The Last Day For Rob Rhino

by Kathleen O'Donnell

  “Oh okay. We talked about moving Emmet, how that would work—”

  “I need to call over there, Grace. I’ll talk to Joe Lansing and let you know all the dates and if we need anything else.” She hung up.

  Rob put his magazine down. “Nice touch, the mass.”

  “Stop judging me.”

  He didn’t say anything, but she could feel his disapproval.

  Claire started to dial the chapel then changed her mind. She took a sip of her now lukewarm chocolate before turning to Rob. “She’s sure anxious now.”

  “Who... what?”

  “Grace. She’s raring to go forward with this whole thing now.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Well, yes.” Claire took another drink. “Just odd, that’s all. She was so reluctant at first. Downright nasty.”

  Rob mumbled something under his breath. Claire couldn’t make it out.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh no you don’t. Out with it.”

  Rob picked up his magazine, thumbed through it.

  Claire reached across the console, yanked the magazine out of his hands. “Out with it, I said.”

  “She was faking.”

  “Huh?”

  “She was faking—her reluctance. Bet the farm on it.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Manipulate her kids. Make them think she didn’t want to do it.”

  Now that was making some sense. “Why?”

  Rob rubbed his chin. “Habit more than anything by now, I’d guess. Poor Mom, so victimized, first by Liam, then by you. So bullied.”

  “To what end? If she was faking her reluctance, that means she wanted to bury everybody together. With Liam. The son who so disappointed her.”

  Rob laughed. A short harsh sound. “Yeah, the son who humiliated her with his spiritual and marital faux pas. Whose first wife killed herself here in Peyton Place. Who then refused to bail her out when she found out Saint Hubby had a secret porn life and died on film with his pants down or his frock up so to speak.”

  “All the more reason to be against this whole scheme.”

  Rob’s tone suggested Claire wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.

  “Maybe you’re not the only one who wants revenge.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Out of the mouths of porn stars.

  “Think about it, Claire.” Rob picked up his magazine.

  So the old shrew’d beaten her at her own game. And on her dime no less.

  “You’re probably wrong, Rob Rhino.” Claire picked her phone up again to resume dialing. “You usually are.”

  Rob peeked at her over the top of his magazine. “Or I could be right and you have a lot more in common with the old swamp lizard than you think.”

  Claire grabbed the magazine and swatted him with it. “That’s a low blow, Rob Rhino.”

  Rob leaned down and pushed the lever on the side of the loveseat forward, his chair back resumed its upright position. He got up and shuffled toward the kitchen.

  “Think about it, Claire Corrigan.”

  ****

  “You’re not bothering me a bit. I’m delighted to hear from you,” Joe said.

  Delighted—the gay man’s constant state.

  “Grace said she called you?”

  “Ohhh... yes.” Joe’s voice dropped, sounding more Raymond Burr, less Richard Simmons. “She seems quite anxious to get the funeral dirge moving along, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I confirmed the mass, the exhumation, some minor details. I think she was satisfied.”

  “I’m sorry if she made a pest of herself. She’s an odd one.”

  “I’ve dealt with worse.” Joe chuckled. “Before I forget, you’ll want to meet the priest prior to the service so we can set that up now if you’d like.”

  “I will?”

  “Won’t you?”

  “Oh yes, of course. I guess I will.”

  “Let’s see, we’ve got about a week left ’til we’re ready to go, ’til the service. How about Monday, that’s about midway?”

  “Sure, fine.”

  “I’ll call you back with a time.”

  Claire gave him her cell number. She heard him scramble for a pen.

  “How did Trustee Week end up?” Claire made conversation.

  “Fabulous. Thanks to your gift we raised a lot more money. Totals aren’t in yet but I’m sure Lawrence will let you know. He’s greedily counting donations and pledges as we speak.”

  “I’m sure he is. Well, glad I could help.”

  “By the way, your sister-in-law was prom queen on Trustee Night.”

  Elizabeth. She’d forgotten all about her and her debut.

