She smiled. Danny wondered if she’d cotton to Austin. Could he risk taking her on one of his trips? What would she do while he made his hospital rounds? Well, she liked solitude. Maybe a Holiday Inn with HBO would be just fine with her. Then, when he’d finished his business, they could snatch some barbecued ribs at Shady Grove, hit the music clubs on Sixth Street. Too much, too fast. But she’d tell him when to stop.
Even better: he could take her to the Thicket, to the country store he’d found, and ask the old bluesman to play them some tunes. It would be a strange experience for Betty, but she accepted people as they were — just as the old man and his wife had acknowledged Danny that day, no questions asked. It was the quality in her that most appealed to Danny. Refreshing after Anna Lia, who was never really satisfied with things as they were.
He looked around the chapel. The Morning Palomino in his slick gray coat, turning on the faucetworks. Behind him, that smug and final asshole, Smitts.
They don’t know me, Danny thought. They have no power.
A preacher stood beside the coffin spinning silly words. Danny imagined Anna Lia inside, hands folded on her poor, torn breasts. He used to watch her sleep, early in the morning when light first broke, her mouth slightly open as if practicing her English. She liked it when he nudged her awake with gentle kisses. Making love in the mornings always worked best for them — maybe because they were too sleepy, then, to feel self-conscious or to try so hard, groping for the reckless passion they thought they ought to have.
Sleep, Danny thought, staring at the box. Rest easy, sweetie.
The preacher nearly put Libbie to sleep. Betty, leaning past Danny, tugged her sleeve. “It was so sad, what happened to Anna Lia.”
“Yes,” Libbie said, gripping Betty’s hand.
The piano woman dribbled another tune. Danny crumpled. “Good-bye,” Libbie heard him whisper. She reached for his arm.
Afterward, Roberto approached him, his face like a badly thrown pot. He patted Danny’s back, then slipped away through the crowd. Marie hugged Libbie, then Danny, who told her, “Let’s talk about the store this week.” She nodded.
Just before Smitts left, he caught Libbie’s eye. Probably every expression he tried got ruined by a sneer. But she recognized a softness in his glance: an attempt to offer solace, apology, peace?
The sun settled low, sending unspooled light through the windows. The chapel was nearly empty now. Anna Lia’s coffin gleamed like rain-washed oak. Libbie walked up to it, kissed her fingertips, and pressed them to the lid. The wood was cold.
Time to put this sadness behind us. Bury the blues.
Edgar offered to take Danny and the “Lanham gals” back to Carla’s house. Outside, on the steps, Libbie whispered to Carla, “Back together?”
Her friend blushed. “I don’t know. We’re talking.”
“Watch yourself.”
“I will. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Sure.” On the grass, Libbie hugged Danny. “Are you going to be okay?”
He nodded. “I need to run to Austin. That’ll be good. Get my mind on something else. I’m afraid I’ll miss your wedding. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Call me when you’re back?”
“Thanks for everything, Libbie. I couldn’t have made it without you.”
“It was just so sad,” Betty said.
Libbie kissed her cheek. “You looked beautiful today, Bets.”
“Really?”
“Extraordinary.”
She grinned, then followed her sis to Edgar’s car.
Libbie pulled slowly out of the parking lot. The traffic light on the corner wasn’t working. Erratic yellow in every direction. Cars paused. She waved a nervous fellow on, then took her turn. The back seat rattled. At first she thought the box, the one with her dress inside, was causing the noise, then she remembered she’d removed it. The seat’s springs were just old. Still, the sound spooked her, as if someone were sitting behind her.
She turned on her radio. She started to cry.
Rolling down her window, she took a huge breath. Houston smelled pleasantly rank, erotic, a mixture of heat and humidity, standing water. Air whipped through the van, clearing it out. Libbie straightened her shoulders. Her chest relaxed. With the wind in her face, for the first time in nearly a week, she felt alert.
She remembered times like this in the past, when her senses opened wholly: nights in the Ben Taub emergency room, waiting for Anna Lia. Conflicting smells. Mercurochrome, vomit, cotton.
Danny’s dirty socks, that first night in his place, the day of the bomb.
Crisis times. Times of high awareness.
Now, Anna Lia lifted away from her. She didn’t know why, or how, but she experienced a physical departure. A lessening of weight, like the feeling she got whenever she turned in her grades for the term.
Grief, still. Always. Like an imprecise aroma. But something else now. Contentment? Not quite. Not yet. Completion? Symmetry? Fulfillment, for having been there for her friends.
Dusk-light silvered the west. Lovely. She’d take the freeway home. Hugh was waiting for her call. There was so much to do.
“Good-bye,” she whispered. “Good-bye.”
The Dzanc Books eBook Club
Join the Dzanc Books eBook Club today to receive a new, DRM-free eBook on the 1st of every month, with selections being made from Dzanc Books and its imprints, Other Voices Books, Black Lawrence Press, Keyhole, Disquiet, and Starcherone. For more information, including how to join today, please visit http://www.dzancbooks.org/ebook-club/.