© 2011-2013 by Denise McFarlane
Lola drifted into the bedroom, hearing the heavy clunk of Lloyd’s shoes as they filled the cavernous house sending the sound vibrating off of the concrete walls. He was gone but she still heard him everywhere she turned. She shivered slightly as a strong breeze, blew in through the open window in the bedroom. Her sister, Kay made her open every shutter telling her the house smelled of death and she needed to make sure Lloyd’s spirit wasn’t still lingering around the house. Move around the bed, she said, don’t want no spirit to get in bed with you tonight. That don’t make no sense Kay, you talkin foolish, she scolded. Better know what I’ma tellin you is true. Turn round that bed and he won’t know which house he done came back to and you won’t be making no love to a ghost. Well he’s my ghost if I want to give him some lovin. Kay gasped and looked at Lola hard. “I know you just saying that ungodly stuff because you’re in mourning but Ima pray for you ‘cause you ain’t been talkin’ right.”
“What can a little old spirit, that was my husband, do to me Kay,” she questioned. We was married and living good. I loved that man.”
“But now he dead, Kay said matter of factly, stomping her foot for good measure, and you have to move on. Pack up his things, donate them to goodwill or better yet burn them. Lloyd’s taste in clothes was a little old-fashioned if I must say so myself.”
Sometimes she said just a little too much, Lola thought, not knowing when to stop and just shut up. Kay was her younger sister but only by a year and she often thought she was the boss of her. She had a mouth on her that sometimes rivaled the vilest politician or lawyer. Her husband was barely in the grave and she was already insulting him. She chuckled as she thought of how Lloyd always said that her mouth was going to get her more than a man; she’d have to serve him her mouth on a platter first. She stifled her chuckle as it slipped out and noticed Kay raise an eye to her.
Lola would be overjoyed when the house cleared out. She could still see where everyone was standing, laughing, engaged in conversation. What made people so hungry after a funeral and burial, she would never understand. She was sure some of those Turners from around the bend did not know her husband but she couldn’t very well blame them for wanting a plate of food, she supposed. Kay promised to help her cook days earlier but she knew very well she couldn’t cook a lick and if she made it, you would sure die a quick and swift death. She had a tendency of bringing such sorrow to any dish she made, that it would just die in your belly. Lola baked two coconut cakes, a marble cake, a buttery pound cake, an apple and cherry pie. She baked biscuits and a ham someone from Lloyd’s shop donated. She cooked a huge pot of rice with beans, figuring the beans would help stretch it.
On a special table she couldn’t help but make a tray of Lloyd’s favorites. When she had set his place with a huge hunk of his favorite apple cheddar pie, she realized her obvious mistake. She went and put on his warm, worn, brown slippers and hugged the brown sweater that hung on the back of their bedroom door. She put it to her nose feeling intoxicated by the smell of soap his body often left in the soft fabric. She felt close to him in his robe. She slipped out of her uncomfortable black pumps and slipped her delicate feet into his size 12 brown slippers. Her feet sensed the grooves and she settled nicely into his favorite chair. Her mouth suddenly watered sitting in that chair. She dug into the warm apple pie, chewing every morsel with such care. She moaned after her first swallow and quickly opened her eyes embarrassed that someone might have seen her but to her surprise, no one was around; the crowd had moved outside.
Someone had left a program from the service on the table. She hadn’t looked at it before, her sister having signed off on approvals and sent to the printers. She only supplied the picture which covered the entire front of the program bearing his name and his Homegoing date. She ran her fingers over the paper picture smoothing out the wrinkles. She studied Lloyd’s face and the lines each cheek bore. She remembered him telling her how each line represented a story, a time in his life. They were his battle scars. She would pick a line every night and he always had a story to tell. She smiled at the memory as she placed her plate in the sink.
