When to Bury
Timothy Dodd
Like a jolt of electricity the sea came into view. “What a country,” Herb Blandon said with a casualness masking his awe, one hand on the steering wheel and the other scratching his thinning hair.
His wife Shirley moved her face toward the windshield. “Unbelievable, honey! How long does it go on like this?”
“Mom, it’s the Atlantic Ocean,” Frankie said from the backseat in his wrinkly Ant-man t-shirt. “It goes all the way down the coast.”
Herb chuckled. “Never seen anything like it, have we dear? Well it’s good to get away from work and the funeral home for a little bit.”
“Never could imagine it,” Shirley replied, stretching her arms out. “Herb, I think I’m already tanning. And you were right—this trip’s going to be worth every dollar. Four states since morning, Frankie! And now the ocean! Four states, wasn’t it Herb?”
“West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina,” Herb answered.
“Well, I like this one with the ocean best.”
“Virginia and North Carolina are on the ocean too, Mom.”
“Doesn’t count. Didn’t see it there. Just wish there was ocean back home.”
“We’ve got all the mountains though,” Herb countered.
“Yeah, so many you can hardly see our town,” Frankie added.
“Now some people would love to see those mountains, Frankie, don’t you think they wouldn’t. I know for a fact people come all the way from Iowa and Nebraska to see our mountains.”
“I’m just glad we’re here now,” Shirley said. “We’ve talked about a beach vacation for so many years.”
Thirty minutes later Herb turned onto Ocean Boulevard and continued to the Myrtle Beach Days Inn where the Blandons checked in and carried their luggage up to a fifth-floor room. Shirley entered the room first and went straight to the curtains, pulling them back to slide open the balcony door. “Paying extra for an ocean view was one of the best decisions we’ve ever made, dear. It’s beautiful.” Herb nodded, following her outside. Frankie plopped down on the bed and checked the cable TV stations.
“Herb, let’s go step onto the beach for a moment before dinnertime,” Shirley said, eyes bright as a schoolgirl’s. “Okay? Please?”
“Guess it couldn’t hurt. But don’t go getting changed or nothing. I’m starving.”
After taking turns to use the bathroom, the Blandons took the elevator down and walked through the lobby to the outdoor pool where a few people lounged. Two teenagers played shuffleboard. Frankie and Shirley followed Herb as he descended a small flight of stairs and stepped onto the sand.
“Just look at the way those waves crash, Shirley,” Herb said. “Coming in from way out at sea. Amazing.”
Shirley bent down and picked up a handful of sand, let it fall between her fingers. “Feel how fine this is, dear. Oh, Herb, let’s walk down to the water for just a second.”
“No, no. That sand gets in your shoes and you can’t get it out. That’s what I hear.”
“Well Frankie’s already out there.”
“Frankie!” Herb yelled, waving his son back.
Frankie ran back up to his parents, shoes and socks in hand. “Water’s like ice.”
“Now you’re going to have to rinse yourself off at the spigot near the stairs, son. I told you all we’ve only got a minute.”
Back inside the hotel, Herb lagged at reception while Frankie and Shirley returned to the room. “Any good dinner recommendations?” Herb asked at the counter. “I’d like some good seafood.”
“Plenty of excellent seafood restaurants here, sir.”
“Well, the best one that’s not too expensive or too loud. You know, family style.”
“Fisherman’s Wharf is a good choice then, sir. Or Crawler’s Place.”
“Which one’s closer?”
“Fisherman’s Wharf is four blocks from the hotel. Take a right out of the hotel lot. It’ll be on your right. You’ll see the sign.”
“Good food?”
“Excellent food. Good prices. Relaxed atmosphere. Everyone loves it.”
“Sounds perfect,” Herb said, cracking a smile as if receiving a secret tip. “This is our first time here at the beach. Just arrived.”
“Enjoy your stay, sir,” the receptionist replied, reaching for the telephone.
Herb returned to the room, dinner on his mind. “Well, I got us a good restaurant,” he said. “Not easy to get information out of them down there, I can tell you that. You all ready?”
“Ready,” Shirley answered, having changed into a navy blue blouse and sprayed on Thinking of You perfume. “Just let me get my purse. Come on, Frankie.”
In the car Herb restated directions to the restaurant, telling Frankie to be on the lookout. Frankie immediately saw the restaurant set back off the highway, the turn off already behind them. Herb reprimanded Frankie for not seeing it sooner, then turned around and swung into the Fisherman’s Wharf parking lot.
Inside, Herb grimaced when the hostess informed him of a fifteen-minute wait. “We’ve driven all the way from West Virginia,” he said, only half in jest. “Any way we can get seated a little earlier?”
“We’ll see what we can do,” the hostess said, but fifteen minutes passed with the family still sitting in the lobby.
“Last time I’ll ask the fellow at reception for a restaurant,” Herb said.
Once seated at their table, Herb asked the waiter why it took so long, then interrupted the young man’s response to ask for menu recommendations. “I’d like a fish that’s not too strong. A mild, white fish.” The waiter offered a few suggestions as he handed the family three menus, but Herb again interrupted and said he’d stick with flounder. “That come with tartar sauce?”
“Yes, sir. I can bring you tartar sauce with that. Baked potato, French fries, or coleslaw as your side?”
“Bring me a baked potato and the coleslaw,” Herb replied.
“The meal comes with one side item and a salad, sir. Would you like to order an extra side item?”
“Well, it took half an hour to get seated. The least you all can do is add a little mayo and cabbage free of charge.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. Not a problem.”
“And a Coke to drink.”
Except for additional coleslaw, Shirley ordered the same as her husband. Frankie ordered Chilean sea bass.
“You sure you’ll like that?” Shirley asked. Frankie didn’t respond, adding rice pilaf and a raspberry iced tea to drink.
Herb laughed. “Feeling awful tropical, aren’t you son?”
When the food arrived twenty minutes later, Shirley pointed out they had a whole week of fresh fish to look forward to. Herb seemed not to hear as he rubbed his hands together, grabbed his fork, and dug in.
