Simple Man (4 page)

The constable remained by the door while surveying the mess.

“The maid called out sick two days in a row,” Shane joked, but the cop didn’t crack a smile. Rather, the man looked at him with something akin to pity. Dread made a slow crawl up his spine.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your sister’s body was identified two nights ago in Belmar, New Jersey.”

 Cold  heaviness tingled at his nerve endings as he blinked. The cop’s mouth continued to move, but no noise broke through the pounding in his ears. The tips of his fingers stung and a knot formed between his shoulders. Oh God, that pain…a pain he hadn’t felt since he’d received news about his parents death. No. His body wavered and he gripped onto the first solid object his hand could find. His heart accelerated as breath sawed in and out of his lungs. He was going to vomit.

Swallowing back the bile in his throat, he breathed. “What?”

“Your sister, her body was identified—”

“You’re wrong,” he snapped. “Noel…” He swallowed, his larynx scraping painfully as though something heavy was wedged inside his throat. His legs shook and suddenly he was sitting on the pile of crap on his couch, the officer handing him a glass of water. He hadn’t even seen the guy move, let alone hear the water running.

“I know this is a lot to take in, son, but I need you to contact the Belmar morgue in order for them to release the body. The only records we could find on your sister identified you as her next of kin. Is there anyone else I should be contacting? Parents? Other siblings? A spouse?”

“No,” he rasped. “It’s just us.” All this time… all this time she was alive and well and now she was…dead? No. This couldn’t be happening.

The officer’s hand settled like a foreign object on his shoulder. “I know this is a difficult, son. I’m going to leave this information here for you…” The officer continued to talk, but Shane heard nothing over the white noise ringing in his ears.

Noel was dead. Impossible. It simply couldn’t be. He’d tried to contact her countless times over the past few months. Once her phone was disconnected, her friends began calling him, looking for her too. No one knew where she’d disappeared to. What was in Belmar?

When he looked up again, he was alone. A pile of yellow forms sat on the counter beside an empty can of Bud and a bottle of drain solution. He briefly considered drinking the drain cleaner rather than dealing.

He sat for a long time debating the benefits of suicide versus a life on earth all by himself with no family. The drain cleaner was looking pretty good when his phone rang.

With numb fingers he brought the phone to his ear, his eyes never leaving the blue gallon of sudden death sitting on his counter.

“Yeah,” he answered.

Noise and shouting from the bar filled the background. “Yo, man, where you at? Sue just left with Sims. I think you lost your chance.”

Shane tried to formulate an answer, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Who was Sue? What was Duce talking about?

“Shane? You there?” Duce’s voice echoed in the phone. “Hello? McFly? Bueller? Bueller?”

“I’m not coming,” he finally grated.

The noise cut away as though Duce were stepping outside to hear him better. “Shane? You all right?”

“It’s Noel,” he offered by way of explanation.

“Noel? Your sister? You found her? Where the fuck’s she been? Where is she?”

There was only one reply. He choked on it, but somehow forced the answer out, needing to hear himself say the words to know they were true. Pain lanced through his chest.

“She’s dead.”

There was an eerie silence. When Duce spoke, his voice was as serious as the grave. “I’ll be right there.”

* * * *

The drive to Belmar was impossible to catalog. It would be filed away in the back of his memory under moments he never wanted to visit again. If not for Duce, he never would’ve made the trip to see his sister for the last time.

It was Duce who drove. It was Duce who held him up when he had to identify Noel’s pale body on the slab. It was Duce who filled out the required paperwork to have her body brought home so she could be buried in the same cemetery as their parents. And it was Duce who hugged him for countless moments as he cried and totally fucking lost it in the parking lot.

He had no idea what to expect, but the additional disappointment that accompanied the pain of seeing her nearly knocked him to his knees. He hadn’t wished for the baby to die. Subconsciously, he’d convinced himself she didn’t go through with the abortion. But seeing her slender waist under that draped sheet on the slab in that cold, clinical room told him otherwise. She’d gone through with it and the morbid irony of her circumstances triggered a deluge of emotions he couldn’t make sense of. Everything was lost.

