The brothers nodded in unison.
“After the foot was cut off, every morning he used to sit by the window and wait until I was gone to send the little boys to the shop to get him a rum and a Coke.”
Laverne wiped her nose and laughed at the memory. She turned her teary face to Eileen. “What kind of help you could give?”
“Tell us what you need.”
Laverne studied Paul and Holden for a moment before her eyes opened and her mouth hung open like a trap door. “Oh, yes…two of wunna is undertakers.” Fresh tears ran down her face and she raised her palm skyward. “Thank you, Jesus! Mummy was right: the Lord don’t come, but he does send. Two of wunna gonna bury Earl.”
The brothers glanced at each other and Eileen’s eyebrows knit together in concern.
“Well… not together, you see. Holden has his own funeral home and I have mine. Mine is fancier and has more hearses and better fridges, but it’s up to you to choose,” Paul pointed out.
“That is a matter of opinion, but I think it should come down to whom Earl had a better relationship with,” retorted Holden.
Their cousin bit her lip as she considered what they said. “That is true.”
“I saw Earl up to last week,” offered Holden, hopefully.
“Yes, but did he see you?”
“Just because the man was cross-eyed didn’t mean he was blind, Paul.”
“You do this every time. Always think you’re the smartest.”
“It’s smarter and, yes, I am.”
Laverne stood up, taken aback by their argument while she was trying to grieve. “Look, this don’t make any sense. We want the best for my brother.” She turned to Paul. “You say you got the best fridges and hearses, so you can deal with him.”
Paul tossed a smug grin at Holden and said, “Laverne, we’re going to give Earl the send-off of the century. Best flowers, coffin…everything.”
The two old ladies sitting in the chair broke down in tears again as Laverne threw herself on Paul and hugged him. “You is a angel. Knowing we ain’t got no money and coming all the way up here to let we know you goin’ pay for the funeral all by you’self.”
Paul’s grin disappeared. “Pardon?”
“Yes! I tell my mother that we need help burying Earl, and she called wunna, but I didn’t realize that you were going to pay for the whole thing.”
Paul coughed uneasily. “Uh, that’s not the message I got.”
Holden clapped him on the shoulder. “Paul, you’re a regular stand-up guy and Earl deserves the best. I’ll send a nice wreath as my contribution." He smiled at Paul. “It's the least I can do.”
* * *
THE DRIVE BACK to the parlour wasn’t as jubilant as Eileen expected. She thought Holden would gloat since he hadn’t been saddled with Earl’s funeral as Paul had been. But as the sun dipped, filling Eileen’s battered car with warm golden light, Holden mused quietly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as they turned off the bumpy lane and onto a long country road lined with banana trees.
Holden smiled sadly. “Paul and I have been fighting since he was born and now I wonder if we’ll ever stop.”
Eileen bit her bottom lip but said nothing.
“Laverne said she wants the best for her brother and I’m trying to remember if Paul and I ever genuinely felt that for each other. The fact that I have to question it is sad.”
Holden looked at her. “I don’t want a full church and empty sentiments when I die. I’ve spent too many years in cold rooms with the dead and at some point, I’d like to enjoy the company of the living.” He sighed. “But sometimes… that feels like too much to ask.”
Chapter 6
Life on a Desert Island
The whistling frogs had clocked out and the roosters were crowing when Eileen’s phone rang the next morning. Though the sky was still the colour of acid-washed jeans, she shook off sleep and quickly dressed for work. She stuffed a pack of Sodabix in her bag as she ran down the apartment stairs, being careful to move quietly so she wouldn’t wake the mother and baby who lived downstairs. The two-story building was the tallest structure in Hampstead Village, a modest district crisscrossed with winding tracks buttressed by palings and barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Even at that early hour of the morning, she noticed subtle signs that the village was coming to life. Outdoor eaves sheltered bulbs that illuminated backyard bathrooms as some villagers eased into corrugated metal enclosures, tremulously testing the water with gritted teeth. Others rubbed sleep from their eyes as they ambled across congoleum-covered floors to open brightly painted jalousie windows and put battered kettles on stoves.
The blue Toyota was in its usual spot in the recess under the staircase. Since the police had announced the Cane Slasher’s presence, she had taken to locking the car every time she left it unattended. Now she muttered under her breath and looked over her shoulder at the overgrown field next to the apartment as she fumbled with the keys. She scrambled into the car and turned the ignition. As she drove and chewed a biscuit, she listened to the news with interest. The government pegged the next year as one for growth in several sectors; she prayed it materialized so she could find a job with better pay and better hours.
Just before she turned onto the main road, she saw two people at the bus stop. Despite not knowing them, but she knew bus fare could suck the life out of a low-income wage. That was enough to make her roll down the rickety window and ask, “Y’all going to town?”
They nodded and hurried to the car. Eileen leaned over and pulled the passenger door handle since it couldn’t open from the outside.
“Morning,” both of them chirruped to Eileen with a slight twang that squeezed the life out of the ‘or’ in the word. The man who introduced himself as Chris got in the