  “Really? Do tell.”

  “I think everyone had a marvelous time. You were right.” Joe sounded amazed. “I think she’ll fit right in. They all loved her. Especially the old-timers. She spent most of the night chatting up the emeritus, or is it emeriti? Whatever they’re called. Lawrence gets so exasperated with me, can’t keep them straight. A gaggle of old geezers like Elgin Grady.” He paused. “That was insensitive of me. So sorry.”

  Elgin Grady. Bonnie’s father. Charming. Bet he was thrilled to see her.

  “Oh good heavens,” Claire said. “That doesn’t bother me a bit. Liam’s first marriage is old news.”

  “Right, of course. I’m sure she knows quite a few of those folks since this is such a small town. Can’t swing a cat around here without hitting someone you know, whether you want to or not.”

  ****

  Claire’s legs felt wet. She kicked off the blanket. Her head hurt. Pill time. She took close to her usual dosage minus a couple the first few days, less every few days after, but Doogie didn’t have a sense of humor about the occasional cocktail alongside. That was a no. She closed her eyes, inhaled. Goddammit she needed a drink, a handful of pills.

  She could hear Rob puttering in the kitchen. Making dinner she supposed. The renaissance porn star, there was nothing he couldn’t do. He’d bring her drugs with her plate, he did every night on time. Claire knew it was time to medicate, wouldn’t want to have a seizure or anything. Her skin felt like it crawled, threatened to leap off her body. Didn’t Doogie say something about not going cold turkey for fear of seizures? So she wasn’t going cold turkey. Felt like it though.

  Her phone rang. Andrew. Somebody (she could take her pick who) must’ve let him know she wasn’t at the hotel anymore. He could leave a message. Claire wasn’t ready to talk to him. She couldn’t yet wrap her addled brain around what had gone down. Or what she needed to do yet. Normally she’d have medicated. Maybe after she got home, she still would.

  The ringing stopped but then nothing. No annoying beeping sound to indicate he’d left a message. Fuck him then.

  ****

  “You’re such a Jew.” Claire slurped the homemade chicken soup with matzo balls Rob Rhino brought her on a tray. “This is superb. I don’t even like soup.”

  Another of his weird secrets—he was a fantastic cook. Every night something more delectable came out of the kitchen. Claire never lifted a finger. As though she could’ve. Except to ring the dinner bell.

  They sat in front of the flat screen with their TV trays, ate dinner, and watched Wheel of Fortune, their like-an-old-married-couple ritual they’d developed since Claire moved in.

  “My grandma’s recipe.” Rob picked up his bowl and drank the remnants. “She was the Jew, a real one, not like me—a Jack Jew. Like Liam was a Jack Catholic. We were born to it, but we don’t practice.” Rob wiped his face with his cloth napkin. “I have a bad taste in my mouth for the religious since Gloria’s family. But not for this soup.”

  “P you idiot. The letter’s P,” Claire said to the fat woman contestant in the polyester pantsuit on the show. “Good decision. Take the recipes, leave the dogma.”

  “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Rob put down his bowl a
nd pushed his tray out of the way.

  “What? You can’t guess already.” Claire took another quick slurp. “Besides there’s no P in that.”

  “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” The fat idiot contestant in the polyester pantsuit cried out. She tried to jump up and down, all two hundred and seventy-five pounds of her.

  In an orgasmic frenzy, Vanna turned letters, her skinny neck barely holding her oversized head upright. “Ohhh... looks like Margaret’s going home with seventy-five hundred dollars.” Pat Sajak smiled, his orange face arranged in its fake for the camera way. Dead from the chin up.

  “Smartass.” Claire said.

  “What can I say? I can spell.”

  “That sounds like something my son would say.” Claire laughed. She hadn’t thought anything about Jordan that would bring a smile to her face in days. “He’s a smartass too. Plus he thinks the answer to everything is ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’”

  Claire pushed her tray aside too. Reached down and jerked her lever. Both of them reclined, settled in to let their dinners digest.

