The Grave Soul (22 page)

“Is this Jane Lawless?” came a man's voice.

“Yes.”

“It's Steven Carmody. Remember me?”

“Of course I do,” said Jane, pressing a hand to her free ear.

“Listen, I thought I should call and tell you something. It's kind of strange. I'm not sure what to do.”

Jane wondered if it had anything to do with running into Steven's brother at the hospital. Looking up at the gunmetal sky, she held her breath.

“When you were here, we were talking about Delia Adler's cremains.”

“Right.”

“The thing is, I was in the basement of our funeral home last night. We have this closet, where we keep the boxes of cremains of people that … well … that were left here. Nobody ever came to pick them up. I know that sounds cold, but it does happen. There aren't that many. In the last fifty years, maybe a few dozen.” He paused. “So it really surprised me when I went in there to look around and I found Delia Adler's ashes.”

“You did?” said Jane. Returning her gaze to the top floor of the barn, she was startled to see a ghostly visage standing at one of the windows. The face was there and it wasn't. Watery. Indistinct. Before she could register any of the features, it disappeared.

“Honestly, I was shocked,” continued Steven. “I can't imagine why the family just left them with us. That can't be what they wanted. I'm wondering if I should call Kevin … or Evangeline.”

“I think I'd leave it alone,” said Jane.

“Yeah, maybe you're right.”

“Have you mentioned it to your brother?”

“Sure, I told him.”

“What did he think?”

“He didn't say much.”

Jane wondered about Todd's nonreaction. Perhaps he knew something his brother didn't.

“Maybe it was an oversight—although I'm not sure how forgetting a loved one's ashes could be put in that category.”

“I agree with you about it being strange,” said Jane.

“Yeah. Makes me wonder … I mean, did they knowingly leave the cremains with us?”

“Hard to say what's in people's minds and hearts. But I do thank you for the information.”

“No problem. Hey, if you ever see Cordelia—”

“I see her all the time. Don't worry. Her word is good. She'll send you those comps for her first production.”

“It was really great meeting her—and, um, you,” he added as an afterthought.

Jane smiled, thanked him again, and then, as she tucked her phone back into her jacket pocket, she walked closer to the barn, continuing to gaze up at the windows. Kira had been watching her. Surely she must have heard Jane shout her name, but for her own reasons, she didn't want to engage in a conversation with her father's backup bartender. Kira was an Adler. Guthrie would have to come to terms with that. Whatever secrets the family had hidden from the world all these years had now, for good or ill, become Kira's legacy as well.

 

31

Coming through the back door into the tavern's small kitchen, Jane found Kevin standing at the work table with various bar condiments—lemons, limes, oranges—spread out in front of him. Jane assumed that she would be the one doing today's prep. She was a little surprised that he'd shown up. Then again, he didn't appear to be working, just staring at the wall.

Turning to her as she took off her coat, he said, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks. Didn't get much sleep last night. You don't look so great yourself.”

He scratched the scruff on his cheeks. “Guess this is the home of the walking wounded today.”

Jane hung her coat on a peg and then pulled up a stool. “I thought I was doing that.” She nodded to the fruit.

He seemed spacey, only vaguely tuned in to his surroundings. “Huh? Oh, well. I was free. Sometimes it's good to be busy, you know?”

“You okay?”

He picked up the lemon, squeezed it, then rolled it against the cutting board. “A friend of mine is dying. He's old. My dad's best friend. Our families were close when I was growing up. It wasn't unexpected, but even so…” He let the end of the sentence trail off. “I just came from the hospital.”

“You really have had a hard day.”

“Mom's taking it the hardest.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to fight back tears. “Can't help but think she's next. I don't believe I told you: She has cancer.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Yup. Not good news.” He straightened the knives on the cutting board.

“Cancer's not always a death sentence anymore.”

