A Sad Soul Can Kill You Part 14

"Can you?" She looked at him with tired eyes.

"Try again," he repeated.

Franny removed her gla.s.ses. "I was seventeen, Homer," she said. "I was young and, of course, very nave." Even though Franny hoped she would be able to make amends between herself and her estranged son, she was discouraged by the possibility that it would not happen if he continued to remind her of her mistake every day for the next two months.

"I thought my mother could take care of you much better than I could," she continued. "She had the experience and she wanted you."

"So you left me with her and ran off to another city, right?" he said harshly.

"I didn't just leave you, Homer," she said rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I left you with family, with someone who loved you."

"You think that makes a difference?"

She looked at him. "Actually, I do," she said. "It was better than leaving you with a stranger."

"Why'd you have to leave me at all?" His voice was hard and cold.

"Your grandmother was going to take me to court if I didn't make her your legal guardian. That showed me how much she wanted you, so I signed the papers. I'm sorry, Homer."

"If you would have been there for me, she wouldn't have had to go that far."

Franny looked at him with sad eyes. "Is that what she told you?"

"It doesn't matter," he said lowering his head.

"Homer. I've asked G.o.d to forgive me, and He has. Now, I'm asking you to forgive me."

Homer remained silent.

"What do you know about Jesus, Homer?"

He jerked his head up and stared at her from across the room. "Really?" he said. "You're asking me what I know about Jesus?" A look of bewilderment spread across his face. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has a lot to do with everything," Franny said. "Now, and when you die."

"I already know about G.o.d," he said returning his eyes to the television set.

"But I didn't ask you that," she said gently. "I asked you what you knew about Jesus."

Homer crossed his leg and wiggled his deformed left foot.

Franny's eyes traveled to the deformity that was hidden by the cotton socks Homer had on.

He stopped wiggling his foot. "I know a little something about Jesus," he said. "And the part I know is that He didn't abandon anybody. But that's cool." He uncrossed his leg. "Everything's cool."

"No, Homer, it's not cool," Franny said. "It's never been cool. And I understand why you're angry." She wanted to move closer to him, to hug him or even touch him which she had not done in two years. Instead, she remained seated. "Homer," she said gently, "I can never apologize enough for leaving you. I'm sorry, and I'd like to have a relations.h.i.+p with you for whatever length of time I have left on this earth."

He looked at her and a stab of guilt pierced his conscience. He snickered in an effort to convince himself that her sparkless eyes were due to her old age and not his unpleasant demeanor directed toward her. She was just getting what she deserved. It was karma.

"You want a relations.h.i.+p now?" he said. "After fifty-one years? It's kind of late, don't you think?"

"Yes," she agreed, "it's kind of late. But it doesn't have to be too late. I'm willing to try if you are. It might be the death of me. But I'm going to try if it's the last thing I do."

He stared at her hard. "Can a leopard change its spots?"

She stared back at him. "Well," she said slowly, "since G.o.d made the leopard, anything is possible."

Chapter Twenty-six.

It was three thirty in the morning when Franny got up quietly and tiptoed to the kitchen to get a gla.s.s of water. An increasing feeling of uneasiness had come over her ever since she'd seen Homer throwing rocks at that squirrel.

She began to wonder if she'd made a mistake by moving in with her estranged son. She tried not to remind herself that she still had 59 days to go before an apartment would be available for her.

As she pa.s.sed Homer's closed bedroom door, she noticed a faint light flowing from underneath the opening. The dark spirit that encompa.s.sed every room of the house grew even darker, and she hurried on to the kitchen.

On her way back, she heard soft irregular tapping sounds coming from behind his door. What is he doing in there at this time of the morning? She stopped to listen; she heard three taps, a burst of taps in rapid succession, and then one final tap.

Suddenly, the light went out, and Franny hurried down the hall to her room. The water in her gla.s.s rocked back and forth like a pendulum leaving liquid teardrops on the hallway floor. She closed her door and sat down on the bed.

"Franny!" Homer yelled knocking hard on her door.

She jumped, and more water escaped from the gla.s.s to her nightgown. Her hand shook as she placed the gla.s.s on the nightstand. Ever since the squirrel, she didn't know what Homer might be capable of.

