Look Before You Jump (7 page)

Strange. At lunch the other day, I’d never
asked Amy about her side of the family, and she’d never volunteered
any information. There was only the brief exchange about being from
Brownsville. Was I really that self-absorbed to have failed to pry
into someone else’s genealogical history?

Apparently so.

***

The post-funeral meal was held at the Vernet
family estate, a mansion dedicated to spreading their version of
the gospel, which in Dennis and Mary Jo’s book was centered on
money and how to gain more of it. Personally, I thought the mansion
built for two reflected more fleecing of the flock than anything
remotely resembling the Man they publicly attempted to emulate.

Security at the gate to enter the Vernet
domain was tighter than that at Fort Knox. People were turned away
left and right in a constant stream. If it wasn’t for the fact that
I drove right behind my parents and carried the last name of
Bohanan
, I doubt I’d have been allowed through. ‘Course it
didn’t hurt that a De’Laruse sat in the passenger’s seat of my
Corvette.

Even with a caterer, Mary Jo buzzed from
ginormous over-decorated room to ginormous overstuffed room,
playing the perfect hostess and ensuring all had their fill from
the massive spread. Staying in motion also kept her from holding
still long enough to allow food to touch her lips. The woman was as
stick thin as her husband was round.

Rumor had it Mary Jo enjoyed a nip and tuck
on occasion to stave off encroaching middle-aged sag, though we all
know by now that I’m not one to listen to the rumor mill. The
painted smile, however, was a permanent fixture and bespoke work
more along the lines of the Botox variety. Or maybe silicone. Made
her look less like a real woman and more like the Joker – you know,
from Batman. The grin appeared odd and definitely out of place,
considering the somber events surrounding her son.

Bobby held up the Italian marble mantelpiece
in the formal living room all afternoon where he received an
endless parade of condolences. From the blank stare and robot-like
movement of shaking hands, I rather think the mantelpiece held
him
up.

No matter how much I wanted to wrap my arms
around and comfort one of my oldest friends, I kept my distance.
Not for my sake, mind you. I’d long ago stopped caring what the
sanctified saints thought of me. But I did care about what it might
do to Bobby’s reputation and how it would affect his position at
the church to be seen in the arms of this unholy-hell-raiser once
again. It might spur memories in others better left to my gray
matter. His life didn’t need any further complications. And in his
present state, I doubt if he’d even remember who was and wasn’t at
his wife’s funeral.

The fact that I even felt the need to keep my
distance churned up more stomach acid than my internal debate over
choice of tables had at the bistro Thursday afternoon. ‘Course the
stares and fake smiles of the crowd as they walked by and whispered
behind my back didn’t help either. They were like vultures waiting
to swoop down on fresh road kill. As far as I was concerned they
could all starve to death before I’d give them that
satisfaction.

Mary Jo brought Bobby yet another full plate
of food, which he held in front of himself as if establishing a
perimeter to avoid those pressing in around him. Eventually he gave
up and set it untouched behind him on the hearth. One of the four
Vernet Corgi’s had picked up on his actions early on, staying close
for the next available plate. The feet of those sausage rolls
wouldn’t touch the ground by the end of the day if the meals kept
coming.

“Hello, daughter.”

Speaking of dogs… “Hey, Frankie. How’s life?”
Finally – someone I could take out the day’s frustrations on.

Grandma always had a thing for Frankie Avalon
in her younger years. The affection was so strong, she named her
son after the famous crooner. Too bad my dad didn’t have the head
of hair left to match. Pictures from his younger days at least
showed me where I’d gotten the dark hair. These days he looked more
like Daddy Warbucks. Or Lex Luther – with the attitude to match.
Most people now called him by the more respectable
Frank
,
though my use of the childhood namesake was less from affection and
more for barb launching. The riling never got old. At least not for
me.

The sperm donor’s face remained placid, but
the infinitesimal narrowing of the eyelids told me I’d hit the
intended mark. The pinched thinning of Mom’s lips gave me a
moment’s pause.

Just a moment though.

