B003UYURTC EBOK (16 page)

“Is that right?” he asked.

“Little place in Arkansas.”

“That’s where you’re from?” he said excitedly.

“Yeah, a little town called Lily.”

“I knew you sounded southern, but not quite from Georgia.”

“Good ears,” she said.

“Thanks.”

It took two days to move all of Nico’s things out of Beverly’s house, even with a couple of his friends helping him. He stood mostly in the corner of the room, still shocked and confused by Alma’s quick decision to break off their engagement and ask him to leave. Alma had planned to be out of the house and instead was with Cabot Searcy, playing golf and talking about her aspirations to become a wildlife photographer. Cabot shared with her his philosophies about life and even a little bit of his theory concerning the potential of humankind. She marveled at his
speech, completely enamored by the things he said and did. He wasn’t trying to act perfect, something Nico did regularly. He had little shame over mooching off his uncle and even less about his useless college degree. He seemed carefree to Alma, and that was what she desired to be. To Cabot, Alma Ember seemed just innocent enough to be loved but adventurous enough not to bore the hell out of everyone.

“Is it positive?” Cabot asked her through the bathroom door one and a half months later.

“Can you wait just one minute and I’ll show you?” Alma shouted back.

After a few minutes she opened the door, and as Cabot stood up to face her, she began to cry. Her head fell flat against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. They stayed like this for a while. Cabot could see the white stick sitting on the edge of the counter, a bold blue check in its center. He could not help but smile as Alma cried.

“We’ll get married,” he said to her hours later as they lay in bed.

“We can’t just get married, just like that,” she said back.

“And why not?” he asked.

“We’ve only been dating for a little over a month. What will people think?”

“Well, Alma, what will they think when you’re walking around with a baby in your stomach? That it’s the second coming?” He laughed.

“Not funny,” she said, trying not to grin.

“Tomorrow we’ll go get the license. It’s the right thing to do,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Tomorrow then,” she agreed.

           My mother was born ten minutes before my aunt Julia, who seemed to have become some sort of a recluse that summer, rarely leaving her house and, according to my mom, “stinking to high heaven.” Before, when Oslo wasn’t dead and Gabriel wasn’t probably dead, Aunt Julia would drop in for uninvited chats in the kitchen with Mom while my dad’s eyes rolled and my brother and I tried to stay hidden in our rooms. Before, she would have brought over homemade cookies and a cold chicken casserole for my dad, along with explicit instructions on how to properly heat it up. She would have talked and talked and talked, mostly about people we didn’t know or didn’t like, and would, upon asking
you a question, quickly interrupt you and continue on with her own thoughts. One such visit, when I was around fifteen, resulted in a conversation that went something like this:

“Cullen,” my mom said to me as Aunt Julia backed out of the driveway.

“What?”

“Did you see what just happened here?” she asked.

“No.”

“You see, my dear. Your mother is very astute. I have finally learned how to shut that woman up,” she said, pointing to Aunt Julia’s car as it bounced down the road.

“How?” I asked.

“Well, it’s not so hard. It’s all about timing, really.”

“What is it, Mom?”

“All you have to do is wait for a sudden pause, which you know will be hard to find when Aunt Julia is on a roll, and then you just open your mouth and don’t stop, no matter what.”

“What do you say, though?” I asked.

“Anything. But try to make it something that doesn’t involve your aunt at all. Like you could talk about school or a TV show you just watched. Just as long as you talk for a few minutes without letting her have any time to say anything back.”

“Then what happens?”

“Well, then your aunt Julia suddenly snaps up and remembers somewhere she has to be or someone she has promised to visit. It’s rude, you’re probably thinking, but it’s the only way.”

Now, with Oslo gone, my mother had taken to visiting her sister on a daily basis, usually right after she left the salon, and
would most often take Julia a sandwich or burger from somewhere, knowing she probably hadn’t eaten that day. It was one Saturday, a day that I had surprisingly not been put on the schedule to work at the store, that my mother called home and I answered.

“Hello.”

“Cullen?”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Can you do me a favor?” she asked in that way that implied that saying no would cause someone to die.

“I guess. I mean, I don’t have to go anywhere, do I?”

“I just need you to go by Burke’s or somewhere like that and pick up a cheeseburger and some fries and take it over to your aunt’s house. Can you do that for me?”

“You can’t do it on your way home?” I asked.

“I’m swamped down here. I know she’s probably waiting for some food. Please just go.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Love ya.”

“You too.”

Click.

I could not convince Lucas, who had a strange fear of my aunt, to go with me to her house, and because I had my own odd fear of waking people up, I dared not mess with my dad, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching
Wheel of Fortune
, which he was no good at anyway. So I very carefully picked up his keys from the coffee table and tiptoed through the living room and out the door. I hated driving my dad’s too-wide truck,
which made one feel as if he were driving in both lanes at once. I pulled through Burke’s, got Aunt Julia a Number Three with fries, and headed toward her house.

Aunt Julia was wearing a silk nightgown, and I followed her into the dining room while wondering if that same nightgown had belonged to my dead grandmother. Aunt Julia sat down at her table, and I sat down beside her and watched as she devoured the cheeseburger like a lion eating a zebra. I stared at her wood-paneled walls, her light pink curtains, her statue of a golden owl in the corner. I rocked lightly from left to right in the chair and pretended that the fake bird chirping her clock made when it struck six hadn’t scared me.

“You want some fries?” she asked with a mouth full of food.

“No thanks. I ate earlier.”

“I just don’t think I can eat all these.”

“Well, you don’t have to. Just throw them away,” I said.