  “How old is he?”

  “Almost thirty.” When did that happen? “I’m getting old.”

  “Married?”

  Claire felt her right eye twitch. She looked straight ahead at the TV. Rob turned the volume down. “No. He has a roommate. Steven.”

  “What does Jordan do?”

  “He’s a writer. Screenplays mostly.”

  “Oh that’s cool.” Rob reached into the ice chest console and pulled out a soda. Claire declined the one he offered her. “Does he live near you?”

  “No. San Francisco.”

  “Queer?”

  If Claire’d been drinking soda she’d have choked. “What makes you ask that?” she said. “Just because he lives in San Francisco and isn’t married?” She felt the steam rise.

  “Queer huh?” Rob took a swig.

  “Rob Rhino, of all the—”

  “Look at you all hot under the collar again.” Rob laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with it you know. Who cares?”

  “I didn’t say there was. If he was and that’s a big if—”

  “Claire... hello? It’s me. Let’s wake up and smell the K-Y shall we?”

  “Goddammit, Rob Rhino... I—”

  Rob was laughing so hard tears came out the corner of his eyes. “It’s cool. Calm down. I’m sorry.” He looked over at her stern face. “Really. I’m sorry.”

  “You are too much—”

  “And you are homophobic.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  “You certainly are too.”

  Claire’s face felt as red hot as it had right before she overdosed. “I am not.” She seethed.

  “I saw the way you acted around Joe Lansing and Dean Sumner. You don’t like gays. If you don’t like gays, you’re homophobic, Claire.”

  Like an overripe watermelon hit with a hammer, Claire burst. Everything underneath her rind-like skin spewed out. “I am not... you don’t know what you’re talking about. I love my son.”

  Rob jumped out of his chair and rushed over. “Claire, don’t. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. Really. You know I blurt out stupid shit. I shouldn’t—”

  “No. It’s not—you don’t understand. I—” Claire cried. Her shoulders shook.

  “You’re right. I don’t. More reason I should keep my big trap shut.” Rob tried to rub her arm, then stopped, started again.

  “Jordan. He’s gay.” There. She said it and buried her face in her hands.

  Rob sat on the hardwood floor at her feet. “That’s okay. He sounds like a great guy Claire. He loves you right?”

  Claire sobbed harder. She nodded, her head still covered by her palms.

  Rob kept talking. “It’s no big deal. There’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

  Claire’s head flew up so fast she thought it’d fly off. “I’m not ashamed of my son and I never would be. It’s just—” She couldn’t speak.

  “It’s just what?”

  “Nothing.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand but not the tears. “You don’t have kids. You can’t appreciate what it’s like.”

  “Try me.”

  “It’s just—”

  “It’s just what, Claire? Come on now. It’s just what?”

  She leaned down, grabbed Rob by both arms. “Do you think I want my son strapped to a barbed wire fence and beaten to death in some bumfuck town like Laramie, Wyoming?”

  Rob looked like Vanna just told him he’d run out of vowels.

  “What?”

  “Matthew Shepard. Ever hear of him? That’s what they did to him. They tortured and beat him to death. Because he was gay.” Claire could her hear own voice—loud, hysterical. “Tied up, defenseless, no one helped him. That’s what happens. Here—in a civilized world.” Claire cried like she’d never stop. “It was all over the news in the late nineties. Jordan was eighteen, only five years younger than Matthew when they killed him. Do you think I want that for my son?”

  Rob started to comfort her. “Oh, Claire—”

  “It’s not like I didn’t know.” Claire’s washboard chest puffed up as she sucked air. “He’s my son for God’s sake. I knew before he did. I felt so sorry, scared. He didn’t have a father to guide him when he was young. It could’ve made a difference—”

  Rob said, “Claire, that doesn’t matter in the least. Jordan was born gay just like you were born straight. He’s who he is no matter who guides him or doesn’t.”

