The Last Death of Jack Harbin Read Free Page B

Jack’s hand in a kind of solemn ritual. Vic, the one with the heavy tattoos says, “Jack, let’s go on over to Coushatta in a couple of weeks. It’ll do you good to get out.” That’s a gambling place just over the Louisiana border.
    â€œI’m going to have to get back to you on that. Got some decisions to make.”
    The prospect of his friends leaving has Jack clutching the arms of his chair, his hollow-cheeked face vulnerable.
    Walter Dunn pauses with his hand on Jack’s shoulder before he leaves. “Jackie, I’ll come over here every night as long as you need me.”
    â€œYou don’t have to do that,” Curtis says. “I’ll be in town a couple more days. There’s nowhere for you to stay. We just have the two bedrooms.”
    Dunn gives him a hard look. “I’ll bring a tent and set up in the back yard so I won’t be in your way.”
    After they leave, I fumble for a neutral subject to ease the bad atmosphere between the two brothers. “Your wife and kids coming down for the funeral? I wouldn’t mind seeing them.”
    Curtis frowns. “There’s no call for Sarah to come. She needs to stay home and take care of my kids.”
    Jack’s jaw is tight. “What do you mean no call for her to come? Daddy was her father-in-law.”
    â€œOne of the girls is sick. Sarah needs to be there with her.”
    Jack gropes around in his shirt pocket and yanks out a cigarette. “Christ, Curtis! You are such a jerk!”
    Curtis gets up so fast that his lawn chair topples backwards. He grabs it and sets it upright with a clatter. “My family is my concern,” he snarls. He starts toward the back door, then pauses and nods to me. “Good to see you, Mr. Craddock.”
    Jack and I sit quietly for a few minutes, Jack smoking, me sipping my cold coffee. Eventually I say, “You want to talk to me about the funeral arrangements? Maybe I can help you out.”
    Jack takes a deep drag on the cigarette. “Nothing to talk about. I told Earnest Landau I want the best for Daddy. It’s my money. Curtis can’t do a damn thing about it. And if he doesn’t want to help pay for it, that’s his problem.”
    I nod, but then realize he can’t see me. “I know what you mean. It’s important to send your loved ones off right.”
    His face constricts. “I can’t believe he’s dead. Seems like there’s something the paramedics could have done for him.”
    I tell him about performing CPR. “I tried my best.”
    â€œYou told me everything was going to be okay. I should have learned by now that when somebody says that, no good is going to come of it. That’s what the medic said when he got to me after I’d stepped on the mine that did this to me. He said I’d died and he brought me back, and then he said, ‘Everything’s going to be okay.’ Like hell! Sometimes I wish I had died.”
    I sigh. “I don’t blame you for being mad at me for saying everything was going to be okay, but the fact is with your daddy lying there like that and you on the ground tipped out of your chair, all I could do was stall for time. If I did the wrong thing, I did it with good intentions.”
    His mouth trembles as if he’s struggling not to break down. “I know that. I’m just trapped, that’s all.” He fumbles around on the table next to his wheelchair, finds the ashtray and grinds out his cigarette. “I wish to God I’d been nicer to Daddy.” His voice cracks.
    â€œIt’s no good thinking that way. Everybody has regrets when someone they care about dies.”
    I hear someone calling out, and Elva Penning, one of Jack’s neighbors, comes around back carrying a tuna casserole. When Jeanne died I found out that tuna casserole was the dish of choice to comfort the bereaved. I haven’t had much of a taste for it ever