“Your mother and I are leaving,” Frank said,
“as I have some important work-related calls to return.”

Work my ass. Work on one Lisa Padget, no
doubt. The man couldn’t even take one day away from rooting around
for business. Or rooting around in someone’s business.

“Enjoy your work then,” I scoffed.

“Don’t you think it’s time you left as well?”
Frank returned.

“I’ve got my own car.”

All that got me was the
look
, one
signifying displeasure at whatever transgression I’d committed this
time – real or imaginary. Growing up I’d been subjected to it so
many times I’d lost count, and its effectiveness had diminished.
Now days I could simply ignore it. I was no longer a slave to his
whims. Making my own way in the world brought freedom.

“Don’t worry, Frankie,” I continued, lowering
my voice so the nearby predators couldn’t hear. “I’ve no plans to
embarrass you. Even if I wanted to, your leaving would deny you the
pleasure to appreciate the full effect.”

My mother leaned in and pecked me on the
cheek before whispering in my ear. “Play nice.”

Frank shook his head. “Must you always try to
cause a scene?”

“Hey, don’t I get credit for trying
not
to?”

A kiss in return for my mom accompanied by a
Cheshire grin for the sperm donor, then my mom steered them toward
the exit. The moment they stepped from the house, I breathed a sigh
of relief. Being in the same building – the same city sometimes –
as my father brought on tension thicker than an Angus beef
steak.

The vultures soon tired of waiting for a
public spectacle involving me and Bobby in close proximity and
thinned from the premises. I was sorry to see Janine go, but she
was marched out the door with the rest of the De’Laruse clan soon
after my parents. I considered offering her another ride, but at
this point I figured she was in enough trouble for riding with me
earlier. Plus with so many leaving at once, Bobby needed my
presence more than Janine needed rescuing.

When the majority of the herd had made their
way to the foyer, Bobby sagged to a blue chintz sofa. The time was
as good as any, so I took a chance, sat down beside him and offered
a hug. I felt rather than heard the collective gasp from
stragglers. Let them think what they wanted at this point. I was
beyond caring anymore.

“Thanks for coming, Vic.” Bobby’s voice
quivered. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

My throat constricted to hear him call me by
the pet name. Only a handful of close friends had ever called me
that. Bobby was the first. The first of so many things. All I
squeaked out in response was, “I’m so sorry, Bobby.”

The avalanche shifted. Then it melted all at
once. After holding back all day, Bobby finally broke down in my
arms. I didn’t care about tears and snot on my silk blouse – Janine
had already gotten to it. I didn’t care about the stares and
pictures snapped and uploaded to social media or the tongue wagging
that ensued. All I cared about was comforting my devastated
friend.

“You wanna get away from this for a spell?” I
asked.

Bobby just nodded.

We stood and I grabbed the keys from my
clutch. Then we walked through the crowd that parted before us like
the Red Sea and strode out the front door. The unlocking beep of
the Vette echoed loudly in the stunned silence as we got in my car
and drove away before the rest of the Vernet family could raise any
objection.

The gossiping gaggle could kiss my lily-white
ass.

***

Years ago when Bobby and I would get together
to talk – yes, we did that too – we always made sure to finish off
the six-pack and get a good buzz going before he’d drop me near the
family gates to sneak into the house. About the only buzz I’d get
tonight would be when the need to pee hit. I always could hold my
liquor better than my soda pop.

The wind slaked through the pasture grass,
carrying with it the faint scent of manure, while cows lowed in the
distance. My little car didn’t handle washboard dirt roads very
well, but the need to get away from crowds trumped the need to
protect my prized possession. Friends held more value than stuff –
at least for me.

After finishing off a second can and
crunching it in his hands, Bobby broke the silence. “I owe you a
long overdue apology.”

“For what?” I asked before taking a swig of
cola.

“For what happened eleven years ago.”

I stifled the memories of that F-150. So not
the time. So inappropriate in this situation, especially because
that’s what the remaining company of believers back at the Vernet
mansion probably thought when we’d left together.

