Chapter Fourteen

“Oh, it’s you.”

Masie stood in the doorway at James and Jack’s house, feet planted slightly apart, arms crossing her breasts. She was not happy. She’d quickly covered a surprised expression upon opening the door, with a withering glare, mouth twisted into a tight lipped frown of disdain.

“Yorley really shouldn’t be here.”

“Why is that, Masie?” There’s no way you’re pushing me away lady. Not now.

Masie raised one eyebrow, and smirked, she wasn’t moving an inch. “Yorley know why, you’re not welcome here no more.”

“That’s lovely, Masie. First you insinuate that James is my father, then you refuse my admittance to his house.” Despite quivering like a jelly inside, Holly maintained a cool exterior. Voice low, speaking in a conversational tone, she kept her calm, her fisted hands the only indication she wasn’t as cool as she looked.

“Jack wouldn’t like et that yous here.”

Holly sighed, smiled serenely. “Well, that’s just not true, and you and I both know it.” I don’t even know if Jack would expect me to visit anymore. At least I know he’s definitely not here. Holly had seen the vacant parking spot on her way up the drive, but just because the bike wasn’t there, didn’t mean a thing. “Look, Masie, you can stand there as long as you like. The reason you don’t want me coming in is because you don’t like me, or have some imagined slight against my mother. Well, that’s too bad. I’m not here for you, Jack or anybody else. I’m coming in to see James, and that’s all there is to it.”

Holly ignored the sharp intake of breath from the indignant woman, and pushed past her. James was in his usual spot in the recliner, gospel music playing on the TV. At Holly’s entrance he looked up, eyes lighting up to see her. He fumbled with the remote control in his hands. “Argh. Damn nuisance of a contraption. Come here and turn ha damn thing down please.”

Despite her nerves, Holly grinned and took the remote from him, turning the volume down to a level where they might be able to talk. “How are you doing, James?”

She sat on the edge of the padded armchair opposite James, hands relaxed in her lap, and watched him carefully. He seemed calm, lucid this morning, eyes bright. As Holly sat before him in what she hoped was a manner as calm as his seemed, she hoped he did not get an inkling of how she really felt inside. She was jittery, as if she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Nerves twanged, and she felt as coiled up as a snake waiting to strike. Nervous because of Masie? Nerves because Jack may come back early? Excited because an envelope with her name on it sat on the kitchen bench at home unread? She supposed it was a mixture of all.

“You look good this morning.”

Masie had taken her position in her favorite chair. Her arms seemed permanently clamped across her chest, a frown knitted in concrete disapproval on her for head. “He es good. Don’t trouble him.”

“Geez, woman, you’re grumpy this morning. Both you and Jack must have gotten out of the wrong side of bed.” James twisted around to stare at the ill-tempered woman. He sniffed and creakily turned back to Holly, “Jack slammed out of here like a madman this morning, disappeared all day yesterday. I don’t know what’s wrong with the pair of them.”

The heat rose in Holly’s face at the mention of Jack’s name, and James leaned forward unblinking, mouth twitching in the corners. “Something’s not right between you two.”

“No, something’s not right at all, James. That’s why I’m here.”

I have to ask. If James seems to think Jack and I as a couple is normal, he can’t think he’s my father. She eyed Masie, her face set in an unreadable neutral mask. She stared back, eyes narrowing at the distasteful old woman.

I can’t let this go on, this gossip, innuendo. The only one who can tell me for sure is sitting right in front of me. She wavered for a minute, the words at the tip of her tongue. Am I being selfish? Holly shifted in her chair, uncomfortable with risking hurting the man, yet desperate for her own answers. “James? Was there something going on between you and my mother? I was told there was…an affair.”

The old man rocked back in his chair, hands fluttering to his face. “Why would you say such a thing child?”

Holly’s eyes flicked to Masie and James followed the glance. His mouth dropped open. “Masie?”