“Mine’s great,” Frankie said after a few bites, but Herb didn’t comment on his food until Shirley asked.
“Fair,” he replied. “Not worth the wait. Not good enough to come back.”
After dinner, Shirley and Frankie wanted to stop at the souvenir shops. “Let’s just digest our dinners now. Plenty of time for that later,” Herb answered. “Besides, there might be a game on TV.”
Two baseball games were on the tube when they returned to their hotel room and Herb flipped between both. Still, he surprised Frankie and Shirley by leaving during the sixth inning of the Braves-Reds game to go out on the balcony. Herb closed the sliding door behind him and leaned over the balcony railing. Except for the white crests of breaking waves, he could barely make out the sea in the darkness. The ocean’s sound and smell intrigued him nonetheless, and the trip away from home put him to contemplation.
“Soft sand is better than a fur coat,” Herb told Shirley the next morning as they arrived on the beach after an early breakfast. Dressed in his navy blue trunks, he placed his beach towel on the sand beside his wife. Shirley sat in her one-piece, peach bathing suit with tiny periwinkle flowers. “You’ve never looked lovelier,” Herb said.
“Oh, honey. I feel twenty years younger.”
Frankie left his parents quickly to dig in the sand. Lettered olives, knob whelks, heart cockles, augers, sand dollars, scattering hermit crabs, burying clams, and jellyfish all intrigued him, no matter if they were living creatures or dead remnants. Even the hot sun didn’t bother him as he searched for beach life.
At eleven o’clock Herb remembered the warnings about the midday sun and he called the family indoors for an early lunch. “Down here the beach sets the schedule,” he explained. “We have to accept it and be sensible. Anyway, I could use a good burger.”
After showering and changing clothes, the Blandons drove until finding a Wendy’s, disappointing Herb who wanted Hardee’s. They lunched, then returned to the hotel where Frankie read a book on Jack the Ripper and watched Dexter reruns while Herb and Shirley napped.
“Time to get back down on the beach,” Herb announced at half past two, sitting up in bed. In less than half an hour the family laid out their beach towels again and applied new layers of sunscreen. Shirley took out a bestseller and Herb stared out to sea.
Frankie walked up the beach and found two boys his own age building a sandcastle. Frankie looked at its scale and detail with amazement. The twins introduced themselves and invited him to help out.
“Where are you from, Frankie?”
“I’m from West Virginia. Arley, West Virginia.”
“Oh, okay. My father was in Richmond last year on business.”
“No, that’s Virginia,” Frankie corrected. “I’m from West Virginia.”
Frankie helped to pile and pack the sand. He listened carefully as the two boys told him about themselves. Jeff played lacrosse and Matt played soccer. Both seemed shocked when Frankie said he’d never heard of The Jazz June and Two Inch Astronaut.
“Yeah, we’re seniors this year. We’ll both probably go to the University of Illinois if we can’t get sports scholarships elsewhere. We’re applying to Florida State, UNC, and Michigan for sure. Maybe a couple other places too.”
Twenty minutes later, Herb walked up behind his son. “Made some friends, Frankie? Your mom and me are going to take a little walk up the beach. It’s already past five o’clock so we’ll see you at our spot in about half an hour to head off for dinner.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Herb returned to a waiting Shirley and they began their walk along ocean’s edge. Herb grabbed his wife’s hand and kissed her cheek. Shirley thanked him for bringing them to such a beautiful place and they discussed plans for the rest of the week. When Herb stepped on a sharp shell and yelped, Shirley laughed. Herb slipped his arm around her waist like there was no one else around.
“Herb, you know when school starts Frankie’s going to have to get his applications together,” Shirley said as the sun beat down and the cold water licked their feet.
“Applications for what?”
“You know, for the different universities, honey. They’re due in the fall.”
Herb stopped, removed his arm, and turned to face her, the ocean behind him. He got indigestion every time she and Frankie brought the topic up. “Shirley, did you have to start that again? Right here when we’ve got our first full day at the beach? Having a good time, yep. The ocean is beautiful, nice walk on the sand, not a care in the world. I don’t understand you sometimes.”
“Herb, I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I thought this would be a good time to talk about it, work something out.”
“What the hell is there to work out? You want him to go and forget everything?”
“Herb, it’s not that. I don’t want him to forget anything. I just…”
“It is that,” Herb interrupted, raising his voice. “I’ve already told you. Soon as you let him go away to some out-of-state liberal university he’ll never come back, much less take over the funeral home when I’m dead. Just like Smith’s Tailoring, Bob’s Shoes and all our other businesses that caved in. One of these days we won’t have any community at all. That’s what you want?”
Herb turned, started walking back. The first corpse he’d ever disinfected popped into his mind—first eye caps, first abdomen he cut, first stomach he aspirated. He recalled preparing Jack’s body, his old high school friend who died in his early thirties from a defective heart. When he touched the corpse he’d heard his old friend’s laughter —could even see the two of them sitting in algebra class with Mrs. Louden.
“Oh, Herb. Don’t talk like that. It’s so calm here. Well, I don’t know. I just thought maybe you’d reconsider.”
“I told you I’ve already reconsidered. It’s a good job he’ll have at home, and I’ll train him myself just like Pops trained me so we don’t have to throw thousands of dollars away. He’ll help me run the business. We can find ways to make it a little bigger and then down the road he can take it over from me, keep it going. Tell me who can beat that?”
“But Frankie’s got such good grades and test scores. He’s bright. He can apply for scholarships. Maybe even get a free, four-year degree.”
“Nothing’s for free, Shirley. When will you learn that? You think somebody’s going to drive all the way to Arley to get him, then bring him back at the end of every term for free? How’s he going to get to Ohio or Pennsylvania every school break, never mind three or four states away? Ever think about simple things like that or are your eyes just caught in the big lights like his? He’s young, Shirley, but you ain’t.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I just feel bad for Frankie. He’s got an opportunity we never had. He could be the first one in our families to go to college and I just want what’s best for him. I want him to take beautiful vacations like this one.”
