Darkness the Color of Snow Read online

  “Call him again,” Gordy says. “Tell him I want it gone now. Not tomorrow or the next day.” The anger in his voice surprises him.

  HE HAS JUST stopped at the Stewart’s for ice cream when his phone rings.

  “Chief, Steve. I thought you’d want to know. We have a suicide.”

  Gordy stops and feels his body go cold. Ronny. It would have to be Ronny.

  “It’s Ben Beacham. He’s hung himself in his garage. I know you were friends.”

  “When?”

  “Call just came in. John’s en route. Thought you might want to go since you know the family.”

  “Right. I’m not far.” He pulls back out onto the road, heading for the Beachams’.

  He pulls in to the curb, just beyond the driveway, as John pulls up to the front of the house. They meet at the front door.

  “Steve call you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can handle this. Steve insisted that he should call you, but I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yeah,” Gordy says. “I do. I’m a friend. Kay will need to see a familiar face.” He rings the doorbell. There’s no answer. He tries the door, which swings open. Lydell has changed a lot in the last few years, but there are still ­people who don’t lock their doors.

  They walk through the house to the kitchen. They can hear the yelling from there and a steady bass beat. Through the door into the garage, from the warmth to the cold again, they stop and just watch. Ben Beacham hangs from a rafter in the uninsulated garage. His face is purple with trapped blood and his tongue protrudes. Kay stands next to him, a broken rake handle in her hands. She keeps swinging it, thumping it into the body, while she keeps up a steady stream of obscenities—­“Bastard, Whore, Fuck, Cunt, Asshole, Shithead, Cocksucker.”

  Gordy times the swings of the rake handle, then as she launches in to the body once more, he jumps forward and grabs her with both arms, bringing her to him in a bear hug. “Kay, Kay. It’s Gordy, Kay. You’re all right. Just calm down. Take a deep breath.”

  “Dickhead. Son of a bitch. Shitlicker. Pussy.”

  He holds on to her and begins to rock her back and forth. “Kay, Kay, Kay. Ssshh. Come with me. Let’s go into the house.”

  She’s sobbing now as if all of the energy she had has been expelled. Gordy can feel the wobble in her knees as he guides her through the door and into the kitchen. He looks at John and then nods toward the body. “Handle this like a crime scene, until we get full confirmation it’s not.”

  He gets her to the sofa in the living room and sits with her while she cries and while her breathing gets ragged as she tries to regain control. He keeps his arms around her, mumbling hollow reassurances into her hair. For a man who never had children, he has done far more consoling in his life than all the fathers he knows.

  And then Kay cries herself to sleep. He puts an afghan over her and walks back out to the garage. Ben still hangs there. John is taking pictures of a knocked-­over fruit crate and the top of a workbench. “Called for a bus. We’ll let them take him down. How’s the missus?”

  “She fell asleep. I think she wore herself out beating on him and swearing. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Though while I was sitting with her, listening to her sob, I wanted to walk out here and take a few swings at him myself.”

  “At least he didn’t make a mess,” John says.

  “Not one you can see,” Gordy agrees.

  They hear the ambulance roll to a stop in the gravel between the yard and street. Gordy walks over and punches the door release button, then steps back as the door opener groans and lifts up the double door to the outside darkness.

  The attendants open up the back of the ambulance and take the gurney out, shake the wheels down and locked, and come up the walkway and into the garage. “Oh, jeez,” the first one says. “I know him. He was a nice guy. A real nice guy.”

  “Yeah,” Gordy says. “He was. He was.”

  He watches them take the body, untying the knot that holds the rope to the rafter and slowly lowering Ben’s body until one of the attendants can take it and lay it on the floor. Then they unfold and unzip the body bag and place it alongside Ben. Finally, they pick him up by shoulders and ankles and move him onto the body bag, which they gently arrange around him, then zip up.

  “That’s it,” one of the attendants says. “Sorry for your loss.”

  Gordy starts to say that it isn’t his loss, but thinks better of it. It’s his loss, too, though dwarfed by Kay’s. “Thanks,” he says.