"Franny!" His voice sounded like thunder. "I know you're awake. You spilt water all over the floor."

Her chest heaved up and down as she opened the door. His menacing figure blocked the doorway, and his hazel eyes frightened her as he stood looking at her.

"Well?" he said.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

"Water." He pointed to the hallway floor. "Mop." He spoke to her as if she were a child-no-less than that-as if she were an idiot. "Now," he barked over his shoulder as he walked away.

Franny held on to the doork.n.o.b with one hand and the wall with the other hand until her trembling subsided. When she heard Homer's bedroom door slam shut, she got the mop from the utility closet and quickly swabbed away the wet spots on the floor. She made sure to return the mop to its exact resting position in the closet when she had finished.

She went back to her bedroom and changed into a dry gown. Her heart was still beating rapidly as she got down on her knees to pray.

"Heavenly Father," she started, "forgive me for my sins as I forgive those who sin against me. I tried to make amends, Lord, but my son is full of anger. Touch his heart, Father. Prepare him to receive Jesus Christ as His savior, and let his soul be healed. Thank you, Father. In Jesus' name I pray, amen."

She rose slowly and got into bed. She turned onto her side and pulled the cover up tight around her shoulders. Her body had become weakened by disease, and her heart was heavy from loneliness and pain. The thought of living under Homer's roof for another six weeks had now become unbearable to her.

Three hours later, a familiar heaviness returned to the center of her chest. As it traveled to her left arm with greater intensity, sixty-eight years of living pa.s.sed before her in a flash. She remembered part of a prayer she'd been taught as a child . . . If I should die before I wake, I pray, dear Lord, my soul do take. A chill pa.s.sed through her as she sighed heavily. And then she saw the paradise she'd been dreaming of.

Chapter Twenty-seven.

It was early Sunday morning when the ambulance pulled into the cul-de-sac. Its siren was silent. Homer walked calmly to the front door and let the paramedics in. He led them to the room where Franny lay still, eyes closed with the covers still pulled up around her neck. The gla.s.s of water she'd gotten in the middle of the night remained untouched.

"What happened?" the paramedic asked.

"I got up around eight o'clock this morning," Homer said nonchalantly. "I called her name and she didn't answer. I went to check on her," he stretched his arm out toward the bed where she lay, "and there she was."

The paramedic looked at him strangely. "Was she on any medications or did she have any illnesses?"

"She had a heart condition."

The paramedic opened the folder he was carrying, pulled out a pen, and began writing down the answers to his questions. "What kind?"

"I'm not sure," Homer said. "But she just had a heart attack recently."

"Was she on any type of medication?"

"I don't know."

The paramedic stopped writing and looked up at Homer. "She just had a heart attack and you don't know if she was on any medications?"

Homer looked directly into the paramedic's eyes. "No, I don't."

"And you said she's your mother?"

Homer looked down at the blanket his mother had wrapped herself in. "That's right," he said.

The paramedic turned and raised his eyebrows as he looked at his partner. "Let's get her transported," he said.

After they left, Homer went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. As he removed a scoop of coffee grounds from the container, he heard Franny's words from their last conversation echo in his head: "It might be the death of me," she'd said. "But I'm going to try if it's the last thing I do."

A lump began to form in his throat. How dare she die before he had a chance to tell her how he felt? He dropped the scoop and the coffee grounds scattered across the counter. It wasn't enough that she had abandoned him as a child; now, she'd gone and did it again, only this time, it was permanent!

He threw the open can of coffee against the wall, then balanced himself against the kitchen counter. After a few minutes, his heavy breathing began to subside but the rage inside of him had not.

The contempt he'd felt for his mother returned. He brushed the coffee grounds off the counter and s.n.a.t.c.hed a broom out of the kitchen closet. After he'd swept the crumbs into a neat pile, he carefully scooped them into the dustpan and dumped them into the wastebasket.

He stood thinking about what kind of funeral his mother would have. He realized he had no idea who her friends were, or if she even had any, for that matter. He stared at the dark ma.s.s of coffee grounds huddled together at the bottom of the white plastic bag. He inhaled deeply and decided he would just have her cremated.

