TWENTY-EIGHT
Once they’d left the community center in Allouette where the postfuneral gathering had been held, Will, Lucinda, and Ulysses had exchanged no more than a dozen words in the car. At home, Will changed his clothes and said he was going to the shop. Uly headed out “to hang with Darrell for a while.” Lucinda was left alone with the baby, who’d been unusually quiet all day. She laid Misty in the carrier, which she sat on the kitchen table so the baby could see her as she worked. Lucinda spoke constantly to her granddaughter, fully realizing that the infant had no way of understanding. But babies needed the sound of a loving voice. And for Lucinda, too, the sound of a voice, even if it was her own, was comforting.
For years Lucinda had often suffered long hours of silence, with no one to talk to. When her boys were young, things had been different. Alejandro had been an adventurer, exploring the territory of every new posting, every new home. He would report to her what he’d discovered. He talked about his school, his teachers, his classmates. He made friends easily and he told her about their houses and their families. In this way, he kept her connected to his life. Uly was quieter and the things he told her seemed more like secrets he was sharing. She felt special being allowed into his private world this way. As they’d grown, however, the boys had changed. They’d become increasingly like their father, and more and more they closed themselves off from her. Maybe it was that way with all boys as they stumbled through adolescence. She didn’t know. She often wondered how different things would have been if she’d had daughters.
Although none of them would be hungry soon-they’d eaten after the funeral-she set about making tamales. She knew that preparing a meal would keep her grounded. Once a month or so, Will drove her to Duluth where she bought corn husks and other foodstuffs at a market that specialized in Latino goods. Tamales had been one of Alejandro’s favorites, a dish he often requested on his birthday. She didn’t think about this consciously as she began, but in the middle of everything, the realization of what she was doing hit her and she almost cried. Almost. As she had since the beginning, she took her grief and shoved it deep inside, telling herself that the man buried this day was not the brave boy who loved tamales. That boy had left her years before. As for Rayette, Lucinda simply refused to allow herself to think about her at the moment. Force of will. A practiced soldier’s wife.
When Will came home, the dining room table was set. Misty was sleeping in her crib in her new room. Uly was in his bedroom with the door closed. It was dark outside. Crickets chorused through the open windows, their chirring coming in on a warm spring breeze. Will washed up, knocked on Uly’s door, and they all sat down at the table. No one commented on the tamales.
Near the end of the meal, Will said, “I heard someone took a couple of shots at Buck Reinhardt.” They were the first words he’d spoken since saying grace.
“Did they hit him?” Uly asked.
Will stuffed the last forkful of tamale in his mouth. “Missed.”
“Maybe they were just trying to scare him,” Lucinda said.
Will looked at her as if she was stupid. “What would be the point? You scare someone to keep them from doing something you don’t want them to do. Reinhardt’s already killed Alex. No way to keep him from doing that now.”
“You think it was the Red Boyz?” Uly said.
“That’s what I think.” Will shook his head. “Screwups. Bunch of screwups. Alexander didn’t teach them anything useful.”
“Like what? How to kill a man?” Lucinda was suddenly full of fury, a deep anger that seemed to come from nowhere and that spilled out at her husband. “Why would anyone want to teach that? Why doesn’t someone teach how to live together without killing? Now that would be useful.”
She threw her napkin on the table, grabbed her plate, and took it to the sink. At her back, neither her husband nor son said a word. She stood staring out the window into the dark where the crickets, in their way, kept up a lively conversation.
“Yes,” Will said quietly. “How to kill a man.”
She heard his chair slide across the carpet as he moved back from the table, then she heard him walk from the room. She looked over her shoulder. Uly was staring after him.
Annie was at her computer when the message from Uly Kingbird appeared on her screen. r u there yes, she typed back. meet me at st agnes…important when
15 minutes ok
The May night was warm. There was no moon yet and Annie walked in and out of the darkness between the islands of light under the streetlamps. She loved spring in Minnesota. It was never a long season. Winter left reluctantly and summer usually came immediately after and with a vengeance that included mosquitoes and blackflies. But for a couple of weeks in May, everything felt new and clean and hopeful. This feeling was just one more treasure Annie wanted to lock away in her heart when she left Aurora for college.
Uly was already sitting on the steps in front of St. Agnes. There was a little light above the entrance that was always on at night, as if inviting the lost to come inside, though the doors were actually locked. Uly sat on his shadow. He looked up when he heard Annie approach. She sat down next to him.
“Thanks,” he said.
“It’s not a big deal. What’s up?”
Uly had a small stone, which he nervously juggled in his right hand as he spoke. “I’m going to do something.”
“Okay. What?”
The stone went up and came down. “Do you believe in hell?”
“You mean like with the devil and all that?”
“I’m not talking about some cartoon devil with a tail and a pitchfork. I mean a place where you’re in eternal torment, where nothing will ever get better.”
“I don’t believe there’s anything like that after we die, Uly, but I think for a lot of people that’s their life.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” He held the stone in his hand and stared at it. “You told me once that you wanted to be a nun.”
“I used to. I don’t know anymore.”
“There’s nothing I ever wanted to be. Except dead, sometimes.”
“Don’t say that, Uly. What about your music? You’ve got so much talent. More than anybody else I know.” She shifted and faced him with her whole body. “Look, it’s just this place, these people, Uly. Once you graduate and leave Aurora, the world’ll be full of possibility.”
“Alex left and came back and they killed him.”
“You’re not Alex.”
He finally threw the stone. Annie heard it hit the pavement and bounce away. “Sometimes I wish I was. He had guts.” He stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and stared hard where he’d thrown the stone. “Nuns pray for people.”
“It’s one of the things they do.”
“Pray for me, Annie.”
She stood up. They both cast shadows that lay on the church steps like small animals, black and huddled. “You’re scaring me, Uly.”
A sad smile appeared on his face. “Me? Scaring somebody? That’s a switch.” He looked away, into the night. “Look, I’ve gotta go. Something I’ve gotta do.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. I need to be alone now.” He hurried away, as if he was already late for whatever it was that was calling him.
“I’ll do it, Uly!”
He stopped and turned back. “Do what?”
“I’ll pray for you.”
He thought about that and nodded gratefully. Then he left, and she watched him move swiftly through the
