2006

A soft drizzle fell from above as Jacob’s silver Buick pulled into the driveway of the Williams family home. From their vantage point on the living room sofa, Alan and Patrick could see the vehicle clearly, but chose not to meet it as that felt like an intrusion.  Stephanie sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in a crocheted afghan that her Papa had brought to the hospital. 

The old man got out, then walked around to his granddaughter’s side; he opened the door for her, helping her stand.  The young girl looked shell-shocked as her grandfather led her through the garage and into the house.  Alan and Patrick could hear Audrey meet them in the kitchen, followed by gentle whispers.  The basement door opened, and Audrey took Stephanie downstairs to her room – a room that was located directly across from her mother’s. 

Jacob came into the living room.  “She’s home,” he said quietly. 

“She looks good,” Patrick said.  “It’s good that she’s in her own bed now.”

The old man nodded but said nothing more.  He returned to the kitchen, where he met his wife as she came upstairs. 

Patrick looked at Alan.  “What should we do?” Alan shrugged his shoulders, standing up and setting his tea onto the coffee table.  He crept towards the doorway that led to the kitchen.  He listened for a moment, before motioning Patrick to his side.  Once together, the two entered the room.

“Mrs. Williams?” Alan asked.  “Patrick and I are going to the store.  What can we get for the house?”

The old woman dried her eyes, smiling at the two.  “I actually made a list.”  Jacob left the room as his wife got her purse.  A piece of folded paper stuck out from the top, as though she’d expected the offer.  She muttered something about not having any cash, but Patrick raised his palm.  “We got it, Mrs. Williams.”

She smiled sadly.  “Please call me Audrey.  Both of you.”

*  *  *  *  *

The first round of friends & family arrived as Patrick climbed into Alan’s pickup, closing the door.  Alan buckled the seatbelt, then started the engine on his 05’ Frontier.  Ten minutes later, the two were zipping down Washington Street hill, the same route that Guinevere had traveled barely 24 hours before.  Alan slowed when they passed the accident site; there were still remnants of broken glass on the pavement.  A short while later, they pulled into the same Super Wal Mart the two had visited the previous night.  They entered the store.

“This is a surprisingly long list,” Alan said to Patrick.  “I think she started writing it before Gwen died in the hospital.” 

Patrick grabbed a cart.  “Don’t say things like that.”

“No, seriously, look at what’s on here.” Alan showed him the paper.  “Cat litter, vacuum bags, those little gel air fresheners.  Look – she even specifies what brand and scent to buy.”

“The family is coming over, Alan.  It makes sense that she wants a clean house.”

Alan pointed to an item near the bottom.  “Annnnd what grocery aisle are the panty hose in again?  Are they next to the peas?”

Patrick grinned.  “Okay, I see your point.” 

“How much cash do you have?” Alan asked.  “She apparently wants cold cuts.”

“I’ve got cash.  Should we break this list up?  Divide and conquer?”

“No, no, no,” Alan told him.  “I say we make this trip last as long as possible.  I don’t know any of the extended family, and this is the first time I’ve actually seen Gwen’s folks in like, ten years.  I feel like we’re intruding.” 

“You’re friends with Dale though?” Patrick asked. 

“Eh, not really.  But I do have his num” – Alan stopped midsentence.  He reached into his jacket to retrieve his buzzing phone.  “Speak of the devil,” he said to Patrick, flipping it open.  “Dale?”  What’s up?”  Alan listened for a moment.  “Dale, where are you now?”  Patrick watched a look of concern wash over Alan’s face. 

“Stay there,” Alan said into the phone.  “We’ll come get you.”  He snapped it shut.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked.

“We gotta’ go,” Alan told him.  “Hold on to the list.  We have a bigger problem than peas and panty hose.”

*  *  *  *  *

            The drizzle had grown into full-blown rain as Alan’s pickup splashed onto the lot of East Peoria’s Bump’r-2-Bump’r Auto Salvage.  The place was little more than a rusty prefab building, a pile of smashed cars behind a fence, and lots and lots of mud.  Dale’s own pickup was parked by the office, so Alan took the spot next to it. 