“Everybody wants to run off to Paradise Island now,” Herb replied, frustration still in his voice. “What’s wrong with Arley, West Virginia? Huh? Tell me that. What’s so damn wrong with it that people are always anxious to leave? If you can’t get a job, that’s one thing, but I’ll put a job right in Frankie’s lap. Otherwise, down the road, who do you think is gonna take care of the bodies, do the paperwork and cemetery arrangements, run the funeral and print a respected obituary? Even for you and me. People who think like you are what’s squeezing Arley itself to death. I can bury a person but I can’t bury our whole town.”
Shirley didn’t answer, now had more tears than words.
Herb wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “People live and die in Arley just like they do everywhere else. You know all that glitters ain’t gold, Shirley. I’m the only one in town taking care of people when they die. If something happens to me, what’s everybody going to do? Frankie can use his God-given brains to work at home. Now I’m telling you I don’t want to hear it again.”
When they returned to their beach towels, Shirley’s face still red and wet from crying, Frankie hadn’t returned. Herb left in a huff to retrieve him.
“You guys made a lot of progress there, Frankie,” Herb said, hiding his tension as he walked up to the three boys a second time.
“Yeah, we’re almost there,” answered one of the twins.
“Nice work. Well, Frankie, it’s dinnertime. Your mother and me are waiting.”
Frankie quickly exchanged contact information with his new friends and said goodbye. He followed Herb back to their spot on the beach and the family collected their beach gear. During the walk to the hotel, no one spoke. Shirley covered her face with her hands.
For dinner Frankie ordered clams, Shirley requested shrimp, and Herb ate a t-bone steak. Afterwards, Herb kept his promise to visit a souvenir shop, pulling in to the three-floored Beach Bums Gift Cove. Sunscreen, beach towels, sunglasses, beach toys, surf boards, vintage postcards, gag gifts, pinky rings, t-shirts, shell decorations, wind chimes, furniture, umbrellas, decals, masks, key chains, magnets, and more filled Myrtle Beach’s oldest beach store. Shirley put on her shopper’s antennae and Frankie headed to the seashell section. Herb spent nosed around a bit before mumbling “bunch of junk.”
“Where were those boys from?” Herb heard Shirley asking Frankie the next morning. He’d just finished his shower and cracked open the bathroom door to eavesdrop. Bellies full from a buffet breakfast of mostly eggs and bacon, Frankie and Shirley sat bathed, dressed, and ready to go down to the beach for another day of ocean, sun, and sand.
“Springfield, Illinois, Mom.” That’s where Abe Lincoln’s buried.”
“Oh, that’s neat, Frankie. And how do you play that game of theirs?”
“Lacrosse? You use a stick, a ball, and goals, but that’s all I know.”
“And he’s trying to get a scholarship just by playing that?”
“Yeah, he said he was going to apply to Michigan, Florida, and a couple of other places. I don’t remember them all.”
“A free education just to play some game most of us haven’t even heard of. You think you could get one for being in the band, Frankie? Or for your artwork?”
“Well, Ms. Coulter already told me that if I package my application right I’ve got a good chance since my graphic arts work is advanced. Plus, the trumpet playing and my grades and test scores are good. She said coming from West Virginia gives me a better chance, too, since most of the schools don’t have a lot of West Virginia kids. Some of them like to get students from everywhere, even other countries.”
Herb opened the bathroom door and stepped into the main room in his white underwear. “Now you listen to me, Frankie,” he said with a raised voice, pointing his finger. “Getting some glossy brochure in the mail don’t mean a thing. I know what’s best for you, don’t you think I don’t.” Herb sucked in some saliva that had formed in the corner of his mouth and then looked over at Shirley. “And I thought I told you to let us have a peaceful and relaxing vacation? But no, you’re not going to let up are you?”
“Herb, he was just telling me about the boys he met yesterday.”
“No, he wasn’t just telling. You were asking.” Herb changed his voice to mimic his wife: “Where are they going to go to college? Are they getting scholarships?” He paused. “You’ve already messed everything up and then you have to act innocent too?”
“Dad, don’t worry. The counselor said I can probably get a scholarship if I do my application right. You won’t have to pay anything at all.”
“Oh yeah?” Herb answered with a snarl. “And who is this counselor? She’s the one who’s forty-five years old and never been married? She’s that liberal who says we shouldn’t make kids stand up to salute the flag? Think she’s doing us a favor and making us smarter? See what I mean, Shirley? This is your fault.”
“Dad, I just want a chance. Hardly any of the kids at school go to college, and I’d like to learn something more and see something new. What’s wrong with that?”
“Frankie, I’ve told you a million times but you’re as hard-headed as your mother. It ain’t easy getting started. There ain’t many options.”
“Won’t be if I stick around home and don’t go to college.”
Herb fought his anger to get his point out. “Your grandfather’s turning in his grave, young man. So you best be careful what you say. Thanks to God he did the right thing for me like I’m trying to do for you. If he hadn’t got this family started with the funeral home, you and Shirley wouldn’t be sitting here arguing with me right now. No beach, no ocean, no nothing.”
Frankie bit his tongue and shook his head.
“Herb, Frankie didn’t saying anything bad about granddaddy,” Shirley jumped in. “Let’s forget about it and go on down to the beach.”
“Forget about it? You’re the one always bringing it up!” Herb yelled. “You want to rob the bank then forget it when the police come.” He turned to Frankie again and lowered his tone. “Look, son, you don’t even have to do the embalming if that’s what’s bothering you. I know everyone doesn’t have the stomach for it. That doesn’t matter though. You can hire someone else to do that part, but you’ll still run the business and do all the other work. No big deal.”
Frankie shook his head and looked at the ceiling. “I’ll meet you all down on the beach,” he said softly. He picked up the new raft Shirley had purchased the evening before, opened the door, and left—his father’s yelling finally fading when he reached the end of the hall and stepped into the elevator.
