Point Pleasant (71 page)

Gunfire jolted Ben from his reflection on the limitations of elegies. The horn player had ceased his mournful melody, and two men in uniform folded an American flag.

One of them stood—his back as straight as the pole the flag would have hung from—in front of Ben and offered the red, white, and blue parcel. The man’s eyes stared forward at Ben but also
through
Ben. His rigidity was unsettling. Ben took the flag and held it like a precious, breakable stone as the soldier saluted him and stepped away.

There were more gunshots, and the casket was lowered into the ground. It sank until it was out of eyesight. The crowd was quiet and still as the mechanical device responsible for moving the casket creaked and whirred until it stopped when it reached the bottom. Ben felt an odd disconnect. It was as if something inside of him had switched off like the device.

Pastor John was speaking again. His words were brief but affecting. Ben went away once more.

When he looked up, the service was over, and the crowd had started to disperse. Pastor John was talking to him and Kate, and Ben blinked as he tried to catch up on what the man was saying. The pastor wanted them to move, Ben realized. He needed them to stand several feel away from the grave so that the attendees could shake his and Kate’s hands and pay their respects. Ben let himself be led.

When Ben looked over to his sister, he was almost relieved to see that Kate looked as vacant as he felt. He clutched the flag in one arm and shook hands with the queue of grievers, friends, and neighbors.

Mae was teary-eyed as she hugged him and remarked on the beautiful service. Stewart was as phlegmatic as a concrete statue while he told Ben that Andrew was ‘a good man.’

Tucker appeared. Without his baseball cap, Ben hardly recognized the older man. Tucker clapped Ben on the shoulder before he disappeared into the throng of mourners.

This went on for what seemed like an eternity, and Ben struggled to remain
there
with his focus on the funeral-goers. The whole process struck him as odd; Ben felt as though
he
was comforting
them
somehow. He remembered feeling something similar at Caroline’s service. The entire affair of funerals and grieving was like a circus arranged only to make other people feel better about death.

The majority of the crowd had disappeared to their cars and driven back home, back to work, back to wherever people went after such events.

Several feet away, the Nolans huddled together in a tight circle. They waited until Ben and Kate were alone before they came over. Leslie pulled Ben into a hug, and he closed his eyes.

“Oh, Ben,” she said, “and Kate,” She leaned away and hugged Kate as well. “I’m so sorry. I said it before, I know, but I truly am.”

Nate and Nicholas stood to Leslie’s left. Ben put on a smile and realized he had not spoken since he entered the chapel with Kate.

Nate shook his hand. “You okay, kiddo?”

Ben nodded and looked off when he caught sight of Nicholas’ concerned expression. Ben’s throat tightened, and he was thankful when Nate turned to talk to Kate. Ben moved on autopilot when Nicholas led him a few feet away.

“What can I do?” Nicholas asked.

Ben shook his head in response. He wanted to speak, to say something,
anything
, but he could not find the words. Nicholas seemed to understand. He stole closer and took Ben’s right hand in his own. The earthy scent of Nicholas’ cologne drifted from the collar of his coat, and Ben relaxed.

“Come back to my parents’ house,” Nicholas said. “They’re asking Kate now. They’d really like you all to come over.”

Ben shook his head, and Nicholas’ lips tightened with disappointment.

“You all should come over to Casa Wisehart,” Ben said. “The neighbors swooped in this morning. We have so much food, it’s ridiculous.”

“That was nice of them.”

“Southern hospitality,” Ben remarked.

The Wiseharts and the Nolans were in the living room as Kate chatted to Leslie and Nate about babies and pregnancy.

Ben stood, asked if anyone wanted anything from the kitchen, and was met with a shake of everyone’s head save Nicholas’.

“Another coffee, please?”

Ben ushered the way to the kitchen. He marveled over how much time he had spent in the room since he had come home despite his previous aversion to it, especially the one spot on the floor that he had dreamt of for years—dead mother included.

“Listen,” Nicholas started while Ben poured two cups of coffee. “Kate said her flight leaves at seven, right?”

“I think so.”

“Well, I had an idea. What if we go up to Boston tonight? I’ll drive if you want. Or you can if it helps clear your head. We can drop off Kate at the airport in Charleston and then head up straight from there. Give you a chance to decompress after all this.”

