Labor's End

Once more he was just too fucking tired to drag his ass up those steps to bed. He was just about to lay down where he sat when he heard a noise at the door. He knew it could not be Brenda. She had shown up with his breakfast, as usual, that morning. The poor woman seemed visibly shaken to learn of what they all knew was inevitable.

She had only nodded through tears when Mike told her not to worry about dinner this night that he was not sure when he would be back to the farm, and honestly he was not all that hungry. Nonetheless, he had found a bag of Styrofoam containers on the front porch when he got there an hour or so ago. Of course, he was too exhausted to eat, so he simply stuck them in the fridge and pulled out a beer while he was in there.

When the door did open, he was shocked to see the too-serious woman that he had met only once before. Becca or he supposed Rebecca Hall-Okadigbo held scant resemblance to the little girl he had once known. Her hair that she had once worn in ponytails was cut fashionably short. She was petite, he thought was the right term, just like Missus Lula had been. She wore a slightly wrinkled business suit in navy blue and matching shoes. The woman looked almost as tired as he felt.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mike. If I had known you were staying here, I would have checked into a hotel in Prairie View," she said tightly.

He shook his head and stood up like a gentleman should in the presence of a lady. Some lessons he could never forget. It seemed a betrayal of the woman, who had taught them to that small boy. The woman who had paid the ulti...

He stopped those thoughts cold once more as he forced a smile that he did not feel like for this woman's sake. "No, Becca, this is your home. If anyone goes to a hotel, it'll be me."

The woman shook her head as she sat the small suitcase on the floor. She too sighed, "No, that's not necessary. We'll work something out. It's only for a couple of days after all."

She shifted from foot to foot nervously, "James and the girls will be arriving sometime tomorrow though. He promised he would drive them down tonight after his last class of the day. They won't bother you, will they? Not like another little pain, who had a huge crush on her brother's best friend."

Mike was shocked not just at this woman's revelation, but at how for a moment the genuine smile on her face so reminded him of that little 'pain' as she said, who had always seemed to be underfoot. He too smiled at the memories of those long-forgotten days, "No, of course not," he lied. He had little experience with children.

"Are you staying in your old room then? Or Billy's?" she asked.

"Mine," he replied as he sought something more to say to this woman that he neither knew nor understood. "Are you hungry? There's some food in the fridge. I could make you something. I don't have much to drink though, just a couple of beers," he rambled.

She nodded her head slowly, "Actually, that sounds nice. I was so rushed after Miss Landon called, trying to find people to cover my classes, throw a few things into a suitcase, and get a flight. All I could find was one of the budget ones that had nothing but peanuts and day-old sandwiches for sale. Not very appealing. I should have stopped in Tulsa I guess, but I just wasn't hungry then. Just let me put this in my old room, and I'll be right down."

Mike stood and crossed the room, taking the small case from her, "Let me carry it up for you."

She nodded and thanked him as she followed him up the stairs to the room that had remained closed. She opened it and stepped just inside, flipping the switch that bathed the room in a gentle glow of another wall sconce. He sat the bag down just inside the door, "You get settled, and I'll fix you that food."

She nodded and smiled, "Thank you, Mike. I know that you have done a lot for Daddy. Things I probably should have been here to do myself. I know that you probably can't understand. I'm not even sure I do, and I'm a psychologist. But I want you to know, I do appreciate it. All you did for him."

Mike was not sure what to say to the woman's very earnest admission. He nodded as he closed the door, "I'll have that food ready when you get settled."

He stood outside the door as he listened to what he thought was the sound of crying. He considered knocking, seeing if she needed anything, but this woman was not the little girl he had known or even the sullen and withdrawn teen that he had once met on one of his increasingly rare visits after Billy's death. This woman was a stranger. One that he suspected might not welcome his intrusion into whatever grief and guilt she might be experiencing.

He had no idea what to make of her admissions this night. But one thing he had learned in his too-long lifetime was...not to judge that which you do not understand. All those places, people, and different cultures that he had witnessed over the years had taught him...life was never as straightforward or as black and white as you wanted it to be. People were complicated; sometimes, situations were unfathomable.

