“You sure about that?” Buddy Lee said.
The clouds had dispersed by the time he got to the cemetery. The headstones shimmered in the unrelenting sunlight. The temperature rose steadily, like a bottle rocket. In another hour it would be hotter than fresh-cooked fried chicken. Buddy Lee walked among the tombstones with a steady gait. He only stopped to cough twice before he neared Derek’s and Isiah’s graves. He came up around the red maple that overlooked his son’s final resting place and stopped short.
“Christine,” he said. His heart leapt up out of his chest and slapped the back of his throat. She was standing at the foot of the graves. Her honey-blond hair brushed the collar of her blue blazer. Those long legs he loved were wrapped in a sensible blue skirt that matched her blazer. Deep-set eyes the color of sapphires stared out at him from a heart-shaped face. How many times had he gazed into those eyes? Seen them change color like a mood ring. Darken with passion or sparkle with desire or glow blue hot with rage. She’d had some work done. Mostly around the eyes and her mouth. He didn’t blame her. Why not? From what he’d heard, her husband could afford it. The surgeon had only shored up what the Almighty had given her. Christine Perkins Jenkins Culpepper was as beautiful a woman as he had ever had in his arms. A few doctored crow’s feet couldn’t change that. No matter how much Christine would have liked to pretend their eight-year marriage had never happened.
“Where is the headstone? The other family said they had a headstone,” Christine said.
“It got damaged. What are you doing here? How did you even know where they were buried?” Buddy Lee asked. Christine pushed an errant blond lock out of her eyes.
“It was in the paper.”
“I gotcha,” Buddy Lee said.
“What happened to the stone?”
Buddy Lee cracked open one of the cans of beer and took a long swig.
“Somebody hit it with a sledgehammer and wrote a bunch of fucking nasty shit about gay people all over it,” he said. A sharp intake of breath from Christine sent a whistle echoing through the graveyard.
“That’s … unfortunate. Even though I didn’t agree with Derek’s lifestyle, there was no need for someone to perpetrate such a vile act of vandalism on his tombstone,” Christine said. Buddy Lee took a step toward her and she took a step back. She glanced down and realized she was standing on either Derek’s or Isiah’s grave and stepped toward the right.
“Is that why you didn’t come to the funeral? Because you didn’t agree with his lifestyle? Or was it because Gerald Culpepper didn’t let you?” Buddy Lee asked. Christine rubbed her nose and ran a hand through her hair.
“You wouldn’t understand. A man in Gerald’s position can’t be seen coddling a stepson who engages in perverse activities.”
“Oh, I understand. I understand you kicked our son out of your house right before the judge ran for Richmond City Council the first time. I understand our son was living on the street. Bouncing from house to house because you cared more about being the wife of some stuck-up, rich, first-family-of-Virginia asshole than being a mother to your child,” Buddy Lee said. He felt the color rise in his face. Tremors moved through his body like a high tide coming into shore.
“Don’t you stand there and get sanctimonious with me, William Lee Jenkins. You think you were Father of the Year? Our son dedicated himself to an immoral lifestyle. An abhorrent, sacrilegious life that neither my husband nor I could abide in our home. Yes, I made him leave but I never punched him in the face. I never slapped him to the ground. If you were so concerned about him, why didn’t you take him in? Oh, that’s right, you were behind bars, drinking toilet wine,” Christine spat at him.
Buddy took another sip of his beer.
“Those fancy etiquette classes Culpepper had you take was good. But your accent’s slipping. I can hear Red Hill County all up in your voice when you get mad. You ain’t that far from the back seat of my Camaro after all,” he said.
“I will not let you take my peace. I will not let you take my peace. I will not let you take my peace,” Christine muttered. Buddy Lee thought she was talking to herself, not him. She glared straight ahead as she clenched her fist, digging her manicured red nails into the palms of her hands. Buddy Lee studied her eyes again. She’d had some work done, but there was something else there. A manic look he recognized from many a backwoods trailer party.
“Christine, are you high?” Buddy Lee asked. His question snapped her out of her affirmation.