“I don’t think you can,” I told him the truth even though it killed me to do it.
I watched him start to get pissed before he said, “So, you’re sayin’ I just watch it eat at you?”
“No, I’m sayin’, only person who can stop it is me.”
“What if you don’t?”
“I –” I started but he turned his head away to look out the window.
“Fuck,” he hissed to the windscreen and I was right, he was getting pissed but now he just plain was pissed.
“Colt –”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“Colt –”
He looked at me again, clearly done with our conversation and I knew this with what he said next, “Do you need help gettin’ out?”
I leaned forward, the skirt bit in but I ignored it and put my hand to his neck.
“Babe,” I whispered, “it’d help me stop it if you don’t give up on me.”
I didn’t know I had the answer until I gave it to him. He had no reply, he just stared at me and I had no idea what was going on in his brain. All I knew was, I upset him with my shit, which was just what it was, shit, and for then I needed to let it go. He was facing Amy’s funeral too and he wanted to attend it just as much as I did, which meant not at all.
So I lifted my hand from his neck, ran my fingers around the curve of his ear before I settled them at his neck again to give him a squeeze.
Then I said, “I think I can hop down but it wouldn’t hurt if you were there to spot me.”
He closed his eyes, wet his bottom lip and when he opened his eyes again, they weren’t pissed anymore. Instead, they were telling me without words he’d always be there to spot me.
I gave his neck a squeeze and whispered, “Love you, babe.”
Without hesitation, his hand shot out and tagged me behind the neck, yanking me forward and testing the limits of the material of my outfit.
I didn’t care because he kissed me, it was a hard kiss, closed-mouthed but I liked it all the same. When he was done with my mouth, his lips went away but his hand slid into my hair, tilted my head down and he kissed my forehead before he pulled away.
“Let’s get this done,” he murmured, I nodded and Colt got out, rounded the hood, opened my door for me and I hopped out of the cab with his hands at my hips, spotting me.
* * * * *
Colt watched Feb work her magic the minute she hit the funeral home. Gone was whatever was eating her in the truck. She flipped on the February Owens light, the old one that he remembered so well and the new one that seemed to shine even brighter. It was a light that lit her from the inside out and she shone it on all around.
First was Craig Lansdon who was standing alone inside the door and caught their eyes the minute they walked in. Colt watched as Craig manned up immediately and headed to Feb and Colt, his eyes skittering between the two of them, knowing he needed to do what he did but not liking it all the same.
“Feb, I –” he started but Feb moved into him, put her hand on his shoulder and cut him off.
“He played you, same as Colt, Amy and me.”
“I shoulda –”
Feb interrupted him, “We were all young and stupid, Craig. None of us played it right.”
He looked away, his jaw tensing. “Lotsa people are dead.”
At that point Colt entered the conversation by asking, “And you coulda stopped that how?”
Craig looked back and replied, “I don’t know, I knew him better’n anyone.”
“He tell you, in a coupla decades, he was plannin’ on headin’ out on a killin’ spree?” Colt asked.
Something about that struck Craig as funny, his lips moved, biting back a smile and he said, “We used to get pretty drunk but I ‘spect I’d remember him sayin’ somethin’ like that.”
Feb gave his shoulder a squeeze before she dropped her hand and moved into Colt, so close the side of her body hit his dead on and she stayed there.
Then she suggested, “How about we let that be all we give Denny Lowe during this occasion?” Craig nodded and Feb went on. “Or ever, Craig, how ‘bout we let that be all we ever give Denny Lowe?”
The humor in Craig’s eyes died, he swallowed and nodded again. Feb reached out and grabbed his hand, gave it a squeeze and smiled at him. Craig smiled back.
Colt put a hand to her waist and saw the Harrises, standing alone up by the closed casket, watching them.
Colt was pleased they’d chosen a closed casket. It was an occupational hazard that he’d seen more death than most and it was never pretty. He didn’t get the idea of willfully exposing a dead body before burial. Dead was dead, it was unattractive, no matter who did the makeup or what outfit you chose and how much satin lined the casket. Colt thought viewing a dead body at a funeral home was one, last, but forced, indignity and he hated it.
“Baby, the Harrises,” he murmured to Feb.
She looked up at him and tipped her head to the side before she looked back at Craig and said something which stated her meaning clearly, “We’ll see you in J&J’s?”
“You bet,” Craig replied quietly.
Colt gave him a nod which Craig returned and they moved away through the milling, murmuring live bodies to the Harrises. While they did this, Feb caught people’s eyes. Automatically and unknowingly assuming the mantle of Princess of Hearts, she smiled small and nodded, communicating like her mother, sharing understanding and peace with her eyes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Harris,” Colt said as they arrived.
He shook Mr. Harris’s hand, gave Mrs. Harris his cheek while Feb introduced herself and kissed them both on the cheek.
Then she moved into him, close again but she slid her arm around his waist and plastered herself to his side. Not done with her show to the Harrises that Amy didn’t die in vain, she turned into him and rested her hand on his stomach. He reciprocated the gesture, sliding an arm along her waist.
Then Feb started talking in “we’s”.
“We’re very sorry about Amy,” she told them, “truly.”
Mrs. Harris was taking in Feb’s hand at his stomach while Mr. Harris murmured, “Thank you.”
“She… well, she was lovely,” Feb went on, “and very sweet. We both liked her. It’s… we just don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say during times like these, dear,” Mrs. Harris replied.
“We want you to know, you and Amy, you’re in our thoughts,” Feb continued talking for the both of them as if they were a unit, one mind, one body, and Mrs. and Mr. Harris both nodded.