He was reminded of one of his favorite sayings about walking a mile in someone's boots. He chuckled, not that he wanted to walk in those damned tight looking heels of this woman. But maybe that was the point. Perhaps like she said...he simply could not understand. Not that there was much in this fucked up world that he did or ever had. Or probably ever would.

***CHAPTER EIGHT***

Mike had been right. Dressed in his uniform, he felt conspicuous, to say the least. He knew no one that had come to the funeral home that evening. A few faces looked familiar, mostly from those Sunday church services.

The only exception had been Maude Landon and a couple of nurses, who had taken the time to stop by. Unlike all the others, who viewed the stranger that hung out in the corner of the room with veiled curiosity, they had sought him out. They had spent more time consoling him, if that was the word than they had the 'prodigal' daughter, who held court beside her father's casket with her husband and two young daughters.

Of course, Mike soon came to understand at least some of this woman's reticence in coming back to this place. Having traveled and been stationed in more places than he wanted to remember, he had long since learned to put any prejudice he might have once had aside, if he ever had any that was.

Not so with small Honour, Oklahoma, where the people openly gawked at the dark-skinned African man by little Becca Hall's side. Mike hoped that the two light-skinned beauties, who stood next to their mother were too young to understand some of the looks from the people of this town.

Throughout the night, Mike found himself feeling more and more protective of the woman and her family, just as he once had of that little girl. Even that had been overridden when all the noise and the crush of people that were beginning to fill and overflow that small room got to be too much; he had stepped outside for some fresh air.

What was it about funerals that made him want to smoke anyway? He approached a group of older men, who had congregated in the parking lot and were enjoying cigarettes. He would see if he could bum one off them perhaps.

But that jaunt brought him too close to a small klatch of blue-haired women, just outside the double door of the funeral home.

"How dare that woman? Who does she think she is, bringing him and those...those 'children' here? Lula Mae must be spinning in her grave right now. You'd think the woman would have the decency to at least respect her Mama's wishes more than that. Well, I never..." said one of them dressed pristinely in a black polyester dress.

If she had been a man, Mike would have throat punched him. But since she was not, he did the best he could, "Those 'children' as you call them are the man's granddaughters. And the man is her husband. Don't you think Becca might want and need her family's support after just losing her father?" he demanded.

The woman lifted her nose, and half turned her back to him. Though her cheap polyester dress was anything but the couture that his grandmother might have worn, Mike knew a snub when he saw it, though this one rolled off him in a way that other one never could.

"That woman made her choices long ago. She knew how her parents felt about them too. I know for a fact that Lula Mae told her what a sin she was committing, that it was an abomination against god the mixing of..." Mike felt his hands fist at his side as he blocked out her next words.

How was it possible that in the twenty-first century, such idiotic stupidity and racist drivel still existed in this country? The fact that men like Tommy with his mixed-race heritage and Manny with his proud Latino one had bled and died so this woman could keep spouting such asinine bullshit caused his stomach to tighten into a knot that was almost physically painful.

The fact that he knew this woman and others like her would look down upon the one woman he had ever loved in the same way filled him with a blinding rage that he had not felt since he was seven years old.

He was not sure what he would have done at that moment if it had not been for the gentle hand on his upper arm and the larger, firmer one that gripped his other shoulder restraining him just enough to allow him to tamp down that anger for the moment.

Brenda smiled at the woman, "Good evening, Missus Martha, Miss Mildred, Jolene, Beth. I see ya'll have met Mike. I don't know if ya'll remember, but he was Billy's friend from the Marines. He used to come home with him when they got leave," she took a step closer to him, almost protectively.

"He's the one that's been looking after Mister Clyde these last couple of months," she paused with a too-sweet smile."I'm sorry I shoulda known. You, ladies, must have run into him when ya'll visited the nursing home. Forgive my bad manners, that city living all these years, makes a girl forget herself," she beamed at them.

