Going Home - Chapter 25

The next few days were a blur. Mom basically shut down, alternating between hours of crying, and just sitting, staring blankly ahead, just zoned out. Although they had a family plot, that my mother’s parents had bought before they passed, there was still the viewing and funeral to arrange, which I couldn’t have done without Rosita.

On top of keeping her restaurant going and working on the food bank nonprofit, she helped me make calls to the mortuary, insurance companies, and funeral home to get everything arranged. More than just helping with the logistics, she was a foundation I could lean against. My father and I weren’t particularly close growing up but losing him had taken a bigger toll on me than I would have expected it to. Several nights, after getting Mom in bed and making sure she was okay, I’d go to Rosita’s house and she would just hold me so I could grieve.

After a night at Rosita’s, Tessa went back to stay with Mom. The two must have really got on well that first night Tessa stayed with them, because she was very concerned with making sure Mom was fed and taken care of, despite getting little response back from Mom, who was still in a fugue state. If I was one to psychoanalyze, which I’m really not, I’d guess she was trying to keep herself busy. Her life had pretty much fallen apart in that gas station two days before Dad’s heart attack and it was pretty unlikely she would have already gotten over the beating she’d received. Of course, it was also just as likely that she’d leaped without a net when she’d decided to leave him, because he’d made sure she had no resources to get away and had forced her to ostracize herself from her family.

Over time, those wounds would probably heal, but hundreds of miles away in a place where she’d been purposefully kept from making friends, she’d had no one to turn to when she decided to leave him. It was a testament to both how bad things must have been with him and her own strength of character, but it would also mean she’d have little choice but to cling to any lifeline she was offered, which in this case was us. Staying and helping Mom at least guaranteed food, a roof over her head, and some protection when Lonnie returned.

While Rosita helped me cope with Dad’s death, Tessa gave us the ability to still get those daily tasks done that didn’t disappear just because we’d had a tragedy.

We had the viewing three days after Dad passed, and the turnout was incredible. A lot of the people who stopped to pay respects were guys Dad had worked with for years in the mines, but a lot were people from the town and even far out into the county who I was pretty sure Dad had never even had conversations with. They were all there because of Mom. Between her years teaching in the local elementary school and her involvement with the church, Mom had probably been in contact with every family in the county at one point or another. There was even a large contingent of mourners from both Summersville and all the way out in Charleston who’d come to pay their respects, to both my parents.

The funeral itself was, if anything, a bigger affair than the viewing. Admittedly, the church wasn’t large and normally only held a few hundred people on Sundays, but it was packed with people standing along the walls and even outside the front door. Mom had recovered a little as the shock of Dad’s sudden death started to wear off. I think getting out of the house for the viewing and the normal obligations she felt towards social duties had really helped push her back into being herself. I wasn’t sure she’d ever fully recover from Dad’s death, since the two had been together since they were teenagers, but she was at least eating normally again and talking to people without falling into fits of sadness.

She’d declined to speak, since she didn’t trust herself to talk about Dad without falling apart, and instead she’d volunteered me to do it. So I found myself up in front of hundreds of people, wearing a suit and tie that I hadn’t tried on in years, having to sum up my complicated relationship with my father. I’d tried to write it out ahead of time, but every attempt ended up crumpled and thrown in the trash. Now, Mom was in the front row, sandwiched between Rosita and Tessa, looking at me expectantly, so I decided to just start talking and hope for the best.

“It’s hard to know what to say about my father. Hell, I think some of you knew him better than I did … sorry Reverend,” I said, both for my mother and the Reverend Dalton, who made a face at my swearing. “My dad came from a generation where a man was expected to go to work and provide for his family, and he did that as good as any man could have. He might not have had long talks about hopes and expectations and feelings, but he made sure I never went without. He supported me when I was at my dumbest and made sure I got to do all the things he hadn’t been able to do growing up. He showed me how to be a man by living his life the only way he knew how. I saw the respect he got from his friends, from the men he worked with, and from the community. He always kept his word and never failed to follow through on a promise.”