Masie leapt out of her chair, wild-eyed and furious. “Yorley have no right to ask hem such impertinent questions! You is a whore! Just like yous mother. Get out! Get out of this house!

James pushed himself out of his chair, staggered to his feet. He pointed a shaking finger at the old woman. “Masie! Yorley won’t speak that way to ha gal. Celeste…wasn’t no…whore.” His breath hissed on the last word, he stumbled back and fell heavily into his chair.

Holly leapt to her feet, attention riveted on James. Masie was ranting and raving, but Holly could not understand She’d faded to a indistinguishable roar. She only had eyes for the old man. He had gone pasty white, sweat popping out in beads on his forehead, a haunted look in his eyes as he focused on Holly. “Celeste was everything to me, she was special. I loved her very much. She needed my help and I gave it. That’s what was going on.”

Tears, fat and glistening rolled down the James’ cheeks and he pressed his hand hard to his chest. He leaned forward, mouth stretched in a gruesome toothy snarl, grunts of pain puffing through gritted teeth. Panic rose in Holly’s belly as James seemed to fold in on himself, mouth becoming slack, eyes growing hazy.

Holly scrambled to catch him as James rolled forward, dangerously close to collapsing out of his recliner. “Masie!” She screamed, panic lacing through her body, voice thick with tears of shock. “Call the doctor. Call Jack!”

Masie towered above her as Holly struggled to hold the old man, pulling him down to lay his limp body flat on the wooden floor. “You did this! You killed him!” She screeched, spittle flying from her mouth, eyes wide open in fearful rage.

“Just make the calls, Masie. It’s not too late.” Oh, please don’t let it be too late! Hands icy cold with fear, Holly grabbed a pillow of the recliner and slipped it under his head as the distraught, older woman took off at a run. James eyes opened, and he groaned, retched, hand gripping his chest. “Hurts,” he whispered.

Holly leaned over him, tears dripping onto his gnarled and pain twisted face. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She stroked his hair, sobs racking her body as she watched him struggle to breath.

“Not…Celeste…” He reached up, grabbing at her shirt and pulling her down. His voice barely a whisper, he put his mouth to her ear. “Never. Celeste. She stopped me…affair…Not her.”

James hand dropped from her shirt. A breath rattled from deep within his chest…then no more.

Holly looked into James’ now serene face through a curtain of tears. “No, no, no, no…”

She put her head to his chest and listened, prayed for a heartbeat. Nothing.

A keening, a wailing began in the room and she placed her hands on his chest. With every thrust of CPR, the wailing noise became louder, echoed, competing against the cheerful gospel music, jarringly loud in Holly’s panic filled mind.

Masie shrieked from the doorway, and ran to James side, slapping Holly hard across the face, pushing her away.

“Don’t you touch him! You did this! Don’t you dare touch him! You shut up your screaming noise, you killed him.” She collapsed across James prone body, wailing, and tears falling, dampening his shirt.

Holly scuttled backward across the floor until she hit the wall, chair, something. The keening stopped short as the breath puffed out of mouth with the shock of impact with something hard against her back.

Oh, my God. That was me, she thought blankly. She stared unseeingly at the woman crouched over the man lying on the floor, shaking with sobs, wailing with loss. Holly curled up her legs, clamping her arms around them tight, laid her head on her knees and shut her eyes against the pain. Darkness descended, remembrance began.

* * * *

Her heart beating fast in her chest, she scrambled out of the hiding place, banyan tree branches scraping at her back, getting caught in her hair. She felt and saw nothing, just needing to escape the darkness. Jack called out, his manic exit from the hidey-hole, noisy behind her, leaves scrunching and crunching under his hands and knees. “Holly, wait!”

Holly ignored him and began running down a leaf strewn path toward her house. Breath loud in her ears as she panted, air squeezing painfully from her lungs. A hand grabbed her by the back of the shirt, drawing her up short, and she struggled against the restraint. “Holly, I called for you to wait.”

