I liked Atticus Mableton more and more every time he opened his mouth.
“I don’t think you’re white trash at all, Atticus. But Tucker Hyut? I’ve been told he’s trouble.”
“Buford tell you that?”
Boone walked toward us but stopped just before getting to his brother and pointed to Buford’s coffin. “He really in that thing?”
“No, Boone. They stuffed a dummy in there and dressed him up to look like Buford.” He punched his brother in the arm. “’Course he’s in there, you idiot. What’d you think you’d see?”
Boone rubbed the back of his neck and then backed away. “I don’t like seeing dead people. Creeps me out.” He crossed his arms over his chest and kind of wobbled back and forth on his heels. Poor guy. I understood how he felt.
Alice grabbed her son’s arm and dragged him toward the casket, though she did so with a whole lot of effort and at a snail’s pace, and coughing up a lung the full three feet.
Atticus and I separated to let them through. She pushed him toward the coffin with what little energy she had, but miraculously, it was more than I’d expected from the weak woman and honest to Moses I seriously thought he would fly into the thing and send it sailing against the wall. Thankfully, he braced himself with his arms locked straight out and skidded to a stop against it.
The coffin moved an inch or two on its base.
“Momma, there’s a dead person in here,” he yelled.
“I know that, you idiot. It’s family. Now pay him your respects like you should.”
Seconds later Clementine and her boy crew rushed in. She gathered herself upon entering, smoothing down her dress as she approached. “Everything okay in here?”
I glanced up at the ceiling. Did they have cameras in the rooms somewhere? How did they know to come in? We couldn’t have been that loud. At least I didn’t think so.
Boone took the opportunity to move away from the casket. “Yes, ma’am. We’re all fine and dandy.”
I smiled at Clementine. “We’re fine.” I walked over to Boone and rubbed his arm like she’d done to me. “He’s is a bit uncomfortable seeing his cousin like this. It’s hard on all of us.” I said that while making eye contact with Alice. “It’s hard to say goodbye to someone we’ve cared for, for so long.”
Alice’s snarl softened into something less offensive, but definitely not a smile.
I didn’t look at Tucker Hyut, but I felt his gaze penetrate through my skin and the hairs on the back of my neck tingled.
Clementine nodded. “Well, if we can be of assistance, please let us know.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Tucker approached the memorial table and fiddled with the items I’d displayed. I hung back, keeping one eye on him and another darting between Buford’s family members. I felt like a lifeguard at the community pool I used to go to over the summers growing up, making sure everyone followed the rules and didn’t get into trouble. The only thing missing was the smell of chlorine, floral bikinis, and screaming children. Oh, and of course, the pool, but still, the feeling was similar.
Atticus split his time between the Mableton’s and me, and I was grateful to him for that. I thought about the things he’d said and wondered why Buford wouldn’t just reach across the cab for the EpiPen. What would stop him from doing that?
There had to be a reason, but the only reason I could come up with was that maybe he wasn’t stung by a wasp, and that just didn’t make sense.
The number of people attending Buford’s visitation service surprised me. They didn’t fill the room, and no, it wasn’t like the line at Chick-Fil-A®, but a sizable crowd gathered to pay their respects to Buford Lester, and I hoped that Clementine James was wrong. I hoped the deceased did come back, at least to their funerals, to see how loved and appreciated they were so they could go to wherever it was they went, happily, feeling that love and appreciation.
And I hoped that woman who lectured her husband on his suit choice got over it before going to wherever she’d gone after her body had been placed in the ground.
In the beginning, everything went as planned. I didn’t have to act as much as I’d expected. Seeing the crowd, feeling the sadness in the room for someone I’d been told was a crotchety, unfriendly man that actually turned out to be a decent human being, hearing the stories of the good deeds he’d done—though maybe a bit few and far between—brought on real tears in droves from my eyes. I wished he’d had a chance to redeem himself more, to become the person he was meant to be or the person he could have been.
I cried real, honest to goodness tears for Buford Lester.
I sat in the front row of the brown wooden chairs, smelled the scent of roses and carnations until my nose was too stuffy to catch a whiff of anything anymore, watched as people approached his coffin, said a prayer over his body, kissed his forehead, cried for him, and said their goodbyes. Some of them approached me and not surprisingly, told me they’d never expected Buford to even have a relationship, let alone plan to marry.
I explained how we’d met to a scrawny man in a dark suit probably a size too small, and after talking all lovingly like about Buford, he laughed with a snide, hateful laugh.
He sat next to me and pointed to the coffin. “You sure you’re talking about the same boy layin’ up in that thing up there?”
I angled my head and asked whatever he meant with a sweet southern accent.
“That boy, he doesn’t care ‘bout nobody but himself. I’m the president of the HOA for Happy Trails, and he never cared nothing about the rules. Constantly pulled that rig of his inside the park even though we told him he wasn’t allowed. Parked it up next to the fishing pond and tore up the cement around it. Couldn’t even fish with him there ‘cause that rig was so loud he done scared the fish away. And that pond was man-made, so we stocked the thing once a year to let them fish breed, but still, he scared them half to death.”