So far, I’d been winging it, but I looked over and saw the owner of the hardware store, looking uncomfortable in his Sunday suit, a long-forgotten memory popped into my head.

“I’m reminded about something that happened when I was about ten years old. The mine had just had one of their big layoffs and a lot of guys were out looking for work, and Dad didn’t know if he was going to be kept on or not. We’d had some damage to the roof during a storm, and he sent me down to the hardware store to get some supplies. I, being the dumb kid I was, forgot the money he’d left for me on the kitchen table, so when Mr. Greer asked for it, I just stood there like an idiot. Keep in mind, everyone in town knew about the layoffs, and no one knew who was going to have a job the next day. I remember Mr. Greer looking down at me and saying, ‘It’s okay. I’ll get it from Donald the next time I see him. I trust him.’ And that was it. I went home with the stuff for Dad. He knew my father and knew he’d pay his debts, even if he lost his job in the mines. My dad was a lot of things, a provider, a leader, a friend. But most of all, he was trusted. I’ll miss you, Dad.”

I stepped out from behind the podium and Mom got up and gave me a hug, tears flowing down her cheeks. I realized I really did miss him. We hadn’t been close, but he’d been a steadfast presence in my life that I wouldn’t ever be able to replace.

The preacher closed out the service and we had a procession out to the grave site, where we laid Dad to rest. Rosita was holding my hand tight as I sat in the front row under the tent the funeral director had set up, watching as they lowered Dad into the ground.

Tessa had gone back to the house to heat up and set out the food Rosita had brought over that morning for the reception. A lot of ladies from around town had been dropping over all morning before the service, leaving cakes and casseroles which we added to the plates to be served. About half the mourners went back to their lives, since a lot of them were business owners who couldn’t keep their stores closed all day, but a lot came back to the house afterward.

We had cars lining either side of the county road and I felt bad for any trucks that had to come into town that afternoon, since it was going to be a pretty tight fit. Mom had gone into hostess mode as soon as we were back, fretting over all of the preparations. Tessa did her best to keep up, but I think Mom needed this to focus on so no one tried to get her to back away. I felt a little bad for Tessa, who hadn’t signed up to be run so ragged, but she didn’t complain. She was to start working with Rosita in the morning. She’d been pretty excited about it, so at least she had that to look forward to.

The reception went on for three hours, with people eating and telling stories about Dad. Most of them I’d never heard before. I guess people just assumed you knew your parents, and so never told you about all the little interactions they had with them. In Dad’s case, it was like hearing about a man I’d never met. Stories about practical jokes and youthful indiscretions painted a picture of someone that, honestly, I think I would have wanted to be friends with. It’s strange how hard it is to think of your parents as real, three-dimensional people instead of just being your parents. It’s even stranger to only start thinking about them for who they were after they were gone.

As the house started emptying finally, I found myself out on the porch on the big swing Mom liked to sit on sometimes, holding hands with Rosita, just looking out at the fields across the street and the peaks in the distance.

“That was a really nice eulogy you gave your dad,” she said after we sat silently for a few minutes.

“Thanks. I felt like I was just rambling.”

“Well, it started that way, but you stuck the landing. I think everyone could see how much you loved your dad.”

I just kind of shrugged, not sure how to respond to that. Not that I didn’t love my dad, because I did. It was just that the emotions around it were complicated.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Good … I mean … I don’t know.”

“How about you try rambling for a bit and see where you end up.”

I laughed but gave it a shot.

“I guess I’m just confused. I mean, I miss my dad and I’m really sad he’s gone, which, in itself, feels strange. We weren’t particularly close when I was a kid and we never really fixed that. Even when I moved back, we’d say hi, watch a game together, but everything was superficial. Now that he’s gone, though, I feel like I made a mistake. I really loved him and wanted more of a relationship with him, but it took him dying for me to realize that.”

“I can see how that would be confusing,” she said after I fell silent and it was clear I wasn’t going to add anything else.

“Yeah, but that’s not the really confusing part. The thing that’s really messing me up is that just before he collapsed in the kitchen, my life was just about as good as it’s ever been. I can’t remember a time I’ve been happier than since I met you. Even after the whole Tessa thing, I was still walking on air, because I knew I was going home to you. I still feel all that happiness; but with the sadness about my dad on top of it, it’s got me all turned around.

