Shooting Matt Ch. 16

The old man's face grows hard. He's jaw clenches. He presses his thumb to the tip of his finger. There's a pulse of darkness and a scream that leaves her ears ringing. She's not sure if it came from her or not.

"Nasty damn thing," he mumbles and wipes his hand on the seat of his pants. He stands and offers her a hand. "Come on, young lady. You're quite the mess. Go get cleaned up. I'll make you something to eat."

She stares at him.

"It's all there," he answers, though she hasn't spoken. "The memories. You are you because of them. But all that silly stuff you've filled your head with, all the hurt. That's gone." He shakes his head. "None of it was your fault. How on earth could you ever think it? Your father? Oh, yes, don't doubt it, it was his fault. Does he have his own demons that drove him to it? Yes. But it's still his fault. Just like the drugs are your fault, young lady, not his, not Randy's, yours. Are the drug's your mother's fault? No. She bears fault, plenty but the choices you've made since you left their home have been your own." He pauses and the hardness sets in around his eyes once more. "And it's not your son's fault, no more than it is your ex-husband's fault. You know that, so what do you say we cut the shit on that one, huh?"

Mary Beth sinks to her knees and sobs. Through her tears, she notices the lipstick on her chest. She's a thirty-eight-year-old woman who acts as if she's still a toddler.

"Why?" she sobs into her cupped hands. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you were about to do something monumentally stupid that would cause untold pain and hurt to people who don't deserve it," his voice softens, "any more than you deserved a father full of sickness and evil and a mother too weak and judgmental to protect you." He bends over her and lifts her up by one elbow. "You don't deserve my help, if that's what you're wondering. You're no more special or important than anyone else on this sad little planet. Randy, Liam, Kent, none of you deserve my help. I guess it's mostly I get tired of watching you morons beat yourselves up and behave in such an utterly stupid fashion."

"Are you.." her lip trembles. "Are you, God?" she blurts.

The old man laughs. "I don't believe in Him. If He exists, he's out watching sparrows or something."

***

I look at her. I've never seen her before. I've seen a woman with more than a passing resemblance to her but I've never met this woman before.

"No, you haven't," she says with a smile. "Don't worry. I think this mind-reading shit is already fading," she offers. She takes my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense Kent staring at me. "Someday, not now, I'll tell you why I ended up so fucked up. Most of it was my fault but I had a lot of help getting the ball rolling. Whatever that old man was, the Mary Beth you once knew is dead, nothing more than a smear of black grime on some old man's fingertip. Listen, asshole," she's smiling but her eyes are wet, "you did your best. I never trusted myself enough to trust you. I'm sorry. None of this has been your fault. There was nothing more you could have done. So, bury the old martyr Randy beside the old junkie Mary Beth, okay?"

She pats my cheek as she stands up. She leans over and kisses Kent's cheek. "He's a very decent human being," she says, tossing her head at me. "He's also a total pain in the ass at times. Give him a break." She turns and smiles at me. "Or a smack upside his head but not too hard." She looks across the table at me. "Is it okay if I give Liam a call?"

"You don't need my permission to call Liam, Mary Bee."

She draws a shuddery breath. "I've been such a horrible mother." She turns and puts a hand on Kent's shoulder. "Oh, and the old man wanted me to remind you that you promised Brad you'd call his mom."

I glance at Kent. His face goes white, then red.

"I've been dreaming about that," he whispers.

"You may have been dreaming about it but it wasn't a dream," Mary Beth whispers back. "Call her."

"You weren't a very good mother but you tried," I tell her. I mean it. She did try. She failed but she tried. "You didn't have much of a role model." Her face goes tight. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that but I've never had much use for your mother," I tell her. I shrug. "Or for you dad, truth be told."

"Oh, there's plenty of truth still to be told," she whispers, trying to smile, "but not today." She nods her head. "But you're right. I didn't have much of a role model." She hesitates. "I'm afraid."

"Don't be," I tell her. "Liam loves you. He always has."

"My cell phone might be dead." Before I can react, she grimaces. "Hmm, I guess the old Mary Beth isn't totally gone is she."