“From your lips to God's ears.” He scraped at his eyes. “I've been visiting Walter—that's my friend—in the nursing home at least once a week ever since he moved in there. I hated to think of him in that drafty old building all alone. I mean, I know there are people around him, but in every way that counts, he's on his own. Seems like a rotten way to treat a guy who helped so many people during his life. He's one of the best men I've ever known.”

Was it a self-serving comment or the truth? Jane felt certain it was a little of both.

“It's kind of odd, you know? He was doing well. And then he up and has a stroke. Of course, I guess that's the way it happens.”

“I guess,” said Jane, shifting uncomfortably on her stool.

“I was watching my mom with him this morning,” he said, resting his elbows on the counter. “I know when she sees him, she sees her future. We'll all be there one day, I suppose. It hurts to watch, to be so helpless. But the thing is, what's been eating at me lately … I mean, seeing Walter there in that bed today, knowing him the way I do … it just helped me realize how out of control my own life has become.”

“Yeah, perspective. It's a precious commodity. I've struggled to find that in my life, too. I guess everybody does.”

“I don't know. I think about my brother. He's been anesthetizing himself with booze and politics for so many years that I don't think he has the capacity for self-analysis anymore. It's sad. Sadder still for the woman he married.” He picked up the orange and examined it. “Have you ever felt like … like everything is in flux? That things are changing fast—and not for the good?”

“You mean your mother's illness?”

“That's part of it. Maybe it's the catalyst. See, I've done things in my life I'm not proud of, but I always understood my reasons. For good or ill, I was clear about it in my own mind. Now, the clarity is gone. It's all become so tangled.”

“Life as Gordian knot.”

“Exactly. If I could just find a sword to cut through it.” Kevin wiped his hands on a towel, then began to slice up the lemon.

Jane was happy to let him talk. He was looking for perspective about his life—she was looking for perspective about him and the entire Adler family. “Your mom seemed pretty religious to me when we talked the other day. That must offer her some solace.”

“Have you met Father Mike?”

She shook her head.

“He's a Catholic priest, one of her best friends. Yes, she is deeply religious. She's attended St. Andrews' Catholic church her entire life. Mike likes to think he's part of our family.”

“You don't agree?”

He pulled over the condiment holder and began to fill it. “He's not a hard-line sort of priest. It's just … he never had much of a family life growing up. He came to New Dresden when I was a sophomore in high school. Right away, he started coming over to the house for dinner at least once a week. My mom and dad felt sorry for him. He was so obviously lonely. After a while, he started acting like he was my older brother. Same with Doug and Hannah. I never liked it. I still don't.”

“Because?”

“He idealized my family, which was kind of a joke. We were hardly the picture of familial perfection. He started preaching about how important family life was, as if he was some kind of expert. It was one of his pet subjects. How it was the foundation of a person's future success. It wasn't just idealization, either—he idolized my mom and dad. That blinded him. It was clear to me that, even with a good foundation, kids could still screw up in a big way. Family wasn't a holy institution, it was entirely human. It just made him seem naive when he wanted to appear older and wiser.”

“He wanted what he'd never had?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've gotten used to the fact that he's always around.”

“Still?

“Oh, yeah. He and mom are closer than ever. He helps out at the farmhouse, and for that I'm grateful. He's just … kind of a mixed bag.” After finishing up the last of the fruit, Kevin wiped his hands again. “And that, as they say, is about all the self-analysis I can stand for one day. Your turn.”

Jane smiled.

“Look, it's gonna be crazy here the next two nights.”

“Don't I know it.”

“I think the two of us can handle it this evening. I've got Tammy Dimitch coming in to help tomorrow—late afternoon. Have you met her?”

“I don't think so.”

“She's an older gal. Knows her way around a bar. She's not interested in a steady job, but she's pretty good about helping out when I need her. As long as you don't say anything bad about the Green Bay Packers, you'll be fine. So, here's the deal. Why don't you go upstairs and catch a a few Zs. Then go get yourself an early dinner. Once it gets dark and people start arriving, it's gonna be nonstop.”

“You're sure? You don't need my help with the prep?”

“Just be back by five.”

A nap sounded like a godsend to Jane. “Okay, then.”