“I think that’s only natural. I think the hardest part is giving yourself permission to feel happy. Yes, you’re sad, and rightfully so, but that doesn’t mean it’s not okay to feel happy. It’s okay to smile and laugh if you feel like it. Keeping those good things at a distance because you feel like you have to be miserable will just make you bitter about it, over time.”

“Did that happen after Tommy?” I asked, sensing she wasn’t just talking about what I was going through.

“Yes, although I wasn’t trying to change the conversation. I just had something similar happen, and thought it would be helpful for you.”

“I know. I want to hear it.”

“When Tommy died, I was crushed. He was my whole world. I mostly came here out of respect for him because he’d wanted me to and left the land to me. But then I bought the restaurant and it was all I ever wanted to do. I was still so sad about Tommy, but I was living in America, on my own for the first time, running my own restaurant. It was my dream come true, but every time I felt happy about it, I’d get mad at myself because I was also still sad about Tommy. I thought, by being happy, I was somehow letting him down. I started to get mad thinking about Tommy, and working in the restaurant felt like work instead of a dream all of a sudden. I swear if my lease had been close to being up, I would have just given it up, sold the land, and gone back to Puerto Rico.”

“What changed?”

“One day I was sitting in the house that Tommy built, looking at everything he left me, and I realized how stupid I was. Tommy wanted me to be here. He wanted me to be happy. He’d left some money for our parents, but he’d left all this for me, because he loved me. I could almost hear his voice saying ‘Eras un revolú,’” she said, putting on a deep voice. When she noticed my uncomprehending look, she said, “You’re a mess. He’d say it to me whenever I’d get all tangled up in something that was bothering me. He’d call me es stúpido for thinking I’d ever expect him to be sad. I think, maybe, your dad would be the same. I only really met him that one time when we had dinner at your house, but I got the impression he thought people should be practical. Do what they want and not what they thought others would want.”

“Yeah, he was practical, that’s for damn sure.”

“See. Would he want you to be mad at yourself for being happy?”

“Hell, I don’t know. We didn’t really talk about feelings.”

“You do know, though. If you think about it.”

“I guess,” I said, shrugging again.

We fell into silence again for several minutes, as I thought over what she’d said and tried to think over what I was feeling.

“I guess … I guess I’m also a little all over the place on what I want to do.”

“Still thinking about moving away when the summer’s over?”

“I don’t know. I actually like working at the sheriff’s office, which is a huge surprise to me. If it had been like this in New York City, I don’t know if I would have left.”

“Good,” she said, sounding suspiciously non-committal.

“Good, huh?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Not in words, but I can read you. Yes, I am more than happy with you. If anything, you’re the whole reason I’m conflicted. Even though I like working for Orville, it still feels weird to be back here. Maybe you were right and teaching gym wasn’t for me, but I could find somewhere else to be a deputy. Somewhere where I didn’t grow up and where not everyone knows me. But you’re here, so I’m conflicted. I don’t suppose, if I asked you to, you’d leave with me? Find someplace new to settle down.”

“No. I’ve got the loan application out for the food bank and the restaurant, and I like this place. I guess I get why you’d not love being here, but I think it’s great. For the most part, the whole town looks after each other in ways I bet never happened in New York City. There’s a sense of community here that’s amazing.”

“I guess,” I said. “And I knew you wouldn’t want to leave, since you’ve got so many good things happening, which is why I’m confused. If you were okay leaving with me, I wouldn’t even have a question about what I’m going to do. But with you staying, I’m torn. I want to be with you, but I don’t think I want to be here.”

“I know. I can’t make the decision for you, though. If I tell you what you should do, and you end up being unhappy, it would be poison between us. You have to make up your own mind. I … you mean a lot to me, so I know what I wish you’d choose. But I’m not going to choose for you.”

I could almost hear the unspoken words she was about to say before she switched. I think she knew that, if she said it, it would be the same as making up my mind for me, which is why she switched. But I also know she would have meant it. I was about to tell her all of that when a car pulled up directly in front of the house and Lonnie Moss got out, a shotgun in hand.