On the beach Frankie tried to put his father’s words out of his mind. He ran into the ocean, threw the new raft down into the water, and jumped on. Even though he couldn’t swim, he had loved riding the waves the past two days.
Back in the hotel, however, Shirley had grown tired of concessions. She hit Herb with not only the benefits of Frankie going away to college, but the faults of his own reasoning. “It’s a good thing we only had one son or you’d have ruined them all,” Herb responded.
As the arguing continued, Shirley couldn’t keep up with her husband’s personal attacks. She folded in tears, then ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
Herb waited ten minutes for Shirley to come out, then realized she might stay in the bathroom for hours. Trying to calm down, he took a set of clothes from his suitcase, used his hand to flatten his hair, and dressed without deodorant. “Suit yourself then, Shirley. I’m going down to the beach,” he said through the bathroom door.
Five minutes later, setting foot on the sand, Herb witnessed a crowd gathered at the edge of the ocean. No one played in the water. “Wonder what the problem is,” he muttered to himself while organizing his usual spot. Not seeing Frankie, Herb then walked down to the crowd and approached an older man gazing out at the ocean.
“Some young fellow lost out there,” the man replied, pointing far out in the water. “Four or five lifeguards went in after him a while ago. It doesn’t look good.”
“You mean drowning?”
“Well, I don’t want to say it, but it’s starting to look that way.”
Herb scanned the crowd again for Frankie, remembered the raft. “Young guy, you said? How young?”
“Just a kid, really. Can’t be more than twenty-one. Here on his honeymoon from Tennessee from what I understand.”
“That is young,” Herb agreed, relieved.
“His wife is standing over there,” the man said, pointing to the front of the crowd. “They said one of the lifeguards had already warned him a couple of times that he was getting too far out.”
Herb squinted through the morning sunlight to see the heads of the lifeguards in the ocean, mere specks in the water. He imagined the man they tried to save and what it felt like to be taken over by the sea. Ten minutes later the lifeguards began returning to shore empty-handed, and the wails of the newly married wife were led away. Herb thought of Shirley, of Frankie, and felt his breakfast coming up on him.
On their last full day at Myrtle Beach the family played a second round of putt-putt, spent another hour and a half at the souvenir shops, and returned to their favorite restaurant. On the beach, Frankie spent half his time in the ocean, and Herb and Shirley waded farther into the sea than on previous days.
Herb hadn’t slept well since the argument, worrying there were more to come, but he worked hard to show his good side, eagerly sharing any perceived insight or interest that popped into his mind—from water temperature to the dangers of jellyfish.
The next morning, after showering and breakfasting in the hotel’s restaurant, the family packed their bags and departed at the eleven o’clock checkout time. Back on the road, all agreed to return to the beach as soon as possible.
Shirley took out the Sunday newspaper and nibbled on Soft Batch chocolate chip cookies while Frankie read more Jack the Ripper and listened to Journey. After failing on several occasions to generate conversation during the initial hour, Herb drove quietly. By the time they crossed into North Carolina he had resigned himself to contemplation and the radio. Even when they stopped for gas or a quick lunch, Shirley and Frankie said little.
Nearing the Blue Ridge Mountains, Herb got riled up by a syndicated talk show host bashing anti-war protesters. Frankie dozed with his headphones on, and Shirley had fallen asleep. The hills grew taller as they got closer to home, and when they reached the Wild, Wonderful, West Virginia sign hours later, Herb announced they were back home. Frankie and Shirley didn’t stir. Herb got off Interstate 77 and drove west to Greenfield. People back home considered Greenfield a nice town, but compared to Myrtle Beach it was old and rusty.
Herb yawned himself when he later turned on to Route 52. He felt happy to be back in the hills, but the bare, strip-mined mountains, skeletons of automobiles in front lawns, and old folks sitting on their afternoon porches in nightclothes all contrasted sharply with the allure of the ocean. Herb remembered those seconds when he thought it might be Frankie lost at sea, and reached over to touch Shirley. Then he looked in the mirror back at Frankie—his son’s head hanging down onto his shoulder.
“Shirley, you awake?” Herb prodded. “Almost home.”
Shirley opened her eyes and lifted her head, looked out the window. “Now why’d you wake me Herb? We’re still half an hour away.”
“Figured you’d want to see everything.”
“We just came from the beach. I’m not excited to see coal trucks.”
“Sorry, honey. I’ll wake you when we get home then.”
Herb had no plan to raise the subject again, but the matter of Frankie’s future still crossed his mind on several occasions throughout the day’s drive. He looked back again at his son and recalled what he had told him a few months earlier when the topic of going away to school had first come up. People had always fought for jobs and wages at home since Herb could remember, even as a boy. “You’re lucky you don’t have to work the mines like my granddad did. I don’t care what certificate you’ve got, there’s no work around here unless you do it yourself or depend on the few coal companies that are still around. Keeping our funeral home is your best option, Frankie.”
Frankie had stung him early in that discussion, however. “You think people are going to keep dying here, Dad? More people are moving out than being born. If they won’t be living here, they won’t be dying here either.”
“Keep talking like that and I’m about to believe some university’s the only place that would take your brand of silly logic. This town might be dying, but it’ll never die.” Herb remembered his own obstinate response, word for word.
As he drove into Arley now, however, its storefronts boarded up and the two people walking its streets dazed and forlorn, Herb doubted his own words. The flood two years earlier had damaged a number of the old buildings in town, worsening conditions. Herb turned onto the road behind the county’s grand Romanesque courthouse.
“I don’t want to be the one who keeps draining blood into the Tug Fork,” he heard Frankie say. The words hit him again, and he looked back at his son a third time to see if they came from Frankie’s mouth or his own memory.
Instead of continuing the final stretch home, Herb turned around and circled back into town. With Shirley and Frankie both asleep, he drove slowly and studied his hometown. Not even a Hardee’s or McDonald’s. After making a third and final loop he returned to the road leading home, as if led by nothing more than a solemn cloud of fate.