“Hey,” said Kevin. “Come here.” He stretched out his arms and gave her a hug. “You're a good listener. I mean that. I'm happy to return the favor anytime. Now go. Sweet dreams.”

 

32

Late Sunday night, Father Mike entered the sanctuary at St. Andrew's. He wanted to make sure the building had been securely locked before he headed back to the hospital, where he planned to spend the night at Walter Olsen's bedside. The amber light suffusing the sanctuary soothed him as he faced the altar to offer a silent prayer. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, and when he was done and had turned around, he noticed that a woman was sitting in a pew in the dimness at the back of the church.

Walking down the aisle toward her, Father Mike said, “Laurie?”

“I know it's late. I didn't want to bother you at the rectory. I thought I'd just slip in and sit here for a few minutes.”

“Is everything all right?”

She bit her lip, shook her head.

“Can I help?”

“I'm not sure anyone can.”

He sat down in the pew in front of her and hooked his arm across the back. Laurie rarely came to church these days. Mike saw her regularly at the farmhouse, and thus felt he knew her well. She'd converted to Catholicism before marrying Doug. Not that Doug had cared, but Evangeline and Henry had applied some discreet pressure and Laurie, who'd been raised a nominal Presbyterian, had complied.

“Maybe it would help to talk,” said Mike.

“It's been years since I last came to confession.”

“It's never too late.”

Laurie pressed her hands into the pockets of her wool jacket. “Do you ever question your beliefs, Father? Is that too personal a question?”

“No, it's not too personal. There was a time in my life when I had a lot of self-doubt—never about God or the church, but about what my proper role should be. I'm not a perfect priest, Laurie, but I do believe I'm on the right path. My faith is stronger now than the day I took my vows.”

“That's good. I'm happy for you.” She hesitated. “Could you not be a priest for a few minutes? Could you just be my friend?”

Puzzled, Mike said, “I think I can handle that.”

She removed her hands from her pockets and folded them in her lap. “I keep a lot of things inside me, you know?”

“Do you?”

“Everyone has secrets. I'm no exception. I think people—my family, especially—see me as generally kind and giving. I believe that, most of the time, I am that person. I'm quiet and respectful. I do what's expected of me. I'm not a complainer. Wouldn't you agree with that?”

“I would.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek. “It's partly Walt. Seeing him this afternoon, it got me to thinking … about, you know, Delia.”

Delia had been on Father Mike's mind, too—all day. “What about her?”

“I hated her.”

“You weren't alone in that.”

“But I hated her for different reasons. She was Kevin's wife. He married her, wanted to make a life with her. She had his children and she treated them like dirt.”

“I don't see the difference.”

“
I
should have been Kevin's wife, not Delia. I could have been, too, but I chose Doug. Kevin was the one I loved, but I was a coward—and I was greedy.”

“I never knew.”

“Doug was going places, had a great career path all set out for himself. He was treated with respect in the local community and I absolutely ate that up. I grew up poor, Mike. My dad scraped together a living, but he never had a plan for his life. Kevin might have been golden. Handsome. Fun and gentle. But he liked to play more than he liked to work. He was a jock and preferred partying to studying. He had no plans for his future. I thought he'd always be that way. I couldn't stand to live like that another minute, not when I had a way out.”

“Kevin never once let on, never said a word to me about his feelings for you.”

“He wouldn't. He's not the kind of guy to kiss and tell. And he didn't want to hurt his brother. Remember, I got engaged to Doug toward the end of my senior year. Doug was off at college—in his junior year in journalism school. Kevin and I were at a party one night at this friend's house out on Birch Lake. We were both drinking. We ended up walking down to the beach together. We sat there and looked up at the stars. It was one of those magical moments. Almost against our will, we told each other the truth that night. We were in love. We'd felt the connection all year, but never acted on it. Mainly, Kevin stayed away from me because Doug had more or less claimed me. I stayed away from Kevin because I couldn't see a future with him. But that night, none of it mattered.”