Reed Coleman - Empty ever after

“Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.”

“So, y’all still interested in Mr. White’s crazy-ass sista?”

“Depends.”

“Man, don’t play me like dat.”

“How should I play you?”

“I play for pay, man.”

“Yeah, I figured that out already. I got no problem with paying if I get a taste of what it is I’m paying for. But I have to warn you, Marlon, I’m not nearly as interested as I was that first time we spoke.”

He thought about that a second. “Fair ’nough.”

“I’m listening.”

“Mr. White, he was a good man. He really gave a shit ’bout his students and all. Helped me out with money sometimes too. Got me into treatment and everything, f’all the good dat did. When he died, his sista tried to make us into like some fucked up little family, havin’ us over for dinners and shit, but she wasn’t like Mr. White. She was all spooky Jesus and shit. She be playin’ us like old cassette tapes of Mr. White wishing her Happy Birthday or Merry Christmas. It was weird, man, hearin’ his voice and all. Then she get judgmental and shit, tryin’ to tell us all how to act. Mr. White, he wasn’t never dat way.”

“These cassette tapes, were they only Jack’s voice?”

“Mostly, but sometimes there was this other man on there.”

“Patrick?”

“If you say so. He was young. I can say dat. Been a long time, man.”

My heart was racing and my mind was a blur.

“Yo, Five-O, y’all still there?”

“Sorry, Marlon. I got distracted there a second. What happened with these dinners?”

“Without Mr. White, most of us, we went our own ways. Some of us went farther then others, if y’all hear what I’m sayin’.”

I read between the lines. “How long a stretch did you do?”

“Ten year bid in Kentucky for movin’ a little rock.”

“That’s a long time inside.”

“Man, when y’all doin’ nigga time in Kentucky, ten minutes a long time inside.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t.”

Touche. “So what happened?

“I don’t hear from his sista again until like eight weeks ago. I guess she heard I sometimes still went out to the cemetery. Dat’s how she got my number, from one of the others.”

“What did she say?”

“She all nice and shit now, sayin’ how she appreciates me still visitin’ her brother and all.”

“But…”

“But dat she askin’ everybody not to go out to the cemetery for a few weeks. She say some shit about them doin’ some ground work.”

“That’s weird.”

“I told you, man. She crazy.”

“Marlon, I gotta ask. Why didn’t you talk to me when I first called you and why’d you wait until now to call back?”

He didn’t answer. It was price-setting time, but I didn’t feel like haggling.

“How much?” I said.

“Five hundred.”

“Sold. Now let’s hear it.”

“Y’ail think I’m some kinda fool nigga? Dat was way too easy. My price goin’ up.”

“Don’t mistake my impatience with stupidity, Marlon. I’ll throw you another hundred, but then the bank’s closing forever. There’s a limit to how much I’m willing to spend to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Okay, cool. Six hundred.”

“Six hundred,” I repeated. “So what took you so long to call me back?”

“She call me last Friday, all apologetic and religious and shit. Kept sayin’ she was sorry and dat the Lord will be with me. Hell, man, the next time the Lord is with me, dat’ll be the first time. But I didn’t disrespect her or nothin’. I guess she jus’ a crazy old lady after all.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe. Did she say what she was sorry for?”

“I didn’t ask. Jus’ wanted to get off the phone.”

“Hey, Marlon, how’d you like me to hand deliver that money tomorrow?”

“Tonight would be better, but I s’pose I can wait.”

“I suppose you’ll have to.”

I knew something wasn’t right the minute I turned the corner onto Mary White’s street. There was a local agent’s For Sale sign up at the edge of the meticulous little yard in front of her house. Hung beneath the larger sign was a smaller one. “Priced to Sell,” it read. Both signs swung gently in the early afternoon breeze. A blue jay perched on the mailbox, cocked its head at the signs and flew away. He wasn’t buying.

Marlon Rhodes had wanted to tag along and though I could’ve used the company, I decided to part ways with him and my money back in Cincinnati. Showing up on Mary White’s doorstep with Marlon in tow would have been tough to explain away. Never mind Marlon, I couldn’t think of what the hell I was going to tell her about my being there. I guess I needn’t have worried.

There was no answer when I knocked or pressed the front doorbell. I called her number on my cell. The phone rang and rang and… That was funny. I knew she had an answering machine. I’d left messages on it. I could hear her old fashioned phone ringing out in the street. My belly tied itself in knots. I remembered what happened the last time I listened to an unanswered telephone. I walked around the house, cupping my hands against side and back windows. I knocked on the rear door. Mary White was gone. Coming back around the front of the house, a young, chubby-faced woman with dull brown hair and a lazy eye called to me from the adjoining yard.

“She ain’t around,” Lazy Eye said, a little boy crying from inside her house.

“I can see that.”

“You interested in the house?”

“Might be,” I lied. “Do you know where the owner is?”

“Traveling.”

“Traveling?”

“Yup, that’s-” She was interrupted by the boy’s crying. “Shut up! I’ll be right in. Eat your cereal.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Nah. My neighbor and me, we don’t get along so well. But you can try the real estate agent. He’s nice. Name’s Stan Herbstreet. Sold me and Larry our house. Stan’s office number’s on the sign. You a family man?” she asked, with a suspicious twist of her mouth.

“Sure am. Got a grown daughter and a little boy about three from my second marriage,” I lied some more. “Gonna do some work at the Air Force base.”

She stepped toward me and whispered conspiratorially, “Please take the house. The old lady’s a nasty bitch who hates my kid.” On cue, the kid wailed. She turned over her shoulder. “Shut up! Mommy’s talking to the nice man who’s going to buy Mary’s house.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess I’ll make that call to the real estate agent. Thanks for-”

“Listen, if you are really interested…” Lazy Eye stepped even closer, looking this way and that. “I know how you can have a peek around inside without bothering Stan. The old biddy keeps a key in the wood planter on the patio. This way when you call Stan, you’ll have a better idea of what you should offer.”

“Gee, thanks a ton…” I offered her my hand.

She took it. “Roweena. Roweena with a double-e.”

“Thanks, Roweena double-e. I hope I like the house.”

“For our sake, I hope so too.”

The key was right where she said it would be. I smiled and waved that I had found it. I walked very slowly to the back door, praying Roweena would go attend to her screaming kid. She did, finally. The key slid into the cranky old lock and turned with a little help. Stepping in, I held my breath. Finding the kid dead affected me more than I was willing to let on… even to myself. When, at last, I inhaled, there was a bit of mustiness in the air, but nothing more.

The museum piece house was as neat and clean as I remembered it. All of it except for Mary’s bedroom. Understandably, this room hadn’t been part of the original tour. It smelled of camphor, cloves and orange peel; of lilacs and roses; of dried flowers from a dried-up life tied in a sack and tucked away in a corner somewhere amongst her unrealized dreams. Mary had packed in a hurry. Her ancient dresser drawers were all open and askew, the closet door ajar. Empty hangers were strewn about the room: on the bed, on the floor, at the foot of the full-length mirror. Her jewelry box was empty too, dumped upside down on the bed on a pile of hangers.