Blood Wounds Page 9

  I stared, paralyzed with fear, at a young man, not much more than a boy, really, in tight jeans and a white T-shirt, a tattoo of a dragon reaching from his neck all the way down his left arm. In confusion, I thought, Budge didn't have a tattoo, not when he was that age, when my mother loved him enough to make his baby.

  Then I understood. "Trace?" I choked out. "You're Trace?"

  He looked at me, Budge's daughter, his sister. As much a Coffey as he was.

  "Willa?" he asked.

  I managed to nod.

  "I heard you was in town," he said. "Granny heard talk."

  "I didn't know you were," I said. I took a deep breath, trying to stop my body from shaking. "I ... I'm sorry. I don't want to be here. I haven't taken anything."

  "Not much to take, most likely," Trace said. "Except for his guitar. I came to get his guitar."

  Everything was swirling. Out of nowhere, I remembered Daddy playing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" on his guitar, teaching me its words, laughing with me as I danced to the music.

  "Oh, God," I said. "I'm going to be sick."

  "Bathroom," Trace said.

  "No," I said. "Not there." I raced through the hallway, the bloodstained kitchen, and out the back door. I made it to the tiny backyard just in time. The swing set swayed almost playfully in the tannery-scented breeze.

  Trace followed me out. "You okay?" he asked.

  "No," I said. "I mean, yes, I guess so. My heart's stopped pounding."

  "Sorry," he said. "I didn't know it was you. Can you go back in? The living room's not bad."

  I nodded. We walked down the driveway to the front of the house. Trace opened the door.

  "Everybody's watching," he said. "The whole town probably knows by now that we're in here talking."

  "I don't care," I said. "I'll be gone in a couple of days."

  Trace laughed, and when he did, I heard another of Budge's echoes. "No one stays in Pryor if they don't have to," he said.

  "You didn't," I said, sitting on the plaid sofa, the kindly face of Jesus staring down at me.

  "Well, I don't know how much of a choice I had," Trace said. He sat on the easy chair, picked up the ashtray, then pushed it away. "Crystal and me had a big fight and Granny wouldn't let me stay with her neither. No one else was much interested, so I took off."

  "To where?" I asked.

  "Austin first," he said. "Then Memphis. I've been thinking maybe I'd try Nashville next. I could use a good guitar, so I figured I'd help myself to Budge's. You don't want it, do you?"

  "I don't want anything," I said. "How did you find out?"

  "About Crystal and the girls? I saw it on TV. How about you?"

  "Faye Parker called the police," I said. "After Budge took Krissi. She was worried about Mom and me. Did Budge know where you were?"

  Trace shook his head. "No one did," he said. "Crystal made it damn clear she didn't want any part of me, and Budge didn't care one way or the other. The twins were still in the hospital when I left. Kelli Marie used to follow me around, though. She couldn't say Trace. More like Twace." He paused. "I knew you was Willa right away. I could hear Momma Terri in your voice when you said my name."

  "You called her that?" I asked. "Momma Terri?"

  "Yeah," he said. "I was just a little kid when I lived with you folks. My momma had taken up with some guy—well, she was always doing that, still is probably—and she didn't want me around, so she sent me back to live with Budge and Momma Terri and you."

  I tried to picture this, Daddy and Mommy and my big brother, Trace. A happy family, happy in its own fashion.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  Trace looked up, like he was trying to catch the memory. "I'm not sure," he said. "But my momma got me and I lived with her for a while, and then I lived with some other folks, and then Budge found Jesus and I came back here to live with him and Granny Coffey. I lived with Granny till she kicked me out, and then I lived with Budge and Crystal till she kicked me out, and you know the rest."

  "I thought it was the other way around," I said. "Granny kicked you out last."

  Trace laughed. It was an easy laugh and hearing it made me feel better. "Could be," he said. "I got kicked out so many times, I coulda lost the order of things. So what's your life been like since I stopped changing your diapers?"

  "You changed my diapers?" I asked, trying hard not to blush.

  He laughed again. "I don't know how much of a help I was," he said. "But Momma Terri always tried to make me feel like I was. She was real kind to me. Sometimes I'd wish she was my real momma. I'd wish she'd come and find me and we'd live together again, you and Momma Terri and Budge and me. You know. Kid stuff."

