Page 36 of Ghost

E llen sat down with her drink, and as soon as Sharon had left she downed it and poured herself another.

Mason’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Wow.”

“What?” Ellen chuckled. “You thought I was some old prude who was always prim and proper?”

“Well, kinda,” Mason admitted. He took the bottle from Ellen and poured himself another drink. “Why do I get the impression that you’re getting me drunk for a reason?”

Ellen looked out the window and sighed. “You’re right. I do have a reason.” She looked at Mason. “A very good reason.”

“Uh, oh. This doesn’t sound good”

“I took the liberty in organizing a funeral for our dear Francis. Well, the basics at least.”

“What do you mean a funeral? Why?” Mason stood up, his anger rising quickly. “How dare you!”

“Why? One reason is that I am the only living relative to Francis, and I have the obligation and the legal right.” Ellen stood again and placed her hand on Mason’s arm.

“And the longer this drags out the worse it is going to be for both you and Francis. I’m afraid that the longer Francis remains here the more likely he will become further attached to you and then won’t go into the light.

” She turned towards the window again. “The last thing I want for you is to be stuck in a relationship that can only do you harm.” She looked up into Mason’s eyes. “Trust me when I say this. It’s cruel.”

Mason could see the pain in her eyes, even though no emotion showed on her face. He exhaled slowly. “Okay. Tell me then.”

“Let’s go into the dining room. I’ll have Sharon make us some sandwiches and we can write all this down.” Ellen again rang the little silver bell and right on cue, Sharon appeared.

After sitting down, the bourbon bottle between them, Ellen began; “I contacted the local funeral home and have arranged for Francis’ remains to be picked up. I’d like for you to escort me there day after tomorrow morning where we will pick out a coffin for him.”

Mason took another large sip of bourbon.

Ellen reached across the table and took Mason’s hand. “We can do this together, Mason.”

Mason nodded his head. He felt like he was about to choke on a large boulder that was stuck in his throat.

Sharon brought in a plate of sandwiches, cut in quarters. Ellen asked her to retrieve a folder from Gerald’s office before pushing the plate towards Mason. “Eat while drinking, Mason.” She nodded. “Best way to avoid a hangover or getting too drunk too soon.” She winked at him. “I know this.”

Mason couldn’t help but giggle slightly. He could only imagine Ellen in her younger days drinking and carousing all night.

Sharon handed the folder to Ellen and then quietly retreated.

“Here are a few notes of what I thought would be appropriate.” She glanced at the contents and then handed it over to Mason. “Tell me what you think?”

Mason took another swig of bourbon, washing down the mouthful of the smoked turkey sandwich. He slowly opened the folder. In a very prim, old-fashioned handwriting, Ellen had made a list:

Have Francis transferred to the Clinton Funeral Home.

Pick out an appropriate casket. (Mason)

Pick out a headstone.

Have Francis taken back to the Savannah house.

Get Francis to attach to his remains

Take Francis to Hobonny

A three-day lying-in-state.

Bury Francis.

Send Francis into the light.

Mason read through the list twice before turning to the next page. On it was a list of flowers and details of opening up the plantation where they would stay while Francis lay in the formal parlor.

“We’re going to stay at the plantation for three nights?”

Ellen looked surprised. “Why, of course. Can’t leave poor Francis there all on his own now, can we?”

“Why?”

“Oh. Yes.” Ellen picked up a quarter of a sandwich.

“I do wish that Sharon wouldn’t be so stingy with the mayo.

” She took a small bite, and once she’d chewed and swallowed, she took a hefty drink of bourbon.

“It’s tradition for one thing, but most important, I have a feeling that Francis is bound to the house and not his remains.

If we move his body to Hobonny, he won’t be able to follow.

We have to get him to rejoin his remains so that he can make the trip.

I would be so pleased if that were to happen.

That way he could see his family home once more. ”

“I guess that makes sense.” Mason frowned. “What is Gerald bound to then?”

“Me, of course.” Ellen pushed her glass towards Mason. “Would you pour me another dram please?”

Mason poured the drink. “When is all this supposed to happen?” he asked, waving his hand over the folder.

“As I said, I’d like for you to accompany me to the funeral home day after tomorrow to pick out the coffin.

After that, I was hoping to make the final plans with you.

” Ellen looked Mason in the eye. “The sooner the better, Mason. Please don’t drag this out any longer than it needs to.

I can’t help but feel that Francis’ spirit may be in danger if he is allowed to stay much longer. His soul is squarely in your hands.”

* * * * *

“Where have you been, Mason?” Francis demanded, his hands on his hips. “I have been very concerned.”

“Can I at least go downstairs before you interrogate me?”

“Are you drunk?”

Mason stopped. “Yes. Yes, I am. I’m quite drunk.” He began to go down the stairs, holding onto the railing since he wasn’t very steady on his feet at the moment.

Francis appeared at the bottom of the steps. “Where were you to get so drunk so early in the day? I do not think I approve of such behavior. And may I please ask as to what you have done to your hair? This is quite strange behavior for you, Mason.”

“First off, I don’t think it’s any of your business where I was, but if you must know, I was at Ellen’s, and she got me drunk.”

Francis stood there a moment, his mouth slightly ajar. “My cousin Ellen?”

“Yes, and if you must know, she was just as drunk as I was. I think. That woman sure can drink.”

“Ellen?”