A quick trip inside revealed that Gwen’s brother was somewhere on the property, so Alan and Patrick zipped up their coats and slopped into the automotive graveyard.  They found the man in one of the aisles, in front of the remains of his late sister’s convertible. 

He was drunk.

            “Alan!” Dale said, a little too loudly.  He was sitting on the ground Indian-style, with a bottle of Canadian Club between his legs.  He stared at Alan somberly before noticing Patrick, looking him up and down. 

“And you must be Patrick.”

            Patrick held back a little, with his arms folded in front of his chest.  “Good to see you again,” he said carefully.

            “What are you doing here, Dale?” Alan asked, coming up beside him.

            “Sitting in the dirt,” Dale said, his eyes like slits in the rain.  Wet hair hugged his skull, making him resemble Dark Shadows’ Barnabas.  “Or, in the mud, actually.”  He was soaked to the bone.

            “Why don’t you give that to me?” Alan asked, taking the bottle from him.  The wet man protested but stopped as he watched Alan take his own deep swallow, swirling the contents near the bottom before finishing it completely.  Alan handed it back.  “All yours,” he said, pointlessly wiping his lips on his sleeve.

            “Damn,” Dale slurred, whipping the empty bottle at a long-dead Caprice.  It shattered on impact.  “Man after my own heart.”

            “More than you realize,” Alan told him.  He briefly looked at Patrick, then back to Dale.  All three men then turned their attention towards Guinevere’s convertible…or, at least to what was left of it.  The 15-year-old vehicle looked more like crumpled paper than metal, and the rain hadn’t yet washed away all the blood.  It’s a miracle Stephanie survived, Alan thought.

            “Have a seat,” Dale said to Alan, tapping the puddle next to him.

            “How about if we take you back to the house?” Patrick suggested, looking very uncomfortable.  His body had clearly not yet acclimated to the cold and fall in Illinois was far different than Nevada.  Patrick looked directly at Alan –

“That sound good?”

            “He’s right,” Alan said to Dale.  “This isn’t the kind of cold shower you need.”

            Dale laughed, as though realizing how he must have appeared.  “Let’s go to mom and dad’s,” he said, grinning like the Joker.  “Wait til’ they get a load of me.” 

Patrick came up to Alan’s side.  “He’s right,” Patrick told him, looking at the man’s condition.  “We can’t take him to Gwen’s house like this.”  Alan thought about this.  “How far do you live, Dale?” Alan asked.

“Pekin,” he mumbled.

“There’s no way he can drive there himself,” Patrick told Alan.

“I can drive,” Dale slurred.

“Let’s take him to your room,” Alan suggested to Patrick.  “He can use the shower.  We can wash his clothes in the Laundromat.  Order room service.  Get a pot of coffee into him.”   Patrick shot him daggers. 

“Absolutely…not,” he said firmly.

“Then where, Patrick?  Should we sober him up at Denny’s?”

Patrick sighed audibly, weighing the options.  He then gestured for Alan to take one of Dale’s shoulders while he took the other, himself.  “Get him up,” Patrick said.  The two helped Dale to his feet.

“Dale, give Alan your keys,” Patrick said loudly, as though speaking to a child.  Dale’s head rolled around on his shoulder, his eyes now facing Patrick. “You know I’m right here, right?”

            “Got em’,” Alan said, fishing keys from the drunk man’s jeans.

            “Now give me yours,” Patrick continued, readjusting his shoulders to support Dale’s weight.  “You drive his truck, I’ll drive yours,” he told Alan.  “Get his wallet.  Find out where he lives.” 

            “You heard the man.” Alan patted Dale hard on the back. 

“Let’s go, buddy.”

            From above, the rain came down like icicles as the two men led Gwen’s grieving brother through the piles of totaled vehicles, then into the outer parking lot.  They poured him into the passenger seat, then took their own places behind their respective steering wheels.  Patrick followed Alan as their vehicles left the lot, their blinkers glowing brightly in the dreary afternoon. 