Mike would have sworn that the woman's nose went another inch higher as if she were smelling fresh 'cow pies' as Billy had taught him, they were called. He had to give Brenda her due. It seemed she had managed to do with her words what no fists could - put them in their place.

Or so he thought until the woman opened her mouth, "Yes, well, I am certain that you did not visit the man either."

The smile on the younger woman's face was not one of gloating triumph, but of genuine peace when she responded. "Actually, I am glad I did. Mister Clyde might not have remembered me or known what I was saying, but it was nice just talking with him about old times...about..."

The bear of a man, who was her husband released Mike's shoulder and stepped behind her, wrapping his saplings about her shoulders that were beginning to shake just a bit with unshed tears. "We should be getting inside, baby girl. If you, ladies, will excuse us," the man said simply as he guided them both away from the group.

They could hear the woman, Missus Martha, Brenda had called her, in that high whiny voice, "Well, I never."

Mike could not stifle the chuckle when Brenda wiped the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand and whispered to them, "I bet she ain't either. I feel real sorry for Mister Roy."

Josh bent low and answered, "Don't you worry about Mister Roy, suga. Word around the feed and seed is that he been 'visitin' Tessa Lee's for close to twenty years now."

Mike shook his head at the small town gossip that seemed as bad as, or worse than, all the ridiculousness that littered his friends' feed. Seemed that celebrities were not the only ones that made fools of themselves. Or had deep secrets to hide; he thought as he saw a newer pickup truck turn into the parking lot.

"His deployment was delayed. So, he flew back just for a couple of days on a special pass to see Isabel. She's pregnant again and having it pretty rough this time," Brenda explained as they watched Billy, his wife, and their little boy, whom Mike had never actually seen file out of the vehicle.

It seemed the Hall genes were strong ones since the boy too was the spitting image of his father, though his hair was darker and his eyes looked to be the warm brown of his mother's Latina heritage. Mike smiled and nodded as they waited for the young family to join them.

That smile widened when he saw those women's mouths drop open as Billy walked past them with his son in one arm and the other wrapped about Isabel, "Evening, ladies."

Brenda too laughed, "Well, between my family and what little I heard as we were coming up the walk about Becca's, I figure there's plenty of gossip to keep Patsy Jo's beauty salon in business for another year or two at least."

Josh shook his head at his wife and jokingly scolded her, "Be good woman," he swatted her bottom playfully before reaching out and drawing his son, grandson, and daughter-in-law into an embrace that made Mike so uncomfortable he had to look away.

He would have excused himself then, perhaps even tried to slip away back to the farm early, had it not been for Billy's next words, "So, will you introduce me to my aunt, Master Sergeant?"

Mike looked from the Marine to his parents.

Brenda shrugged, "We had a good heart to heart on their wedding day. It's not like secrets keep around Honour anyway, which is probably why Josh and I stayed away so long."

She wiped tears from her eyes, "Probably too long. For Mister Clyde and Missus Lula anyway."

"Mama, no more. We talked about this. You and Daddy did what you thought was right. And as a parent, god knows, I'm learning that's about all anyone can. So, wipe them tears, hold that head up high, and let's go do what we came to do," Billy absolved his mother.

His father beamed proudly at him as he released them from the hug and laced his wife's hand through his arm, "Damn straight, son. As a family."

Mike nodded and would have taken a step back himself, fallen in line behind them, except that Brenda reached out and laced her other hand through his arm. "That includes you too, Mike. Billy would not have had it any other way, if he were here now."

He fought back that tight knot that seemed to live perpetually in his throat these days and the blurred vision as his eyes watered. It appeared he was developing some sort of allergy perhaps, as he nodded his head and croaked, "Yes, Ma'am."

The rest of the night had seemed almost anti-climactic. If Becca Hall-Okadigbo was shocked when the young man, who looked so much like her brother, made his way through the 'receiving line,' as Mike learned it was called, she had more class than to show it, unlike the 'church ladies' out front. She had merely smiled, shook his hand, and thanked him for coming just as she had the hundred or so others that she had greeted that night.

