Midnight Crossroad (Page 49)

“We were glad to see her coming,” Manfred admitted. “She can swing a bat, no doubt of that. I’m no street fighter. No big surprise there.” He looked down at his thin body. “Maybe I need some bulk,” he concluded.

“Nah, just toning,” Joe said. “Or Bobo could teach you some karate.” The conversation drifted to Jackie Chan and went sideways to Chow Yun Fat, while tangentially brushing on the injuries action stars incurred, and from that to doping exposés. Olivia threw in a comment from time to time.

Of all the citizens of Midnight, Olivia seemed the largest question mark. Even if he imagined that she had met and fallen in love or lust with Lemuel and moved here to be with him (and that was by no means a certainty), how could she resign herself to such solitude and isolation? Olivia was so clearly a citizen of a bigger world. Maybe that was why she traveled so often.

As Manfred walked home, he thought, Every time I take a step forward in knowing these people, I end up with more questions. How about Joe and Chuy? Granted, g*y couples in a state like Texas wouldn’t have too easy a time of it. But Manfred knew that in any large city—and Texas had a few of those—there were equally large g*y communities. Why hadn’t Joe and Chuy settled in one of those? Really, how many people were going to come to a hole in the road like Midnight to buy antiques? Or to get their nails done?

Once these questions had occurred to him, he thought the oddest thing of all was that he’d never set them side by side before.

Fiji had texted him this morning. “Tell Bobo about the vision,” was all she’d said. He’d glimpsed her setting off with Bobo the day before, so she could have told Bobo all about what he’d seen; but Manfred knew it was his responsibility, as reluctant as he was to relay an emotional message.

He’d been wrong not to do it before.

There was no point in putting it off. He turned in at the pawnshop, went up the steps, opened the big door. Bobo emerged from the gloom of the back of the shop, like the Cheshire cat; first Manfred could see his smile, then the rest of him.

After they’d exchanged greetings, Manfred said, “I have something to tell you. When I went to Fiji’s class the other night . . .” And he relayed what he had seen in the vision, though he didn’t dwell on the grisly details of Aubrey’s appearance. “So that’s what she said, short and complete. She wanted you to know she really loved you,” he concluded.

Bobo looked as if he’d been hit between the eyes. “You’re not making this up?” he asked, and you could tell he was praying that Manfred was not.

“I would never lie to you about a vision,” Manfred said. He liked and respected Bobo too much.

“Thank you,” Bobo said, with considerable dignity. “Excuse me. I have to . . . I have to go do something.” And he vanished. Manfred scooted out of the pawnshop as fast as he could, to leave Bobo alone to grieve. And maybe to recover a little.

 • • •

Two people from Midnight decided to attend the funeral: Fiji and Creek.

“I must be some kind of masochist,” Fiji said to Mr. Snuggly as she got dressed for the service. The cat, who didn’t often engage in conversation, looked at her as if he agreed completely. “First I make sure Manfred tells Bobo that Aubrey really loooooved him. Now I feel like I have to go to the damn funeral. To be his eyes and ears. You know what, Snug? I could almost not go and pretend I had. All funerals are alike, right? Aubrey’s funeral won’t be different from any other.” At least Creek was going with her. She’d have someone to talk to on the drive.

The service was being held in a town an hour’s drive past Marthasville, in a largish place called Buffalo Plain. When Fiji pulled up to Gas N Go, Creek came out wearing a black short-sleeved dress and carrying a white cardigan. Creek’s only jewelry was a large silver and turquoise cross. The simplicity suited her.

Everyone has a style but me, Fiji thought glumly. When she pulled on things she liked, Fiji was pleased with how she looked, but today she’d felt obliged to give her clothes quite a bit of thought. Black would be hypocritical, but she hadn’t wanted to offend Aubrey’s (presumably grieving) family by wearing something inappropriate, either. Dark brown pants and good shoes with medium heels had been her compromise, with a long-sleeved green sweater and the good gold chain and earrings she wore when she was dressed up. She’d worked on her hopeless hair a bit, but she caught Creek looking at her head in a startled way. Fiji felt like sighing. There were those to whom style came naturally, and those who didn’t have a clue.

Fiji was sadly aware she was one of the latter.

She and Creek got along well enough on the drive. At first, they talked about Halloween and the upcoming decorating party. Fiji would be preparing her house for the holiday, and anyone who wanted could come over to help. This was the third year in a row Fiji had held an open house on October 31. And no matter when the schools or city fathers decreed children should go trick-or-treating, Fiji celebrated on the calendar day. After they’d discussed the plans for this year, an awkward silence fell. At least, Fiji thought it felt awkward.

“I’m glad you wanted to ride with me,” Fiji said, too abruptly. “I guess I didn’t realize that you and Aubrey were close.” That was as close as she could come to saying, Why the hell are you volunteering to go to this funeral?

“Aubrey didn’t have much to do after she moved in with Bobo,” Creek said. “She cut back on her shifts at the restaurant so she could spend more time with him in the evening, when he was off work. So she’d come over to Gas N Go, buy some Corn Nuts, hang around. She’d talk to me and Connor.”

“I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry.” For the first time, Fiji realized that Creek was lonely for female companionship, and Fiji knew instantly that she should have thought about that and done a little dropping by herself.

“She tried to be nice,” Creek said.

That was damning with faint praise, if Fiji had ever heard it. She said cautiously, “But . . . ?”

“Well . . . she bragged about Bobo.” Creek shrugged. “Like all the women in Midnight had been after him, but she was the one who’d gotten him—you know?”

Two spots of color began to burn in Fiji’s cheeks. “Right. As if we were all panting after him,” Fiji said, in a slightly choked voice.

“Yeah. Come on! He’s a little old for me,” Creek said with the sublime pride of youth. “He’s got to be in his thirties, right?”