“No, that’s silly. Here, have some.” She pushed the fries over to me.

“No, I’m good. Not hungry.”

“Eat a damn fry, Cullen!” she yelled. I picked up a fry and tossed it into my mouth.

Aunt Julia watched me intently as I continued to eat. I said nothing, because that’s what I do when someone yells at me, and I wondered whether she was going to do it again. I just kept picking up one fry after another and tossing them into my mouth, chewing slowly but not too slowly and staring down at the shiny wooden tabletop. Then I felt her hand rest heavily on top of mine, and when I looked up I saw that she was smiling.
I smiled back. Aunt Julia got up and walked through the living room and into her bedroom. I waited there for about ten minutes, and right as I was about to walk out the door, Aunt Julia walked back into the room.

“Cullen, ya know, it just isn’t right that we should all be left here to rot like this.”

“What?” I asked.

“Us. Me, you, your mom, your dad. Here we are, all of us good enough people. All of us living our lives, not hurtin’ a soul. And here we are left behind in this godforsaken place called Earth to do what?” She paused and stared at me.

“Is that rhetorical or do you want me to answer?” I asked.

“To sit here and rot like we’re some sorta animals. They all expect us to pretend that it’s okay and that it’s gonna be all right. Well, it’s not. Nothin’s all right anymore. I hate this house. I hate this town. I hate the damn mailman who keeps peeking through my front window!” She stretched her neck toward the porch.

“Aunt Julia, please,” I said calmly.

“Please what?’

“Please just sit down for a minute,” I said to her, walking over and putting an arm around her shoulder.

“I can do that myself, Cullen. I’m not old, I’m pissed off.”

“I know. I know.”

We sat across from each other, she in a recliner and me on the couch, which I’m pretty sure she’d slept on for weeks. Aunt Julia had gotten dressed; had put on a nice outfit, a lacy blouse and skirt; and had attempted to put on makeup, though it was obvious she’d done this quickly; her attempt at making me a
more comfortable guest. I sat up in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees. I looked at my aunt and remembered that she used to be pretty.

“Why don’t you just come stay with us for a while?” I said to her.

“Because y’all got enough to deal with.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” I said.

“It would for me, okay?” she said back.

“Well, you’ve been through a lot, and it just makes sense for you not to be out here all alone, that’s all.”

“Cullen, no matter what y’all do, I’ll always be all alone. A dead husband, a dead son. Then there’s me. Ole Julia”—she began to get louder—“the queen of Sherwood Drive!”

“Are you on medication?” I asked bluntly, that being the first time I had ever had the nerve.

“Honey, I got more chemicals in me than a bottle of dishwashing liquid.” She laughed, and loudly, I might add.

“Gabriel used to say that you were the best cook in the world, did you know that?” I said.

“Did he?” She looked at the floor.

“Yeah. We used to fight over your cookies. And Dad would always come in and say, ‘Now, now, the only way to settle this is for me to eat the last one,’ and then he’d snatch it before we could stop him.” I laughed.

“Is that right?” she asked.

“That’s right. Have you been cooking much lately?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Cullen, does it look like I’ve been doing anything lately?”

“Not really.”

“Then why ask?”

“Well, why not get back in the kitchen, then?” I said with fake enthusiasm.

“I forgot how to do it all. It’s been so long. I think what I need is to get ready for bed, and maybe you could just get that light right there”—she pointed to the kitchen switch—“on your way out.”

“You’ll call if you need anything?” I asked.

“I’ll call, baby.”

I had never before felt compelled to turn around and hug my aunt, but something made me do it, the same thing that makes people hold doors open for old ladies at the grocery store or stop and let people cross the road; things that felt regular and impersonal to those doing them, but meant the world to those on the receiving end. I wrapped my arms around her and held her to my chest. It was very quiet in the room, I remember because I could hear Aunt Julia’s breathing. As I walked out the door, she stood watching me from the living room, her arms limp at her sides, her shoulders slumped over, her face only half alive.

Book Title #83:
The Mailman Always Peeps Twice.

Lucas Cader walked into my bedroom and sat down beside me on the floor the afternoon after my aunt Julia forced me to eat french fries. He had a grin on his face, but not the same kind of grin that he would have had before Gabriel left. This was sort of a forced elation, which we all seemed to be getting pretty good at.

“What is it?” I asked finally.

“I have big news from town.”

“What is it?”

“They got a picture of the bird this morning.”

“No way,” I said, almost actually interested.

“Yeah. John Barling, that son of a bitch, went out before the ass crack of dawn and swears up and down that he has a photo of a real live, living, breathing Lazarus woodpecker.”

“Well, I’ll be damned, Lucas. Stop the presses, the world’s gonna be all right after all!” I said comically, standing up and slapping my knee.

“What I heard is that they’re going to unveil it at the festival next weekend,” Lucas said, standing up as well.

“Festival?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t heard about Lily’s own Woodpecker Festival!” Lucas shouted, slapping me on the back.

“You’ve got to be—”

“Nope. I’m dead serious. It’s in the paper, Cullen. Do you ever leave this room?”

“Not anymore.”

“You working today?”

“I quit.”

“You did what?” Lucas sat down on my bed.

“I called Ted this morning and I told him I wanted to quit.”

“Was he mad?” Lucas asked.

“No. He was all ‘I understand, son. You’ve been through a lot lately,’ and shit like that.”

“And your mom? Your dad?” Lucas asked.

“They’re too preoccupied to notice. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”

“Fine, but why’d you quit?” he kept on.

“Because every person who walks into the store isn’t my brother, and I can’t keep looking up every time that door goes
ding
and being disappointed.”