Color of Forgiveness (6 page)

Myra’s mouth drops open. Gasps and murmurs
immediately break out all over the room. But Myra can’t tear her
eyes away from the minister whose pants have fallen down around his
ankles exposing his white boxers. Myra blinks once before swiveling
her head quickly towards Susie. Susie simultaneously turns towards
her, mirroring her with a gaped mouth hanging open and eyes big as
saucers. Susie’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes crinkling up in
laughter, tears still fresh on her cheeks. They both look back at
the minister. He fumbles and after several tries, finally gets his
pants pulled up. With rosy cheeks, he mumbles into the microphone,
“Pardon me. I just got out of the hospital. Guess I lost a little
weight while I was in there.”

The room remains silent until a loud
giggle-snort sounds slips from Susie. Immediately, quiet giggles,
snorts, and trying-to-hold-it-in-but-not-succeeding laughter erupts
around the room. Susie’s older brother, who was obviously one of
those trying to hold it in, finally just bursts out laughing. Susie
grabs Myra in a hug and whispers in her ear in between giggles, “I
have goose bumps because, oh my god, that was my dad, Myra, that
was him! He just snuck up there and yanked that boring old fart’s
pants down,” she says before giggling crazily.

Myra nods, hugging her tight and can’t help
but giggle right along with her.

“It’s a sign. He’s okay. Dad’s okay. What an
awesome send-off. Only my dad could come up with something as
freaking spectacular as that. That’s the funniest freaking thing
I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” Susie whispers before pulling
away from Myra. They both giggle uncontrollably until the tears
streaming down Susie’s face turn into happy wet trails.

* * *

Dylan leaves the truck running as he sits in
Myra’s driveway, staring at her house, debating what to do. The
rest of the work Myra hired him to do is all interior work: kitchen
remodel, bathroom remodel, repairing the ceiling in the bedroom and
so on. The list didn’t include anything on the exterior so he can’t
do a damn thing on her house right now.

He’s had two or three calls for odd jobs in
the last couple of days. He went out and did the estimates but
found that he couldn’t commit to actually doing the work because
all he wants to do is be here at Myra’s house in case she shows up.
In some weird kind of way, it makes him feel closer to her somehow…
like they are still connected.

But he can’t just sit around staring at her
house all damn day. There has to be something he can do. His eyes
scan around her place, taking inventory.

The house definitely needs a paint job, but
it’s still too cold out for that. His eyes land on the railing on
her porch. The whole thing needs replacing, but if he did that,
he’d have to paint it as well. Glancing at the door, he notes that
she needs a new screen door installed, but he’d need a damn key for
that. He sighs heavily, irritated that he can’t come up with
anything when he notices her sidewalk. Frowning, he sits up
straighter. This might be something that he can do. It’s not too
cold out either because he can insulate that shit.

Turning the ignition off, he gets out of the
truck to inspect it. It’s a fucking mess; all cracked and crumbling
and something she’d have to replace at some point anyway. If
nothing else, it’ll at least keep his hands busy and his mind
pre-occupied for a little while.

Pulling his clipboard out of the truck, he
takes measurements of the sidewalk and jots it down. After checking
the measurements twice, he gets back in his truck and sits for a
few minutes, thinking again about Myra and this whole mess he’s
gotten himself in. He wishes he had someone to talk to. He needs
some help with this shit; like a woman’s perspective. Flipping open
his phone, he punches a speed dial number that he’s not dialed in a
very long time.

“Bro…?” Chad’s shocked voice answers.

“Yeah… Hey.”

“You… Is everything all right? Is something
wrong?”

“No. Everything’s good. I just… wanted to
talk.”

The line goes quiet. Chad clears his throat.
“Bro, you haven’t called me in… years. Can you hang on a second,
man?”

“Sure.”

Dylan can hear him talking in the
background.
“Take over here for a second.”

“Okay. I’m back. Jesus, Dylan, this… you
don’t know how much this shit means to me… you calling me. I’ve
missed how we used to be, you know? You used to be my goddamn best
friend. I miss that shit. But I understand why you haven’t called,
I really do, man, I really do.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Dylan says before
clearing his throat. “I know I’ve not done things the way I should
have, but I didn’t really know any other way to–”

“It’s okay, man,” Chad says, interrupting
him. “There’s nothing to be fucking sorry about. The shit you’ve
been through…”

“Yeah,” Dylan says, acknowledging what Chad
can’t say.