  "I know," I said, although I really didn't. Had Brooke and Alyssa ever fantasized like that, that Jack and Val would miraculously get back together? I had no memories of wanting Budge back in my life, but then again, until today I'd had no memories of him at all.

  And now I was sitting in his living room talking with his son. Swapping stories. Reminiscing. A blood-soaked family reunion.

  "My life is pretty good," I said. "No, it's really good. Mom married this great guy. He would've adopted me, but Budge wouldn't let him."

  "Sounds like Budge," Trace said. "Never give anything up, if someone else wants it."

  "Anyway, I feel like Jack is my father," I said. "He has two daughters, and they live with us. We're happy. I mean, we fight and we don't always get along, but Mom and Jack love us and we love them. And each other." I sounded like an idiot. "I'm a junior in high school," I said. "And I sing in the choir."

  "You sing?" Trace asked, and his face lit up. "Me too. Budge had a great voice, really great. He used to say if my momma hadn't had me, and then him meeting up with Momma Terri and all, he would have gone to Nashville to see if he could make it. I bet he could have too. He played a mean guitar. Learned all by himself, and then he taught me. What kind of songs you like to sing?"

  I'd never really thought about it. I sang what was assigned. "Just about anything," I said. "I don't know how good I am, but I'm getting a solo in the next recital." Funny. No one in my family knew that yet. Trace was the first I'd told.

  "That's real nice," Trace said. "Maybe before you go, we'll sing something together."

  "I'd like that," I said. "No one else in my family sings. Does Granny Coffey?"

  Trace shook his head. "She sings like a crow." He laughed. "I guess it comes from Great-Grandpa Coffey's side of the family, but he took off way before I was born, so I don't know. Never asked Budge."

  "Maybe we could ask Granny Coffey," I said.

  "Yeah," Trace said. "But I ain't willing to risk my life trying."

  I laughed with him. And then I remembered where I was.

  I guess Trace did too, because his laughter stopped almost as abruptly as mine had.

  "She's a mean little bitch," he said. "Meanest I ever come across, and I met my share."

  "But she's letting you stay with her," I said.

  "Sorta," Trace said. "I'm sleeping on the porch. She lets me in to use the john and then she chases me out again. I was thinking I might stay here, but the bedroom's a mess, and I don't think I'd be comfortable in the girls' room. I could sleep on the couch here, though. It'd be warmer than the porch."

  "It's a rental," I said. "And the rent's paid up till the end of the month. I don't see why you couldn't stay here. If you can stand it, I mean."

  "That's a good question," he said. "I guess I won't know until I try."

  I turned away from him. Jesus smiled at me. "The reason I'm here..." I began. "Well, I'm in Pryor because I wanted to go to the funeral. They were my sisters, even if I didn't know them. I felt like I should be here."

  Trace nodded. "I understand," he said. "I'm here too."

  "What I meant was the reason I'm here, in their house," I continued. "Faye works for a lawyer, Sam Weldon. I saw him yesterday morning, and he said if Crystal hadn't made out a will or if she did and she left everything to her daughters, then I'
d inherit from them. You and I. Since we're their closest relations."

  "Wouldn't the money go to Crystal's folks?" Trace asked.

  "Not according to Sam," I said. "Not if Krissi was the last one to die. She'd inherit from Crystal, and then we inherit from her. My guess is there isn't very much, the house being a rental and all."

  Jesus continued to smile at me.

  "How did you get in anyway?" I asked. "Did Granny have a key?"

  "I broke in through the kitchen door," Trace said. "When I heard that music box go off, I damn near had a heart attack."

  "Me too," I said, laughing with my brother the housebreaker.

  "I wouldn't mind inheriting something," Trace said. "If there's anything to inherit. Crystal kind of owes me, you know. Kicking me out like she did. I figured I could take the guitar because I knew it was Budge's, but I didn't know I could take everything else. Half of everything else."

  "I didn't see anything worth taking," I said. "Not that I looked very hard."