  He goes back into the house. Kay’s up and in the kitchen, at the sink, pouring a glass of water.

  “They’re taking Ben now,” Gordy says.

  Kay stares out the window, sipping on the water. She nods. “OK,” she says, still looking out the window.

  “There’s nothing more that needs doing tonight. They’ll take him to Warrentown, and he will be released back to you sometime tomorrow. The funeral home will take care of all that.”

  “OK.”

  “Is there somewhere you can go tonight?”

  “I’ll stay here.”

  “Can I call someone who can come over and stay with you?”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “Would you like me to stay? I can sleep on the couch.”

  “No. Thanks, Gordy. I’ll be all right. Gordy, how do we get along without them? I mean Bonita . . . How do you get through your day and everything?”

  He walks over to her, puts his arm around her shoulder, and pulls her to him. “You do. You just do. It takes time, but you do. Someone should stay with you tonight. Do you have anyone you can call? Anyone who can come over for the night?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m staying. I don’t have to be anywhere. I’ll just bunk down on the couch. I’ll be right here if you need me. Otherwise, you won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Gordy, this isn’t necessary.”

  “It is. I’ll be here if you need me.”

  “I think I’m going to cry all night.”

  “That’s fine. Believe me, I know how that goes. I won’t bother you. I’ll just be here if you need me.”

  Kay turns and shuffles out of the room, her slippers making soft noises along the floor.

  He takes off his ser­vice belt, his boots, empties his pockets onto the coffee table, and unbuttons his shirt. He lies down on the sofa in his uniform pants and T-­shirt, hearing the sound of her slippers again as she comes back into the room and hands him a pillow and a quilt. She leans down, gives him a hug and a quick kiss on the forehead. “This is not necessary,” she says. “But thank you.”

  “You’ll be all right.”

  She nods. “He’s gone now, Gordy, but he had been leaving for a long time. I knew this was coming. I’ll start getting used to it tonight.”

  “OK.”

  OH, BEN. BEN, you dumb fuck, he thinks. Then he immediately feels guilty and wants to take it back. He knows Ben struggled with the general failing of his health and from the effects of the alcohol that he used to try to forget it. He had somehow known that this was coming, not like Kay knew, but still, he knew. But it’s a shock.

  He feels his own life being stripped away from him. Bonita, now Ben, who may have once been his best friend. What an idea that is. Best friend. How do you choose? How do you decide? Then it comes to him that he doesn’t have a best friend, hasn’t had one since Bonita died. But maybe the line just moves up. Maybe Pete is his best friend now.

  Snow is coming down in small light flakes that swirl in the porch light outside the window. Nothing substantial, he guesses. There’s just a lot of it this early in the year. A lot of death, too. The snow of the dead.

  Ben and Kay had been his and Bonita’s closest friends in the nineties. They went out to dinner at least once a week and were
generally at each other’s houses on the weekend. They were both childless, and that gave them a certain bond, as well as considerable freedom. But the stronger bond was drinking. A typical get-­together involved several cocktails and, later, a ­couple of bottles of wine with dinner, their voices getting louder and louder, their laughter more raucous.

  That had begun to change when Gordy and Bonita stopped drinking, partly for health reasons, partly for Gordy’s job. They still saw each other, but less often, less joyously. Gordy couldn’t help feeling that Ben, on some level, took Gordy’s sobriety as an accusation of his own lack of it. Finally, they met by chance in stores and restaurants, greeted each other heartily, agreed to get together soon, then didn’t.

  He had heard that Ben’s health was failing, and he had meant to be in touch. But their relationship became one of meaning to, but not following through. Kay looks considerably older. She was always small, and feisty. He guesses, if he thinks about it, her attack on Ben’s body is not all that surprising. She was always quick to laugh, quick to anger. Still, he hopes never to see anything like that again.

  He listens for a while and hears her soft sobbing then, later, her snoring. He drifts into sleep.