Herb didn’t feel his usual pride when he pulled up to his home of thirty years. It was time to wake Shirley and Frankie, but he paused before turning off the engine, his hand frozen on the keys. For the first time since he’d left Arley over a week ago, Herb Blandon wondered if anyone had died while he was away, wondered if there was any work to be done.
Timothy Dodd
Like a jolt of electricity the sea came into view. “What a country,” Herb Blandon said with a casualness masking his awe, one hand on the steering wheel and the other scratching his thinning hair.
His wife Shirley moved her face toward the windshield. “Unbelievable, honey! How long does it go on like this?”
“Mom, it’s the Atlantic Ocean,” Frankie said from the backseat in his wrinkly Ant-man t-shirt. “It goes all the way down the coast.”
Herb chuckled. “Never seen anything like it, have we dear? Well it’s good to get away from work and the funeral home for a little bit.”
“Never could imagine it,” Shirley replied, stretching her arms out. “Herb, I think I’m already tanning. And you were right—this trip’s going to be worth every dollar. Four states since morning, Frankie! And now the ocean! Four states, wasn’t it Herb?”
“West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina,” Herb answered.
“Well, I like this one with the ocean best.”
“Virginia and North Carolina are on the ocean too, Mom.”
“Doesn’t count. Didn’t see it there. Just wish there was ocean back home.”
“We’ve got all the mountains though,” Herb countered.
“Yeah, so many you can hardly see our town,” Frankie added.
“Now some people would love to see those mountains, Frankie, don’t you think they wouldn’t. I know for a fact people come all the way from Iowa and Nebraska to see our mountains.”
“I’m just glad we’re here now,” Shirley said. “We’ve talked about a beach vacation for so many years.”
Thirty minutes later Herb turned onto Ocean Boulevard and continued to the Myrtle Beach Days Inn where the Blandons checked in and carried their luggage up to a fifth-floor room. Shirley entered the room first and went straight to the curtains, pulling them back to slide open the balcony door. “Paying extra for an ocean view was one of the best decisions we’ve ever made, dear. It’s beautiful.” Herb nodded, following her outside. Frankie plopped down on the bed and checked the cable TV stations.
“Herb, let’s go step onto the beach for a moment before dinnertime,” Shirley said, eyes bright as a schoolgirl’s. “Okay? Please?”
“Guess it couldn’t hurt. But don’t go getting changed or nothing. I’m starving.”
After taking turns to use the bathroom, the Blandons took the elevator down and walked through the lobby to the outdoor pool where a few people lounged. Two teenagers played shuffleboard. Frankie and Shirley followed Herb as he descended a small flight of stairs and stepped onto the sand.
“Just look at the way those waves crash, Shirley,” Herb said. “Coming in from way out at sea. Amazing.”
Shirley bent down and picked up a handful of sand, let it fall between her fingers. “Feel how fine this is, dear. Oh, Herb, let’s walk down to the water for just a second.”
“No, no. That sand gets in your shoes and you can’t get it out. That’s what I hear.”
“Well Frankie’s already out there.”
“Frankie!” Herb yelled, waving his son back.
Frankie ran back up to his parents, shoes and socks in hand. “Water’s like ice.”
“Now you’re going to have to rinse yourself off at the spigot near the stairs, son. I told you all we’ve only got a minute.”
Back inside the hotel, Herb lagged at reception while Frankie and Shirley returned to the room. “Any good dinner recommendations?” Herb asked at the counter. “I’d like some good seafood.”
“Plenty of excellent seafood restaurants here, sir.”
“Well, the best one that’s not too expensive or too loud. You know, family style.”
“Fisherman’s Wharf is a good choice then, sir. Or Crawler’s Place.”
“Which one’s closer?”
“Fisherman’s Wharf is four blocks from the hotel. Take a right out of the hotel lot. It’ll be on your right. You’ll see the sign.”
“Good food?”
“Excellent food. Good prices. Relaxed atmosphere. Everyone loves it.”
“Sounds perfect,” Herb said, cracking a smile as if receiving a secret tip. “This is our first time here at the beach. Just arrived.”
“Enjoy your stay, sir,” the receptionist replied, reaching for the telephone.
Herb returned to the room, dinner on his mind. “Well, I got us a good restaurant,” he said. “Not easy to get information out of them down there, I can tell you that. You all ready?”
“Ready,” Shirley answered, having changed into a navy blue blouse and sprayed on Thinking of You perfume. “Just let me get my purse. Come on, Frankie.”
In the car Herb restated directions to the restaurant, telling Frankie to be on the lookout. Frankie immediately saw the restaurant set back off the highway, the turn off already behind them. Herb reprimanded Frankie for not seeing it sooner, then turned around and swung into the Fisherman’s Wharf parking lot.
Inside, Herb grimaced when the hostess informed him of a fifteen-minute wait. “We’ve driven all the way from West Virginia,” he said, only half in jest. “Any way we can get seated a little earlier?”
“We’ll see what we can do,” the hostess said, but fifteen minutes passed with the family still sitting in the lobby.
“Last time I’ll ask the fellow at reception for a restaurant,” Herb said.
Once seated at their table, Herb asked the waiter why it took so long, then interrupted the young man’s response to ask for menu recommendations. “I’d like a fish that’s not too strong. A mild, white fish.” The waiter offered a few suggestions as he handed the family three menus, but Herb again interrupted and said he’d stick with flounder. “That come with tartar sauce?”
“Yes, sir. I can bring you tartar sauce with that. Baked potato, French fries, or coleslaw as your side?”
“Bring me a baked potato and the coleslaw,” Herb replied.
“The meal comes with one side item and a salad, sir. Would you like to order an extra side item?”
“Well, it took half an hour to get seated. The least you all can do is add a little mayo and cabbage free of charge.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. Not a problem.”
“And a Coke to drink.”
Except for additional coleslaw, Shirley ordered the same as her husband. Frankie ordered Chilean sea bass.
“You sure you’ll like that?” Shirley asked. Frankie didn’t respond, adding rice pilaf and a raspberry iced tea to drink.