I sincerely doubted a truck would scare fish from procreating. I didn’t exactly know how fish actually procreated in the first place, but I doubted a noisy truck would make them stop.
“And he never did right by my momma. I don’t care what nice things you say about him, I won’t ever forgive him for that.”
“What did he do to your momma?”
Atticus came and sat next to me then. “Billy John, if you’re gonna speak ill of the dead, you might could find another place to do it. Now’s not the right time.”
The man stood and bowed up like a rooster in a cockfight. He poked his forefinger at Atticus. “He broke the one thing my momma had left from my daddy and refused to admit it. She died because of it. When it broke, it broke her heart. That ain’t speaking ill of the dead, that’s speaking the truth.”
Atticus stood his ground. “Not now. Not here.”
The man shook a fist and Atticus and stormed out.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“An angry man that doesn’t know how to behave,” Atticus said. He sat next to me. “Name’s Billy John Jefferson. Had a beef with Buford, but it don’t matter now. What’s done is done. Don’t let him bother you. He’s harmless. Just don’t have any manners.”
We didn’t speak, just people watched, and I casually talked with some as they approached Atticus every so often.
Time didn’t race by, it crawled like a turtle that didn’t want to go to church on a Sunday morning.
Atticus nodded toward the corner of the room. “He doesn’t like you too much, does he?”
I followed Atticus’s eyes to the far corner of the room. “You mean Tucker Hyut? I got a feeling he doesn’t.”
“Why is that?”
I shrugged. “Maybe he’s jealous ‘cause Buford found something he can’t?”
“Man like him won’t ever find love. Man like him isn’t capable of lovin’ someone.”
Tucker’s eyes caught a hold of mine. He stared with a slight smile but it wasn’t the happy kind, it was all bitter and cocky, and when he leaned back against the
wall and crossed his arms, I knew he was trying to intimidate me. The body language was classic acting 101 class stuff.
Well, two could play at that game, I thought. I stood, flipped my hair back behind my shoulders, and held my chin high. He could attempt to intimidate me all he wanted, but he wasn’t going to. I was an actor; he was a measly nobody I wouldn’t have to see again after the next few days. I paraded my strong self through the middle aisle separating the chairs toward the entrance into the room and walked head first into Christopher Lacy’s chest.
“Mayme? What’re you doing here?”
“Christopher?” I sucked in so much air I sent myself into a coughing fit the size of Texas. I bent over but held my hand in the air with my finger pointed upward signaling to give me a second, hoping he understood I was fine. When I finished, I quickly scanned the room to make sure no one was watching, discovered most everyone was, and horrified, whispered, “Come with me, please.” I pointed toward the doors. “This way.”
He followed without saying a word. I rushed us to the Guest Lounge, opened the door, let us both in, closed it and thanked the Lord there was a lock on the knob. I twisted the lock and leaned against the door.
Christopher stared at me like I’d lost my ever-loving mind. “Okay.” He hooked his fingers through his belt loops. “What’s going on, Mayme?”
I sighed. “Why are you even here?”
“I told you I knew Buford.”
“Knowing the guy and coming to his visitation are two different things, Christopher.”
“You’re right. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here. And while you’re at it, how ‘bout you tell me why you were snooping around his truck, too.”
“I wasn’t snooping around his truck. I was getting things for his memorial table for the visitation.”
“So you knew Buford well enough to put together a memorial table at his funeral?”
“No, yes. Well…” I shook my head. “It’s complicated, and I don’t really have time to explain it right now.”
“It’s a simple question, Mayme.”
“No, it’s not. Honest.”
“What’s going on?” He pressed his lips into a thin, flat line and tilted his head slightly to the left.
I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. He didn’t know me well enough to take such an accusatory tone with me. “Nothing illegal or dangerous or anything like that. I promise.”
“You sure?”
I dropped my arms and relaxed. “I’m sure.”
“Okay then, after this is over, we’ll go have dinner, and you can fill me in. How’s that sound?”
It sounded great, only I wasn’t sure that was possible. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what the family has planned. I’ve got to talk to Atticus. He seems like the most level-headed out of all of them, actually. If he wants me to come over, then that’s what I’ve got to do. I told you I wouldn’t be available for about a week.”
He drew in a breath and then released it. “You said you were working. Not spending time with a dead man’s family.”
I closed the space between us. “I am working,” I whispered. “You have to keep this between us, okay?”
He nodded. “I can’t tell you everything, especially now and especially here, but have you heard of Exit Stage Left?”
A small smile flitted over his face and immediately disappeared. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re—”
I shrugged. “I am. It’s the closest thing I can get to acting.”
He leaned back and rolled his head my direction. “Mayme, come on. You can’t be serious.”
“It’s Ivy. Ivy Sawyer, and here I’m Buford Lester’s fiancée.”
His face went void of emotion. He stood there, silent for a good thirty seconds, just staring at me.
“Christopher, say something.”
“I don’t know what to say. I expected better from you.”
“Please. You have to understand. Acting is everything to me.”
