaze I recognized something different, something I’d never before witnessed. She extended her hand. Before I could speak, she said, “Renee, I want you to sit up front with me and Sean...with the rest of the family...if you don’t mind.”
I clasped Neta Sue’s hand. With my opposite palm, I linked to Sean. The three of us made our way down the aisle and past the burnished-brass placard that read “Services for Kenneth Raymond Murphy.”
EPILOGUE
I’m not sure why I felt the need to record this story, other than to make some sense of chaos. Shit happens, that’s a fact. Some of us are plumbed for it, some flourish well in fertilizer, and some just flat get buried beneath everyone else’s crap. Often, though, all we need to do is look up to realize we’re standing underneath a sewage discharge pipe and ought to move.
Though I still can’t say how much of this saga stemmed from choice, what I know for sure is, like Granny Henderson told me years ago, it was my decision to drive or be driven. If I’d never commanded a steering wheel, my outcome would have been something entirely different. That Mustang was more than a car; without it, I might never have left Hawk Creek Road.
I’m fortunate to have met folks like Granny and Pearly, each of whom entered my life at the right time to shape my thoughts in different ways. Both were wise beyond their formal education and taught me something I badly needed to learn.
Pearly rose through the ranks to become a Mary Kay director. When I last saw her, she was driving a pink Cadillac and wearing a genuine diamond watch. I doubt she’ll ever need to pawn that timepiece.
Momma married another deacon, one she seldom lets out of her sight. She now resides on a small farm in Alabama where Ricky lives in an adjacent trailer and helps with the chores. Or at least Momma says he does.
Daddy reconnected with and wed his high school sweetheart, who, ironically, has a face that resembles a horse.
Sean received a full football scholarship to SMU, where he put all those tackling moves he learned from his dad to good use. He and his wife own a successful bingo supply warehouse in New Mexico.
Neta Sue retired from cleaning office buildings and hit a $100,000 jackpot in Shreveport, Louisiana. I heard she cussed out some guy who’d taken over her slot machine and then hit the loot on the very next pull. She passed away before she could spend most of her winnings.
As for me…well, I found real love, married again, and wrote this book.
The End
About the Author
Diana Estill lives in North Texas with her husband. She has written four books and two collections of humor essays, including Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life, a ForeWord Book of the Year finalist. When Horses Had Wings is her first novel.
Other Books by Diana Estill
Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road
Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life
Stilettos No More
Crap Chronicles: When IBS Strikes in all the Wrong Places
Table of Contents
Cover Image
Copyright
Notices
Table of Contents
Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Diana Estill