Mason stumbled towards his bedroom. “Yes. Your dear, sweet cousin got me plastered.”

Francis appeared in front of Mason as he was taking off his shirt. “May I ask why?”

“You may.” Mason flung his shirt towards the laundry hamper, or the cardboard box serving as one. “We were planning your funeral.”

“I see.” Francis slowly faded away, leaving Mason alone.

He kicked off his shoes and fell into bed where he quickly fell asleep, or passed out, which was more likely the case.

* * * * *

Mason woke up to shouting that seemed to be coming from the living room. He tried to cover his head with a pillow, but that didn’t keep his head from pounding. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

He got up and stomped into the living room where he saw Francis and Gerald going at it.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he shouted, causing his head to pound even more.

“I will tell you.” Francis turned to face Mason. “This buffoon thinks he has the right to tell me what to do and when to do it! I will not be spoken to in this manner.”

“Buffoon!” Gerald had his fists in front of him. “If I weren’t dead, I’d show you a buffoon and it isn’t me!”

Francis turned on Gerald. “Why my cousin ever married you, I am sure I do not know.”

“Why you—”

“Enough!” Mason shouted again. “Gerald, what are you doing here anyway?”

He turned on Mason. “I was here on Ellen’s behalf. She wanted me to ask this one here what kind of flowers he would like for his damn casket! And you,” he said pointing at Mason, “ you got my wife drunk!”

Mason blinked a few times and then started laughing. “Oh, I think you may have that the other way around, Gerald. Your wife got me drunk!”

Gerald frowned. Looked between Francis and Mason. “Oh, the hell with both of you.” He disappeared leaving Francis and Mason alone.

Mason walked over to the small sofa and plunked himself down. “Oh hell, my head. I need some aspirin.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his arm draped over his head.”

“Mason, do I make you miserable?” Francis’ voice was close.

“What?” Mason opened his eyes slightly. “Why would you ask that?”

Francis was sitting next to him. He looked away. “That is what Gerald said. He claimed that I was making both Cousin Ellen’s and your life miserable. Is this true?”

Mason groaned. “Of course not.” He sat up and then it hit him and hit him hard. “Okay, maybe a little, but not in the way you think.” He stood up. “Let me get some aspirin and water and I’ll explain.” He looked at Francis. “Don’t go jumping to any conclusions and don’t go anywhere.”

He got some aspirin from the kitchen cabinet and a glass of water. He took two, and drained the glass of water and refilled it, this time adding some ice. Mason had just walked out of the kitchen when there was a knock on the back door. “Oh hell, now what?”

“Patty. Nick. What are you two doing here?”

Patty pushed her way in, carrying a box. “I brought you some snacks for tonight.”

“Hi, Mason,” Nick said, his usual jovial self. He then looked more closely at Mason. “Are you okay, Mason? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little under the weather is all.”

Patty was instantly in front of Mason, her hand on his forehead. “I don’t think you have a temperature. Maybe I should have made you some chicken soup. What’s wrong with you?” She leaned in a little closer and wrinkled her nose. “I’d say a good ol’ fashioned hangover is what’s wrong with you.”

Nick snickered.

Patty had her hands on her hips. “Drunk in the middle of the day, are we?”

Mason held up both of his hands. “Guilty, but it’s not what it seems.”

“Okay, then what is it, Mister?”

“Ellen got me drunk.” Mason took a long drink of water.

“Ellen Trudeau?” Nick asked, aghast. “She got you drunk?”

Mason nodded.

Patty tilted her head back and roared with laughter. “Why am I not at all surprised? I knew that ol’ gal had deep waters.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” Nick commented, scratching his head. “I’d never have thought that of Mrs. Trudeau.”

“Take some aspirin and then have some of this food I brought you,” Patty said, a big smile on her face.

“Just had aspirin,” Mason groaned. “Thanks for the food, but what’s it for?”

“The opening Olympic ceremonies, you big dummy.” Patty thumped Mason in the chest with the back of her hand. “Go curl up on your couch and try not to be too miserable.” She laughed and shook her head. “Come on, Nick. Let’s get home and settled in so we don’t miss anything.”

“Uh... bye, Mason. Feel better.” Nick smiled at him and then followed his wife out the door, shutting it behind them.

Mason went over to the box. Inside were several containers, wrapped in aluminum foil.

He could smell garlic and pork. He pulled back the wrap and peered in.

“Oh, yum. Pork ribs.” He explored a bit further and found potato skins, some nachos and little cocktail wieners.

There was also a bag of rippled potato chips and some onion and sour cream dip. “That was so nice of them.”

“I had forgotten about the Olympics,” Francis said from behind Mason. “They are very good friends to you, Mason.”

Mason turned to face Francis. “Yeah, they are.”

Francis looked down. “I apologize for my behavior. I have no right to question you as I did. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Mason grabbed the box, setting the water on the counter. “Let’s take this into the living room. I’m suddenly hungry.”

They both settled on the small sofa, the TV on but muted, waiting for the ceremonies to begin in less than an hour.

“I need a Coke.”

“I wish I could bring you one,” Francis said, turning his head to face Mason.

Mason was so tempted to say that was the real issue between them and that was why he was miserable.

Not that it was Francis’ fault, it was just the situation they found themselves in.

But he had to admit, he was miserable because Francis wasn’t a real, live man.

Not anymore, at least and that was the issue.