David Gates - A Hand Reached Down to Guide Me

The service was at ten o’clock Saturday morning, at the funeral home down in Martin’s Falls. I got there early and found Johnny, Jesse and Amber out in Johnny’s new Pathfinder, parked next to Amber’s Chevy Cobalt that had the one primered quarter, with the heater and the radio going, passing a bottle. Johnny’s wife was nowhere to be seen, so they must have been fighting again. I climbed in the backseat with Jesse, who took a pull, wiped the mouth of the bottle with the lapel of his suit jacket and offered it to me. “Looks like this is going to be a long day,” I said.

Johnny watched me tip it up. “Pussy. You need to do better than that if you want to run with the big dogs.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“ Hey ,” Amber said, and reached out her hand. She took a pretty good pull too—maybe not the best idea because she couldn’t have gone more than one-ten, which made her a standout around here. “So listen, how this works? The minister said they’re going to have a time for people to get up and talk if they want.”

“Fuck, I will if anybody else does,” Johnny said. “Let me have that bad boy.”

“I should do it,” I said. “Would your father want to?”

“He probably hasn’t even woke up,” Amber said. “He said he hates funerals. Like who doesn’t? Fucker.”

Johnny took another slug and passed me the bottle. There wasn’t much left. “I guess I could say how he ran the grill and shit. When the firemen used to have the chicken barbecues.”

Jesse gave him a look. “ Billy did?”

“I think it was Billy. Shit, maybe I better not. Jesse, man, you were closer to him than anybody.”

“I’ll get up,” Jesse said.

“Maybe I could tell about the bird that time?” Amber said. “Where he put it in the shoe box in the office for its wing to get better and then it flew into the window? I can leave out the window part.”

I looked at my watch. “We need to get in there.”

Johnny said, “We need to finish this,” and passed the bottle to Amber.

They’d set up the casket in front of the rows of folding chairs, with a flag draped over it and the top half open like a Dutch door. You could see what looked like a statue of Billy inside, displayed not quite flat on its back and turned a little toward the audience.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Johnny said to Amber. “You didn’t tell me about this shit.” The organ was going—probably organ music on tape—but Johnny was loud enough that a couple people looked up from where they were sitting. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen in all, ladies in flowered dresses, men with too-tight suit jackets. I saw Myron in the back row, in his sport coat and a plaid shirt; he got up and headed my way. “Johnny okay to be here?” Then he must have smelled it on me. “Ho boy.”

We sidestepped into the third row of chairs, Johnny taking Amber’s arm to guide her in after Jesse and me. “Hey, wait,” Amber said. “Don’t we have to like go up and pay our respect?”

“I’m as close as I fuckin’ need to be,” Johnny said. A lady in front turned, Amber stuck her tongue out and the lady whipped her head back around and leaned to whisper to what must have been her husband. Amber got up, worked herself past Johnny and fell in behind some old guy with a four-footed cane, probably some friend of Billy’s from back in the day. He nodded at Billy like he was passing him on the street, then shuffled back to his chair. Amber stopped in front of the casket, reached in, then came back and squeezed in over Johnny.

“I touched his arm ,” she said. “I was going to touch his hand, but it looked like it had foundation all over it. Face definitely did.”

“I don’t want to fuckin’ hear about it,” Johnny said.

Somebody behind us said, “You mind keeping it down?”

Amber turned and gave the finger and I looked around: it was Junior Copley, chief of the volunteer fire department.

“Hey Junior?” Johnny said. “Whyn’t you go fuck yourself?”

“Okay,” I told Johnny. “Let’s just chill.”

“ This motherfucker needs to chill,” Johnny said. I noticed somebody behind us—it could have been Myron—getting up and walking back toward the double doors.

“How come we can’t talk?” Amber said. “I’m his only next of kin.”

A pair of heavyset guys in cheap black suits and hair buzzed down to nothing came up and stopped beside Johnny’s chair, and the fatter one of the two bent down to whisper. “Sir? Can we see you for a minute? Ma’am, if you want to come too.” The other one stood there with his arms folded like Mr. Clean.

“Bullshit,” Amber said, good and loud.

“Hey, Johnny?” I said. “Let’s not make this into a thing.” I had no idea who the guys were—they looked like small-time mafia out of Chicopee. The funeral director was head-to-head with the minister up by the casket, looking like they wanted to get this show on the road.

I stood up, then Amber, then Johnny; Jesse looked over at us but stayed in his chair. The fat one led the three of us back to the double doors, the Mr. Clean guy behind us, and out into the vestibule.

“Look,” the fat one said, “these things are heavy for everybody, you know what I’m saying? What we don’t want is—”

“Yeah, okay, you did your job,” I said. “We’re cool.”

“If you haven’t signed the visitors’ thing, it’s over there.” The Mr. Clean one nodded at a book sitting open on an oak lectern.

“Right,” I said. “Let’s get that done and we’ll go back in.”

“So you’re with them now?” Amber said.

“Sir?” The fat one touched Johnny’s elbow to guide him over to the lectern, which he shouldn’t have done, and Johnny shoved him against the wall and then the other guy was on him, twisting his arm up behind his back. Johnny broke away, swung at him, and both guys took him down. Amber went for them, but I pulled her back—that was my excuse.

“You think we’re playing now?” The fat one was panting and sweating. He took Johnny by the hair and slammed his face against the floor. The other one had his cellphone out. “Okay, you,” the fat one said to me. “I’m giving you a break, right? Get the lady out of here and we’ll call it good.”

“Where’s he going to be?” I said.

“What, you want to come with? He’ll get his phone call. You and this lady better scoot before I change my mind.”

—

I had to get Amber under the arm and march her out to my truck—I told her she could pick up her car later. She wouldn’t speak to me, but once we got clear of Martin’s Falls she made me pull over, got out, stumbled into the dead grass, went to her knees and vomited. I let her have her privacy while traffic whipped past, then found paper towels behind the seat and did my best to clean her face with some old snow. “You okay to stand up?” I said.

“We have to go back.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“What happened to Johnny?”

“Let’s just get you home. You think you can walk?”

“I can walk. Why couldn’t I walk?” She shook her head. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

I helped her back toward the truck and she sat down in the dirt with her back against the front wheel. “I think I have to again,” she said.

“Just let it go,” I said. If a cop pulled over to check us out, I might pass the Breathalyzer and I might not. She turned her head and coughed out some more. I took another paper towel and dabbed at her lips. “When did you start drinking?”

“Over at Johnny’s,” she said. “Before he went to pick up Jesse.”

“So pretty early is what you’re saying.”