Эд Макбейн - Love, Dad

Melanie Kreuger came out of the kitchen not five minutes later, looking clear-eyed and crisp in a pale blue robe that fell to her ankles. She saw her husband cradled in Jamie’s arms, and then came immediately to where they were both sitting on the sofa, and extended her hand to Jamie and said, “Jamie, how good of you. Have you had coffee? Would you like coffee? Les-tuh, bring Jamie a cup of coffee.”

“Melanie,” he said, “I’m so sorry for you.”

“Yes, darlin’,” she said, “but be sorry for my daughter. Jamie, dear, whut are we to do?”

He didn’t understand her at first. He blinked at her in much the same way Scarlett had blinked each time he recited his “home fum Atlanta” line.

“We’ah both Methodists, Larry and mahself, but Scah-lutt was never one to go to church, and I know it would offend her, Jamie, if we had any soht of r’ligious service for her. So whut are we to do?”

“Well, the church here in town...”

“Is nondenominational, I know. But Jamie, the emphasis is on Jesus, and I know Scah-lutt would not want anythin’ like that, I know it for a fact. Jamie, this has nothin to do with Larry and me, this has only to do with Scah-lutt. It would pain me to have a service that isn’t the soht I grew up with, but I know it would pain Scah-lutt more to have anythin r’ligious. You probably knew her better than anyone on earth, includin’ her own parents, so I’m sure you know that’s true.”

There it was again. The indication that Scarlett and Jamie had shared a deep understanding of each other, that she had looked upon him as something of a surrogate father, information that was startling and unbelievable to him. Of all Lissie’s friends, he had perhaps been least close to Scarlett. Had it been Rusty Klein who’d blown her brains out in those deserted woods, he might have understood a supposition of friendship. He had enjoyed many long and mature conversations with Rusty, and had in fact written a letter of recommendation for her when she’d applied to Bennington. But Scarlett? He scarcely knew her.

“Do you think you could talk to the minister?” Melanie asked.

“Yes, surely, I’d be happy to. About... what did you want me to talk to him a...”

“A memorial service. But not at the church, Jamie. I thought someone might contact the town supervisor to see if we couldn’t use the Town Hall...”

“I’ll take care of that. When did you want...?”

“Tomorrow.”

“All right, I’ll talk to Andy.”

“And the minister, too. I’d want him to say a few words, Jamie, but I don’t think Scah-lutt would appreciate a lot of Bible-thumping. If you could just explore that with him...”

“I will.”

“And, Jamie, I’d want you to say something, too. Because she loved you so much, my dear,” Melanie said, and put her hand over his.

“I’ll go see Andy, and then I’ll run over to the church.”

“Thank you,” Melanie said, patting his hand. “Jamie, why do you think she did this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did your daughter ever mention anythin’ about her usin’ drugs?”

“Scarlett?”

“Yes. Did Lissuh ever say she was usin’ drugs?”

“No, never.”

“Theah’s so much I didn’t know about her,” Melanie said, and shook her head. “I have the feelin’ sometimes, Jamie, that we raised a generation of strangers. But I guess there’s no lookin’ back on what we did or didn’t do, is there? It’s just... your daughter kills herself on a lonely road in the woods, you’ve got to wunduh...” She shook her head again. “I guess I’ll always try to imagine that last moment when she made her final decision, Jamie, when she put the barrel of that gun in her mouth and decided none of it was wuth a damn anymore. An’ pulled the trigger. I’ll always wonduh whut went through her mind in that very last second. But I guess theah’s no lookin’ back, is there? I guess things just happen, an’we deal with ’em, an’... an’ try t’manage. That’s it, isn’t it, Jamie? We look ahead an’... an’ try to rescue the future.”

“Yes,” Jamie said. “I guess so.”

“But it’ll seem so forlorn without her,” Melanie said, and shook her head again, but did not weep.

The minister’s name was Llewelyn Harris, and he had been leading the congregation of the town’s nondenominational church for the last six years. His wife, Bridget, had caused a minor scandal only last year by accepting the role of Blanche Dubois in the Rutledge Players’ production of A Streetcar Named Desire, appearing on stage in a half-slip and bra that revealed (among other things) her unshaven armpits. It had been the opinion of the congregation that she’d brought rather too much ardor to the scene in which she was raped by the brute Stanley, and Harris had been living since in constant terror of being transferred to some grubby little mining town in Pennsylvania. When Jamie came to him that Sunday afternoon, he had already heard about the suicide on the old logging road and frankly wanted no part of it. But he said nothing as yet, and simply listened as Jamie told him he was there to arrange a memorial service for young Scarlett Kreuger.

Harris cleared his throat. “But this was,” he said, and cleared his throat again, “a suicide, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Jamie said.

“Mm,” Harris said. “That may be difficult.”

“What may be difficult?” Jamie asked.

“The various aspects,” Harris said.

“What aspects?” Jamie insisted.

“Well... primarily, the suicide.”

“I’m afraid that’s one aspect we can’t ignore.”

“Precisely what I’m saying. The church, as you know, does not condone the taking of one’s own...”

“No one’s asking for condonement.”

“You’re asking for God’s blessing, are you not? You’re asking me to conduct a memorial service for the dead...”

“No, I’m not asking for God’s blessing,” Jamie said. “The girl wouldn’t have wanted God’s blessing, she wasn’t a religious person. Her parents are both devout, but...”

“Yes, but the victim was not. Moreover...”

“You’ve hit on the exact word,” Jamie said.

“Pardon?”

“Victim.”

“Of herself, yes.”

“No. Of something quite outside herself. Reverend Harris, I came here to ask only one thing, but now it seems I have to deal with two. ”

“Shall we take them in order then?” Harris asked, and smiled thinly.

“First... a service that doesn’t overly stress doctrine.”

“By doctrine...”

“Church doctrine.”

“Do you mean a service that doesn’t stress our belief in the Lord Jesus Christ?”

“The dead girl didn’t believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.”

“Then perhaps you’ve come to the wrong church. Perhaps you should find a religious group that...”

“The Kreugers are part of your congregation,” Jamie said flatly. Harris blinked, and then cleared his throat again. “What is your second request?” he asked.

“I don’t expect you to ignore the fact that young Scarlett killed herself...”

“I could not ignore it, no.”

“Nor can anyone else who’ll be at that service tomorrow. I think to ignore it would be to ignore the horror of what she did to herself. But I don’t want you to condemn it, either, Reverend Harris.”

“I cannot give God’s blessing to a suicide,” Harris said.

“Then we’re back to square one,” Jamie said, rising. “I’ll try the church in Talmadge. Thank you for your time, Rever—”

“Mr. Croft, you’re placing me in an impossible position. How can I with any conscience deliver a memorial service that ignores any mention of God, and further ignores...”