Real Bad Things(16)

“That’s some bad luck.”

“It is bad luck. I’ve had nothing but bad luck. My whole life.” Diane’s voice trailed off as she likely remembered every bad thing that had ever happened to her since Jane, the first bad thing.

The phone rang again. Again, Diane ignored it.

“Don’t you have someone to help you out? A boyfriend?” There was always a boyfriend. Never in the history of Jane’s life had there been an absence of men in Diane’s.

“My God. You think I could date after all that? The shit you put me through?” Diane’s eyes glistened, and Jane softened, even if a small part of her questioned the sincerity of those tears, if not the words. How quickly and easily tears came when something Diane wanted or lacked was on the line, with family and friends and boyfriends. With Warren. With Jane.

Jane waited for the tears to end. When the phone rang for the third time, she got up to answer it, but Diane swatted at her. “Leave it be. They’ll stop after a while.”

“It could be an emergency.”

Diane delivered a withering stare. “Like learning my husband’s been beaten to death by my daughter?”

The morning after, Diane had made a racket in the kitchen, cursing Warren’s absence. She called everyone, it seemed. The bar. His workplace. His shitty friends. Her shitty friends. Made a big show of how he’d decided not to come home after a big fight they’d had at the bar. Even changed the lock on the front door the next day to “teach him a lesson about leaving” even though it was his trailer.

The ring agitated. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Much as Jane tried to muster emotion to match the statement, she couldn’t. Not after Warren’s shouting at her and Jason for talking while he watched TV, accusations that they’d broken his beloved Johnny Reb commemorative football mug, curses that they dared to even exist at all. Not to mention Freddie and Charlie, their parakeets. The only pets Diane had ever allowed. Pretty, chirpy birds they’d been given by a departing neighbor who had to move to a new place. Jane and Jason had sworn to take care of them and to love them. They had. And then one morning both birds were gone. No warning. No reason. Just gone.

Jane fought a strong and sudden urge to lash out. She wasn’t sorry Warren was dead.

Diane’s tears welled again.

Jane checked her watch. A habit. A distraction from Diane’s emotions. Of course she was mad at Jane. What mother wouldn’t be?

She mentally calculated the cost of a coffin, a funeral director, and whatever else people had to pay for and the rapidly diminishing amount in her savings account. The unemployment checks would still come for at least a month, but she wanted to hold on to every penny in the unlikely event she got lucky and could leave Maud unshackled. Or in case she could somehow draw on that money in prison for commissary snacks. Or tampons.

Diane wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffled. “We best call the funeral home today and get things moving along.”

The phone rang. Jane closed her eyes and swallowed down her pride. “Okay.”

Diane’s face brightened, but then she paused. “You promise you’ll take care of the funeral? The costs?”

Always a catch, a confirmation. “I’ll call in a bit and see when they might be able to release the remains.”

Diane near sucked the air out of the room with her gasp. “My God, Jane. The remains?”

“Sorry. I just . . .” That’s the proper terminology, she muttered under her breath.

“To you, maybe, but I loved him. He’s a person.”

Was. Resentment rose like bile.

A click interrupted them, followed by the robotic female voice of Diane’s antiquated answering machine telling the caller that the person they wished to reach was not at home.

“Jesus. They could’ve left a message five tries ago,” Jane said.

“Ahh . . . ,” said the deep-voiced man on the line. “Sorry to bother you at home, Mrs. Ingram. This is Detective Hampton with the Maud Police Department.” Jane froze. She didn’t hear what else he had to say over the sound of her ears ringing and her head pounding at the realization that the inevitable had finally come to pass.





Six

GEORGIA LEE

Diane had been manning the register at Cloverleaf Liquors since Georgia Lee could remember. She didn’t know how she could stand it. Probably ’cause she got a discount. Georgia Lee hated coming in this warehouse full of booze. Handwritten, misspelled signs indicating markdowns. She preferred one of those cute little shops like they had up in Maud Proper, with mood lighting and free Friday night samples. All her anxiety gave way to annoyance. What was the point of being friends with the chief of police if not to get the most up-to-date dirt on one’s friends and neighbors?

Diane pushed aside a case of wine she’d been attacking with a box cutter, tucked an errant swath of bleached hair behind an ear, and rang up some boozy seltzer and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos for a customer. She thanked the man and flashed one of those quick retail-worker smiles, exhausted and bracing.

Georgia Lee had once credited Diane as some kind of something. Trashy but seductive, braless in her tight tank tops and short shorts. All flash and glitter, good perfume and good hair. But that was a false memory. Diane was always nothing. Waiting for and wanting a man to throw her over his shoulder and take care of everything. Even if it meant beating the crap out of each other—as long as he kept her rich in booze, Marlboros, and bridge mix. No wonder Jane and Jason had always looked so ill. Nothing to eat but what they could scrounge. They’d reminded Georgia Lee of those Flowers in the Attic kids, all pale and poisoned, looking five years younger than they oughta. Minus the incest, of course.