Author's Note: First off, I'd just like to say: THANK YOU. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read/comment/drop me a note of encouragement. I really can't say how much it means to me, especially since I've never completed anything of this length or intricacy before. I won't lie; I'm positively overjoyed that it's done and really had no idea what I was getting into when I started this. But it's been a great experience. I only wish I'd had more time to work on this ending, but this is what came to me and I'm afraid of editing it into oblivion, so it shall have to stand, mediocre as it is. Sorry if I didn't have a chance to repond to comments individually; I did appreciate each and every one, though, and I also welcome constructive critique, if anyone has some to offer :)
In case anyone's curious I'm not planning a sequel to this story.
Thank you SO MUCH for reading. big hugs all around
Part XVI: EpilogueFebruary 1978
Alma lies across from him on the bed; her skin is so white, glowing faintly in the dark. He wants to reach out to her—he always wants to reach out—but when he lifts his arm it is to see Jack's hand instead of his own, thicker fingers, softer knuckles. He can't touch Alma with this hand. She stirs under the covers, like she knows what he's thinking.
"Ennis, don't bother. We ain't worth botherin' over no more."
"But I'm your husband…" he drops the foreign-familiar hand onto the sheets. "I'm your husband." He can't think of anything else to say. Often can't think of what to say around Alma.
"Never really was my husband. Knew what I was doin', Ennis, when I tied that note to the line. Knew what was happenin'."
"Even I didn't know what was happenin', how could you?" Ennis runs those fingers along his lips, tastes Jack's skin, can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. Is he really saying these things?
Alma turns; her face shines. Like an angel? Ennis doesn't know what angels look like.
"Woman can sense these things, Ennis. I knew it long before I saw it. Can't be livin' with a man like you and not have some sense. Just 'cause you don't talk don't mean you ain't tol' me plenty."
Plaster falls off the ceiling, cracking along fine lines, flaking their hair like snow. His nostrils fill with the scent of blood and he hears the roar of an engine gunning. Alma is smiling. Ennis begins to rip along his seams, lines tearing through him and exposing raw nerves and wounds never treated. Alma leans forward, holds him by the shoulder, kisses him on the lips.
"Ennis…" she shakes his shoulder.
"Ennis!" His eyes shoot open at the voice, sharp and high. The hand on his shoulder stops, and he blinks against the light, squinting up.
"Ennis, don't tell me you slept here?" Racine de Beers is kneeling beside him, dressed in clothes that Ennis recognizes well; black dress faded nearly gray, tortoiseshell hat firmly over her hair, brown just like Alma's, and a bouquet of wilted carnations clutched like a life preserver in her right hand. Ennis struggles upright, back stiff and eyes bleary, grass crushed down into the shape of his mourning form. He dusts himself off, trying to smooth the wrinkles in his shirt, avoids her eyes. She notices the deep dark circles under his eyes, the weight he's lost since she's last seen him; he's also grown a beard, ragged and unkempt, but it still doesn't cover his hollowed out cheekbones.
"Son, you can't keep doin' this."
He shrugs. "Not doin' much."
Racine sits carefully on the ground, curling her legs underneath her, sets down her purse and tries to catch his eyes. "That's exactly it. When was the last time you slept in a real bed? It's been three years, Ennis. Three years tomorrow." Racine bites her lip, looks at headstones. "Sarah and Ed are coming with me tomorrow; came a little early because I wanted… well, never mind that. What I was tryin' a say…"
She plucks at the grass, tearing it into tiny bits and twisting it between her fingers. She looks at the headstones once more, monuments to their loss, and seems to come to a decision. Her words, when they come, are clear and unhesitating.
"I'll admit that I was real mad at you when you didn't come to the funeral. Thought you was the biggest mistake Alma ever made, you want a know the truth. Couldn't think what kind a man would do that, divorce or no divorce." She looks at the Ennis-shaped outline next to the graves. "Understand now that I judged you unfair." Brushing the grass of her skirt, she leans forward and places her hand over his, gentle. He sits, unmoving, unable to stop the wash of her words, but unwilling to hear them.
"I ain't here to tell you how to mourn, son. We each do it in our own ways. Sarah still can't look at pictures a Alma, and I respect that—she'll be ready again someday, and I'll keep them all until she is. Ed can't even say her name sometimes, just gets this look on his face like he wished I'd never given him a little sister. Ain't easy for none of us." Her chin trembles and she swallows, taking a breath. "Hardest thing I ever done, outlivin' my daughter and granddaughters. Thought maybe God was puttin' me to the test. Testin' me real good." She swipes at her eyes, closed tight. Ennis opens his mouth, wanting the right words to come out—but all he can do is squeeze her hand, and share every bit of her pain.
She pats him on the leg, smiling sad, taking his other hand in hers. "Ain't never goin' a stop missin' them. I know that… that's why I kept quiet until now. But I gotta tell you—I think Alma's already upset with me for keepin' quiet so long. If my husband was still alive, I think he'd be doin' much the same as you—an' I'd tell him the same thing I'm 'bout to tell you."
