Page 1 of The Handyman

1

Reece

“What’s up, kid? You look good…it’s been a long time, huh? Five? Six years, now?”

If there was any way to approach someone at a funeral, it wasn’t withwhat’s up, kid. Glancing over at my Uncle Ron, I pursed my lips thinly and nodded as I scanned him through narrowed eyes.

He was rail thin, but at least he had the decency to wear a long-sleeved shirt. The smell of meth wafted off him when he reached to rub his nose, and neither his pants nor his belt fit.

Probably because he stole them. “It’s been twelve years, Ron. I suppose your inability to keep track of time was hampered by all the meth you’ve been smoking.”

His eyelids widened in surprise. Apparently, his pupils were too blown to restrict.

I frowned at the dumb look on his unkempt face. “Go away. I’m here to mourn my mom, not be talked to while you work up the courage to ask me for $20 bucks.”

This was why I’d stayed away for over a decade. I loved my mom, but her family wastoxicin the extreme.

Her brother rubbed his head, shuffling off into the small crowd of people exactly like him.

Turning to my mom’s casket, lowered into the ground to be crushed and flooded with worms, I crossed my arms over my chest to inhale sharply. She’d had a closed casket wake, but I’d arrived early to see her. Now, her beautiful face was all I could see when I blinked.

The mortuary artist had done a very good job of making my mother looknotdead. I appreciated that.

“What did you say that for, Reece? Now he’s gonna be an asshole.” My sister sidled up to me.

Tearing my eyes off the casket, I tapped my sides under my jacket and rocked back on my heels. “Are you going to stay a while?”

“No. I came here because a lawyer told me that’s what mom wanted. I left a very important business meeting to be here. I’m alive and capable of grieving on my own time.” True, Mary wasn’t a drug addict anymore, but shestruggledhard. She worked a shit grocery store job in our hometown and had two kids by two different guys. Her platinum blonde hair looked frayed and she reeked of pot.

The disdain in her tone bristled up my neck, and I exhaled slowly.Why would I want to stay around people who considered her a ‘good one’?“So, you only came because a lawyer told you.”

“Mom said she hasn’t spoken to you in years.”

“Mom lied because the whole family are losers who suck you dry of your money, your self-esteem…your sanity. Fuck you, Mary. You’re not qualified to judge me.”

She gasped, lifting her hand to cover her mouth.

I stared at Mom being covered in dirt. The earth almost filled the hole around the casket, and I reached to scratch my bare jaw roughly. “I’m going home once this is over, and we’re never going to say another word to each other again, Mary. Fuck you— fuck your problems— fuck your opinions. Go away.”

“You think you’re so high and mighty—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” My sharp snap echoed across the quiet graveyard, and I turned to Mary as she went wide eyed with surprise. “Even at Mom’s funeral you can’t help but make it about you and how you’re the fucking victim, Mary. You know why I know I’m better than you? Because you’re still here, in the same Podunk dinky fucking town in Nowhere Arkansas, in the same shitty apartment, with the same piece of shit on-again-off-again boyfriend who’s not the father of either of your kids. You’re still wallowing in your piss and mistakes you made 15 fucking years ago.That’swhy IknowI’m better than you.”

I didn’t come here expecting to peacefully watch my mother be buried, but this drama was more than I bargained for. Turning my back on my sister and the overly nosy eyes of other people I unfortunately shared DNA with, I scoffed lightly. Maybe, I went a little overboard with the insults, but what could I do? Mary brought it out of me so easily.

Leaving my mother where she belonged ? behind me ? I stuffed my hands into my suit pants’ pockets and ducked my head to frown at the perfect, lush grass. Anger roiled in my veins, and the disgusting smell of the country curled my nostril hairs. My mom loved her farmhouse and big, wrap around porch, but I was content to let my hatred get eaten away by time. I couldn’t love this place, and she wouldn’t want me to force myself to pretend.

“God… I’m gonna miss our monthly phone calls.” My lip quirked at my own murmur as I rubbed my jaw and mouth roughly. Reaching the smooth road to walk down to my car well, Carlyle’s car… my smile widened as I thought back. Every first Saturday of the month, my mom would call me at exactly 12:45 in the afternoon. She would never talk about family, only all the things family wouldn’t let her say.

And I would listen. I could listen forever, but forever was over the moment I left home for New York City. When I became an adult, I told my mother I didn’t want to end up like her, trapped in this shitty town that barely had a name. I didn’t want to get sucked down by family who used and abused then threw me out when I got tired of giving. She was a saint, my mom, but that had been the problem and I’d spent my childhood watching her get stepped on over and over again.

I climbed into the driver’s seat to grip the wheel, staring at the small gathering up on the hill. The motley, flea-infested crew of cousins, uncles and aunts, and my sisters all started to disperse, and my heart ached. My mom was dead now, but the utter disrespect that they’d shown all damn day was appalling. It didn’t matter to her that no one stood over her, quiet and somber, respecting and remembering what a beautiful person she was.

No— they hung around because I was there, and they hoped to ask me to stay, as my sister had. To exploit me.Fuck that.

Sticking the keys into the ignition, I inhaled a deep breath into my tight lungs and shook my head viciously. My mom had done one thing ‘right’, at least, and gotten a lawyer to help her keep her secrets when she died. Pulling out to roll through the cemetery towards the rundown church, I rolled down the window to hang my arm out of the car. Theonegood thing about this trip was the fact that the weather was gorgeous, the bitter wind of late January replaced with a warm, gentle breeze.

I had a 19-hour drive after I hit up the lawyer in Conway. I pulled up to the street to glance either way out of habit, but the truth was— this particular road was only ever used on Sundays and for funerals. Technically speaking, the place I’d grown up was a village. . .That’s right. I’m a humble villager.There were no lawyers in this village, just a grocery store and one gas station that usually didn’t have any gas. “I’m so glad to leave this place. No offense, Mom.”