“So, what’d you want to talk about?” Chad
asks excitedly. “Oh, and fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t get to call you
back the other night. Has mom called you?”

“No.”

“Well, she was planning to but things have
been fucking nuts around here. Nat started having pre-term labor.
She’s okay now, but she’s on full bed rest until the baby comes.
And she is so fucking pissed about it, too. Mom’s been staying at
the house, helping her during the day while I work and also helping
out with the boys.”

“Damn, I’m sorry. Is the…” Dylan says before
swallowing hard, “… is the baby going to be okay?”

“Yeah, we think so. The doc acted like if
she stays strict on her bed rest that everything will be fine. I
won’t let her lift a fucking finger. It’s driving her crazy.”

Dylan chuckles. “I bet.”

“Hey, you never got to tell me why Sabrina
showed up. I’ve been wondering about that shit.”

“Oh, well, she, uh…” Dylan mumbles. He can’t
tell Chad why Sabrina got his address from the kids because Chad
doesn’t know everything that went down between him and Sabrina. But
he can tell him why she showed up on his doorstep. “I guess she
stopped by the cemetery on her way to work the morning after we
were there. Said she does it every year. Something about how she
likes seeing the gifts people leave. Anyway, when she got there…
well, it was bad. She kind of fucking lost it and drove straight to
my house.”

“Lost it? What do you mean?”

“Someone vandalized the tombstone.”

“What the fuck?” Chad shouts.

“We didn’t find out until later, but I guess
a group of kids came in and vandalized a bunch of tombstones,
twelve of them in fact. It happened sometime that night… after we
left.”

“Fucking hell,” Chad mumbles. “What did they
do to it?”

Dylan grimaces, his stomach twisting into
knots as he pictures it in his mind again. “They… they spray
painted some shit on it and took what looked like a sledgehammer to
it. It was cracked down the middle and one of the edges broke
off.”

“Goddamn it! Those motherfucking assholes!
How could someone do that shit? I swear to god, if I knew who did
it, I’d kick their asses across the whole goddamn state of Idaho.
What the hell is wrong with kids these days? That is some sick
shit. Jesus Christ, no wonder she came to see you. What the hell
did you guys do?”

“Well, we drove to Boise together, and we
fought pretty much the entire fucking time. She hates that she
didn’t get to help pick out the… the tombstone, you know, when it
happened. You remember what a fucking mess she was… Anyway, she
said since this one was ruined, she wanted us to both pick out a
new one. I understood where she was coming from, but there was no
way in the goddamn fucking universe I was gonna let her remove that
stone and replace it. You know how important that shit is to me.
It’s like… I don’t know. I don’t even know how to explain how I
feel about it. It’s symbolic or some shit. It means… It just means
everything to me.” Dylan doesn’t want to think about how many tears
he’s shed on that piece of rock.

“Goddamn. I understand, bro, that’s some
deep shit.”

“Anyway, we got there and called the cops
and filed a police report. They told us shit couldn’t be done about
it, of course, because they didn’t have time to deal with
small-time vandals.

“So then Sabrina threw a damn fit and said
she wanted a new stone no matter what. I ended up having to go in
and consult with the funeral director to find out what my rights
were since we were divorced. He said she couldn’t change it unless
she went to court and got a judge to grant her a court order.
Jesus, we fought about it for what seemed like hours.”

“Damn.”

“I told her about Harvey and how good he was
with stone work and how many years dad had worked with him and she
finally let me call him. He came out and looked at the damage and
convinced her that he could fix it and make it look brand new. So
we ended up compromising. She agreed to let me keep the old stone
as long as she could add a couple of picture frames to it, one on
each side. She wanted a family pic on one side and a single pic on
the other. So I agreed.”

“Jesus Christ, what a fucking
nightmare.”