Ben watched Nicholas with wide, stunned eyes. When he did not reply immediately, Nicholas shifted from one foot to the next.

“It’s just an idea.”

Ben put the coffee mugs on the counter by the machine and hugged the sheriff. “It’s the best idea.”

“Yeah?” Nicholas asked, bringing a hand up to the back of Ben’s head.

“Yeah.”

Nicholas placed a small kiss under Ben’s ear before he stepped away.

“It’s ideal. Really,” Ben said, offering Nicholas one of the mugs. “I don’t think I could take being here tonight.”

Nicholas’ smile was warm, but the moment was broken when Nate entered the kitchen. He assessed their closeness and flustered.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t,” Ben assured.

Nate looked between them and cleared his throat. “Nicholas, your mother wanted to ask you something. I’ll keep Ben company.”

Nicholas arched a high eyebrow at his father. The Nolan men proceeded to communicate through a strange, non-verbal exchange of eye squints and head tilts. Nicholas finally sighed and headed out of the kitchen. Ben braced himself for a repeat of Nate’s garage talk.

“Nicholas says you’re moving back,” Nate said offhandedly, and he leaned back against one of the countertops.

Ben nodded, but he felt too wary to speak a confirmation lest he incite the wrath of the former sheriff-turned-concerned father.

“Good. I think that’s good.” Nate regarded Ben with a placid fondness that was almost startling.

“You do?” Ben asked. He realized only in that moment that he had gone as rigid as the soldier at the cemetery. He was not sure what he had expected Nate to say.

“Nicholas seems happy,” Nate said. “I’d like to see him stay that way.” He shrugged as if to say it was no big deal; he was just a father who wanted what was best for his son.

“So would I,” Ben replied in earnest.

Nate nodded, apparently satisfied with Ben’s response. They stood in easy silence before Nate’s eyes glinted with mischief.

“You know,” he started, “Les runs that book club. They meet every Thursday somewhere in town. They used to use that
muffin shop,
but she’s managed to talk them out of that madness.”

Ben laughed at the way the other man made ‘muffin shop’ sound like a filthy expletive, but he had no idea why he should be made aware of Leslie’s schedule. “That’s nice, I guess.”

“She goes to bed early on Wednesday nights to be up to prepare for the discussions. I never like to watch the television too loudly. Keeps her awake. I tend to save my critical viewings of the exploits of The Atlantic Paranormal Society for when she’s gone.” When he saw that Ben understood him, Nate winked. “Since you’ll be around the corner, virtually, we might as well watch it together.”

“It
would
save electricity,” Ben said after pretending to consider the option.

“It’d be our contribution to fighting global warming,” Nate said with a wry smirk.

“It’s settled, then,” Ben said, relaxing for the first time that day.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ten o’clock.”

They shook hands as if they were entering into a gentleman’s agreement and parted just before Nicholas reappeared.

“She didn’t want me,” Nicholas said. “She’s talking about lactation.”

“Oops,” Nate said and shuffled out of the kitchen.

“What was
that
about?” Nicholas asked.

“Nothing,” Ben said. “Just talking.”

Nicholas appeared unconvinced, but he did not push further.

Kate had been delighted by Nicholas’ idea to venture up to Boston that night. Her initial uncertainty regarding Ben’s relationship with the sheriff seemed to have disappeared, and the two of them maintained a steady flow of conversation as the Malibu sped down the interstate toward Charleston. Ben wondered if they were both making an extra effort to alleviate the muteness that had befallen him since they left Point Pleasant.

“Oh, hey,” Kate said. “I have an idea. You should both come to New York for Thanksgiving at the end of the month. Have you ever been, Nic?”

“I haven’t,” Nicholas replied. “I’d like to sometime.”

Ben raised an eyebrow and wondered if Nicholas had traveled outside of West Virginia much—if at all—over the years. He hoped the answer was ‘not much.’

“Then you should come,” Kate said. “It’ll be great. We could have a big dinner and show you the sights. Ben, please?”

“I’ll have to check, Katie. I have a talk thing in Boston. I think it’s the day before.”