Holly looked up into his face as she bit her lip, eyes dry now, just wanting to get home. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

“I’m coming with you. So slow down, stupid.” His eyes, wide with fear, belied the insult.

“Okay. Just hurry. I gotta go home.”

Jack grabbed her hand and they walked quickly down the path together, both silent and deep in their own thoughts.

“What were they shooting?”

“I don’t know; Goats, maybe wild chickens. When we get to your place, let me go first, okay?”

“No.”

“You’re so stubborn!”

“You’re not so smart, Jack. Just because you’re seven, doesn’t mean you know everything…”

The pair burst out of the banyan tree patch, still arguing. Holly suddenly wished she’d listened. She wished she’d never left the space under the banyan trees at all. Her legs trembled, knees knocking as she stared at a tableau of horror.

Her father, back against a banyan tree, sat slumped, slanted on a dangerous lean, a large gun between his knees. That weapon had taken her daddy’s face away, a bloody stump left in its place, blood, bits in the tree branches and the trunk of the ancient tree.

Jacks voice shrill and horror filled, tugging again at her shirt. “Don’t look! Don’t look, Holly, Oh, no!” The sound of retching as he threw up behind her, coughing, moaning with terror. “I’m running for Dad.” Jack said, face ashen, wild-eyed with panic, he grabbed her hand and started to drag her away. “Come on, you can’t stay here now.”

Holly began to scream, beating at his hands with her small fists. “You leave me alone, Jack Quintal! I’m staying, I’m staying…”

Jack stopped in his tracks and grabbed Holly’s shoulders, shaking her with all of his might. Her head wobbled on her neck, her hair whipping around her face. Holly struggled against him as he shouted at her. “There’s nothing you can do. You can’t stay here alone with them.” A string of snot mixed into the tears that ran unchecked down his face and he swiped at his nose with his sleeve, pushing the snot into a silvery stream across his face. Holly pushed against him with all her might and he let go without warning. She fell, rolled over and over and landed flat out in the grass, face down into the carefully mown front lawn.

“I’m going to get my Dad!” Jack’s voice broke as Holly heard him start to run. His footsteps fading in the quiet.

Holly lay still for a second, the itch of the grass scratching her wet cheek. She sat up, pushing at the hair falling around her face, dirt gritty on the wetness of her skin. She felt nothing. She looked past what was her father, that thing with her daddy’s shirt and shorts, his bare feet splayed in opposite directions, looking for her mother.

She was there, on the ground, not far from the thing that looked like her daddy. Lying flat on the ground, one leg straight, the other curled up underneath her. Her dress was pulled up around her middle, so Holly pulled the hem down to cover her knickers. Mummy always told her never to let the boys see her knickers. “I fixed it, Mum, it’s okay,” she whispered. She stroked her mother’s hair and smiled, she looked so pretty, blond hair spread like a halo around her head.

There was nothing she could do about the hole in her chest. It had made a big mess, Mum’s dress was torn, the top spilling open, her bra and strap there for all the world to see. Holly tried to cover her up, but, there wasn’t enough material to pull up without it pulling back and opening up further. It worked if she put her mother’s slack hand on her chest, to cover the hole, the red stuff — blood—that stained everything. Some came off in Holly’s hand and she wiped it on her shirt, wiped, wiped, wiped her hand furiously, tears of frustration as her hand became clean, but her shirt became stained. “Don’t be mad, Mum,” she whispered. “I tried to help, but I made my shirt dirty instead.”

She lay down beside her mother, she was warm and sticky, but Holly knew she wouldn’t care if Holly was only close to her. She lay next to her mother just as she used to do when Holly had to go to bed, tucking herself into the hollow between her chest and her arm. Her mother’s arm was loose to the side. Now, there was no arm hugging her close, but she hugged her mother close instead. Clamping her own hand up and around her mother’s neck. She stuck her thumb in her mouth. Mum had her eyes closed, she couldn’t see to tell her not to, and she squeezed her eyes shut too.

The dark was better sometimes. Sometimes being able to see meant you hurt.