"Stop that," I snap. "The 'old' Mary Beth was a pain in the ass, self-destructive and hard to be around but she was also tough as nails, took no shit, and did the best she could. So, just knock that shit off." I glower at her. "You know what else the old Mary Beth was good at? Hating herself. So, again, cut the shit."

"How come you never talked to me like that when we were married?"

"You wouldn't have listened. Besides, I was too busy trying to make it all your fault."

"Uh," Kent clear his throat. He looks as uncertain as he sounds. "Should I clear out? Head back to Pittsburgh? Give you guys some space? And, besides, I need to call Brad's mom. That'd be weird, wouldn't it? Calling her from your house?"

"No, Mr. Cutie Pie. It's not weird and you don't need to go anywhere," Mary Beth tells him with a smile. "There are a few things I need to explain to Randy but not now. You don't need to vacate the premise on my account." She looks around and notices the changes in the kitchen. She crosses the room and peers into the living room and down the hall. "Holy crap, Randy. What've you been up to?"

"Fixing the place up." That's true and there's no need to tell her more but I do. "I'm selling the place. I'm quitting at the warehouse, not that they know it yet."

"You're kidding me? What are you going to do?"

"I'm not a hundred percent sure," I confess. "I have some ideas about the resort, the one I used to go to with my mom. Liam's there now, if Glenna and Leon..." I stutter to a halt. Leon. I'd forgotten my ex's history with Leon.

"Leon? From college, Leon?"

I nod. "It's crazy but he married Glenna, the daughter of the woman that owns the place. They run it together."

"Married? A woman?"

"Yeah, married a woman." I shake my head. "It's a long story."

"I bet," she murmurs. "Well, that's that."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted to see Liam but I wasn't sure if I should or not. Now I know."

"Yeah," I nod. "It's probably better if you wait until he comes home."

"What? No, not what I meant. I'm going." She smiles at the look on my face. "I was a bigger bitch to Leon than almost anyone else in the world. He scared the shit out of me. I knew you loved him more than me and I hated him for it. You stayed with me because you felt sorry for me. I knew that."

"No, you didn't know a goddman thing if you thought I stayed with you because I felt sorry for you. I stayed with you because I loved you. Jesus. Seriously? Still? I do love Leon but not more than you. I would never have left you for Leon. If I love Leon more than you why would I have let you torture him like you did?"

"Okay, Randy. Okay," she whispers, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "We don't need to re-fight those battles." She lowers her hands. Her voice is firm. "But, I need to see Leon and I need to apologize. There are so many people I need to apologize to, most of them I can't, but I can with Leon. And I will."

With that she pulls a cell phone out of her hip pocket and walks toward the living room. There's no place to sit. The furniture is piled up in the middle of the room. Painting the entire of the house had been the goal of the day. I hear the front door open and close. Kent is looking stunned. I scoot my chair around the table and lean my head against his.

"You okay, big guy?" I whisper.

"That's why I haven't been sleeping," he replies. "I couldn't remember the dreams only she told me I promised to call Brad's mom."

He pulls back and stares at me. "I saw him. Brad. Not in a dream. It was some crazy vision." He shakes his head. "I'm losing my mind."

I recall the strange visions I'd had of Leon. I'm stunned to realize that was barely over a week ago. What the fuck?

"No, you're not. Not unless, I am losing mine. Not unless we all are," I answer.

In a voice as flat as a day old soda he tells me how he found himself back in a museum he hadn't been in for years, looking at picture with his lover, and, oh yeah, conversing with said lover's ghost. Two weeks ago, I'd have edged my chair away and started looking for a safe escape route. Now, sitting in my almost remodeled house, in the early morning sunshine, with my junkie ex-wife talking to our son, after being rescued from killing herself by a supernatural train engineer, I was perfectly fine with it.

"Kent, you're not crazy," I tell him when he's done. "Don't ask me to explain it but I believe you and I believe it was real and I believe you need to call Brad's mother. Fuck, I even believe he told you to call his mother, from the great beyond or some shit. Jesus."

"The thought of talking to her makes me want to vomit," he snarls. I've never seen Kent angry and now that I have, I'm glad of the fact. "He was dying and she refused to even talk to him."

"What about his father?"

"Just as bad, worse, born again assholes."

"Why do you think Brad would want you to talk to them? What does he expect you to say?"

"I don't fucking know..."