            A single bead of red rolled off its shattered windshield, as Guinevere’s car stayed behind.

*  *  *  *  *

            Many hours later, the two friends returned to the Williams’ house.  Alan backed into the driveway so it would be easier to unload the groceries, and after three trips to the kitchen with bags, they closed the pickup’s gate.  The cozy home was nestled along a curvy, tree-lined lane with no sidewalks – which was now filled with the parked cars of family.  Audrey had set up a table in the garage, where cousins and uncles were drinking beer and smoking cigarettes.   Alan and Patrick lingered by the truck outside.  They both looked dry, but disheveled.  “Had enough?” Alan asked his friend.

            “I’m going to grab a shower at the hotel, then go see my folks,” Patrick told him.  “I told them I was in town.”  He paused before adding, “Would you like to come?”  Alan shook his head.

            “I’m gonna’ linger for a bit. Make an appearance inside.  I won’t stay long, though.”

            “You’re welcome to come with me,” Patrick said.  “I’m sure my folks won’t mind.  Mom’s making a rib roast.  Whenever a person comes over for dinner, she cooks for ten.”

            “Again, thanks, and I mean no offense by this, but I think I’m done with other peoples’ families for today,” Alan told him.  “Seriously, I’m just gonna’ go inside, take a lap through the house, then head back to the hotel, myself.”  He looked at the men in the garage for a moment.  “I might hit the new club later, see what it’s like.  You should come with me if you finish with your parents early.” 

This time, Patrick declined.

            “Not tonight,” he said.  “If I do anything, I have to stop somewhere and get a shirt and tie.”

            “No worries.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

The two briefly hugged, then Patrick got into his rental car.  Alan watched him drive away before returning to the kitchen.  Once inside, he poured himself a hearty CC and coke, holding it close as he wandered the living and dining rooms. He ended up standing in the cozy family room, looking out a big bay window, which overlooked the wooded back yard.  For just a flashing second, Alan thought he saw Guinevere standing in the grass, struggling not to laugh as she gleefully gathered cicadas. The Phantom of the Restaurant, he thought as he caught his own reflection in the glass.

The entire home was filled with family, whispering in small groups; Alan leaned on a nearby wall, sipping booze while taking it all in.  His eyes then fell onto the mantle above the flickering fireplace, where Audrey displayed a small collection of Roseville pottery. Alan recognized several as pieces Guinevere had purchased for her mom over a decade ago.  The thought made him sad. 

            Finishing his drink, he returned to the kitchen and rinsed out the glass.  He was about to find Audrey to say goodbye, when he noticed the door that led to the basement – and remembered the first time he walked through it.  Alan nodded at the women seated around the kitchen table, ducking through the doorway and descending the stairs beyond.  A moment later, he was in the Williams’ basement.  He stood in front of Guinevere’s bedroom door, and the memories it held within.

            Alan pushed it open.

*  *  *  * 

The bedroom didn’t feel dark because it had no lights, but rather because it had no windows.  The space had been carved from a corner of the basement and looked as though it was originally used for storage, with carpet and paneling added later, as an afterthought.

Standing in the doorway, Alan hesitated before he entered.  He could tell that the room had been straightened for company, a quick surface clean to fix the bed and vacuum the floor.  But that’s all that had been done, and the space still remained the same as Gwen had left it only a short time ago.  It’s exactly the same, Alan thought, the same as over a decade ago.  Every book, every knickknack, every memory from Guinevere’s past was identical to the first time he had seen this place, back in 91’.  Time hadn’t changed here –

Time had been frozen.

            Stepping through the doorway, Alan paused to take it all in.  He saw Gwen’s waterbed.  He saw her desk.  He saw the Nuon Klock he had once given her, the one with flamingos and a palm tree under the sun, a present for having successfully survived her first Sunday rush at Denny’s.

