Elvis Takes a Back Seat Read Free

Claudia,
    I’m waiting for the end. Can’t stop thinking. Elvis is in the basement. And he belongs in Memphis. He haunts me.
    I draw a shaky breath. Stu was a magna cum laude graduate, yet the cancer stole his intellect, his dignity, and finally his life.
    I reread the first paragraph, remember how the tumor affected his speech. I translate “basement” to mean “attic” since we never had the former.
    A memory lurks of Stu sipping Sprite through a straw. “You know, he was forty-two.”
    In the background Elvis sang about being lonesome. His heartbreaking vocals made me believe he’d experienced that very emotion.
    â€œWhen Elvis recorded this song?”
    â€œWhen he died.” A sharp hook of comprehension snagged the edge of my stomach. Stu was the same age.
    I slam the mental drawer on that memory. He knew. But I hadn’t been ready to face the truth. I’m still not.
    Stu always felt a connection to Elvis. In college he told me as an adolescent he’d felt awkward and geeky. “I was a loner,” he told me. “But I didn’t want to be. I learned how to be cool through Elvis.”
    I focus on Stu’s note again. Was he thinking about Elvis at the end of his own life? Or was he thinking of me? I force myself to read the rest.
    I regress it now.
    Regret? I wonder. Regret what?
    I figure once I’ve left …
    Like it was his choice.
    â€¦ you’ll say bye to Elvis.
    But can I?
    Will you refund it for me?
    Return?
    It belongs at Faithland. It was his fault. He was so real.
    Who was real? Who was at fault? And for what? Maybe Stu had been hallucinating. Faithland? Did he mean Graceland?
    Rae must go too. She can help. I miss you. Miss your laugh. It’s been gone a while now. I miss the you and me. This dizeez has changed both of us, hasn’t it? Hold me, like you used to do, in your dreams. I don’t want to leave.
    Always yours,
Stu
    I fold the note over, rub my thumbnail across the crease. My eyes are dry, my heart cracked like the ground during a summer drought.

Chapter Two
I Want You, I Need You, I Love You
    A knock at the back door jars me out of my stupor. I should have relieved Rae before now. How long have I been inside? I stuff Stu’s note in my back pocket just as the door opens. Ben steps inside my house carrying one of Stu’s golf clubs.
    I salute him with my Diet Coke. “Need a drink?”
    He walks into my kitchen, his face shadowed beneath the A&M baseball cap he wears. “You don’t have anything strong enough.”
    â€œBad day?”
    â€œI’m okay.” He rubs his hand over his face as if trying to ease the tension, erase the worry lining the corners of his eyes. “How’s the garage sale going?”
    I rub my thumb around the edge of the soda can. “What did Rae tell you?”
    He balances the golf club between his hands like he’s about to mimic Gene Kelly’s soft-shoe routine. “Why?”
    I shrug. “Let’s just say sales isn’t my forte.”
    â€œI want Stu’s clubs.” He lays the one club—a driver, I think—on the counter.
    â€œYou can have them.”
    â€œSee, you made a sale.” He grins, planes of his face creasing like a paper fan.
    â€œNo, they’re yours. I should have asked if you wanted them. I wasn’t thinking.”
    â€œStu would make me pay.”
    â€œYeah,” I laugh, “he would. I’ll give you a good deal on a bunch of record albums.”
    â€œAre they warped?”
    â€œNot the way you mean. But some of Stu’s collection was a bit twisted.”
    A wry smile tugs one corner of his mouth. He readjusts his baseball cap, lifting it off his head and settling it back a notch. “So what’s going on with the garage sale? From what Rae said, you sound like my daughter. One minute Ivy says this, the next minute the opposite.” He studies me like a pimple might pop out