  Gordy wakes in the dark. He has to pee. He swings his legs off the sofa, and they crash into something. He feels his way in the dark. He reaches for the doorknob to the bathroom and touches a smooth sheet of glass. He spreads his fingers and runs his hand over the smooth surface that seems to go on forever. Where is he? What is this? He moves to his right to find the light switch, though he has never needed it before. He finds, instead, an armchair. He stops and tries to orient himself. There’s small ambient light from various sources, including a digital clock that reads 1:47. “Bonita?” He moves to his left and crashes into a hassock or ottoman.

  Suddenly the room is flooded with light. It’s all unfamiliar until he sees Kay standing in the doorway. “Gordy? Gordy, are you all right?”

  “I didn’t know where I was.”

  “You’re right here. You’re all right. Do you need something?”

  “I got up to use the bathroom.”

  “Behind you and to your right,” Kay says.

  He turns and sees the open door. He nods.

  “You going to be all right?” she asks.

  “Just woke up confused. Confused myself more. I’m fine.”

  She takes a step forward and hugs him to her. He puts his arms around her, and they stand for a bit, just holding each other. He hasn’t seen her in ages, but here they are now, both partnerless and grieving. He pulls her tighter, then quickly lets her go. She takes a step back.

  “The light switch is right here.” She indicates with her index finger. “Leave the light on if you want.”

  “I’ll turn it off when I’m done.”

  “Good night, Gordy.”

  “Good night. Sleep well. It’s hard, I know. But you get through it, Kay. Believe me.”

  TWO WEEKS BEFORE Thanksgiving, Sue the dispatcher had come into the office, white-­faced. “Gordy, we just got an emergency call. It’s your address. Something’s happened to Bonita.”

  He didn’t stop to think or wonder what had happened. He ran out of the office without his coat, got into the Explorer, and headed for home under lights and siren. He heard the other siren as he neared the fire station. He saw the rescue vehicle pull out onto the road and hit the lights. He fell in behind it as it rocked along the bumpy road, south toward his house.

  He pulled up in front, letting the rescue park in the driveway where it would be able to move unimpeded. There were already a ­couple of cars parked on the road, volunteers from the fire department. He ran to the house, right behind the EMTs.

  “What happened? What happened?”

  “Woman down in the bathroom. Head trauma. Heavy bleeding.”

  “My God, my God,” Gordy said. Bonita. Bonita had fallen.

  The EMTs, both of them, went to the bathroom door and stopped. There were already two men in the bathroom. “Let us in,” one of the EMTs said. The men rose up and stepped out of the bathroom so the EMTs could get in. Gordy crowded up to the door behind the EMTs. He could see Bonita’s flowered housecoat and a lot of blood. Her wheelchair was overturned next to her.

  “She’s alive,” one of the volunteers said. “Lots of blood, though.”

  “Let me in,” Gordy said.

  One of the EMTs said, “Stay back,” then looked up and saw who it was. “Give us room to work here.”

  Gordy leaned inside the bathroom door, looking over the back of the EMT who was raising Bonita’s head from the floor. There was blood everywhere, especially on her face. She looked unresponsive.

  Someone tugged at his sleeve. He waved his arm to be left alone.

  “Gordy, it’s Lois. I found her. She’s hit her head.”

  He turned. Lois Schlemmer, in jeans, heavy boots, and a snowflake-­patterned sweater under a barn coat, leaned against the wall, trying to keep out of the way of the paramedics. She took Gordy’s arm and pulled him next to her. “I came over to check on her, and she didn’t answer. I found her on the floor like that. It looks like she had been on the toilet and tried to pull herself up. But she slipped and hit her head on the sink. I don’t know how long she was on the floor.”

  “I need to talk to her,” Gordy said.

  Lois again pulled him by the arm. “She can’t talk. I tried to wake her up, but she would go right back out. Let the paramedics do their job. It’s the best we can do right now. Just let them work.”

  “I should have been here,” Gordy said.

  “Oh, no. Don’t you start blaming yourself. You have to work. You can’t work and stay home both.”