  "Sit here," Trace said. "I'll get that jewelry box. Maybe there's something pretty in there for you." He left the room and I went back to looking at the wedding pictures, staring at Trace without a tattoo.

  He returned a few moments later. I could make out the outline of some jewelry in his pockets. "There wasn't hardly nothing there," he said. "Crystal used to wear a little gold cross, but I guess she had it on when she died." He opened his hand and showed me a silver and turquoise pin. "Maybe you'd like this."

  I would have been more than happy to let Trace keep it, along with whatever pieces he wasn't telling me about. But I guessed he'd feel better if he gave me something. Besides, it would prove to Faye I'd searched the way she wanted me to.

  "It's pretty," I said. "Thank you."

  "You sure we inherit?" he asked. "I never inherited nothing before, except a shitload of trouble."

  "That's what Sam told me," I said. "It's the law."

  Trace shook his head. "The law never did me no favors before," he said. "If it's okay with you, I think I'll stick around, look things over. See if Budge or Crystal left some money or something. Course, I'll give you your share."

  "Great," I said. "You look and I'll go back to Faye's."

  "You sure?" he asked. "I can walk you home."

  "No, that's okay," I said. "I have directions. But I'll see you tomorrow? At the funeral?"

  "I'll be there," Trace said. "They were my sisters too."

  Nineteen

  PAULINE MUST HAVE DECIDED nothing I owned was appropriate for the funeral. Alyssa is six inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than me, so the outfit Pauline chose for me came from Brooke's closet. Black wool skirt, pale pink silk blouse, burgundy cashmere sweater. The skirt and sweater still had their price tags, so I had to borrow scissors from Faye to snip away proof of Val's generosity to her daughter.

  "Why don't you wear Crystal's pin?" Faye asked. "Add a little color to the sweater?"

  "I don't think so," I said, knowing it would feel like a double desecration. But the skirt had a pocket, and I slipped the pin in there. I guess that was an acceptable compromise to Faye, because she didn't press me about it.

  Jack and the girls are Episcopalians, and when Mom and I go to church, we join them at St. James. Not that any of us go that often. But that's my image of a church, stately and formal. The kind of church Brooke's outfit belonged in.

  New Hope Gospel Church looked nothing like that, but unlike practically everyplace else I'd seen in Pryor, it looked alive. It was a mile or so out of town, located in a desolate field that now served as a parking lot. Even though Faye and I had left early, the lot was almost completely full when we arrived, with cars and pickup trucks, and TV news vans. Faye found a spot, and as we walked toward the church, we both noticed oversize loudspeakers set up so the crowd outside could hear the service.

  There were two police officers standing by the door. Faye walked up to one of them. "Hi, Joey," she said. "Are there any seats left?"

  "It's all full," he replied. "Sorry, Faye. But they'll be broadcasting the whole thing. You can even sit in your car, like a drive-in, and hear what's going on."

  I could see Faye was tempted to tell Joey who I was, but the field was swarming with reporters and I gave her a shake of the head. She scowled but kept quiet.

  "I'm sorry," she said to me. "I should've gotten us here earlier."

  "It's okay," I said, because there was nothing else to say.

  The crowd kept milling around, and news crews interviewed whoever they thought might provide a good story. The people of Pryor seemed happy to cooperate. Talking to reporters was the last thing I wanted to do, but I guess none of them thought I looked interesting enough. I was glad for that, and relieved, because other people were staring at me. Maybe they knew who was staying with Faye, or maybe it was because I was all Coffey, but I could sense their appraising looks.

  Everything seemed to stop as Trace walked up to the church, accompanied by a tiny, sour-smelling old woman I recognized immediately as Granny Coffey. "Let us in," she said. "That's my flesh and blood in there."

  "Yes, Mrs. Coffey," Joey said. "Hi, Trace. It's been a while."

  Trace nodded. "Granny, that's Willa standing over there," he said, pointing to me.

  Granny Coffey walked over to me. "Well, ain't you the high-class lady," she said. "What're you waiting for? Come on in."

  I felt as though she'd yanked me by the ear, but it was Trace who took my hand and pulled me along.

