“He was a crazy sonofabitch, but he always made me laugh.”
“Are you flying down tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“Did he have money? Do you need Artie and me to pitch in for the funeral expenses?”
“I talked to his girlfriend. Dawn. She’s helping me with the arrangements. She said he was set up okay. Shelby never lived beyond his means. Those chainsaws were probably his biggest expense. How are you doing — you and Artie?”
“I’m in shock. You’re never prepared for something like this. Although he did live dangerously.”
“Everybody seems to be living dangerously these days. How are you doing otherwise? I don’t think we’ve talked since somebody tried to burn your high school down.”
“They didn’t just try it. They actually succeeded.”
“Some literal-minded teenaged hoodlum.”
“You mean because the school’s in Burnsville? Because the name of our varsity team is the Blaze?”
“No. Because your mascot’s called ‘Sparky.’”
“This isn’t the time to make me laugh, Buck.”
“What else can you do? Troy says the whole country’s gone off the rails.”
“If you live in Oklahoma City right now, you have every right to see things that way.”
“This kind of stuff goes in cycles. We’re presently in a bad cycle.”
“I hate it. Oh, and Carla’s bonkers.”
“I’ve known that for quite a while.”
“And one of our brothers sawed his head half off.”
“The tabloids are having a field day. Some of their reporters have been calling. I guess Dawn gave them my number. But what could I tell them? I hardly knew Shelby. Dawn said he was good soul, though.”
A silence.
“Are you still there, Mel?”
“I was looking for a Kleenex. I’ve never been to your ranch.”
“It’s nothing special.”
“I’d like to see your horses.”
“Come on up.”
“I will.”
“And I wouldn’t put it off. You know that we’re in the End Times, right?”
Mellie blows her nose. “I feel sometimes like the Rapture’s already happened and we all got left behind.”
Buck laughs.
Mellie says, “I was reading something in a magazine about Christopher Reeve. He’s doing equestrian events now. When he’s not acting. Take a guess at the name of his horse.”
“I know the name of his horse. I pay attention to these things, Mel. It’s Buck.”
“The world can’t just be all doom and gloom, right, Buck? Especially now that we’ve got Superman riding around on a big, beautiful steed, ready to make things right again.”
Nine days later…oh, must I say it?
1996 COPROPHOBIC IN MISSISSIPPI
The Realtor’s name was Maggie Kessler. Bill Hollon, the newly married husband of Heather Hollon, sat in the front seat of Maggie’s 1995 Buick Century, Heather in the back.
Maggie had jowls. She wore thick mascara that made her eyes pop. She kept her hair short and feathered like Angela Lansbury when she was playing Jessica Fletcher, the mystery-writing sleuthess.
“As you can see, this subdivision is relatively new. In fact, there are several lots still for sale. But I want you to see a finished house which I feel would be just perfect for you.”
“Trees are tall,” said Bill Hollon, looking at the great leafy oaks that crowded the main entrance to the subdivision.
“You rarely see stands of old growth trees so nicely preserved in this part of Mississippi. Most of the forests that used to cover Desoto County were chopped down and converted to farmland years ago. Not that the developers didn’t have to do their own share of bulldozing and leveling off to put these houses in here. It’s always a trade-off.”
Heather hadn’t heard a word Maggie said. She was fascinated by the ducks.
“Look at the duck pond, honey,” said Heather, touching her new husband on the shoulder.
“Oh yeah,” said Bill. “Nice duck pond.”
Maggie the Realtor handed Bill a brochure from her bag on the floor. “There are ten different models in this subdivision, but the builder has been very generous with customizing allowances. I don’t work for him, though. I just thought you’d like to — do you like that one? It’s Number Seven. The Tuscany. Anyway, the one I want to show you is a resale. That’s why they’re letting an outside broker like me come in here.”
“How long did the previous owners live there?”
Bill asked the question; Heather nodded with equal curiosity.
“Not a single day. The house has been empty ever since it was finished last November. Nothing sadder than an empty house. I was here early this morning checking the keys and making sure the power company hadn’t turned off the — here we are. Isn’t it lovely?”
The house sat on a little hill. It had a steeply pitched roof suggesting a very high living room ceiling. The architectural style was nothing recognizable: an exaggerated Mediterranean arch over the front door, mansard eaves shading the front bedroom windows, a mishmash of different elements that maintained a sense of unity through color and texture, even if a cohesive architectural vision was lacking.
“I like the decorative glass,” remarked Heather after the threesome had landed on the porch. She ran her hand along the narrow etched-glass panel next to the front door and went, “Um.”
“Yeah. Real nice.”
Maggie unlocked the door and opened it upon a large vestibule that led to the expansive living room. “It’s 2,200 square feet overall, but the vaulted ceiling makes it feel even bigger — palatial almost. In the summer, all that hot air goes right up to the top. Then in winter the ceiling fan pulls it all right back down.”
The Hollons nodded. This was only the third house they’d looked at. Everything about the process of buying a home was new to them. There was a definite mystery to it. Maggie the Realtor was revealing great truths and they were imbibing them, absorbing them into their unformed, protean consciousnesses. They trusted Maggie, welcomed her as their house-buying sherpa, because she had been doing this for over twenty years, and because she was a member of the same Hernando, Mississippi, garden club as Heather’s mother.
There were two porthole windows near the ceiling of the living room. Maggie pointed to the one on the right. “When I got here early this morning the sun had just come up, and there was the most beautiful cascade of light coming down. It was dappled by the branches of the tall trees in the backyard. Quite magical. I felt like I was standing in the nave of some great cathedral.”
Heather had tuned Maggie out again. She was staring at an electrical outlet on the wall. The top screw had fallen out of the plate and it hung slightly askew. It was a minor thing, really, but her eye was drawn to it.
Bill and Heather followed Maggie into the kitchen. All of the appliances were matching black. There was an island beneath an impressive pot rack. The cabinets in the kitchen were either cherry wood or cherry stained — Maggie wasn’t sure which — but Heather thought they were pretty either way. She ran a couple of fingers through her Jennifer Aniston shag and nodded her appreciation.
The two smaller bedrooms shared a Jack-and-Jill bathroom. They seemed perfect for the family that Bill and Heather Hollon planned to start as soon as Bill got his promotion at the bank and Heather had put away some money from her job as a receptionist for a garden seed company. Heather looked out the back bedroom window and noted the large backyard. “A lot of room for a garden,” she said to Bill.
“Or for a couple of Golden Retrievers to romp around.” Bill winked. He drew Heather to his side and gave her a little squeeze about the hips.