I watched him start to get pissed before he said, “So, you’re sayin’ I just watch it eat at you?”
“No, I’m sayin’, only person who can stop it is me.”
“What if you don’t?”
“I –” I started but he turned his head away to look out the window.
“Fuck,” he hissed to the windscreen and I was right, he was getting pissed but now he just plain was pissed.
“Colt –”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“Colt –”
He looked at me again, clearly done with our conversation and I knew this with what he said next, “Do you need help gettin’ out?”
I leaned forward, the skirt bit in but I ignored it and put my hand to his neck.
“Babe,” I whispered, “it’d help me stop it if you don’t give up on me.”
I didn’t know I had the answer until I gave it to him. He had no reply, he just stared at me and I had no idea what was going on in his brain. All I knew was, I upset him with my shit, which was just what it was, shit, and for then I needed to let it go. He was facing Amy’s funeral too and he wanted to attend it just as much as I did, which meant not at all.
So I lifted my hand from his neck, ran my fingers around the curve of his ear before I settled them at his neck again to give him a squeeze.
Then I said, “I think I can hop down but it wouldn’t hurt if you were there to spot me.”
He closed his eyes, wet his bottom lip and when he opened his eyes again, they weren’t pissed anymore. Instead, they were telling me without words he’d always be there to spot me.
I gave his neck a squeeze and whispered, “Love you, babe.”
Without hesitation, his hand shot out and tagged me behind the neck, yanking me forward and testing the limits of the material of my outfit.
I didn’t care because he kissed me, it was a hard kiss, closed-mouthed but I liked it all the same. When he was done with my mouth, his lips went away but his hand slid into my hair, tilted my head down and he kissed my forehead before he pulled away.
“Let’s get this done,” he murmured, I nodded and Colt got out, rounded the hood, opened my door for me and I hopped out of the cab with his hands at my hips, spotting me.
* * * * *
Colt watched Feb work her magic the minute she hit the funeral home. Gone was whatever was eating her in the truck. She flipped on the February Owens light, the old one that he remembered so well and the new one that seemed to shine even brighter. It was a light that lit her from the inside out and she shone it on all around.
First was Craig Lansdon who was standing alone inside the door and caught their eyes the minute they walked in. Colt watched as Craig manned up immediately and headed to Feb and Colt, his eyes skittering between the two of them, knowing he needed to do what he did but not liking it all the same.
“Feb, I –” he started but Feb moved into him, put her hand on his shoulder and cut him off.
“He played you, same as Colt, Amy and me.”
“I shoulda –”
Feb interrupted him, “We were all young and stupid, Craig. None of us played it right.”
He looked away, his jaw tensing. “Lotsa people are dead.”
At that point Colt entered the conversation by asking, “And you coulda stopped that how?”
Craig looked back and replied, “I don’t know, I knew him better’n anyone.”
“He tell you, in a coupla decades, he was plannin’ on headin’ out on a killin’ spree?” Colt asked.
Something about that struck Craig as funny, his lips moved, biting back a smile and he said, “We used to get pretty drunk but I ‘spect I’d remember him sayin’ somethin’ like that.”
Feb gave his shoulder a squeeze before she dropped her hand and moved into Colt, so close the side of her body hit his dead on and she stayed there.
Then she suggested, “How about we let that be all we give Denny Lowe during this occasion?” Craig nodded and Feb went on. “Or ever, Craig, how ‘bout we let that be all we ever give Denny Lowe?”
The humor in Craig’s eyes died, he swallowed and nodded again. Feb reached out and grabbed his hand, gave it a squeeze and smiled at him. Craig smiled back.
Colt put a hand to her waist and saw the Harrises, standing alone up by the closed casket, watching them.
Colt was pleased they’d chosen a closed casket. It was an occupational hazard that he’d seen more death than most and it was never pretty. He didn’t get the idea of willfully exposing a dead body before burial. Dead was dead, it was unattractive, no matter who did the makeup or what outfit you chose and how much satin lined the casket. Colt thought viewing a dead body at a funeral home was one, last, but forced, indignity and he hated it.
“Baby, the Harrises,” he murmured to Feb.
She looked up at him and tipped her head to the side before she looked back at Craig and said something which stated her meaning clearly, “We’ll see you in J&J’s?”
“You bet,” Craig replied quietly.
Colt gave him a nod which Craig returned and they moved away through the milling, murmuring live bodies to the Harrises. While they did this, Feb caught people’s eyes. Automatically and unknowingly assuming the mantle of Princess of Hearts, she smiled small and nodded, communicating like her mother, sharing understanding and peace with her eyes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Harris,” Colt said as they arrived.
He shook Mr. Harris’s hand, gave Mrs. Harris his cheek while Feb introduced herself and kissed them both on the cheek.
Then she moved into him, close again but she slid her arm around his waist and plastered herself to his side. Not done with her show to the Harrises that Amy didn’t die in vain, she turned into him and rested her hand on his stomach. He reciprocated the gesture, sliding an arm along her waist.
Then Feb started talking in “we’s”.
“We’re very sorry about Amy,” she told them, “truly.”
Mrs. Harris was taking in Feb’s hand at his stomach while Mr. Harris murmured, “Thank you.”
“She… well, she was lovely,” Feb went on, “and very sweet. We both liked her. It’s… we just don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say during times like these, dear,” Mrs. Harris replied.
“We want you to know, you and Amy, you’re in our thoughts,” Feb continued talking for the both of them as if they were a unit, one mind, one body, and Mrs. and Mr. Harris both nodded.