“Wasn’t like I was an unwilling participant
or anything,” I admitted.

Bobby took a deep breath. “But then I went
away to college, leaving you to face the wrath alone.”

“I survived.”

“I was a coward who ran off with my tail
between my legs.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a tail
exactly.”

His head jerked my direction so fast, I
thought Bobby would end up with whiplash. It felt like the whole
countryside sucked in a collective gasp and held it until laughter
burst from his lips. It was good to hear the deep and rumbling
guffaw. Lord knows there’d been little to be jovial about the last
few days.

“Did you know,” I continued, “that my father
even contemplated bringing statutory rape charges against you?”

That shut him up right quick. “You
serious?”

I nodded. “But that threat dissipated pretty
quick after I reminded him about a certain stack of photos.”

My opinion of the sperm donor reached its
how-low-can-you-go, point-of-no-return just before my fourteenth
birthday. The envelope of pictures I’d discovered beneath a loose
plank in the attic of the Galveston family vacation home soon
taught me the real meaning of the phrase
business trip
. In
private my father had always treated me and my mom with unveiled
contempt like the heartless bastard he is. But that day I learned
the graphic truth about his secret life – and the power of a named
and dated Polaroid.

“Still using blackmail against the old man,
are we?” Bobby asked.

“Nah. Moving out on my own works better...for
both of us. Keeps at bay the possibility of the cops cleaning up a
double homicide.”

We both flinched. See, there’s this disease I
have commonly known around these parts as foot-in-mouth disease. My
taste for shoe leather and toe jam hadn’t improved with time or
age.

“Poor choice of words,” I said. “I’m so
sorry.”

Warmth enveloped my hand as his covered mine.
“It’s okay.”

Now it was my turn to choke up as Bobby held
my hand and laid back against the windshield to stare into the sky.
The Corvette hood didn’t hold us as well as his truck bed had, but
it didn’t stop us from again sharing the experience of watching the
horizon turn from yellow to orange, then pink to periwinkle. The
only place you could really enjoy the expanse of a Texas sunset was
outside the metropolis that was Dallas. Tonight we’d had to drive a
lot farther than we used to in order to escape the suburban
sprawl.

A deep sigh before Bobby interrupted the
opening strains of the cricket chorus. “This is what I missed most
about Texas.”

“The sunsets?”

“Mm-hmm. The sky just goes on and on
forever.” His voice dropped off for a bit. “It’s been so busy since
we arrived, I never got to share this with Amy.” Emotion choked his
words. “I’ll never share this with my son.”

Silent tears streaked his face before the
growing darkness swathed him in shadows. Anger boiled me anew. Even
with our checkered past, Bobby had always been the friend to me
Janine couldn’t. Janine was too sweet. Wanted too much to please.
When we were all growing up, I understood the pressures Bobby faced
– and he mine.

Being a preacher’s kid, Bobby had to play a
part like an actor for the masses, all the while knowing what went
on behind the scenes of a massive and bloated religious enterprise.
He knew about the battle sequences between his dad and the church
leadership, my father being one of the battle instigators. He’d
witnessed and heard things even I hadn’t – and I’d known a lot, at
least with what pertained to my own family. Our friendship had
started because of our families’ mutual involvements, and over the
years the commiseration had kept us somewhat sane – at least until
our well-publicized hook-up.

“It’s my fault, you know,” Bobby
whispered.

“What?”

“That they’re dead.”

That bolted me upright. “Well ‘scuse my
French, pastor, but that’s a load of shit,” I emphasized. “No, not
just a load, but a heaping helping
ass
-load of
bull
-shit. Just sniff the air.”

That earned me a caffeinated belch and a
shake of the head. “You always were the more eloquent of the two of
us.”

I shrugged. “I try.”

“Amy wasn’t ready to move back to Texas,”
Bobby confessed. “But then she got pregnant. The children’s
ministry job opened up and all. It was like God was pointing us
here. I even told her that.”

Stomach acid churning started all over again.
Maybe it was too much carbonated pop. A burp didn’t ease it.