Jeff Abbott: Promises of Home

The silence on the porch was thick. I didn’t know what to say. After my confrontation with Trey this afternoon, the last thing I expected was the olive branch of friendship. I glanced away from Trey, from Hart, from my friends, and blinked, Clevey’s face flashing before me. Our friend was dead. So I took hold of the handles of his chair before I could think further and gently pushed him through the open doorway.

“Sure. Let’s go,” I heard someone with my voice say. I felt a soft pat on my shoulder and the bump of rings told me it was Eula Mae.

Mrs. Shivers, of course, was glad to see Trey but was shocked over his condition. She hugged his spare form a long time, almost cradling him in his chair. He described his accident-in more detail than he’d given me. It happened in Beaumont. The bull had thrown him, then trampled over him. He mentioned vertebrae I hadn’t heard of before and that surgery wasn’t going to be a help. There was no self-pity in his voice, and Mrs. Shivers responded to that, his troubles supplanting her own for the briefest of minutes. I lingered for ten or fifteen minutes until I felt the need for fresh air. I stumbled back out to the porch.

“Jordy, got a minute?” Hart Quadlander was by my side. I saw Eula Mae had once again cornered Steven Teague, who was placidly eating a piece of pecan pie. Davis and Ed squatted on the porch steps. Bradley softly crooned “Rock of Ages” to himself, swaying back and forth on the porch swing to his own beat.

“What, Hart?” I stepped off the other end of the porch, suddenly feeling exhausted. I was ready to go home.

“I know seeing Trey’s got to be hard on you. It’s damned hard on me, too.” Hart removed his hat and ran a hand through his brown-and-gray hair. “His father was my best friend, and that boy didn’t even come back for his own daddy’s funeral.”

“Now you know who you’re dealing with,” I said. “Trey’s no saint. He must be the most selfish person alive.”

“You think what you want about Trey. But he has come home, and I for one am glad. He feels sick over not having been here for his daddy-”

“Or his wife or child,” I quickly added.

“Okay. He hasn’t been here for anyone that cared about him. But he’s home now, and he’s hurting, Jordy. More than just being crippled. He’s hurting ’cause he knows he did wrong. He wants to make up for it.”

“Well and good, Hart, but don’t you think that he ought to be the one apologizing, not you?”

“I’m not apologizing for him. I’m just saying what I reckon’s brought him back. He faced death in that rodeo arena and it’s a damned scary sight. He’s come home to heal. I want you to help him, Jordy.”

“Home to heal. That’s rich. He left gaping wounds here-and now he wants to be admitted to some emotional trauma ward. Well, maybe he should talk to Steven Teague. Coddling Trey just isn’t high on my list of priorities.”

Hart pushed back his Stetson. “Look, all I’m asking is-”

“Oh, no. No,” I said as a car screeched to a halt in front of the house, nearly smashing Hart’s truck. I’d have recognized that red Hyundai anywhere. Sister had arrived, and I could tell when she got out of the car she was in a killing mood.

“Arlene, sugar, how are you?” Eula Mae tried to intercept Sister like a Patriot missile, but Sister was not to be easily downed. I saw her scan the porch, then beeline toward me and Hart Quadlander. I sensed Hart tense up and I can’t say I blamed him.

She barreled down on Hart, not even greeting him in this place of mourning. “Where is my ex-husband?” she demanded. I surmised she was past her shock over Trey’s return.

“Arlene, hello.” Hart really should have taken that foreign service test; he’s a natural diplomat. “I know you must feel awfully upset-”

“Shut up, Hart, and just tell me where Trey is,” Arlene snapped. “I don’t want to hear from you.”

Now, I’d be the first to note that Sister can be a tad sharp-tongued. I’ve been sliced, diced, and julienne-fried by her more than once. But rude; that’s never been her style. I stepped forward and took her shoulder. She slapped my hand away.

“Let me be, Jordan. I’m not about to be patronized by you.”

“I’m not about to patronize you,” I shot back. “Listen to me, Sister. This is not the time or place for you to confront Trey. People are grieving here, including me. Now, if you have any common sense left or respect for the dead, you’ll go on home. How on earth did you know Trey was here?”

“A little birdie named Ivalou called me. He’s in the house?” She’d ignored everything I’d said. “Fine. Either you get him out here or I’ll go in there and fetch him. Your choice.” She crossed her arms and I could practically see the roots shoot out of her feet. She wasn’t budging.

Hart remained silent, and I saw the group on the porch had become still. I leaned in close to Sister’s implacable face. “Sister, please don’t do this. Please don’t do this to Mrs. Shivers. For God’s sake, her boy’s been murdered. You’ll embarrass yourself and our whole family.”

Her mouth crinkled, but she wasn’t to be diverted. “I’m only interested in one former member of the family right now, Jordy. Go get him, please.”

I knew from her tone that there was no arguing with her. All I could try to do was minimize the damage. I glanced at Hart and headed up to the house.

Under other circumstances, Trey might consider me fetching him a rescue. He’d been cornered by Wanda Dickensheets and her mother, Ivalou Purcell. Ivalou’s not one of my favorite people. She always sweetens you up with honeyed words, but she’s so mean her folks fed her with a slingshot. I was not pleased she’d decided to phone Sister and stir up trouble. When I came in, Trey had a tired, indulgent smile on his face while Ivalou bragged about the fortune Ed and Wanda were going to see from their new Elvis emporium.

Ivalou leaned in over Trey and patted her helmet of tightly curled gray hair.

“I’m so glad you could come see poor Truda in her time of need. Of course it’s too bad you didn’t get to see Clevey before he passed away. Bad timing, I guess. Anyhow, I should go out and say hello to Hart. I haven’t seen him in several weeks.”

Probably because he saw you first, I thought, but didn’t say. Ivalou was one of the more piranhalike of the local widows, avidly seeking bachelor flesh to sink her teeth into. Trey glanced up at me, clearly recognizing that he was caught between a rock and a hard place.

“Ladies.” I nodded to Wanda and Ivalou. “If y’all will excuse us, I need to talk to Trey privately.”

Ivalou Purcell kept her pasted-on smile glued in place. Wanda took the hint and steered her mother into a conversation with Cayla Foradory. Ivalou followed her, but not before sharing with us: “Yes, I’m sure you two boys have a great deal to catch up on. Seen your family yet, Trey?” She didn’t wait for an answer; she wasn’t interested in one, anyway. I waited until Ivalou was out of striking range before I leaned down to Trey’s ear.

“Look, Trey, Arlene’s outside and she’s insisting on seeing you. If I don’t come back with you, she’s coming in here with both guns blazing, and I don’t want anything to upset poor Mrs. Shivers any further. So I’m sorry, but you’re going outside to talk with her.”

I could feel tension surge through his body. “Why- why’s she here now?”

“I don’t know. It’s your problem now, not mine.” I wasn’t about to get in between the irresistible force and the immovable object. I pivoted his chair on its back wheels and rolled him outside. His fingers, white with strain, gripped the armrests. Arlene wasn’t on the porch; she stood off a ways, on the grass. Hart Quadlander was talking to her, but she ignored him, her arms crossed against the cold. I saw Davis, an arm looped around Bradley; Eula Mae acting fretful; Steven Teague talking softly with Ed, who sat perched on the porch railing. Davis moved forward and helped me carry Trey and the chair down the porch stairs. I pushed Trey toward Sister, the wheels rolling softly across the winter-dry grass, the ebbing breeze chilling my arms.