His voice trails off; I wait.

"His birthday party. He told me about a birthday party that was one of the best days of his life," he whispers.

"Maybe that's his way of telling her it's okay, he's forgiven her and is focused on the good times," I offer.

"The good times? A fucking birthday party?"

Kent has said "fuck" more in the past five minutes than in the whole time I've known him.

"It sounds like your ex wasn't the best mom," he says, staring across the table. "You think it will be easier for Liam to forgive her for that or for you?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "It's always easier to forgive someone for hurting you than it is to forgive someone who hurts someone you love."

I nod. He's right.

"I don't want her to feel forgiven. I don't want her to feel better. I want her to suffer. I want her to stare at the ceiling and know her son died and she didn't even bother to say good-bye. Fuck her. And fuck him for asking me to.," He gestures at the ceiling. I'm not sure if he means him, Brad or Him, God.

"If Brad had asked you before he died to call her, would you have?"

"Yeah," Kent agrees in a low voice.

"So, maybe he's not asking for just his mom, maybe it's something he regrets and needs your help to fix." I rub at a spot on the top of the table I know, for a fact, won't rub away, since I've rubbed at that same spot for a decade. "Look, Kent, I'm not telling you to call her. That's not my place. But if it helps, think of it as a favor to Brad, not to his mother."

I stand up, bend over and touch my head to his and head into the living room. Drama or not, ghosts or not, divine interventions or not, the house needs to be painted. That hasn't changed and it strikes me as a bad bet to wait and see if the old man shows up and paints the place with a snap of his fingers.

The furniture is bunched in the middle of the room, sitting on top of a chunk of old carpet; no point in scratching up the new finish on the floors. Painting supplies sit in one corner of the room. I swear they're mocking me. I pick up a roll of painter's tape and get to work. I've made my way about half the way around the room when Mary Beth comes in. Fuck, I'll be lucky if I get anything done today. Her eyes are wet so I try to keep the irritation off face.

"He wants me to come visit him. At the lodge," she tells me.

I raise my eyebrows. "You ready to deal with Leon, on top of your son?"

"I thought Liam was with Matt?"

It takes me a moment to process what's she's said. I'm stunned. My ex-wife has just made a sexual joke about her son, as well as an old sex partner of ours. I shake my head. It's better than her going off on "fags".

"I don't hate gays, Randy," she says, shaking her head. "I hated everyone. I'm happy for Liam. Happy for you. Hell, I'm even happy for myself, maybe for the first time since I was twelve."

"What happened, Mary Bee?"

"You haven't called me 'Mary Bee' since college," she shakes her head. "Not today, maybe some time but not today." She squares her shoulders. "Well, wish me luck." She pats my arm. "Never mind, I don't need luck. It's going to be hard but I'll stop and get a 3-pack of Kleenex on my way."

"You're going today? Don't you have to work?"

She smiles and there's the faintest whiff of the old Mary Beth in the smile.

"Well, since I expected not to be alive today. I told my asshole of a boss to take five, walk out into the middle of the street, drop trou, bend over and fuck himself with his own empty skull."

"You didn't?" I gape at her.

She giggles. "I did." Her smile slips into a frown. "You have any idea how many times that lecherous, creepy old fuck grabbed my ass? I should have sued him instead of quitting."

"But, Mary Beth, what are you going to do?"

"Dance in a club, sell dope, something will come up."

She laughs at the look on my face.

"God, sweetie, you've always been so gullible." She pats my cheek. "That's why everyone falls in love with you."

"Uh-huh, right. I think you got the wrong person. Seriously."

"The apartment's paid through the summer. I had to give three months' rent as a deposit." That slightly wicked smile graces her lips again. "I don't understand why people are so untrusting these days." She pats my arm again. "I'll be fine. I think I'm past due on shedding this life. There's only a couple of keepsakes I want from the apartment. I'll take those, a few clothes, and the few books I've held onto over the years. I need to get out of Cleveland. Start from scratch with as little shit from my old life as possible." She looks around. "What are you up to, anyway? It looks to me like I'm not the only one in the room shaking things up a little."

"You're not," I agree. "Actually, I offered to go into business with Glenna and Leon. I probably shouldn't have put them on the spot like that but I think they could really turn that place into a first-class resort. The economy is picking up a little, people got a few bucks to spend."