After that Mike had managed to sneak away as the crowd continued to grow with people, who had never had time for Mister Clyde when he was alive, but suddenly felt the overwhelming need to 'pay their respects' now that the man was gone, dead and cold in that box.

A huge part of Mike wanted to turn Esther in the other direction. Put as much fucking distance between Honour, Oklahoma and himself as he possibly could. Hadn't he done his duty here? He had sat beside Mister Clyde's bedside, fed the man, hell even changed a couple of them damned adult diapers over the weeks when they had been short-staffed and the nurses too busy to get to the man in what Mike considered a reasonable time to sit in one's own shit.

He sighed as he instead turned his motorcycle back towards the farm that had been his 'home,' if such a thing existed, for almost two months. He was exhausted and over-stimulated from the crowd, noise, and most definitely the emotional drama of this night.

He wanted nothing more than to grab a cold beer from the fridge, get out of his uniform, take a bath, and fall asleep before the others even got back. Even if he could not manage to sleep, he intended to pretend. He had had enough of people for one night...hell, for a lifetime.

***

Mike had been lucky enough to do just that, though he was woken before dawn as usual. This time though it was the sound of the backhoe arriving and beginning the task of breaking through the dry, clumps of red earth that had sustained this family for over one hundred and fifty years.

A hole had to be dug beneath the old willow tree out back. He had always thought it strange that the white picket fenced burial plot sat under the shade of the same tree with a tire swing that generations of Hall children had played on. Then again, what did orphans know of such things?

He had been surprised when he filed into the kitchen to find a red-eyed Becca sitting alone at that shabby table with her trembling hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. It did not smell as good as what he had come to expect at the café, but it was better than loads he had drunk over the years, especially that instant shit that was for emergency use only.

She looked up as he walked in and without preamble asked, "When were you going to tell me about my nephew?"

Mike supposed he should have expected this, but the way the woman had acted last night, he had thought perhaps she had not even noticed the strong resemblance. She had been so young when her brother died; he thought maybe she had even forgotten what Billy looked like. Or perhaps she had been gone so long, was so estranged from this place and these people, that she simply did not give a damn. It had certainly seemed that way over these past few weeks.

He knew one thing, though it was way too fucking early for a beer, he damned well needed the biggest cup of that Joe he could find to face this one. Without answering her question, he had walked over to the counter, pulled a mug from the cupboard, and poured himself the piping hot elixir of the gods before taking a seat across from the woman. Damned, this kitchen table had been the site of more drama these past few weeks than some televisions sets he imagined.

He ignored the burn as he swallowed half the contents of that cup and braced himself as he looked up to meet those blue eyes that were so much like her brother's had been. "I wasn't sure you would even notice or care."

"Not notice? Not care?" she shook her head as more tears streamed down her cheeks. "How could I not notice a man that could have been my brother, that has been dead almost twenty-five years, walking up to me at my father's wake?"

Mike nodded, "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't know the boy was coming. I thought his unit had already been deployed. I swear if I had known I would have said something to try and prepare you."

"How long have you known? Have you been in on this from the beginning? It sure as hell explains why Brenda Jo ran off with Cousin Josh all sudden like." The woman paused as she closed her eyes. More tears seeped from the corners.

Mike was searching his mind, trying his best to figure out what to say to the woman, rehearsing inadequate words when she opened her eyes and looked up at him with a weak smile.

"I'm sorry. I had no right to blame you like that when you have done so much for my father. Like I said the other night, things that I know I should have. I know you probably resent me, but..."

The woman paused and brought the cup to her lips, drinking it as she shook her head, "What's the use? Over twenty years, a Ph.D. in psychology, heck, James and I have even written protocols for grief counseling the children of Navy personnel killed in action. And I still cannot heal that hurt and lost little girl inside me. So, how can I possibly explain to you or anyone else what it is like?"

She chuckled as another tear trekked down her cheek, "Reminds me of a bible verse from that church where Mama and all those other hypocrites last night went. 'Physician, heal thyself.' Funny thing is that when I started studying psychology that was what I was looking for...to make myself whole again. But knowledge never seems to be enough."