"You can't kill yourself on account a them. An' that's what you're doin', there ain't no two ways about it. First time I found you out there jus' thought you'd had yourself a bad day—but I lost count by now how many times I walked away from here pretendin' I ain't see you. I'm thinkin' every day is a bad day for you, Ennis. 'Cause you won't let yourself have no other kind." Ennis closes his eyes, painfully aware of how he must look to her—shirt stained from things he can't even remember, face dusty from cryin' all night, boots worn down to the quick because he can't find the will to get new ones, fingers shaking under hers.
"I ain't tellin' you to be happy. I can see you ain't ready for that. But, please, try'n find some kind a peace. They're up there, watchin' over us. I know that Jenny and Alma would hate to see their daddy like this. Those girls adored you, son; they was near broken when you'n Alma divorced. And even if everythin' wasn't always perfect between you'n Alma, well—she wanted the best for you, even when she was so mad at you she could spit. She was already talkin' 'bout findin' you someone to marry, even 'fore she left." Ennis's head drops, unable to support the weight, and his shoulder stoop. He feels like he's being constricted from the inside out, can barely breath; all the thoughts that he's tried to purge from his mind are being placed in front of him, presented in the light of day, so different from the darkness that has held onto him these three years. Racine's voice begins to break, wavering high and low. "Know she wouldn't want this for you. Can't imagine anyone would."
Ennis lets loose one sob that convulses his whole body, bringing his head down into her lap, curling in on himself. His mouth is open in a soundless scream. She doesn't shy to touch his hair, mottled down and greasy, making quiet shushing noises. He gulps in air, lungs and chest and eyes burning hot with denial, shaking all over.
"You…you don't know what I did." He says, finally, when his jaw loosens, voice gravelly from disuse.
She places her hand on his shoulder, face full of so much compassion that he thinks he might die of it.
"You're right. I don't. But it doesn't matter, Ennis. It's all past us. God forgives all, son, don't forget that. All you have to do is ask." She leans down, places a quick kiss on his forehead, and gets up.
"We'll be here tomorrow, you want a join us. But, please… go home, son. You gotta go home." She leaves, praying with all that she has that she's done some good, because now she has to go home and try to re-stitch up the wound she's so carefully mended.
February 1980
Ennis plunks the keys down in a dish, kept company by three pennies and a box of matches. The trailer still looks like the day he bought it except for the hat he hangs on the wall, held by the trusty nail. He stows the leftovers from Mrs. de Beers in the tiny fridge, gets a glass of water, and changes for bed. He's out like a light as soon as he's under the covers; visiting the graveyard exhausts him like nothing else and he has work early in the morning.
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Alma stirs in the onions in the pan; the scent wafts heavy throughout the kitchen, catching in Ennis's eyes, crawling around his mouth. He seems to remember that he liked onions, but he has no appetite right now. Jenny is doodling in her coloring book on the floor, Junior has her head stuck in a book. Alma wipes her hands on the blue apron, brushing strands of hair back from her face and dumps the onions into a clear glass bowl that holds hamburger, red and raw and pulped.
"Gramma's right, you know," Junior comments casually, taking a bite of a celery stick and turning the page on her book.
"Wouldn't know what you're talkin' 'bout, Junior," Ennis says, floating out of his chair.
"Well, she is. Even if you are my daddy sometimes I know better than you." Junior sets her book down, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Alma laughs a little, mixing the hamburger between her fingers.
"Miss you, daddy," Jenny says, sticking her tongue out in concentration over her cook, running the black crayon in huge sweeping lines over the page. "Miss you real bad."
Ennis feels like he's evaporating; the tears wash down his face. He doesn't even notice them, they are more natural to him than smiling has ever been.
"Miss you, too, Jenny. Can't tell you how much I miss you…hurts ever' day."
"Don't want you to be sad, though, daddy." Jenny closes the coloring book, places the crayons carefully back in the box, and comes up to sit beside Junior. Jenny rests her head on Junior's shoulder and they hold hands.
"Don't know how else t'be, darlin'."
Alma fills the casserole dish with the hamburger and washes her hands off, coming to stand beside Ennis.
"Don't mind your daddy, girls. He never was one to move quick." She tries to put her hand on his shoulder put it passes through him, an unsubstantial specter.
Don't want a move. Want a stay here, he thinks, wiping the blood off his face.
Alma sits at the head of the table, untying her apron, and looks at Ennis, glowing and pale before him.
"Here don't exist no more, Ennis."
November 1983
"Shoulder feelin' okay?" Nero asks, setting down the pitcher at the small table, sliding into the booth across from Jack.
"'S better, not great. Fuckin' Harley don't know his own strength, always throwin' me and looking surprised that he done it."
Nero laughs, filling up both their mugs. "Need a get yourself a trainer for 'im."
