The Last Kind Words

back out in front of the bush.

I played the radio low and listened to some oldies station and my mind went along with it, rolling on the tide of another time. Whenever some image hit me, I pressed it away. There seemed to be no good memories. Everything brought pain. A man should be composed of more than his heartaches, his failures, his missed opportunities and regrets. Even Collie knew love. I turned the radio up. I nodded for a bit.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a little red Mazda come zipping into the driveway. I watched a young woman get out, dressed in blue scrubs covered with pictures of different breeds of dogs and cats. She dropped her purse and stooped to pick it up. It was Eve’s daughter, Roxie. She had curves in all the right places, her long brown hair swaying lightly in the breeze as she grabbed her sunglasses, cell phone, iPod, and stuffed them back into her purse. She looked the way I imagined her mother had looked twenty-five years earlier. But, more than that, she looked pissed.

She took another step toward the front door and her cell phone rang. She answered, angled her face down, and listened for a moment. She said, “Well then, why don’t you just go fuck yourself?” Her voice carried to me as clearly as if she were in the backseat.

Roxie fumbled for the disconnect and stared at the cell phone like it was the face of a lost lover. She tried to stuff it back into her purse and dropped it again. The phone hit the walk and she gave it a nice kick that catapulted it into the garage door, where it broke to pieces.

It was the kind of thing only your first and greatest love could make you do. This would be the pain and passion by which all other pain and passion would be measured through the rest of her life. I thought of what kind of scars and marks Butch would leave upon Dale’s understanding of men. I thought of my eternal draw to Kimmy, Gilmore shattering over Phyllis, and Grey’s never-ending heartbreak at being left at the altar.

I snapped off the radio.

My attention dispersed, then refocused.

My exhaustion over the past several days was making it hard to keep my thoughts straight. My instincts were off. I didn’t know whether Collie had played me across some elaborate game or not. Was Gilmore really a killer, or a bent cop who was her1closer to my father than I was? I saw Mal crawling across the grass almost directly beneath my bedroom window. The same dream called to me. Go with Kimmy. Drive away.

I looked out the window at Roxie Drayton.

She looked like her mother, the same dark intensity, the same lovely features-

She looked like-

She looked a little like Becky Clarke.

She looked a little like Cara Clarke.

She looked a little like-

She looked a little like Dale.

I shut my eyes and twisted my face aside.

She looked like Eve.

My sister had said, Dad sneaks out at night sometimes. Grey is hardly ever around.

I heard Flo’s voice, as loud in my ear as if she were in the backseat. He still comes in here sometimes. Handsome. A touch of class. He knows how to treat a woman.

I knew then who else was trapped in the currents of the underneath. I knew because it was my blood tide. I knew because we looked just alike.

I threw the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. The transmission moaned so loudly that Roxie dropped her purse again. I sped off. I called home and my mother answered. I asked, “Is Dale home yet?”

“Out with that Butch, I think,” she said with disappointment. “I hope the next boyfriend’s a doctor. Is that asking for so much?”

“The next boyfriend’s going to show up next week. Just keep your hopes in check that he’s a B student. Who else is home?”

“Who do you expect to be here? Your father’s in the garage. You want to talk to him?”

“No,” I said. My voice was too blunt. I tried to soften it up. “That’s okay. What about Grey?”

“He’s been out all night.”

“With Vicky?”

She let out a small noise of exasperation. “How would I know? Since when do any of you tell me anything about where you’re going?” The irritation and frustration were taking hold. She’d been through so much, and it wasn’t over yet. She’d given everything she had to holding us together, and we kept falling further and further apart. I heard her place the phone against her chest, the heavy beating of her heart somehow calming me. “We need to sit down as a family again.”

“Pencil me in, Ma. I’ll call again later.”

“We’ll be here.”

I disconnected. I let my mind wander in ways it hadn’t before.

I heard my father’s voice.

I think your uncles have a touch of Alzheimer’s too. I’ve found them out in the yard in the middle of the night a couple of times, looking dazed.

Who could get up that close to Mal to do what had been done to him? Who would Mal trust?

I shook my head as if I had an earache. I slammed my fist down on the steering wheel. I was wrong, I had to be wrong. I phoned Vicky and Eve’s television station. Like the last time, it took me ten minutes to work through the menu. Finally I got her.

“Hello,” Vicky said. “Victoria Jensen.gn=q01D;

“This is Terrier Rand. I’m looking for Grey. Is he with you?”

“No, he’s not, Terry, I haven’t seen him.”

I shook my head again. My throat was beginning to constrict. I coughed and licked my lips. “You haven’t seen him?”

“Not since the funeral.” I waited, and the pregnant pause took on all kinds of meaning. I had a feeling I knew what she was going to say next. He’s no longer interested in me. But no beautiful woman wants to admit that out loud. “I’ve been very busy with work. I just haven’t found the time to return his calls. And you know, Terry, I don’t want to speak out of turn here, but you and Eve make a wonderful couple. I think that-”

I cut her off. “Vicky, this is something of a rude question, and I’m sorry for it, but did my uncle stay with you that night we had the double date?”

“No, Terry, he didn’t. He said he didn’t feel well.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell him I’ll talk to him soon.”

I hung up.

Grey had slept with Eve. He had met Roxie. I thought about the peeper at Eve’s window watching the two of us in bed. Becky Clarke strangled during Collie’s spree. The missing knife.

Grey with his ladies’-man looks, owning a thousand women but not the one he’d truly wanted, the one who’d rejected him forty-five years ago. Like any of us, he was capable of violence.

“No,” I said. “No.”

Where had Grey been spending his nights?

I drove home. I’d been thinking of someone close to the family, someone who might have followed Collie that night, someone who knew our ways. I’d been thinking of Gilmore. I stepped harder on the gas pedal and jockeyed through the traffic. I kept pushing. Someone said, “No.” Someone had been saying that for a while. I checked the rearview. My lips were moving, but I didn’t know the voice.

I slowed when I got to the corner of our block. I eased up to our house and saw Grey’s car in the driveway. I pulled in, got out, and stepped up the porch. I wondered if I’d gone over the big ledge. I wondered if I was finding madmen around every corner because I’d already become one myself.

My mother and father were in Gramp’s room, cleaning and changing his pajamas. My grandfather’s eyes were focused on the ceiling but it still felt like he was looking at me.

My parents glanced at me. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure about what I’d found out or if I’d found out