She frowns at me. "Glenna? Is that Leon's wife?" I nod. "Does she know about you and Leon?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

"Weird. I never thought he was bi," she says with a shake of her head. "He only fooled around with us because he was in love with you." Her face twists. "And I fucking tortured him for it. God, I'll be lucky if his wife doesn't gut me like a fish."

"Yeah, well, she does seem sort of protective of him. And, she's tough as shoe leather." I don't see any point in not being up front with Mary Beth. Leon, will forgive her on the spot. Glenna will probably forgive her but she'll never forget. Call me sexist, but that's the deal with women, in my experience, they'll give every chance in the world but when you finally get on the wrong side of 'em, you're in deep shit. They may let you back over the line but they'll have etched on their brain every detail, of every shitty thing, no matter how small, you've ever done that pissed them off.

"'Tough as shoe leather'? You always sound like you should be, like seventy-years-old or something," Mary Beth chuckles.

"Blame my mom, my grandma. I was always around more old people than people my own age."

"Baloney, Randy. You were born with an old soul. Nothing wrong with that. I shouldn't have poked fun at you."

"No, poke away. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you able to have a little fun." I put my hand on her arm. "And, I can tell you're going to be fine. I don't have the faintest fucking idea what's going on, who the fuck the old train dude is, none of it makes any fucking sense but it doesn't matter. I can see it in you; you're going to be fine. Better than fine, you're going to be terrific."

She steps into my arms. We hold each other for a moment. Whatever magic is in her works its spell on me. When I step back, all the old shit is gone, poof, the anger, worry, resentment, fear -- all of it- poof, gone. I still love her, I always will, but the sick part of it, the part that needs her to acknowledge my love and return it exactly in the way I want it returned, the part that needs her to acknowledge how she's made me suffer and for her to suffer for it in turn -- gone. Poof.

***

Mary Beth leaves. I hear her mutter a few words to Kent, who mutters a few words back. The screen door to the carport squeals, I hear her car start and she's off. I look at the roll of painter's tape I'm still holding in my hand. It seems so mundane, after all that's happened, all that's happening, but I need to get this done. More than ever, I feel like an interloper in this house. It's not some whacky feeling that the house is haunted and wants me out, though after the past few weeks, I seriously need to re-assess my views on ghosts. It's simply that I want to get on with whatever comes next. So, mundane or not, I resume taping up the trim.

I hear Kent pacing, hear him sit, hear him pace. As I finish the living room and start on the hallway, I hear the door to the carport squeal and then slam. He's not the sort of person to let a door slam. I wish there was something I could do but there isn't, not until he's ready. So, I start to tape the trim in the hallway.

It's a pain in the ass. The living room had one door and a picture window. The hallway has four doors, three bedrooms and the bath, plus the ceiling light, plus the casement around the old attic fan. Even so, I'm almost done when I hear the squeal of the door again. I glance at Kent. His face is wet. He doesn't say anything. There's a roll of tape in his hand. He starts at the far end of the small hallway.

We tape in silence. The hallway is finished. He follows me into the bedroom I've been using as a 'studio'. This is where everything changed; this drab, almost shabby, little room. The chair that Matt used when he teased me by jerking off is huddled in the middle of the room with the other few pieces of furniture and the closet shelves. I fucking hate people who paint a room and leave the closet the same old shitty color. It's fucking lazy and half-assed. Since I'm looking at the closet; that's where I start.

Kent steps past me, to the other side of the closet door and begins taping. Once again, we work in opposite directions. We'll meet somewhere in the middle. I'm taping the inside jam of the closet door when he finally speaks.

"She answered on the first ring. I would have sworn I didn't have her number on my phone. I remember deleting her contact info when she hung up on me. It was there. Not that I was surprised, not with all the bizarre stuff that's been going on. I punched the 'dial' button, expecting, or hoping, I'm not sure which, that she had my number blocked. She answered on the first ring.

"She started crying before I could say a word. I want to scream at her, tell her how much I hated her, but she started crying. When she calmed down enough for me to talk, I told her that I'd had a dream and that in the dream Brad had asked me to tell her how much he'd loved his birthday party, the one that everyone played laser tag at.