  “I should have stayed home.”

  “Gordy, stop it. You have a very important job. Don’t blame yourself for what you can’t control.” She reached down and put her hand on his. He realized that he had been wringing them. “They’re working on her now. She’ll be OK.”

  He nodded dumbly.

  “Excuse us. Coming through.” Two more EMTs were pulling a gurney up to the bathroom door. “Make way. Please. Let us through.” They stopped at the bathroom door. “OK. Everyone out of the hallway. We need room here. Please, into the other room.” A ­couple of ­people pushed past him, and he looked through the door and got his first good look at her, lying on her back now, her head swathed in gauze. Her eyes were closed, and she was absolutely white. She looked terrible. Lois pulled him by the arm, but he pulled away and moved toward the bathroom door. “Bonita. Bonita?”

  “Chief,” one of the EMTs said. “Please. She’s ready for transport. We have to get her out of here.” Lois pulled his arm again, and they stepped into the living room.

  He heard the count and the grunt, then the clicks as the gurney was lifted and unfolded. They were sounds he had heard hundreds of times, and from the living room he could see in his mind’s eye exactly what was going on. He had never felt quite so helpless.

  Then the EMTs were maneuvering the gurney out of the hallway and through the door to the living room. Once in the clear, they moved faster. As they came past him, Bonita’s eyelids fluttered, then closed again.

  Lois grabbed his arm and pulled her to him. “I flushed the toilet,” she said. “And pulled up her underpants. She didn’t have time. I know you’re not supposed to touch things in emergencies, but the poor dear. She would be so embarrassed. I’m sorry if that was wrong.”

  “No,” Gordy said. “You did right. It’s not a crime scene. It’s an accident. Thank you, Lois. You’re a good neighbor and friend.”

  “Gordy,” Stan Maynard said. “We’re taking her to Warrentown. They’ll be able to stabilize her there. They’ll decide if she needs to go somewhere else. You want to follow us?”

  “How is she?”

  “Hard to tell right now. We got the bleeding stopped, and s
he goes in and out of consciousness, but she’s not responsive. She lost some blood, but it’s a head wound, and they’re bleeders. They’ll be able to tell more in Warrentown. I don’t think it’s all that bad, but you never know. A little worried about the lack of response. You want to ride with her?”

  He turned and followed the gurney back out, waited as they loaded her, then stepped into the back of the bus next to her. An EMT he knew only as Sherry was setting up an IV of Ringer’s. She smiled at Gordy and motioned for him to sit on the box at the back door. “Try not to fret, Chief.”

  “We’re in an ambulance.”

  “We’re taking care of her,” Sherry said.

  Bonita’s eyes came open as the ambulance lurched forward and the driver switched on the siren. She looked around her, saw Gordy. Her eyes widened a bit, then closed as she went back to sleep.

  It was a forty-­minute ride to Warrentown. In the back of the bus, with no windows except two small ones, he couldn’t judge their progress. He looked out the windows a ­couple of times, but he could see only the bare tops of trees.

  When it seemed they were long past time to get to Warrentown, he felt the bus slow, turn, and finally come to a gliding stop. Sherry moved to Bonita’s head and motioned him to get against the wall. The doors came open, someone reached in and unlocked the gurney and pulled. Sherry got on the front end, pushed, and the gurney went out the doors, the wheels came down, and she went through the glass doors and into the emergency room.

  The emergency room was worse. He was relegated to the hallway as doctors, nurses, orderlies came and went. Each time the door opened he searched for her in the line of curtained cubicles, but he could never see her.

  He called the station to talk to Pete, but Ronny Forbert answered the phone. “Pete’s out. I’ll have him call you back. How is she?”

  “Don’t know,” Gordy said. “I think she’s all right, but I don’t know. We won’t know for a while.”

  “I hope she’s OK, Gordy. We’re all worried. I’ll have Pete call you.”

  “No, that’s all right. He doesn’t need to. I just wanted to check in. I’ll need a ride back to the house later on.”