book.pdf (6 page)

her as tightly as any human could hold another person, but her five-foot-five,

hundred and thirty pound, slender frame was a dead weight in his arms and

he cushioned her fall by dropping to the floor with her.

Her cries were a pitiful sound, as they rose in crescendo along with her

mounting grief and terror.

“No! No!...Nooooo!” Squeaky, high keening moans emitted from lips

close to Clay’s ear and although her eyes were shut tight, tears streamed

freely from each corner. The moaning momentarily stopped as she took in a

deep shuddering breath, expelled it in a long, rasping rush then burst into a

desolate, full-scale weeping that violently racked her slender frame. He held

her firm within his arms, feeling her slight weight offer itself into his

comfort.

“Not again,” she cried. “Lord please, not again.” She stopped abruptly,

then began again, “He was coming over to fix the mow…mow…” Unable to

complete the word mower, she wept uncontrollably.

“I know, I know,” he whispered to her softly. She began to tremble

violently in his arms and Clayton moved his right hand from her shoulders to

guide her head to his chest. Vi drooped against him with her forehead lying

near his throat, against his exposed chest where a smattering of dark hair

peeked out. Her hot tears flowed everywhere and Clay felt them trail down

his chest and wet the front of his shirt. They dripped unchecked onto his

fluorescent swimming trunks turning the vivid blue to a dark navy where her

tears pooled in spots.

28

Clayton was aware of all this while he held her, giving her an anchor,

something she could hold onto. He felt the cold floor against his bare calves,

and the hardness of the paisley printed wall behind him. He sat holding her,

not quite a stranger, but certainly not a close friend. He was merely a young

man she knew through her son, her dead son. They’d met a handful of times

during the course of a year, and talked briefly on the phone when she was

trying to reach Craig. Nevertheless, he sat on the floor with this woman,

trying his best to comfort her, not sure if he was doing it right. Unable to

draw on anything in his past experience, he held on tight, hoping it was the

right way for her sake.

He was unsure how long they stayed this way. It was long enough that his

entire shirt front was completely soaked, long enough that his back began to

ache. She continued to cling to him, quietly weeping and rocking within his

embrace. After a while he gently took her shoulders in his two hands and

balanced her as best he could against the foyer wall.

“Wait here,” he told her looking into her tear-reddened eyes. Her long,

dark lashes, spiky from crying so long, clung together and looked like dark

crowns over each eye. He got up slowly, every part of his body creaking

from being confined in one spot for so long, and went down the hall. Clay

stopped in one of the two bedrooms off the hall, which had baseball and

football paraphernalia all over the walls, which had to be Tony’s room. He

foraged under the bathroom sink in there and finally came up with half a box

of Kleenex. Grabbing the tissue box, he rushed back down the hall toward

Vi. Sitting down again, he put the box on her lap, pulled out several tissues

and handed them to her.

She lay against the wall where he’d left her, disjointed and limp as a wet

towel, her tears now leaving a darkened trail over the front of her denim

skirt. He moved her back away from the wall and gently put his right arm

around her shoulders and rested her head against his shoulder once more.

Deciding he would give her all the time in the world, if she needed it,

Clayton laid his cheek against the top of her head and absently began to

stroke her arm. Outside, the noise of cars passing by and the sprinkler

reached his ears. In the front yard, the lawn sprinkler continued its

monotonous task, saturating the same spot in a long, splattering sweep.

After a time, she stirred, took in a ragged breath and sat up. Her face, wet

and warm against his shoulder, stuck slightly because of their close contact.

He looked at her and asked, “Mrs. Simpson, where are Tony and Janae?”

Vi looked at him, then closed her eyes and whispered, “Oh, God.” Janae

and Tony didn’t know about Craig, she thought. Vi’s first instinct was to put

off telling them, but she knew she couldn’t do that. Ignoring the skirt she

wore, Vi pulled her knees into an Indian style sitting position, propped her

elbows on each leg and buried her head in her hands.

29

Gently removing her hands from her face, Clay held them and repeated his

question.

“Ja…Janae is in....Florida… with her friend Carol…”

“And Tony?” He pressed her when she would have recovered her face.

“He...he’s at the Washington’s house for the weekend, over on Maple

Street.”

“Someone will have to call them,” he said, stating the obvious.

Again, she buried her face in her hands, as he made that statement.

Clayton didn’t know what to do. Should he take charge? His brow furrowed

in frustration, it wasn’t his place to take charge here. Then, thankfully, he

remembered Mrs. Simpson’s sister worked at her hair salon. He released her

and rose so that he was facing her on bended knee.

“I’m going to call your sister. Is she working today?”

His words caused a wave of momentary trepidation, which she dismissed

instantly. Instead of voicing her feelings she simply nodded her head

slightly. Kneeling in front of her, he looked down on her bowed head, a neat,

curly crop of light auburn hair with copper highlights. “I’m going to call her

so she can be here for you, okay?” he told her.

Suddenly raising her head, she looked up at him and began to rise. “It’s

okay, I’ll call her.”

Using his strong arms as an anchor, she pulled herself up, swaying a bit.

When she took the first step, however, she lost her balance. Luckily, Clayton

was nearby and his arms shot out to steady her.