Herb laughed. “Feeling awful tropical, aren’t you son?”
When the food arrived twenty minutes later, Shirley pointed out they had a whole week of fresh fish to look forward to. Herb seemed not to hear as he rubbed his hands together, grabbed his fork, and dug in.
“Mine’s great,” Frankie said after a few bites, but Herb didn’t comment on his food until Shirley asked.
“Fair,” he replied. “Not worth the wait. Not good enough to come back.”
After dinner, Shirley and Frankie wanted to stop at the souvenir shops. “Let’s just digest our dinners now. Plenty of time for that later,” Herb answered. “Besides, there might be a game on TV.”
Two baseball games were on the tube when they returned to their hotel room and Herb flipped between both. Still, he surprised Frankie and Shirley by leaving during the sixth inning of the Braves-Reds game to go out on the balcony. Herb closed the sliding door behind him and leaned over the balcony railing. Except for the white crests of breaking waves, he could barely make out the sea in the darkness. The ocean’s sound and smell intrigued him nonetheless, and the trip away from home put him to contemplation.
“Soft sand is better than a fur coat,” Herb told Shirley the next morning as they arrived on the beach after an early breakfast. Dressed in his navy blue trunks, he placed his beach towel on the sand beside his wife. Shirley sat in her one-piece, peach bathing suit with tiny periwinkle flowers. “You’ve never looked lovelier,” Herb said.
“Oh, honey. I feel twenty years younger.”
Frankie left his parents quickly to dig in the sand. Lettered olives, knob whelks, heart cockles, augers, sand dollars, scattering hermit crabs, burying clams, and jellyfish all intrigued him, no matter if they were living creatures or dead remnants. Even the hot sun didn’t bother him as he searched for beach life.
At eleven o’clock Herb remembered the warnings about the midday sun and he called the family indoors for an early lunch. “Down here the beach sets the schedule,” he explained. “We have to accept it and be sensible. Anyway, I could use a good burger.”
After showering and changing clothes, the Blandons drove until finding a Wendy’s, disappointing Herb who wanted Hardee’s. They lunched, then returned to the hotel where Frankie read a book on Jack the Ripper and watched Dexter reruns while Herb and Shirley napped.
“Time to get back down on the beach,” Herb announced at half past two, sitting up in bed. In less than half an hour the family laid out their beach towels again and applied new layers of sunscreen. Shirley took out a bestseller and Herb stared out to sea.
Frankie walked up the beach and found two boys his own age building a sandcastle. Frankie looked at its scale and detail with amazement. The twins introduced themselves and invited him to help out.
“Where are you from, Frankie?”
“I’m from West Virginia. Arley, West Virginia.”
“Oh, okay. My father was in Richmond last year on business.”
“No, that’s Virginia,” Frankie corrected. “I’m from West Virginia.”
Frankie helped to pile and pack the sand. He listened carefully as the two boys told him about themselves. Jeff played lacrosse and Matt played soccer. Both seemed shocked when Frankie said he’d never heard of The Jazz June and Two Inch Astronaut.
“Yeah, we’re seniors this year. We’ll both probably go to the University of Illinois if we can’t get sports scholarships elsewhere. We’re applying to Florida State, UNC, and Michigan for sure. Maybe a couple other places too.”
Twenty minutes later, Herb walked up behind his son. “Made some friends, Frankie? Your mom and me are going to take a little walk up the beach. It’s already past five o’clock so we’ll see you at our spot in about half an hour to head off for dinner.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Herb returned to a waiting Shirley and they began their walk along ocean’s edge. Herb grabbed his wife’s hand and kissed her cheek. Shirley thanked him for bringing them to such a beautiful place and they discussed plans for the rest of the week. When Herb stepped on a sharp shell and yelped, Shirley laughed. Herb slipped his arm around her waist like there was no one else around.
“Herb, you know when school starts Frankie’s going to have to get his applications together,” Shirley said as the sun beat down and the cold water licked their feet.
“Applications for what?”
“You know, for the different universities, honey. They’re due in the fall.”
Herb stopped, removed his arm, and turned to face her, the ocean behind him. He got indigestion every time she and Frankie brought the topic up. “Shirley, did you have to start that again? Right here when we’ve got our first full day at the beach? Having a good time, yep. The ocean is beautiful, nice walk on the sand, not a care in the world. I don’t understand you sometimes.”
“Herb, I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I thought this would be a good time to talk about it, work something out.”
“What the hell is there to work out? You want him to go and forget everything?”
“Herb, it’s not that. I don’t want him to forget anything. I just…”
“It is that,” Herb interrupted, raising his voice. “I’ve already told you. Soon as you let him go away to some out-of-state liberal university he’ll never come back, much less take over the funeral home when I’m dead. Just like Smith’s Tailoring, Bob’s Shoes and all our other businesses that caved in. One of these days we won’t have any community at all. That’s what you want?”
Herb turned, started walking back. The first corpse he’d ever disinfected popped into his mind—first eye caps, first abdomen he cut, first stomach he aspirated. He recalled preparing Jack’s body, his old high school friend who died in his early thirties from a defective heart. When he touched the corpse he’d heard his old friend’s laughter —could even see the two of them sitting in algebra class with Mrs. Louden.
“Oh, Herb. Don’t talk like that. It’s so calm here. Well, I don’t know. I just thought maybe you’d reconsider.”
“I told you I’ve already reconsidered. It’s a good job he’ll have at home, and I’ll train him myself just like Pops trained me so we don’t have to throw thousands of dollars away. He’ll help me run the business. We can find ways to make it a little bigger and then down the road he can take it over from me, keep it going. Tell me who can beat that?”
“But Frankie’s got such good grades and test scores. He’s bright. He can apply for scholarships. Maybe even get a free, four-year degree.”