Everyone was outside and she could finally retreat to their bedroom. She opened Lloyd’s closet and pulled out his favorite blue suit jacket and hugged it to her body. It smelled of his musky cologne and it felt as cozy as a bed of cotton. She imagined Lloyd’s arms around her, firm strong and protective. The weight of the loss suddenly hit her, making her collapse in sobs on the bed. She didn’t think she had any more tears left but here she was racked in pain. As she cried into her bedspread, something sharp poked her side. She pulled herself up realizing she had collapsed onto Lloyd’s Bible. The sharp end was an envelope sticking out. She opened the Bible to remove the letter which lay in Proverbs 31. She didn’t need to read the passage on the “Good Wife,” because it was Lloyd’s favorite. The envelope was addressed to her, “Lola, My Dear and Loving Wife”
Dear Lola,
I thank you for that day thirty something years ago when you first gave me a chance. A poor guy, broken and down on his luck. I didn’t have a dime to my name or a belonging to call my own. The clothes on my back were all I had. I used to pan handle so I could go in wash my clothes. I never told you these things because I was too ashamed. You said hello that first day we met and every day after for two months. Do you remember the first compliment you gave me? You told me how clean I was–I’ve never forgotten that. Not how good looking I was, that wasn’t so important anyway. I wish I could have lived longer so I could have instituted coin operated showers. I never thought I deserved your love but you gave it freely and never made me feel less than a man. You were educated–had a degree. My education was had in the streets. You spoke King’s English while I spoke the language of these here pavements. When I said something the wrong way in the presence of company, your warm smile would set me straight and I knew for next time what not to say. You are one heck of a teacher–this I know to be true because for all these years you have taught me about unconditional love, love with no boundaries. The type of love in this here Bible. The first book you taught me to read. You spoke love in your smile, in your apple and cheddar pies, in your magnificent (you taught me that word) foot rubs, in your loving reassuring arms that kept me warm through the nightmares of my early life. I always promised myself that I would be clean for you. Yes, there’s the obvious cleanness, you know the kind that’s next to Godliness. I see you smiling—all them big words you done taught me. I sometimes slip back into my country way of talking but you know I know better so you will forgive me. Worst thing of all is me missing your smile. That smile make a man want to do some things and I’m sure glad you were My Wife so I could. I know you would play slap me if I were closer. You loved me even despite my mischief. I know you always told me to get to the point when I would tell you stories but I just think you loved to tease me. I know you feel lost right now but I am rejoicing because we will be together again someday and I’m just happy that God blessed me with a love like yours to lengthen and make joyous my already short years. It’s my hope that you will find a new love and go on with life. Find someone new to share your dreams with, to cook for oh and to take you away to places I could not envision. I know this is a hard thing to ask you to do but it’s the most unselfish thing I could wish for, for you. You must know I love you beyond the words on this paper. I have loved you in every room and felt your presence through every surface. Your love makes the sun brighter and makes the moon glow bright, our love has kept me warm on the coldest of nights. Your love and His love makes it okay that I’m here and you’re there. Baby don’t be a lonely spirit—please promise me that you will find someone else to love you.
Lola hugged the letter, her sobs silent as she cried into Lloyd’s pillow. Her head ached thinking about what he was asking her to do. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to find the letter just yet but seeing a letter from her husband stoked her fire. He never liked writing or at least so he said but he took the time to think about her and to write a letter for her. She dried her tears with the backs of her hands and kissed the letter slowly and deliberately, hoping to catch an essence of Lloyd through the thin onion paper. She immediately smoothed out the paper and set it on her nightstand. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be crying again but she couldn’t risk wetting the last piece of her husband with tears. How did he expect her to move on? Just forget about him like he didn’t exist and start afresh with someone new. She imagined herself a widow. A widow she repeated over in her head. She was too young to wear that title and fate had forced her to uphold it. Lola felt dizzy from all the crying and lay her head down, falling into a deep slumber that she desperately needed.
Kay walked into the room and upon seeing her sister snoring, removed the blanket from the end of the bed and draped it over her torso. She stroked her hair, while talking to no one in particular. Poor dear sister, it’s sad to lose a husband but even worse to lose family and that would have eventually happened. Good thing he kicked the bucket before I had to get involved. On the way out, Kay picked up a wedding photo of Lola and Lloyd studied it then laid it on its face. She had a good mind to start packing up every trace of the man but she didn’t want Lola to be distraught when she woke up. She had every intention of making sure her sister moved on and got on the Classy train now that the train wreck of a husband was gone. She was a firm believer that you should marry up in life and not settle for the dregs that were hanging around the neighborhood.
A tap on the front door, startled Kay and she hoped it hadn’t woke her sister. She quickly scurried to the front of the house only to see the mailman, Mr. Rivers with a package for Lola. Kay quickly reapplied her fire engine red lipstick and quickly finger combed her hair before opening the door.
“Good day Mr. Rivers,” Kay said batting her lashes and showing a little too much cleavage and she leaned down to take the package out of his hands and touch his in the process. He quickly disengaged himself from her grasp and the package. He was always sweet on Lola until she married Lloyd. Kay was a little too loose for his liking. Her caring nature, her tiny waist and those lips like he could have drawn them himself could make a man lose his wits. And if that wasn’t enough, she could make a pie that would have you lickin’ your ten fingers. Now that Lloyd was gone, he might have a chance to help her make those pies.
“Howdy, Miss Kay. I have a package here for your sister, Lola. How she holding up Kay,” he asked unaffected by the wiles of Kay.
Kay was somewhat miffed at his concern for her sister. His concern should be how he could take her out to a picture show and a cola at Ike’s Diner but here he was lusting after her newly widowed sister. Kay let the door slam as she stepped inside, addressing him from behind the screen.
“Lola is holding up just fine Mr. Rivers. Don’t you think you are quite out of order asking after my widowed sister, not even a day after she buried her husband. I certainly expected more from you Mr. Rivers.”
Mr. Rivers lowered his head, removing his cap and bowing his head. He admitted to himself that he had been a little presumptuous and it had blown up in his face. It certainly seemed like a good idea when he volunteered to go out of his way to drop off the package to Lola when generally she would be required to come to the general store to pick it up. He didn’t imagine he would encounter Hurricane Kay. “I beg your pardon Kay, I think you misunderstood my intentions. I’ll be taking my leave right about now. Please tell Lola I asked after her.”
“I don’t think so Mr. Rivers but yes, I think its best you be on your way. I don’t want to have to get the washing water to cool you down. Think I don’t smell the aftershave and see the haircut that you didn’t have yesterday.”
Mr. Rivers moved swiftly down the dirt road from Lola’s house and Kay found herself chuckling softly as she watched a dust cloud form in his wake.
Kay looked at the parcel and decided she would merely peek and see what was inside.
END OF SAMPLE
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