“This isn’t acting, Mayme. This is lying.” He walked past me and twisted the lock on the door. Before he opened it, he turned around. “Don’t bother calling about that rain check. I think it’s best we let that go, Ivy Sawyer.”
I fell onto the sizeable gray couch and sobbed. Why did everyone have a problem with the agency?
I arrived early for Buford’s funeral. Something told me I should be there early, though I couldn’t pinpoint what. Women’s intuition, the strong need for a café latte from the nearby coffee shop, or the fact that Momma was in a mood, I wasn’t sure, but when I arrived, Clementine pulled me aside and thanked me for coming early.
“We’ve had to make some adjustments to his appearance, and I’d like to get your approval,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
She placed her hand on my shoulder. I’d never realized how comforting that was until I’d met Clementine James. I wondered if that was something they’d learned in funeral management school, or whatever they called it. “Come with me, I’ll explain as we walk.”
And she did. She said that sometimes the makeup they used to help the deceased look as they had while living needed a refreshing, and it doesn’t always end up as they’d like.
“Was the wasp sting hard to cover?”
“We didn’t need to cover the sting.”
“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t have. I didn’t think about his hair covering it.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”
“He was stung in the neck, and from what I gather, the sting swells up, and I just thought it would need a lot of makeup to cover it.”
“There was no swelling on his neck.”
She brought me back to the room where Buford’s body was. It was cold, like a refrigerator. I rubbed my arms with my hands to keep them warm.
“What makes you think he was stung in the neck?” She pulled the collar of his shirt away from the base of his neck, revealing both sides to me. His neck seemed normal to me.
I remembered a kid in middle school being stung in the arm once and how big his arm was for days. Everyone made fun of him until one of the teachers explained how dangerous bee stings could be and that he could have died. “I was told that by…by…” I couldn’t actually recall. Had I read it in the dossier? I didn’t think so. I must have read it on the internet. “I’m sorry, I need to be alone for a moment.”
She nodded. “You can go to the Guest Lounge.”
“No, I need to go to my car. I need some air.”
“I understand.”
As I walked toward the door, I turned around and said, “Buford looks wonderful. I’m sure he would be pleased.”
She nodded again. “Okay. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”
“Thank you.” I left the building and headed straight to my car.”
I called Ruthie. She answered after the third ring. “Hi Ruthie, this is Mayme Buckley. I’m working with you on Buford Lester’s um…his, uh…”
“I know who you are. What can I do for you, Mayme?”
“Can you tell me how to find out where the wasp stung Buford? I recall he was stung in the neck, but the funeral home director said they didn’t have to cover a sting there.”
“How about you tell me why this matters?”
“I’m just making sure I’ve got my story straight. I don’t have time to check the dossier. The funeral is today, and it’s not like I’m carrying the file into the funeral home with me. Just crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s.”
That seemed to please her. “Okay, let me see what I can find out. Hold on.” She put me on hold, and I listened to some horrible elevator music of sorts. I had a sudden urge to sleep and had to force my eyes to stay open.
Atticus Mableton tapped on my window. I jerked my head up in surprise. Apparently, I had actually closed my eyes.
I rolled my window down. “I’ll be inside in just a bit. Finishing up a call with my momma.” Ugh. I hated lying. Call it what you will, but even though I was s
upposed to be acting, sometimes it felt like lying.
He nodded. “Gotcha.”
Ruthie got back on the line. “Page ten of the dossier. Right on the top. You might want to go back and re-read the thing again. Remember you need to live it, Mayme. Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t Ruthie. Thank you,” I said and clicked end call.
Why would the dossier say he was stung in the neck if he wasn’t? I walked back into the funeral home determined to find out where Buford Lester was actually stung. I scooted up to Atticus and said hello.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, just needed a momma-talk, is all.”
“Know that feeling.”
“Why is everyone out here?” The doors to Buford’s visitation room were closed and locked.
“Clementine came by and said they were finishing setting up and we’d be able to go in right quick.”
“Oh.” I nodded. I realized they had to bring Buford back in and likely didn’t want to do that with everyone there. “Hey, do you know where Buford was stung?”
“Momma said it was the neck.”
“What does the autopsy report say?”
“Wasn’t one done.”
“What? Why not?”
He shrugged. “Momma refused. Threw a hissy fit about it, too. Said she didn’t want no family of hers being cut up like that. Knew it was a stinger. Said she always knew it would be the death of him.”
“So, the medical examiner just let that happen?”
“I guess they reviewed his records, knew he had the shot thing and all, and did an external exam and said that was enough, so…”
“So, basically no one knows for sure he died from a wasp sting.” I wasn’t actually asking a question.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Sorry.” I slithered away to gather my thoughts, and I ended up near the front door and looked up in time to see Tucker Hyut walk in. I stiffened as he approached me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“How nice for you.” I didn’t bother making eye contact. I’d learned that move in a small play Off-Broadway. The director explained that when a woman wanted to appear uninterested in a man, the best way to do that was to pay attention to everything except him. Stay focused on something else, don’t look him in the eye, and act as if you have everything better to do than talk to him, like picking your nose would be more entertaining. I wouldn’t go that far, at least not yet, I thought.
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