  “That’s what Liam used to say. But I’d lie awake at night, sick with worry that he wouldn’t fit in, he’d be an outcast, lonely. Then the hate crimes, AIDS—” Claire’s sobs began again in earnest. “I couldn’t sleep or stop thinking about it. I still think about it. The pills helped for a while—”

  Rob Rhino put his arms around her. She let him.

  After several minutes he whispered, “Jordan is going to be fine. Nothing like that would ever happen to him.”

  Claire sniffled. “How could you know that?”

  Rob held her out away from him so he could see her face, look into her eyes.

  “We’ll send him condoms and won’t let him go to Laramie.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Claire hadn’t yet seen Warden Rhino that morning when she noticed a missed call from Jordan on her cell phone screen as well as several from Andrew and Annabelle.

  “I’m impressed, Mother, the cell phone is still working.”

  “I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  “Does the leaf check messages?”

  “What are you blabbing about?”

  “Your voicemail is full. No one can leave you a message.”

  Crap. No wonder Andrew wasn’t leaving messages. She’d had over thirty of them she’d never bothered to listen to from way back when.

  “I’ll get around to it.”

  “Maybe you need someone over there to do your bidding.”

  “I wasn’t going to call you back. I’m already sorry I did.”

  “Mother, you can’t stay pissed forever.” Jordan said exasperated. “I screwed up. I have to pay the piper now. I’m taking care of it. That isn’t why I called.”

  Claire couldn’t take him to the mat on it now. “I’m all ears.”

  “So were you going to enlighten me on Liam’s girlfriend and the kid or what?”

  “I figured Annabelle would tell you in that drama-fest way you love.”

  “Well, she did. It was fantastic.”

  Claire expected Jordan to laugh but he didn’t.

  “And I knew I could count on your heartfelt and sensitive reaction. So everyone got what they expected,” Claire said her throat tight.

  Annabelle must’ve left out the part about having her committed.

  Jordan didn’t reply for a few moments. Claire thought she could hear him light a cigarette. She thought he’d quit smoking. She thought a lot of things.

  “I know you might not believe this, Mother, but I feel terribl
e about the whole thing.” Jordan exhaled. “What I feel worst about is you didn’t tell anyone. Why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve helped.”

  Claire started to cry. Jordan the smartass was the suit that fit, that she was used to.

  “How could I tell you something like that? I didn’t want you to hate Liam, to feel bad about him. Especially since he was dead.”

  “I wouldn’t have.”

  “What?”

  He wouldn’t have? She lied. Damn straight she wanted Jordan to hate him.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have been happy about it. I’m not thrilled about it now.”

  Claire closed her eyes, tried to picture her son as he spoke.

  “Relationships are tough, complicated.” Jordan said.

  “And? So?”

  “I loved him Mother. He was good to me.” Jordan’s voice got soft. “I think he did the best he could.”

  The lump in Claire’s throat felt unmanageable.

  “I’m so sorry about it all. Clearly he didn’t make a good choice there. But for now, Mom, I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. That’s all. And to offer our help.”

  Claire knew her son. There was something he wasn’t saying.

  “Jordan, what do you want to say?”

  She could take it. Couldn’t she? She dried her tears with the bottom of her shirt.

  “You need to finish up whatever familial fiasco you’re intent on pulling off over there and get home. We’re all worried about your health. Annabelle—”

  “Jordan, forget about all that for now. What were you going to say before?”

  Claire could hear him smoking. “Mother, I just...” Jordan exhaled again. “It’s just, well, you know, we’re all stumbling through life licking our wounds. Sometimes so much so we can’t see we’re wounding someone else. I hope you can appreciate that eventually.”

  No, she couldn’t take it after all. What she could take was pills but those were rationed. She let go of the chair and made a tight fist.

  “Mother, are you there?” Jordan said.

  “Umm... yes.”

  Best to talk about something else.

  “How does Annabelle seem to you?” Claire looked at the sore palm of her hand. Her nails left moon-shaped marks where they’d dug in.