“A talk thing?” Nicholas asked, sounding surprised.

“At a university,” Ben said. “It’s an English department thing. I agreed to it ages ago.”

“God, it’s weird, isn’t it?” Kate asked no one in particular.

“Really weird,” Nicholas agreed.

“What is?” Ben asked, furrowing his brow.

“
You
,” Kate said. “Some big writer. People read your stuff all the time. And they respect you enough to invite you to open your mouth in front of roomfuls of other people. It’s
weird
.”

“Gee,
thanks
, Katie,” Ben said, snickering. “Try not to be
too
shocked.”

“Have you read any of Ben’s books, Nic?” Kate asked, and she peered over her shoulder to Nicholas in the backseat.

“I have,” Nicholas said. Ben wanted to smile at the prideful lilt he heard in the other man’s voice. “And I never knew he wrote them until last week.”

“That’s hilarious!” Kate exclaimed. “Even the first one?”

Ben cast a frown over to Kate, who looked like she realized she had just shoved both of her feet—shoes included—into her mouth.

“That one’s my favorite, actually,” Nicholas said after a few seconds of deliberation. “It’s poignant.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kate said softly and adjusted her seatbelt over her stomach. “Anyway, check your schedules, both of you. If you’d like to come, that is.”

“I’ll let you know,” Ben said.

When he navigated the Malibu onto the on-ramp that led to the airport, Ben gripped at the steering wheel and spared a glance at his sister. Kate was staring off at one of the runways; a plane was taking off.

He pulled up outside the departures terminal. Security guards were directing cars and passengers with wheelie suitcases. Ben parked in the drop-off bay, popped the trunk, and got out of the car. Kate followed, and Ben noticed Nicholas stayed in the backseat to give them a final few moments alone together.

Ben drew Kate’s suitcase out of the trunk and sat it on the ground beside his sister. Her brow was furrowed while she watched him.

“You okay?” he asked.

Kate shook her head, but she tried to smile.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “Me too.”

Kate clutched the handle on the suitcase and scraped her manicured thumbnail against the plastic; it was an absent gesture Ben recognized as that of someone trying to distract her thoughts through empty fidgeting.

“You come visit soon, okay?” Kate said as she leaned in for a final hug.

“I will,” Ben promised, and he gently squeezed her shoulders before she receded. “Thanksgiving.”

“Good. I’m glad. I’ll call you Monday night,” Kate said. “To see how the move went and such.”

Nicholas climbed out of the Malibu. Ben stepped aside so that Kate and Nicholas could share a quick hug. Ben heard her whisper, “Take care of him, okay?”

Nicholas offered her a nod of stolid reassurance. “And you take care of the little one,” he said, gesturing to her belly. “I look forward to meeting him or her.”

“Of course,” Kate said. “You take care of yourself too, Nic. And let me know about Thanksgiving.”

She turned and disappeared inside the airport. Ben lingered on the sidewalk after the automatic glass doors slid shut behind her. A security guard blew his whistle, and Ben stirred.

“Shall we?” Nicholas asked, tilting his head to the car.

Back on the interstate, Ben checked his side mirror while he changed lanes.

“You seemed unsure about Thanksgiving,” Nicholas observed.

“Not unsure, it’ll just be tricky to manage, but I guess I can fly up from Boston. I don’t normally
do
the holidays.”

“You don’t?”

“Unless you call a turkey club at the 24-hour diner around the corner from my apartment a form of celebrating,” Ben replied. “After midnight.
Nighthawks
-style.”

Ben thought back to his last Thanksgiving when he had been in the midst of completing the final edits on
The Corpse
. He had stayed in all day, drinking coffee and watching the snow from the living room window while he reworked the final scene several times over before he was happy with the ending.

When he was satisfied with his work, Ben had gone out well after midnight and wandered into a Hopper-esque fantasy in which Bob Dylan blew into his harmonica from a static-laden radio perched on the window between the kitchen and the diner. He had joined two other patrons at the front counter. They hunched over cups of fresh but acrid coffee without speaking a word to each other or even to the older waitress who provided refills without prompting.

“Ben,” Nicholas started, and the reproachful tone of his voice drew Ben from the memory. “No offense, but that’s really fucking sad.”