“Your moving skills are impressive,” I said.
“Thanks.” He bounded off the porch and jogged over to his house. The chair bobbed up and down, one meaty arm secured it to his shoulder.
I locked the cabin’s front door and waited by my car. He needed some refining. Maybe I’d work on his mom’s request to set him up on a date.
But that could be tricky. The woman would have to want to take on a project, or like slovenly, occasionally ill-mannered, juvenile men.
Marabel from work mentioned she was thinking of getting a puppy. Maybe she’d house-train Ray instead?
Chapter Six
We drove to Margarita’s in my car. She wanted nothing. The woman who hoarded Hummels didn’t want a memento of her son. She also insisted she didn’t have Oscar’s phone.
“She feels bad.” Ray had said, although his somber voice held a hint of a question.
“I guess that’s better than relieved. But she discarded her son. She decided because Oscar preferred men that he was useless, or worse, undeserving of her love.”
“Charlie, it’s a small town. You grew up in California where people are more accepting.”
“I call BS. Mabel McClure’s been passing bad checks for the last twenty years, and people still take them. Don Jenkins is the worst drunk I’ve ever met, yet people still hire him to paint their houses. People here are plenty accepting. Maybe Forest Forks won’t hold a Gay Pride Parade, but Oscar isn’t the only gay man living here.”
Ray waved his hand like a flag of surrender. “You’re right. Okay?”
“I know I’m right.” My harpy had returned.
“Some people shouldn’t be parents,” Ray said.
I snorted, an inelegant no-duh, gust of air.
“That’s what this is about for you, isn’t it?” Ray’s narrowed eyes seemed to scan my brain.
“Maybe. A little.” I definitely understood what it felt to be raised by parents who loved conditionally, but I wasn’t going to go into that with Ray. I turned in my seat, looked at Oscar’s few possessions. “Margarita collects crap, but doesn’t want one thing of her son’s. That’s—"
“Pathologic.” Ray’s lips tightened in a forced smile. “It’s not about Oscar.”
“But Oscar never understood that. And she hurt him.”
Momma Sanders, Joe’s mom, insisted Oscar be buried next to Joe’s grandfather. She’d purchased family plots for all of her children and grandchildren. A morbid gift, but one that made our funeral planning blessedly uncomplicated. I needed to buy a suit for Oscar to be buried in. Planning Oscar’s funeral made me worry about my own children, and when I began to drown in concerns, I called Momma Sanders. She took over and organized the viewing, and the reception. I aspired to be her. To have the strength to function when I just wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend everything was fine.
At home, I searched for pictures of Oscar. I wanted something nice for the funeral announcement in the paper. The pictures in my phone weren’t great. I’d captured moments, but not Oscar’s engaging smile. I knew Drew had one when the soccer team had a reunion over the summer on his desk.
I pulled the picture from his wall and put the thumbtack in Drew’s desk drawer. That’s when I saw the casino chips. The same that had been in Oscar’s desk. And both boys were twenty. I called Drew.
He answered immediately. “Hey Mom, how’s your day?”
“It could be better,” I admitted. “The medical examiner said Oscar overdosed on his insulin, but they’ll release his body now. Momma Sanders and I are making arrangements for his funeral this weekend.”
“I’ll drive down with Ann. We’ll leave after her last class on Friday,” he promised. “Did you tell the police about the car?”
“I did, but Tom said since it’s been ruled an accidental overdose they won’t investigate. Drew, why do both you and Oscar have chips from the Del Lago Casino?”
Drew made one of those weird noises, a hybrid between um and ah, and his tell he was going to lie.
I shot a pre-emptive strike. “Don’t even try lying to me.” I fingered the photo of the team, and Oscar’s beaming smile outshone them all. A weird niggling sensation pulled at the base of my neck.
“Oscar took me and a few guys from the team there. Just once. I swear.”
“Why?”
“He was trying to teach us poker. He thought we’d like it. Mostly, I think it was to show off. He was really good.” Drew paused. “Do you think that could have anything to do with his death?”
“I don’t know. Could it?” The niggling turned into a nagging sensation. Was his death related to his poker playing?
“I just remembered, when we left the casino there was a note on his car. He read it and ripped it up. He wouldn’t tell me what it said.” Drew’s voice grew hushed. “Mom, what if someone was threatening Oscar?”
“And followed him home.” My skin prickled. “Drew, were you boys doing anything that could get you in trouble?”
“Besides the illegal gambling? No. We didn’t even drink.” He rushed the last words.
Lie! But I kept that to myself. “Do you know Oscar’s school friends?”
“No. We really didn’t talk much, just a few comments on Insta. Even at the casino we didn’t talk about school or anything personal.”
“Okay, well, what about his posts? Can you tell if he had any friends he spent time with, not just virtually?”
“Mom.” He drew out my name in exasperation because he knew I didn’t understand how someone could have a thousand friends, but no one to go to the movies with. He sighed. “Honestly, I think he spent a lot of time at the casinos. He really liked poker. Like, remember when he got all into League of Legends?”
I smiled at the memory of the boys and their friends taking over our family room for LAN parties on the weekends. “Yeah. So many pizza rolls were consumed…” The house smelled like goat and Doritos. I didn’t miss that part.
Drew sighed, the sound of happiness. “Thousands. Man, that was the