Jacob could be heard from the living room above as Alan’s eyes explored the bedroom’s contents.  He saw books from ICC.  A statue of Disney’s the Beast.  He saw an old clock radio next to a stack of CDs from the 80s & 90s.  He opened the player to see the disc inside: The Cars: Greatest Hits.  Alan smiled.  Drive had always been one of Gwen’s favorite songs.

Noticing something behind the bedroom door, Alan closed it to reveal one of the room’s few recent additions.  It was a Natasha Bedington poster, visible only when the door was shut.  He stared at it for a moment, then turned around to see his own reflection within the mirror above Guinevere’s dresser.  Photographs surrounded the reflective surface like a scrap board, each picture taped to make a frame.  One image stood out from the rest, and Alan carefully peeled it away.  It was a snapshot of a much younger Gwen, in between himself and a late-twenties Patrick.  The photograph had been taken at Checker’s, and when Alan turned it over he saw the handwritten words, The Trio. 

Gulping for air, he almost lost it.

A few minutes passed as Alan allowed himself to cry, after which he returned the picture, now wrinkled from his fist.  He checked himself in the mirror before wiping the wet off his face.  He then reopened the door, and took one last look at the room before shutting the light –

Pfft!

There was a noise behind him.

*  *  *  *  *

Alan turned around to see an open door, and the evening’s light fading within a basement window.  Clearing his throat, he approached it.  He found himself standing in the entrance to Stephanie’s room, directly across from her mother’s.  The teenage girl was sitting on the edge of her bed.  She was drinking a beer.

“Do you always watch little girls, when they’re all by themselves in their room?” Steph asked without looking up.  She took a sip of beer.  “What are you?  Some kind of pervert?”

Alan raised his eyebrows. “A pervert?”

“You’re not going to start masturbating, are you?” she added. 

“No, I wasn’t planning on it.” He smiled slightly, nodding to the beer. “You old enough to be drinking that?” 

“I’m a grieving daughter. I can do whatever I want.”

“That so?”

“Yup.”

Alan leaned on the threshold and folded his arms.  Aside from a few cuts and bruises, the young girl barely showed a hint of the accident that had just taken her mother.  “You want me to get you anything?” he asked.  “You hungry?  There’s lots of food upstairs.”

She answered without a single moment’s hesitation –

“I want you to bring my mother back!” she burst, her face going crimson as the afghan fell from her shoulders.  Alan was at her side in a heartbeat, but the second he tried to touch her, she recoiled like measuring tape –

“Christ, you’re gullible,” Stephanie smirked.  She took another sip of beer and winced.  “How much of this shit do I have to drink before I cop a buzz?” 

“That depends,” he told her honestly, heartbeat slowing.  “How strong is your tolerance?”

“But dis’ is my vew’ry first beew.  I don’t have a tow-wer-rence.”

“Liar,” Alan told her.

“You would know,” she shot back.

“Are you calling me a drunk?”

“I know who you are,” she said.

“And who’s that?”

“You’re one of the trio,” she said with distain.  “You and that other guy you came here with.  The tall one.  With the blonde hair.  You guys were friends with my mom.”

“We are friends with your mom.”

“You’re friends with a dead woman?” Steph asked.  “How is that possible?  Do you have psychiatric powers?”

“Psychic powers,” Alan corrected.

“Huh?”

“Psychic powers,” he repeated.  “A psychic is a person who talks to the dea” – he stopped midsentence, realizing where he was going…and also realizing that he hadn’t fully processed Guinevere’s death himself, yet.  He inhaled deeply, taking a moment to look Stephanie over; he saw how much she was indeed her mother’s daughter, and how clearly it was becoming that she’d inherited Guinevere’s humor. 

More specifically, she’d inherited his Schnookums’ humor…

“I know what you guys did to that poor woman,” Steph said, changing the subject.

“What woman?” Alan asked.

 “That Sharon lady. The one who managed that restaurant that you and that blonde guy worked at with my mom.”  Alan raised his eyebrows. “You know about that?”

“She told me all about it.  She told me when she was drunk.”

He took a breath.  “What did she tell you?”

“You’re a thief.”

“Well, your mother was a thief too.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Neither does drinking when you’re – how old are you?  Thirteen?”