Wanting to give her some privacy, he stood in her kitchen facing the patio

door looking out at the backyard. He looked around the kitchen. It was very

cheery and everything was clean and neat and in its place. He heard her pick

up the phone and punch in a few numbers. After a brief silence he heard the

dial tone change to a loud hum, and he turned around. She was bent over the

counter, her head drooped between her shoulder blades with the receiver

gripped tightly in one hand. Clayton walked over to her and gently pried her

fingers from the receiver, loosening her grip on the phone. Looking at the

keypad, he found the salon’s phone number, which had been programmed

into the memory. Pressing the appropriate quick dial number, he waited as

the phone rang three times before a female voice came on the line.

“Nu U Salon.”

He cradled the phone between his left shoulder and ear, freeing his right

hand, which he laid lightly across the back of Mrs. Simpson’s neck.

“I need to speak with Cynthia Edwards,” he said into the receiver.

30

Cynthia Edward’s voice came through the receiver, very professional with

just a hint of confusion.

“This is she, may I help you?”

“Mrs. Edwards are you there by yourself or is someone else in the shop

with you?”

The confusion in her voice quickly turned condescending. After a brief

pause, she asked impatiently.

“Who is this?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Edwards, this is Clayton Marshall. I’m a friend of your

nephew, Craig Simpson,” he said in explanation. “We met a few months ago

at your sister’s house. I’m afraid I have some very bad news. Craig was

killed earlier this morning in an attempted robbery.”

He heard a muffled cry. Picturing Mrs. Edward’s reaction, Clayton broke

the lengthy silence that followed.

“Mrs. Edwards are you there? Ma’am, please let me speak to whoever is

there with you.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off Mrs. Simpson during his conversation with her

sister. The hand that lay against the back of her neck fell away now, as Vi

turned to face him and gently reached for the phone. He listened as she

spoke into the phone, alternately crying and trying to console her sister at the

same time. When she hung up, Vi turned around to find Clayton standing

nearby and went without hesitation into his embrace. As her smooth hands

clutched at his shirt front, she whispered to him needlessly, “She’s coming.”

With his arms around her, the smell of her hand lotion became etched in his

mind as they stood in her kitchen. He realized it wasn't a rose scent after all,

it was more a naturally fresh scent, with a hint of flowers and very light. As

he stood holding her, other memories were stored away in Clay’s mind. He

memorized the exact angle of the afternoon sun as it spilled through the open

patio doors, gently caressing the top of her head, turning her copper

highlights to spun gold. The distant hum of a lawn mower, being used just a

few houses away, reached his ears. The scent of fresh cut grass was

paramount on the afternoon breeze coming through the kitchen window. The

refrigerator door was cluttered with numbers and refrigerator magnets. One

of those magnets held a handwritten note –
Janae, Delta Flight 104, 2:35 pm.

Another magnet held a picture of Craig smiling broadly and standing next to

his brother and sister at a lake.

Unaware that her face had become stuck to the side of his neck, she moved

slightly trying to compose herself. His own shirt, which never had much

chance to dry from before in the hallway, was totally plastered against his

chest. He spoke in hushed tones, trying his best to ease her pain. When there

31

was nothing left to say, he held her in silence, so wrapped up in her grief that

his was long forgotten.

While Clayton and Vi waited for Cynthia to arrive, Casey was across town

starting to get worried. She’d been in the shower when Craig popped his

head in to say he was leaving. At least that’s what she thought he’d said, it

was hard to tell with the water running. After reaching his voice mail

throughout the day, Casey decided to watch television for a few hours that

night. Around ten, she started dozing off and gave up waiting for Craig to

stop by. Casey turned off the television and got up to get a glass of milk.

In the kitchen, which was really part of the living room separated only by a

half wall, she poured milk into a glass. Walking back into the living room,

she sat down by a small window facing the front of her apartment. As Casey

drank her milk, she listened to the steady sound of traffic below on Main

Street. Casey tried Craig’s cell phone one more time before calling it a

night. When she reached his voice mail again, she decided not to leave a

message and went to bed.

A police cruiser patrolling the neighborhood came down Main Street just

as Casey went to bed. The squad car passed her apartment window and

turned right at the corner of Chestnut. The officer cruising around spotted a

parking spot up ahead across the street from the corner market. He slowed

down to pull into that spot, and got out to buy a pack of cigarettes. The

officer noticed a car with all the windows down parked halfway down the

block. Curious, he walked over to this car, finding it odd for anyone in this

neighborhood to leave their car windows down at night. He walked around

the outside of the car and then peered inside. Checking the glove

compartment he found a registration and insurance card. After a quick

review of these papers, he walked back to his cruiser and called in the name

on the registration. “This is 2141,” he said into the hand-held radio

connected to his dash. “I need to check on a registration. Craig Simpson,

date of birth…”

32

FIVE

Clay stood in the background, as the two sisters embraced. While Mrs.

Simpson told her sister everything she knew about the shooting, he listened

quietly, remembering that everyone in the family called her Vi. Suddenly,

Cynthia realized he was in the room and turned to him. He was taken aback

when she addressed him.

“Clayton, thank you. Thank you for being here for Vi.”

He nodded and, unexpectedly, found himself embraced tightly by this

strange woman. He was equally surprised when he found himself returning