Homer rotated his shoulders and turned his neck from side to side, then he walked out of the kitchen. He went into his bedroom and turned on his laptop. There was no time to feel sad about her death, and he didn't have any tears to shed. As a matter of fact, he hadn't shed any tears in a long time-not since he'd been a little boy.

Chapter Twenty-eight.

The beginning of March arrived unnoticed and uncelebrated by most people. It might just as well have been the month of February because of the unrelenting cold temperatures. The only reason Serenity took note of the month was because it was the first Sunday in March-and audition day had finally arrived.

As she walked into the Brookridge Mall with Tia, Serenity was convinced that she was the perfect candidate for the audition. They rode the elevator to the bas.e.m.e.nt level, and after being checked in, Serenity entered the small auditorium. She stood in line with the other candidates, listening to the coordinator as she told everyone what rules to follow for the audition that was to begin in a few minutes.

There would be a three-minute practice walk down the makes.h.i.+ft runway situated in the middle of the room, and everyone should smile, not be nervous, and just have fun.

Fun? Serenity wasn't there to have fun! She was there to prove everyone wrong about her. And if-no-when, she was chosen, it meant that she was going to be a part of the first fas.h.i.+on show that the Brookridge Mall had ever had! It also meant no more jokes from Cookie.

This could just be the beginning, Serenity thought. Once she was chosen and whisked away to New York, or Paris even-where the real models lived-maybe that look on her parents' face would go away for good!

The large industrial fan circulated the stagnant air around the small room, which contained several empty metal chairs pushed against the bare walls, the makes.h.i.+ft runway, a full-length mirror, and a rectangular table for the judges.

Serenity listened to the racket of voices all talking at once. There were at least a hundred people waiting to audition, and her five foot ten inch frame towered over almost everyone else, including several boys who had come out to audition as well.

She was next in line to audition. She felt her shoulders beginning to hunch and her spine beginning to curve. She arched her back and straightened up. The sharp ache that followed reminded her to stand up straight like Tia was always telling her to do.

She looked over toward her mother who sat stoically in one of the metal folding chairs. The young girl sitting next to Tia watched the events unfold. She smiled at the girl standing behind Serenity and gave her a thumbs-up sign. Serenity thought about Cookie and wished she could have come along to be her support, but her parents would not alter their church schedule.

Finally, it was Serenity's turn. She walked up the three wooden stairs that led to the stage. She pushed her shoulders back and thrust her hips forward. She had studied the way the models walked on America's Top Model, and she had been practicing. She placed her left foot in front of her right one and inhaled deeply. She was ready to take the first step.

"Crazy In Love" by Beyonce started to play, and Serenity hit the runway stomping, one long beautiful stride after the other. Left, right, left, right. She kept her steps steady and in unison with the music, strutting up and down the aisle.

The only problem was the heels on her shoes. They were too high, and they made her feet hurt, but these were the kind of shoes she'd seen on the feet of the models on television. After a considerable amount of pleading and begging for the shoes, her mother had relented and had purchased them for her. Serenity tried to maintain some sort of elegance within her stride. She let her long legs lead her in a smooth and flowing motion. Nice and easy. Yes. Now she had it!

When she got to the end of the runway, she stopped and looked each judge directly in the eye just like she'd seen the models do on TV. She released the judges' gaze seconds before her jaws released the flawless smile she had attached to her face.

She made her pivot, and it was then that the ridiculously oversized heel on her left shoe decided it could not handle such an elaborate turn. The shoe, along with her ankle, leaned inward and she stumbled sideways off the elevated platform. Some of the contestants rushed to her aid, and in a haze Serenity saw her mother shaking her head. The girl sitting next to her covered her mouth.

As she scrambled to her feet, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The pretty white lace had been ripped away from the hem of her black chiffon dress, the red velvet bow in her hair now swung back and forth in front of her face, and the heel that had caused all the trouble to begin with was now completely broken off.

Serenity looked at her mother, who was still shaking her head, that familiar look of disgust plastered all over her face. She felt like crying, but there wasn't time. She removed the other shoe from her foot and got back on the runway, walking barefoot all the way to the end.

Chapter Twenty-nine.

Serenity was not chosen to be one of the models. Now she had time to cry as she and Tia drove home in silence.

Tia sighed. "Don't feel bad," she said as she pulled up to the curb in front of their house. "You'll be picked next time."