“Am I interrupting?” the voice behind them asked.  Stephanie quickly passed Alan the can, and he made sure that Audrey saw him take a drink before he answered.

“Not at all, Mrs. Williams.  We’re just having a chat.”

“Can I see you outside for a minute?” Audrey asked him.  He nodded, touching Steph on the shoulder when he stood.  He followed the old woman to the basement’s sliding glass door in the adjoining rec room.  They stepped onto the patio outside.  Like Jacob’s very first message to Alan, Guinevere’s mother looked galvanized.

*  *  *  *  *

            “I just want to thank you for all that you’ve done,” Audrey told him.  It meant a lot to Gwen that you came, and it meant a lot to us.”  She smiled sadly.  “Thank you.”

            “It’s no problem, Mrs. Williams.”

            “Audrey,” she corrected.

            “Audrey, yes, of course,” he said.

            “And I also wanted to say that neither Jacob nor myself expect you to honor what Gwen asked before she died,” Audrey said.  “Of course, you’re not going to take care of Stephanie.  That’s just silly.”

            Alan sipped his beer.  “I understand.”

            “We also don’t expect you to stick around the house like this,” she went on.  “I mean you can if you want, but I know it must be uncomfortable for you to be surrounded by all these people you don’t know.”

            “I know Steph,” he said.  “And I’m getting to know Dale.”

            “You know what I mean,” Audrey said.  “And that goes for Patrick, too.”

 “Well, I thank you for saying that, but it’s obviously no trouble at all,” Alan assured her.  “Gwen was my friend, and I’m staying here for her.”

“That being said,” he added, “as long as you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll definitely be at the wake tomorrow, and of course at the funeral the day after.  Same goes for Patrick.  We’ll both be there.”

“That sounds ideal,” Audrey told him.

“Let me just finish my beer, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Your beer?” Audrey laughed.  “It’s not the first time I’ve caught Steph drinking.”  A thought occurred to her.  “Oh, I should give you this” – she reached into her pocket and pulled out three singles, a five, and some change.  “For the groceries.”

“Thanks.” Alan shoved it into his pocket without looking.  “You take care of yourself, Audrey.  We’ll see you tomorrow night.”  Audrey returned inside, leaving him alone on the patio.  Alan swallowed the last of the beer, smashed the can and tossed it, then left by walking through the yard, avoiding the house completely. 

Stephanie watched in silence from the window, her hand on the glass as Alan went away.

*  *  *  *  *

Two days later, church bells rang in the belfry as Guinevere’s coffin was carefully placed into the back of a black hearse.  With Patrick in the seat beside him, Alan watched the cars of extended Williams family take places within the funeral procession; his freshly-washed pickup joined the line towards the end. 

He couldn’t get The Cars’ Drive out of his head.

The sky was aluminum grey above the line of white headlights that snaked through Washington and East Peoria traffic.  The procession continued for almost forty minutes before slowing near a tall iron fence, where the hearse and limos made a wide turn and entered the cemetery’s crushed gravel lane.  Alan followed red taillights through the trees and tombstones, stopping as they neared a grouping of white chairs in front of a podium.  Ten minutes later, the white chairs were filled with black clothes.

Drive kept echoing through Alan’s mind, as the priest approached the podium, addressing the mourners.  Jacob gave the eulogy, but Alan could only hear mumbles from moving lips.  His eyes wandered the tops of heads and hats, before focusing on Guinevere’s family in the front row.  Audrey and Jacob both sat in silence, but Steph couldn’t stop crying.  She looked so much like Guinevere…

Drive! Drive! Drive!

As dirt hit the flowers on top of the descending coffin, everyone stood and gave the family privacy.   Alan and Patrick returned to the pickup, where they waited for the procession to disband.  Car doors opened and closed.  Engines started.  Brake lights came on.  A short time later, Alan pulled out of the cemetery and headed for Avanti’s restaurant, where the family had planned a luncheon.

His Schnookums was now truly gone.

Next Chapter: Dark Lady