“Nothing’s for free, Shirley. When will you learn that? You think somebody’s going to drive all the way to Arley to get him, then bring him back at the end of every term for free? How’s he going to get to Ohio or Pennsylvania every school break, never mind three or four states away? Ever think about simple things like that or are your eyes just caught in the big lights like his? He’s young, Shirley, but you ain’t.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I just feel bad for Frankie. He’s got an opportunity we never had. He could be the first one in our families to go to college and I just want what’s best for him. I want him to take beautiful vacations like this one.”
“Everybody wants to run off to Paradise Island now,” Herb replied, frustration still in his voice. “What’s wrong with Arley, West Virginia? Huh? Tell me that. What’s so damn wrong with it that people are always anxious to leave? If you can’t get a job, that’s one thing, but I’ll put a job right in Frankie’s lap. Otherwise, down the road, who do you think is gonna take care of the bodies, do the paperwork and cemetery arrangements, run the funeral and print a respected obituary? Even for you and me. People who think like you are what’s squeezing Arley itself to death. I can bury a person but I can’t bury our whole town.”
Shirley didn’t answer, now had more tears than words.
Herb wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “People live and die in Arley just like they do everywhere else. You know all that glitters ain’t gold, Shirley. I’m the only one in town taking care of people when they die. If something happens to me, what’s everybody going to do? Frankie can use his God-given brains to work at home. Now I’m telling you I don’t want to hear it again.”
When they returned to their beach towels, Shirley’s face still red and wet from crying, Frankie hadn’t returned. Herb left in a huff to retrieve him.
“You guys made a lot of progress there, Frankie,” Herb said, hiding his tension as he walked up to the three boys a second time.
“Yeah, we’re almost there,” answered one of the twins.
“Nice work. Well, Frankie, it’s dinnertime. Your mother and me are waiting.”
Frankie quickly exchanged contact information with his new friends and said goodbye. He followed Herb back to their spot on the beach and the family collected their beach gear. During the walk to the hotel, no one spoke. Shirley covered her face with her hands.
For dinner Frankie ordered clams, Shirley requested shrimp, and Herb ate a t-bone steak. Afterwards, Herb kept his promise to visit a souvenir shop, pulling in to the three-floored Beach Bums Gift Cove. Sunscreen, beach towels, sunglasses, beach toys, surf boards, vintage postcards, gag gifts, pinky rings, t-shirts, shell decorations, wind chimes, furniture, umbrellas, decals, masks, key chains, magnets, and more filled Myrtle Beach’s oldest beach store. Shirley put on her shopper’s antennae and Frankie headed to the seashell section. Herb spent nosed around a bit before mumbling “bunch of junk.”
“Where were those boys from?” Herb heard Shirley asking Frankie the next morning. He’d just finished his shower and cracked open the bathroom door to eavesdrop. Bellies full from a buffet breakfast of mostly eggs and bacon, Frankie and Shirley sat bathed, dressed, and ready to go down to the beach for another day of ocean, sun, and sand.
“Springfield, Illinois, Mom.” That’s where Abe Lincoln’s buried.”
“Oh, that’s neat, Frankie. And how do you play that game of theirs?”
“Lacrosse? You use a stick, a ball, and goals, but that’s all I know.”
“And he’s trying to get a scholarship just by playing that?”
“Yeah, he said he was going to apply to Michigan, Florida, and a couple of other places. I don’t remember them all.”
“A free education just to play some game most of us haven’t even heard of. You think you could get one for being in the band, Frankie? Or for your artwork?”
“Well, Ms. Coulter already told me that if I package my application right I’ve got a good chance since my graphic arts work is advanced. Plus, the trumpet playing and my grades and test scores are good. She said coming from West Virginia gives me a better chance, too, since most of the schools don’t have a lot of West Virginia kids. Some of them like to get students from everywhere, even other countries.”
Herb opened the bathroom door and stepped into the main room in his white underwear. “Now you listen to me, Frankie,” he said with a raised voice, pointing his finger. “Getting some glossy brochure in the mail don’t mean a thing. I know what’s best for you, don’t you think I don’t.” Herb sucked in some saliva that had formed in the corner of his mouth and then looked over at Shirley. “And I thought I told you to let us have a peaceful and relaxing vacation? But no, you’re not going to let up are you?”
“Herb, he was just telling me about the boys he met yesterday.”
“No, he wasn’t just telling. You were asking.” Herb changed his voice to mimic his wife: “Where are they going to go to college? Are they getting scholarships?” He paused. “You’ve already messed everything up and then you have to act innocent too?”
“Dad, don’t worry. The counselor said I can probably get a scholarship if I do my application right. You won’t have to pay anything at all.”
“Oh yeah?” Herb answered with a snarl. “And who is this counselor? She’s the one who’s forty-five years old and never been married? She’s that liberal who says we shouldn’t make kids stand up to salute the flag? Think she’s doing us a favor and making us smarter? See what I mean, Shirley? This is your fault.”
“Dad, I just want a chance. Hardly any of the kids at school go to college, and I’d like to learn something more and see something new. What’s wrong with that?”
“Frankie, I’ve told you a million times but you’re as hard-headed as your mother. It ain’t easy getting started. There ain’t many options.”
“Won’t be if I stick around home and don’t go to college.”
Herb fought his anger to get his point out. “Your grandfather’s turning in his grave, young man. So you best be careful what you say. Thanks to God he did the right thing for me like I’m trying to do for you. If he hadn’t got this family started with the funeral home, you and Shirley wouldn’t be sitting here arguing with me right now. No beach, no ocean, no nothing.”
Frankie bit his tongue and shook his head.
“Herb, Frankie didn’t saying anything bad about granddaddy,” Shirley jumped in. “Let’s forget about it and go on down to the beach.”
“Forget about it? You’re the one always bringing it up!” Herb yelled. “You want to rob the bank then forget it when the police come.” He turned to Frankie again and lowered his tone. “Look, son, you don’t even have to do the embalming if that’s what’s bothering you. I know everyone doesn’t have the stomach for it. That doesn’t matter though. You can hire someone else to do that part, but you’ll still run the business and do all the other work. No big deal.”
