Unbury Carol(2)

“In the end,” Dwight whispered, “no magic trick can save you.”

“What?”

“It’s sad,” Dwight said. “That’s all.”

You two have as much in common as I do with a ladies’ man, John once told Carol. You know he married you for your money, right?

But Carol hadn’t liked that joke and told him as much.

Dwight nodded across the grave to his colleague Lafayette. Carol caught the gesture. Of all the people Dwight associated with, the woman Lafayette was perhaps the least likable. Her gut hung proudly over her black belt and tested the silver buttons of her white wool shirt. A cemetery wind toyed with her long ponytail, sending it flapping across the deep wrinkles in her face. She’d always looked something like a witch to Carol, and Carol couldn’t imagine a single sentence that might’ve been exchanged between the pompous, dubious prig and the amazing man John Bowie who lay barefoot in his gray suit on his back below.

Perhaps self-conscious of the unboxed man, conservative Manders concluded his eulogy more quickly than Carol expected. Then again, Bowie’s entire life had concluded more quickly than Carol expected. The Illness, she knew, was something to be scared of. Yet for a woman who had died many times, Carol was perhaps less afraid than most.

“Hell’s heaven,” Dwight said. “I can hardly stomach this.”

Carol brought her lips close to her husband’s ear. “Dwight. Shut up.”

It was no secret Dwight had as little in common with John as did the witch Lafayette. Normally this bothered Carol deeply. How was it she’d married a man who didn’t see the shine in her brilliant, favorite friend? How was it John couldn’t make Dwight laugh? How was it— But today was no day to be upset with Dwight.

And yet the couple were on hard times indeed.

It’s because he doesn’t ask questions like I do, John once said. Carol could almost hear his voice now. He’s more bull than man, and that’s coming from a friend with a lot of turkey in him.

John was always making jokes. But more important, always making Carol laugh.

She looked to his lips just as the gravediggers Lucas and Hank shoveled dirt upon his chest and chin. Then, with her mind’s ear, Carol heard him say something he had never actually said while living. Something he would probably say now if he could.

Who else are you gonna tell now? Someone needs to know. What if you slipped into the coma right now and Dwight somehow died while you were in there? You need a safety valve, Carol. Security. I’m gone now. Do my ghost and the ghost of your mother a favor: Tell someone else.

“We need to tell someone else,” Carol suddenly whispered. Dwight turned to face her.

“Tell someone else what?”

As Manders closed his book of notes, as Lucas and Hank covered Bowie’s head completely, Carol closed her eyes and repeated herself. “We need to tell someone else.”

“Come on, dear,” Dwight said, tugging her elbow as the other grievers started to move from the graveside. “Let’s discuss this at home.”

But did Dwight know what she meant? She couldn’t be sure. And why not? Her mother, Hattie, would’ve known. Hattie would already be sawing the pieces for her plan B. John would’ve known, too.

Dwight nodded a good day to Lafayette and led Carol to the cemetery grass. “What is it?” he asked.

Carol began walking toward their coach.

“What is it?” he repeated.

“What is it? A good friend has died. That’s what it is.”

“My heart is as heavy as yours,” Dwight said, catching up.

Though Carol hated to hear it, John was often right about Dwight. And recently Dwight had changed. Ten, five, even three years ago he would be holding her hand, an arm draped over her shoulders, discussing the very topic she wanted him to address.

John Bowie was dead. Someone else needed to know about Howltown.

And yet talking about her condition was one of the hardest things for Carol Evers to do.

She had been spurned before.

Inside the coach she spoke her mind. And the argument began.

“Now nobody knows,” she said, juggling the sorrow of losing John and the fear of being vulnerable once more.

“Knows what, dear?” Dwight looked as lost as a wolf cub with no pack.

“I’m talking about my condition.”

Dwight nodded. But Carol couldn’t tell what the nod meant.

“And now nobody knows,” he said.

“Someone other than you needs to. If not…there’s a very real risk of my being mishandled.”

Dwight laughed.

Carol, stunned, sat up straighter. “Why are you laughing?”

“What are the chances, Carol? What are the chances that you’d slip into a coma right now, and that I would then drop dead while you were inside?”

The way he said it, Carol felt a little embarrassed for being so angry. And yet…

“If there’s one thing Hattie taught me, it was not to waste a second when it comes to this. We need to tell someone. A doctor can’t even detect a pulse when I’m in there. And hell’s heaven, Dwight, you should have brought this up yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Carol. Who do you want to tell?”

Carol heard the distant echo of hoarse breathing. Or perhaps it was the actual horses taking them home.