"No money." Jack shrugs, taking a long sip from with a satisfied grunt. "Now don't that taste good after a hard day a work."
"Hard is right. You wasn't kiddin' when you said you'd need some help today."
"Wouldn't a asked you otherwise. Know you busy back at the ranch." Jack leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his thick wool coat.
"How many times I gotta tell you, boss-man, just say the word an' I'll come up here full time."
"If'n I can wrastle up the dinero, might take you up on that. Last guy I hired seemed to think this place was great for settin' up a crack lab or some shit like that."
"No wonder he always looked like he was 'bout to bust an eyeball. Tol' you you can't trust no guy named Billy Bob Davey Howard. Too many first names, 's suspicious."
Jack chuckles. "Reckon you did say somethin' like that after all. Let you take on all the new hires I ever get this place goin', you got a keen eye for people."
"Speakin' a that…" Nero fidgets with his mug, spinning it slowly in circles. "Got a friend you should meet. Name a Drew. Knows horses, might be able to help ya with Harley, mebbe."
Jack smirks, rubbing the spot on his finger where his wedding ring used to be. "Worryin' 'bout my socializin' again, Nero?"
Nero shrugs, looks a little sheepish. "Seems t'get kinda lonesome up here, 's all."
"Not so bad. Enjoy the peace and quiet after Bobby's been here, swear that boy's tryin' a talk my ear off."
"Think he saves all them words up. Won't hardly tell Lureen nothin', said she'd be tempted to take a switch to him if she weren't such 'gosh-damned reasonable woman.'"
"Now that's a sight I'd pay t'see. Only seen her lose her cool but once, and it weren't when we signed the papers, neither."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, one night she was three sheets to the wind, first time, too, I think…"
They drink companionably until the yawns work their way in, achy muscles asking to be put to bed, and Nero covers the tab, insisting that Jack save the money to get himself a trainer. They stop in front of Jack's truck, an old beat-up blue thing that's seen far better days. They shake hands, make promises to get together again soon, and just as Jack's about to get in the truck, Nero turns around, shifting from foot to foot.
"Forget somethin'?" Jack asks, holding his door half open.
"Was just wonderin'…" Left foot, right, left foot, right foot. "Is he doin' okay?"
Jack doesn't have to ask. "Yeah. Better. Doin' better."
"Glad t'hear it. Hope… well, hope you get a chance t'meet Drew. He's good people. Talk t'you soon." Nero heads off with a wave, disappearing into the dark of the night. Jack shakes his head, smiling a little, and heads home, pleasantly buzzed and sleepy enough that he won't have to worry about tossing and turning tonight.
He tries not to think about how good it was to hear another man's voice; tries not to think about the voice it is that he really wants to be hearing. He shifts in his seat, bones aching and tired. He knows his little operation will never get off the ground, but he derives some satisfaction from the fact that he's his own man, making his own way in the world. Don't have to put up with L.D.'s bullshit no more. He grimaces a little. Just my own.
Pulling into his drive, truck bumping down the dirt road, he sighs. Plenty a that t'go 'round. The side of the house, cracking white, is lit up in his headlights. He stares at it for a second. Just one cigarette, then I'll go in. Getting out of the car, he lights up, propping his left foot back against the door.
He squints when he sees headlights approaching, sure that he's seeing things. Nero?
As it approaches, the cigarette dangles from his lips, forgotten. Can't be.
The white truck pulls in quickly, skidding to a stop on the other side of the driveway. He hears the door open, slam, and then Ennis is walking around the back of the truck straight toward him. He stops about ten feet from Jack, scuffing his boot.
"Had t'ask about ten different people in Childress where you was livin'." He bites his lip; his face looks red as if he's recently shaven, hair combed down flat on his head, new boots shining dully in the porch light.
Jack narrows his eyes at Ennis. "What you doin' here?"
Ennis takes a step closer, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets.
"Got your postcard."
Jack fights it, the warmth spilling out of his eyes and into his chest, expanding and diffusing and making him think that maybe, after all this time, there's hope. He laughs, looks at Ennis incredulously.
"Sent it two years ago."
"Said…said come anytime. So here I am."
"Here you are." Jack's voice cracks on the words; he can't believe them, won't believe them. Not after all the nights alone. Can't believe them.
But then Ennis looks up at him, face scrunched up like he's expecting to be run off the property, kicking the back of his heel on the front of his boot, looking so uncomfortable in his clothes, not a speck of dirt on them. Maybe even wearing cologne. And no of it matters a whit, because everything that matters is staring Jack right in the face. He's moving so fast he can't see, arms going around Ennis all at once, breathe pressed right out of them, tears flowing hot and fast down Jack's face, lips seeking and finding, finding like they were never apart, mumbling meaningless sounds and it tastes like the home they never knew they had.
Jack finds himself speaking it like a mantra against Ennis's ear. "Here you fuckin' are. Here you are." And when they finally pull apart, he meets Ennis's eyes, so clear and so fine, and he can see that this time—it's for good.