Vengeance is Mine

Chapter 3: The Burial

James

Julianna had lived next door to me for almost two years.  She had been the absolute perfect tenant in every way.  She always paid her rent on time, she was quiet, she almost never had any visitors, she was neat and clean and respectful.  As a landlord I couldn’t have asked for more.  But in the last few months, I had started to notice her as more than a neighbor. 

If I asked myself why it took me so long to really SEE her, its because she worked damn hard NOT to be noticed.  I had never met a woman who worked so hard to make herself invisible.  She wore clothes that were two sizes to large for her, she kept her hair back in a tight bun, her face devoid of any make up.  She didn’t have any visitors, other than her sister, and she hardly ever seemed to go anywhere.  She drove a non-descript Toyota back and forth to the hospital, and that was it.

I’d been trying to make friends with her.  The truth was the harder she worked to be elusive, the more curious and interested I became.  The more I watched her, the more I felt like there was a fabulous mystery to be discovered in Julianna Potter.  But trying to get close to her was like trying to make friends with a feral cat.  I knew her schedule by heart (which wasn’t hard because she was as predictable as the moon.)  I started making sure that I would be out on the porch, reading my paper and drinking my coffee when she left for work.  That way I would have an excuse to talk to her, even if it was just a mundane greeting, and a “Have a great night at work.”

At first she’d been skittish, merely nodding at me and then practically running off the porch to get away from me.  Ouch, that’s great for a man’s ego.  But as she got used to me, she started to relax.  I started learning a few simple signs, and when she saw me fumbling with them, her confused look morphed into a smile.  A real smile, that showed she had the most adorable dimples. 

I’d never had to work so hard for a woman’s attention in my life.  Maybe that was part of the appeal.  There was nothing “easy” about Julianna.  On the other hand, her sister Melayia was the exactly the opposite.  She showed up now and then, with a sort of larger-than-life presence, like she was a some kind of rock star.  She drove a sportscar, her hair was always a different color and style, and her make-up was flawless.  She smiled and flirted and charmed, and was very easy to talk to.  “Oh hey, Mr. Cameron!” she would give me the appreciative full body scan.  “I just brought a pizza,” she winked at me, “we're having girls' night.  But for you, I’ll share a slice.”

I just couldn’t imagine a woman like that committing suicide.  It didn’t seem likely, right or possible.  When Julianna had flatly scribbled on her notepad “My sister wouldn’t do this.” I was inclined to agree.  I did my best to be there for Julianna the day the police showed up, and in the days that followed.  As far as I knew, Melayia was the only family she had, apart from her father, who seemed to have Alzheimer’s or something.  I wasn’t trying to be an asshole and take advantage of the situation, I really felt for the woman.  She had to be devastated, and I figured she needed a friend now, more than ever.

In the morning I put on my good suit, and I offered to drive her to the cemetery for the graveside service.  I thought she would refuse.  But after chewing her lip for a long, uncertain moment, she nodded, and signed “Thank you.”  She was wearing a blue floral maxi dress which revealed that under her over-sized clothes, she was hiding a knock-out body.  I chastised myself mentally for noticing her body when I was escorting her to her sister’s burial.  I kept my thoughts to myself as I opened the door for her, and then closed it gently when she settled into the seat.

She sat silently, but of course, she was always silent.  She twisted her fingers and rolled and flipped her phone over and over in her hands.  I noticed her face was pale and blotchy, and her eyes were swollen and red rimmed.  In fact, by the way they glistened, it seemed that the tears might start again at any moment.  “Hey, are you okay?”

She gave a quick, negative shake of her head, and leaned back against the head-rest.  Of course not, how could she be okay?  I felt a little stupid for asking.  We pulled into the cemetery, and there was already a line of cars parked along the narrow access road.  I parked and helped Julianna out of the vehicle.  She seemed a little shaky and unsteady today.  We walked along the road and up to the gravesite.  The cemetery had done their part to dig the hole, and cover the dirt with a little carpet of astroturf.  All of the flowers from the funeral home had been arranged around the hole, and piled on top of the coffin itself.  The coffin was balanced on the apparatus that would lower it down into the hole when the service was over.  Some folding chairs had been set up facing the coffin.  Mr. Potter was already seated in one, his eyes distant as he spun his cane between his hands. 

Julianna sat next to him, and placed her hand gently over his, but the old man only frowned and shook her off.  “I don’t know you.  They are burying my Annie today.” Julianna closed her eyes in a moment of pain, and then looked at me.  “Mom” she signed.  I gathered that Annie must have been her mother.  The old man was confused.

A small crowd had gathered around.  A bell tolled in the church across the street, and a pastor stepped forward and started the religious service.  I saw Julianna frowning as he read through passages of the Bible, recited prayers, lead the group in responsive reading, He lead the group in an old hymn, “In the Garden” and then closed the service.  People started wandering back to their vehicles.  Mr. Potter’s home-health aide stood him up.  He shuffled up to the coffin and planted a kiss on the lid.  “I’ll see you soon, Annie.” He said to the coffin.  And then he let the aide lead him away.

Julianna shook her head sadly.  She pointed down the line of gravestones.  I followed her finger and saw the older stone which read “Annie Potter, Beloved Wife and Mother, Forever in our Hearts.”  The woman had been buried almost twenty years ago.  Julianna stood on unsteady feet and approached the casket.  She sank to her knees on the astroturf, and tears spilled down her cheeks.  She bowed her head and reached out and laid her hand on the polished wood.  I saw her mouth moving in silent conversation.  I couldn’t read lips, but I still felt like I was eavesdropping as I watched her.  The last words she mouthed seemed to be “I love you.”  Her sorrow made my heart twist in my chest.