When they returned home it was dark. Shane hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and had no appetite whatsoever. The thought of food, of sustaining his shitty life in any way, only made him want to vomit. Stumbling into the trailer, he went straight to his bed where he collapsed and slept for two days straight.

When he woke up his trailer was tidied up and Sims was waiting for him on the couch. Shane couldn’t bring himself to look his friend in the eye.

“I am so sorry, man,” Sims said as he patted him on the back in a manly hug. “Duce said it was a hit and run?”

“Yeah.” Shane’s throat burned as if gravel and shards of glass had been churning there for days.

“Do they have any suspects?”

“Not since we left. I don’t know if anything’s changed. All I’ve been doing is sleeping. I’m so fucking tired.”

“Have you eaten? You want me to go get something?”

“Not hungry,” Shane said as he dug in the fridge for something to drink. When he came up empty he went to the kitchen faucet and leaned over the basin, drinking straight from the tap.

“When’s the service?”

“What’s today?”

“Thursday.”

Shane rubbed his head. Jesus, he’d almost missed it. How pathetic would that be? “Tomorrow. It’s just gonna be small. I could barely afford the plot.”

“Aw, man, don’t beat yourself up. No one could have seen this coming. You did what you could.”

There wasn’t enough breath reaching his lungs. Emotion strangled him and he hunched over the counter as dry sobs wracked his body. The pain was fucking unbearable. Sims awkwardly rubbed his back and offered well-intentioned words of comfort that did absolutely nothing to ease his grief.

But it wasn’t his friends’ fault they didn’t understand death. None of them had ever lost anyone close. Shane, however, had lost both his parents in a train accident and now his sister…

Fuck! He needed to reach a point where he could cope, but he didn’t see that happening. His heart felt like it was being ripped from his ribs. He was drowning. He needed air.

Flashes of Noel ran through his head, clouded and tainted by their last interaction. Why had he been such a prick? This was his fault. He should have taken her aside, talked to her, listened, been there like he was supposed to be. God fucking damn it!

His jaw tightened and he held his breath until he was dizzy and the room swirled. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go through this again. Not with her.

Forcing out a staggering breath, he rasped, “I think I want to be alone, Sims.”

His friend hesitated, but nodded. They were probably concerned, but he was too overwhelmed to think about that.

Clapping him on the shoulder, Sims said, “Okay. You call me if you change your mind and want some company.”

No company. He wanted to be alone. Forever. Maybe go to sleep and never wake up. “All right, man.”

After Sims left Shane fell onto the couch and moaned through the pain that never eased. The coarse cushions abraded his damp face, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Eventually, he passed out.

When Shane awoke it was dark. Fumbling to his feet, he stumbled into the kitchen. His stomach ached for sustenance. Hanging like dead weight from the door of the fridge, he scanned the shelves and found nothing appealing. The light coming from inside the fridge was excruciatingly bright. He shut the door and rummaged through the cabinets. When he spotted a bottle of Jack he grabbed onto it like a lifeline.

His belly burned when the first swallow settled in his gut. He drank until he was ill and then he passed out again.

Shane woke up to banging. His face was fused to the rough carpet covering the floor of his trailer. Wincing, he peeled himself off the ground and weakly forced his body into an upright position.

“Shane, open up.”

On shaky legs he wobbled toward the front door, but took a minor detour to puke in the kitchen sink. Spitting into the basin, he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. His head pounded as the incessant knocking continued. When he opened the door, Duce stood on the other side holding a bag of dry cleaning.

“Whoa, you look like fucking shit.”

“Fuck you,” Shane mumbled as he stumbled back to the sink to dry heave. There was nothing left in his stomach to purge. Shutting his eyes, he blindly reached for the faucet and caught some rushing water in his mouth. He swished and spit until his mouth felt somewhat normal.

Duce hung the dry cleaning bag on the latch to the kitchen cabinet and grabbed his shoulder. “Okay, buddy, into the shower you go.”

Shane was shoved in that general direction. The shower kicked on and the door shut as Duce backed out of the tiny room. He needed to shower. He needed to shower for his sister’s funeral.