“Call Orville and keep Tessa inside,” I said as I jumped off the swing.

I knew what Lonnie was capable of, and there was little doubt about what he was planning. Thankfully, under my suit coat, I was wearing my sidearm on a belt holster.

I actually hadn’t realized I’d had it on until Mom noticed it on the way out of the church and gave me an earful about bringing a gun to Dad’s funeral. Of course, this was West Virginia, so the odds were good that I wasn’t the only one armed in that church, but I wasn’t going to argue with her about it.

I hadn’t even worn it on purpose. Because there were only three of us and there was no telling when we’d be called in on an emergency, one of Orville’s standing policies was that we be armed at all times. There were exceptions, such as when traveling on non-department business, but it was clear if we were in town, we should have our service weapon on us. He’d even issued us belt holsters for wearing under clothes to make it easier.

I’d only been working for a few weeks, but I’d dutifully clipped the weapon to my belt every time I left the apartment or Rosita’s house. It’s surprising how quickly something like that can become habit, and I’d done it when I’d gotten dressed that morning for the funeral.

Now, with Lonnie standing at the gate to my parents’ house, I was glad I did. I pulled my service weapon and pointed it directly at him just as he was reaching down to open the fence.

“Freeze, Lonnie. Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

He looked up as the fence swung open and froze with the shotgun still in one hand, pointing down to the ground.

“I just want to see Tessa,” he said, not moving.

“With a shotgun? Not exactly a good look for a guy out on bail. I thought they put an order of protection out as part of your bail agreement.”

“I know she’s in there. I want to see her,” he said, the hand holding the shotgun going white as his grip tightened.

“That isn’t going to happen, and you know it. You need to set that gun on the ground and go back to your car. You’re very close to making a stupid mistake here, Lonnie.”

“NO,” he screamed. “You’re the one making the mistake. Did you two know each other before she tried to leave me? Is that why she’s been staying at your house? What have you been saying to her?”

“Lonnie, you’re losing it. You’re going to end up back in jail, and they won’t give you bail this time. Be smart about this. Put down the gun and back away.”

“NO. I want to see Tessa. NOW!”

As he yelled the last part, he started to bring the weapon up, his offhand going down to grab onto the shotgun’s slide.

This wasn’t a New York City bodega and he wasn’t a twisted-up nine-year-old. Lonnie knew what he was doing and had all the chances in the world to make the right decision.

I didn’t hesitate. As soon as he started to move I pulled the trigger, aiming center mass, just as I’d been taught. I fired once and then a second time, instinct from all the times at the range with instructors. This was the first time I’d ever fired my weapon at a human being, but I also knew if he brought that gun up, he would have shot me, he would have shot Tessa, and he would have shot anyone else who got in his way.

I honestly felt nothing as I watched the bullets slam into his chest and he fell backward, the shotgun dropping from his hand. The only thing that ran through my head was the training they’d drilled into us repeatedly. Keep my weapon up. Approach the subject. Be aware of his hands and any weapons.

His hands had gone to his chest pressing against the wounds, blood seeping through his fingers. The shotgun was several steps away. I kicked it further away from him when I got to it, my weapon still pointed at him, my finger still on the trigger.

“Lonnie,” Tessa yelled from the porch.

“Keep her back,” I said, calmly, hoping there was someone with her.

I stopped just out of foot range from him, in case he decided to try and kick me, maybe in an attempt to get my weapon. It wouldn’t have mattered.

Lonnie coughed, blood spattering the side of his face as it arched out of his mouth, said, “Fucking bitch,” and died.

I holstered my weapon as Rosita lost hold of Tessa, who came running towards Lonnie. Since this was going to be a crime scene and the last thing Tessa needed was to be more involved in it than she already was, I grabbed her as she made a dash for Lonnie, pulling her into tight hug.

She fought against me, but only weakly.

“He was going to kill me, wasn’t he?” she asked, noticing the shotgun next to him.

“It doesn’t matter. He can’t hurt you now.”