F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

And then the baby had been born. She was beautiful, she was glorious, and so that was what they named her: Glory.

But soon Glory had started having fits, and the doctors at NYU Medical Center said she had a brain defect, something wrong in her head that gave her epilepsy. They tried all sorts of medications but she kept on having fit after fit after fit—the doctors called them seizures— until her eighty-ninth day of life when she went into a final unstoppable fit that lasted until she died.

All the doctors had been sorry; some of the nurses even cried. They all said they didn’t know why she had all those fits, but Poppy knew. It was Appleton blood. Some of it was in her. Dad had always said there wasn’t, but what had happened to Glory was proof. Poppy had bad blood. Appleton blood.

She hadn’t been too easy to be with after that. She totally hated the doctors, hated everyone around her, hated Charlie for getting her pregnant, but like hated herself most of all. Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to take her back to Sooy’s Boot but no way could she face Dad again. Not after losing the baby because of Appleton blood.

So Charlie had left without her. Probably told all sorts of tales about her when he got back. Poppy hadn’t cared. She totally wanted to die. And she damn well might have killed herself if she hadn’t discovered the unholy trinity: grass, speed, and coke. They hadn’t killed the pain, but they’d eased it, made it like bearable.

Some long, dark years had followed, years that were mostly a blur now.

She tried not to think about the things she did to get by. She fell in with some bad people, even turned tricks when she was desperate, OD’d a couple times, got beat up more than a couple times, and just might be dead by now if she hadn’t found Paulie.

Paulie had changed her life, and she liked to think she like changed Paulie’s—for the better, of course.

Her only regret was that she hadn’t gone back home, just for a visit. She’d been so wrapped up in herself, she never imagined something could have been wrong with Dad… that he wouldn’t always be there. And then… he wasn’t there… would never be there again… and she never knew until he was six months in the ground.

Maybe that’s what I’ll do when this is over, she thought as she finished weaving Katie’s French braid. Tending to Katie had awakened a longing in her. She’d thought she never wanted to see Sooy’s Boot again, but now…

She felt like going home. She still had family in the pines. Maybe she could like reconnect… if any of them would speak to her.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Katie said.

“Sure thing, honey bunch. And you can check out your braid in the mirror while you’re at it.

She had her halfway there when the phone rang.

Poppy hurried her into the bathroom. “Now, you stay in there till I come and get you,” she told her, then dashed for the phone.

She picked up on the fourth ring and slipped her Minnie Mouse mask to the top of her head.

“Hello?”

“What took you so long?” She knew that voice: Mac.

“I was taking the’package‘”—Jesus, she hated that word—“to the bathroom.”

“Put him on,” Mac said.

Him. That meant Paulie. Poppy knew how paranoid Mac was about mentioning names or being specific about anything on the phone. Talking to him was all about not saying things. Maybe she could see his point, but how about a Hello or How’s it going? Jesus, she hated this guy. The sooner they were rid of him, the better. She couldn’t wait.

“He’s not here.”

“Where the hell is he?”

“Out.” He wants info, she thought, let him scratch for it.

“Don’t give me this shit, girl. Where is he?”

“Shopping. Getting some tools.”

“Tools? What are you giving me? Did he get the persuader? Is it packed up and ready to go?”

“Not yet.” Silence on the other end, then a tone so totally low and cold she almost dropped the phone. “You’d better explain.” She was ready for that. She’d been rehearsing.

“It’s gonna get done. It’s just that this one’s a lot trickier than the last. We got a smaller area to work with, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Then go back to the original—like last time.”

Right, Mac, she thought. Her finger. Sure. On a cold day in hell.

She said, “Either way, it’s a different situation. We can’t exactly get this package liquored up like the last one.” What an absolute total nightmare that had been.

“So use something else. Or maybe I ought to come over and supervise.”

Oh, Jesus, no. No-no-no-no!

“That’s okay, Mac. We’re handling it. It’ll get done as soon as he gets back.”

“Yeah? What tool’s he out buying?”

“A meat cleaver.”

Another silence on Mac’s end, shorter this time. His voice was lighter when he spoke again. “Yeah. That oughta do it.”

“Quick and neat,” she said, forcing the words. She couldn’t resist adding, “But no matter how you look at it, it’s like pretty goddamn ugly. I mean, she’s only—”

“Watch it! Watch what you say.”

“All right, but—”

“No buts. And don’t get all soft and fuzzy on me. A little persuader will make things run much smoother, and get this over quicker. And besides, she’ll never miss it.” And she’ll never forget what two strangers did to her in a back room when she was six years old. Poppy thought. But I’ll see to it she doesn’t have to forget.

Poppy sighed with all the regret she could muster. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Suppose? You’d better know I’m right. Have him call my voice mail if there’s a problem; otherwise he knows where to deliver it.” Mac hung up right in the middle of her “Yeah.” Jesus, she hated him.

She got her Minnie Mouse mask back on and went to retrieve Katie from the bathroom. She needed a dose of that little girl to clear away the bad aftertaste of Mac.

12

Paulie stood in a clump of trees across from the Lynch-MacDougal Funeral Home and watched all the mourners trail away. He waited while all windows went dark one by one, then groaned as he saw Michael and Lydia appear at the back door.

“The parking lot lights, schmuck! Don’t leave’em on. It’s a waste of energy.”

The pair didn’t seem to care. They locked up and headed for separate cars; MacDougal to a Buick Riviera and Lynch to a little Beamer then drove off in the same direction. He still hadn’t figured out how those two were related, and didn’t really care. He had a problem: the sodium lamps didn’t leave a single goddamn shadow near the building. This was going to be like breaking in at noon.

But it had to be done. At least the bathroom window was around back. That gave him some cover.

He checked his pockets: penlight, pruning shears, the leather driving gloves from his chauffeur stint the other day all present and accounted for. He checked the street. When no cars were in sight, he dashed across and pelted straight through the parking lot to the back of the funeral home. He stood there panting, looking innocent, while he waited to see if he’d attracted any attention.

Nothing stirred. He crouched, spotted the white of the toilet tissue he’d left to mark the right window, and gave it a shove. The window swung in easily.

Paulie rolled onto his belly, pushed his legs into the opening, and slid through the window. A tight squeeze for his shoulders, but he managed to wriggle through and wound up standing on the toilet. He pushed the window closed and turned on the penlight.

Moving out to the dark smoking lounge, he looked around for the private door. He’d been thinking about what might be on the other side and had an idea. He stepped inside and flashed the light around. Just what he’d suspected: polished wooden boxes in tight neat rows. This was where they stored the coffins.