“Yeah… Don’t tell mom about it. I asked
Harvey to keep it quiet and to not even tell dad. They don’t need
to know that shit. Harvey said he’d work on it as top priority but
if mom mentions going to the cemetery, try to keep her away. Sounds
like she won’t with everything that’s going on with Nat right now,
but you never know. It should be done in the next couple of days.
I’ll just tell her that Sabrina wanted to add the picture frames.
It’d fucking crush her if she knew what happened.”

“Yeah, it would,” Chad says. “I feel so bad
for you, bro. That’s just fucked up.”

“I know. Hey, I wanted to talk to Nat, but
before I do, could you tell her what happened so I don’t have to
repeat it? You know this shit is hard for me. Can you have her call
me later… but only if she feels like it, because it’s no big
deal.”

“Of course, bro. God, she’ll be over the
fucking moon to hear that you want to talk to her.”

Dylan’s lips curve into a small smile.

“Hey, bro?” Chad says.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling me… and for talking. I…
it’s just fucking good, really good.”

“Yeah… Well, I better go.”

“Okay. Dude, just know that I’m here for
you, all right? You can call me any time of the fucking day or
night. Even if you ain’t got shit to talk about, we can just shoot
the fucking breeze.”

Dylan smiles. “Okay.”

When Dylan shuts his phone, he stares down
at it for a minute. He feels different. Like his chest isn’t so
heavy. It felt good to talk to Chad. From now on, he has to make
more of an effort. His brother deserves a lot more from him.

Just as he starts to tuck his phone in his
pocket, it rings. Immediately, his heart rate speeds up in
anticipation that it might be Myra. But when he looks at his phone
and sees the unfamiliar number, he sighs heavily and tosses it on
the center console of his truck. Leaning his head back against the
back rest, he closes his eyes. It rings once more before going
silent. Then it starts ringing again. Frowning, he picks it up;
it’s the same number again. With a groan, he flips it open.
“Lawson,” he answers in an irritated voice.

“Dylan?” a woman asks.

“Yeah?”

“Hi.”

He frowns. “Who is this?”

“It’s Rhonda,” she says. He rolls his eyes
and bites back a groan. “Did you get my messages? I have a lot of
work that needs done on my house. I–”

“I can’t take on any new jobs right now,” he
says, cutting her off. “You’ll have to call someone else.”

“Oh. But… the new disposal you put in is
backing up,” she says quickly.

“Did you put pasta down it again?”

“No, I’ve barely even used it. Can you come
over today?”

“I can’t. I’ll send someone else to take a
look at it. He’ll be in touch.”

“But, Dylan, I need–” she says before he
flips his phone shut. He knows Ray probably won’t answer his phone,
but he decides to try him anyway. Flipping his phone back open, he
dials his number. Just before it goes to voicemail, Ray answers,
shocking the hell out of him.

“What the fuck do you want?” Ray says in a
low voice.

“Look, I need your help with something,”
Dylan says while digging a cigarette out of his pocket.

“I told you I wasn’t going to work with your
stupid ass again. Do you have a problem with your memory,
douchebag?”

Dylan clenches his fist against the steering
wheel wishing like hell Ray was here so he could bust him in his
mouth. He takes in a deep breath. “I put in a garbage disposal for
some woman. It’s backing up and I can’t go look at it. I’ll pay you
a hundred bucks to take care of it for me.”

“And why can’t you do it?”

“I’m stuck on a job.”

“Well, I’m in the middle of a job too. Why
can’t you do it?”

“I just don’t have time.”

“Bullshit. It’d probably take you half an
hour to do it. There has to be another reason why.”

“Because the woman showed up in a fucking
towel the last time I was there and I don’t feel like dealing with
that shit. Do you want the job or not?”

“Who showed up in a towel?”

“That Rhonda woman that lives over on
Elm…”

Ray busts out cackling. “Rhonda Neil?” he
asks before laughing again. Dylan rolls his eyes and lights his
cigarette, taking a deep drag. “That had to be a scary fucking
sight. You totally deserve that shit.”

“Whatever. Do you want the job or not?”

“Maybe… So has Myra come to her senses and
dumped your hateful ass yet?”

“Goddamn it. Why can’t you keep your fucking
mouth shut, huh? Myra is none of your damn business.”

Ray cackles. “You’re so easy to piss off.
I’ll do it for two fifty.”