“Sir, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but we have a bit of a problem with your son’s grave.”
“The funeral home said everything was paid for. My son had set up a prearrangement,” Ike said.
“No, sir, it’s not about the payment. I’m afraid there’s been some damage to your son’s grave.”
“What kind of damage?” Ike asked.
“Sir, I think you should come down to the cemetery. I don’t think this is something we can discuss on the phone,” Kenneth said.
Ike had expected to arrive at his son’s grave （that phrase would never sound right to him） and see a large chunk missing from the headstone. He knew how pieces of gravel became ballistic projectiles when launched by the blade of a riding mower. That was why he had all his guys bonded and insured. Perhaps he would see a huge chunk of grass missing. The result of an overzealous groundskeeper testing out a brand-new weed trimmer. Ike worked in the dirt. He knew there were only so many ways to damage it.
He hadn’t expected anything like this.
He and the manager were standing side by side at the foot of the grave. The manager was pale as the belly of a fish. His blond hair was slicked back with so much product a fly would break its neck trying to land on it. He was sweating despite the AC in the office being on arctic. That had been Ike’s first indication that the issue with the grave was more extensive than he had first thought.
Ike walked over to the headstone. It was a double stone with both Isiah’s and Derek’s names carved into the black granite. Someone had cracked it in two. Probably with a sledgehammer. Once they had cracked it they had decorated it with their own views on homosexuality and interracial relationships.
DEAD FAGGOT NIGGER. DEAD NIGGER FAGGOT LOVER was sprayed on the two halves of the stone in neon-green spray paint. They had also sprayed it on the grass over each grave.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this, Mr. Randolph. Of course, we will replace the headstone. The grass will be a bit more difficult,” Kenneth said.
“Dig it up and replace it with sod,” Ike said. His voice sounded like a recording to him.
“Well, yes, I guess that is one solution,” Kenneth said.
“I want the grass fixed today. Go ahead and move the stone now. My wife is supposed to be coming by today. I’ll tell her one of your trucks ran into it.”
“Yes sir, of course. I again want to sincerely apologize. Greenhill accepts full responsibility for this unfortunate event,” Kenneth said. He tried to smile sympathetically. Ike caught his eyes and the smile died on his lips.
“Get the grass done today,” Ike said. He started walking toward his truck. He left the manager and his golf cart at the grave. He felt strange. He was well acquainted with his rage. It lived inside him like a demon waiting for moments like these. Seeing the stone should have released it like a hungry beast freed from a cage. The familiar sensations associated with it weren’t immediately present. His vision hadn’t taken on a crimson sheen. His stomach wasn’t doing yoga poses in his guts. Was this the numbness people talked about? That crippling feeling that took over your body when you were finally pushed beyond your limits.
Ike got in his truck and dialed his office.
“Randolph Lawn Care and Landscaping, Jazmine speaking. How may I help you?”
“Jazzy, go into my office. There’s a receipt on my desk. On the back of it there’s a telephone number. Text me that number.”
“Okay. Good morning to you, too, boss.”
“Get the number, Jazzy,” Ike said.
“Alright. Hey, you okay? You don’t sound—”
Ike ended the call.
* * *
Buddy Lee pulled into the parking lot of Sander’s Grab and Go. He thought the name of the place didn’t exactly match the actual layout. It was built like a Tastee Freez or a Dairy Queen. There was an order window and a pickup window, both with a plexiglass sliding door, but there were also a bunch of bright-red picnic tables littered across the front of the building. Buddy Lee figured the name kinda fit. You could grab your food, then go to a table.
Ike was sitting at one of the tables near the far end of the building. Buddy Lee put the truck in park and loped over. Ike was eating from a red-and-white-checkered paper container. He tore into a piece of fried fish, then took a sip of fountain drink.
“Hey,” he said after washing down his food.
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” Buddy Lee said.
“Have a seat,” Ike said. Buddy Lee hesitated, then took a seat. He picked up a plastic menu from the tabletop and started perusing it.