  The church was simple, more a barn than a cathedral, and it was jammed. I kept my head down, trying not to look at the front of the church, where a full-size coffin sat flanked by two little coffins to its right, another to its left, each with a photograph and covered with flowers. I could hear bits of conversation as we made our way to the front.

  "...such darling little girls..."

  "...saddest thing I ever saw..."

  "...her head right off. Heard they had to sew it back on."

  "...don't believe their nerve coming to this..."

  Granny Coffey must have heard that one, because she turned around. "Those are my great-grandbabies up there," she said. "They bear my name. And these two are more their kin than any of you." She gestured wildly. "Now keep your traps shut and let us through."

  The nervous chattering turned into silence. Granny Coffey, Trace, and I made our way to the front.

  "Clear out room for us," she demanded when we got to the front row. "That's our kin up there."

  "How dare you come?" a woman whispered. "When it was Dwayne who did this?"

  "Think I don't know that?" Granny yelled. "Think my heart ain't breaking from shame? Now show a little of that Christian charity you're always hollering about and leave us sit in our rightful place."

  The woman looked distraught, but the man sitting next to her gestured to some of the people in the row and they cleared out. Granny, Trace, and I made our way in. Trace kept holding on to my hand; I'm not sure which one of us was comforting the other.

  It was surrounded by noise, the voices of scores of strangers talking about people I should have known, should have loved. Most of the words I couldn't make out, but I did hear someone say something about jewelry, and I focused on that.

  "They wanted Crystal's favorite pin for her dress," a woman said. "Turquoise and silver. But it was gone, along with most of her other jewelry. Someone must've broken in and taken it all."

  "No one has any shame anymore," the woman sitting next to her said. "No respect for the living or the dead."

  Instinctively my hand went into the skirt pocket. I felt for the tip of the pin, let it pierce my skin. I pulled my hand out before I left a bloodstain in Brooke's skirt.

  A choir came out and began singing hymns. People joined in. I would have liked to have sung along, but I didn't know any of the songs. I guessed it didn't matter. The hymns were heartfelt and soothing, and staring at the choir helped stop me from looking at the coffins, especially those three tiny ones.


  Granny Coffey kept muttering, but Trace paid her no mind. I opened my bag and located the tissue packet Faye had given me. I had no idea where Faye was, and realizing that made me feel even more alone.

  I was at this funeral as a Coffey, and while that had been my intention when I first told Mom I was going, it felt frightening now. Not because everyone there hated the Coffey blood, but because I hated it too, even as it coursed through me.

  All around me people were crying, but at least the conversations had stopped. The choir finished singing as a tall beefy man I recognized from TV as Pastor Hendrick walked to the pulpit. There was a microphone attached to it, but I had the feeling it wasn't necessary. Even Granny Coffey had ceased her mumbling.

  "I see many familiar faces here," the pastor began. "Faces of people who knew and loved Crystal Ballard Coffey and her beloved daughters, Kelli Marie, Kadi, and Krissi. People who rejoiced at their christenings, their birthdays.

  "But I also see new faces here, people I don't know. Maybe they knew Crystal or the girls outside the world of this church. Maybe they didn't know them at all but needed to be here, to bear witness. None of us were there when Christ was on the cross, but all here bear witness to it.

  "I'm not here to talk about Crystal, about Kelli Marie and Kadi and Krissi. Others will do that, far more eloquently than I. They'll speak of the beauty of those girls' souls, of the joy they brought to their family, their friends. They'll talk from the bottomless well of their grief, and we'll weep with them and embrace them with the power of our love.

  "No, I'm not going to talk about them, when others will do it so much better than I ever could. Instead, I'm going to talk about Dwayne Coffey."

  There was a gasp, as though everyone exhaled in horror at the exact same moment. Trace clutched my hand even tighter.

  "Since we heard the horrible news, people have been full of questions," Pastor Hendrick said. "They've come to me and said, 'I was there when Dwayne Coffey was saved. I was there when he accepted Christ as his savior. I was there, week after week, as he sat in this very church, prayed the same prayers I prayed, rejoiced in the word of the Lord just as I did. How could Dwayne have done this? How could a man, certainly one with failings, but a good Christian nonetheless, have done such a cruel, horrific act?'"