As the warm water rushed over him, his mind began to clear slightly. Problem with a slightly clear mind was that it left room for his other thoughts to play. His fingers gripped his hair, tugging fistfuls of the wet knots over his eyes, trying to force back reality. His groan reverberated off the shower walls as he slumped to the side and slid to the cold ground.

Nothing was real. His toe scraped over the drain and he wept, wishing he’d drown there. Anything was better than what lay ahead.

Somehow he managed to pick himself up, but not until the water had run cold, leaving him shivering for well over ten minutes on the floor. Once dried off, he wrapped the towel around his waist, and headed into the kitchen. Opening another cabinet, he grabbed the first bottle to hit his fingers. Twisting the cap off he tossed it aside and tipped his head back, letting the fire burn its way down to his empty stomach.

“Whoa, dude, you think that’s wise?”

His lips smacked together as he pulled the bottle away from his mouth. “I don’t really fucking care. It’s necessary.”

Duce looked concerned, but made no further comment. “Tucker loaned you his suit. It should fit. Everything’s there, shoes, tie, shirt…”

Shane intended to say thank you, but all he managed was a weak nod.

“Why don’t I run down the street and grab you a coffee and something to eat while you get dressed?”

“Sure,” Shane said quietly. He eyed the suit hanging in his kitchen as though it were the Grim Reaper. He’d acquired a buzz by the time he was dressed.

When Duce returned Shane was fumbling with his tie. “Never did learn how to tie one of these things.”

His friend handed him a coffee and sighed. “Good thing I brought reinforcements then. One of those fucks should know how.” He opened the screen door and yelled, “Any of you guys know how to tie a tie?”

Shane peeked out the door. Damn, it was bright. All of his friends, dressed like a bunch of derelicts preparing to rob a Sunday school, stood in the tiny lot between their cars and his trailer, awkwardly waiting.

Tucker, the only other one wearing a tie, stepped forward. “Lisa can do it. Here, give it to me. She’s waiting in the car.”

He took the tie and disappeared into his vehicle. Shane stared at his friends. “Hey.”

“Hey.” They said as one.

Shane nodded. No one said another word. What was there to say? Tucker returned with the tie in a loose knot. It looked like a noose. Perfect.

Shane slipped it over his head and tightened it. “Does that look okay?”

“It looks fine,” Tucker said, patting him on the shoulder. “You ready to do this?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

His friend took a long breath. “It’ll be over soon. Then we’ll get wasted. How’s that sound?”

Shockingly, even getting wasted didn’t appeal to him anymore, yet that seemed to be the only thing he was capable of doing properly.

The guys somberly made their way to the various cars. “Come on, I’ll drive,” Duce said, pulling the trailer door closed behind him. Shane followed in a trance.

The funeral home was the same one they’d used for his parents years ago, but this time it lacked the flowers and flare their friends and life insurance had provided. The director said a few short words that were appropriate. As they followed the hearse, Shane shut his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else.

The sun was hot on his back when they reached the cemetery. Shane stood motionless beside the open ground. His sister’s casket was suspended on metal beams over his parents’ plot, disguised by a sheet of green Astroturf.

He should have been listening to the words being said, but all he could think of was what his parents’ bodies now looked like. It had been ten years since he’d been there to bury them.

He recalled a young Noel gripping his hand as they’d cried over their graves. He didn’t remember what was said that day either. He did recall the roses they placed on the coffins, but only when the funeral director handed him a yellow one to place on Noel’s. Odd, that he found funeral procedures familiar.

In the distance he took note of another funeral taking place. A pang of guilt for not being able to provide something nicer for his sister stabbed redundantly into his conscience. The funeral in the distance was made up of a crowd shrouded in black. People comforted each other and hugged as they wept over the deceased.

He surveyed their motley crew. Everyone wore an expression of utter shock. No one touched anyone. The only person who didn’t appear deeply affected by the situation was Lisa, who stood stoically beside Tucker. Shane wished he had girl like that, someone other than Duce to act as his pillar of strength to lean on.