Frankie shook his head and looked at the ceiling. “I’ll meet you all down on the beach,” he said softly. He picked up the new raft Shirley had purchased the evening before, opened the door, and left—his father’s yelling finally fading when he reached the end of the hall and stepped into the elevator.
On the beach Frankie tried to put his father’s words out of his mind. He ran into the ocean, threw the new raft down into the water, and jumped on. Even though he couldn’t swim, he had loved riding the waves the past two days.
Back in the hotel, however, Shirley had grown tired of concessions. She hit Herb with not only the benefits of Frankie going away to college, but the faults of his own reasoning. “It’s a good thing we only had one son or you’d have ruined them all,” Herb responded.
As the arguing continued, Shirley couldn’t keep up with her husband’s personal attacks. She folded in tears, then ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
Herb waited ten minutes for Shirley to come out, then realized she might stay in the bathroom for hours. Trying to calm down, he took a set of clothes from his suitcase, used his hand to flatten his hair, and dressed without deodorant. “Suit yourself then, Shirley. I’m going down to the beach,” he said through the bathroom door.
Five minutes later, setting foot on the sand, Herb witnessed a crowd gathered at the edge of the ocean. No one played in the water. “Wonder what the problem is,” he muttered to himself while organizing his usual spot. Not seeing Frankie, Herb then walked down to the crowd and approached an older man gazing out at the ocean.
“Some young fellow lost out there,” the man replied, pointing far out in the water. “Four or five lifeguards went in after him a while ago. It doesn’t look good.”
“You mean drowning?”
“Well, I don’t want to say it, but it’s starting to look that way.”
Herb scanned the crowd again for Frankie, remembered the raft. “Young guy, you said? How young?”
“Just a kid, really. Can’t be more than twenty-one. Here on his honeymoon from Tennessee from what I understand.”
“That is young,” Herb agreed, relieved.
“His wife is standing over there,” the man said, pointing to the front of the crowd. “They said one of the lifeguards had already warned him a couple of times that he was getting too far out.”
Herb squinted through the morning sunlight to see the heads of the lifeguards in the ocean, mere specks in the water. He imagined the man they tried to save and what it felt like to be taken over by the sea. Ten minutes later the lifeguards began returning to shore empty-handed, and the wails of the newly married wife were led away. Herb thought of Shirley, of Frankie, and felt his breakfast coming up on him.
On their last full day at Myrtle Beach the family played a second round of putt-putt, spent another hour and a half at the souvenir shops, and returned to their favorite restaurant. On the beach, Frankie spent half his time in the ocean, and Herb and Shirley waded farther into the sea than on previous days.
Herb hadn’t slept well since the argument, worrying there were more to come, but he worked hard to show his good side, eagerly sharing any perceived insight or interest that popped into his mind—from water temperature to the dangers of jellyfish.
The next morning, after showering and breakfasting in the hotel’s restaurant, the family packed their bags and departed at the eleven o’clock checkout time. Back on the road, all agreed to return to the beach as soon as possible.
Shirley took out the Sunday newspaper and nibbled on Soft Batch chocolate chip cookies while Frankie read more Jack the Ripper and listened to Journey. After failing on several occasions to generate conversation during the initial hour, Herb drove quietly. By the time they crossed into North Carolina he had resigned himself to contemplation and the radio. Even when they stopped for gas or a quick lunch, Shirley and Frankie said little.
Nearing the Blue Ridge Mountains, Herb got riled up by a syndicated talk show host bashing anti-war protesters. Frankie dozed with his headphones on, and Shirley had fallen asleep. The hills grew taller as they got closer to home, and when they reached the Wild, Wonderful, West Virginia sign hours later, Herb announced they were back home. Frankie and Shirley didn’t stir. Herb got off Interstate 77 and drove west to Greenfield. People back home considered Greenfield a nice town, but compared to Myrtle Beach it was old and rusty.
Herb yawned himself when he later turned on to Route 52. He felt happy to be back in the hills, but the bare, strip-mined mountains, skeletons of automobiles in front lawns, and old folks sitting on their afternoon porches in nightclothes all contrasted sharply with the allure of the ocean. Herb remembered those seconds when he thought it might be Frankie lost at sea, and reached over to touch Shirley. Then he looked in the mirror back at Frankie—his son’s head hanging down onto his shoulder.
“Shirley, you awake?” Herb prodded. “Almost home.”
Shirley opened her eyes and lifted her head, looked out the window. “Now why’d you wake me Herb? We’re still half an hour away.”
“Figured you’d want to see everything.”
“We just came from the beach. I’m not excited to see coal trucks.”
“Sorry, honey. I’ll wake you when we get home then.”
Herb had no plan to raise the subject again, but the matter of Frankie’s future still crossed his mind on several occasions throughout the day’s drive. He looked back again at his son and recalled what he had told him a few months earlier when the topic of going away to school had first come up. People had always fought for jobs and wages at home since Herb could remember, even as a boy. “You’re lucky you don’t have to work the mines like my granddad did. I don’t care what certificate you’ve got, there’s no work around here unless you do it yourself or depend on the few coal companies that are still around. Keeping our funeral home is your best option, Frankie.”
Frankie had stung him early in that discussion, however. “You think people are going to keep dying here, Dad? More people are moving out than being born. If they won’t be living here, they won’t be dying here either.”
“Keep talking like that and I’m about to believe some university’s the only place that would take your brand of silly logic. This town might be dying, but it’ll never die.” Herb remembered his own obstinate response, word for word.
As he drove into Arley now, however, its storefronts boarded up and the two people walking its streets dazed and forlorn, Herb doubted his own words. The flood two years earlier had damaged a number of the old buildings in town, worsening conditions. Herb turned onto the road behind the county’s grand Romanesque courthouse.
“I don’t want to be the one who keeps draining blood into the Tug Fork,” he heard Frankie say. The words hit him again, and he looked back at his son a third time to see if they came from Frankie’s mouth or his own memory.
Instead of continuing the final stretch home, Herb turned around and circled back into town. With Shirley and Frankie both asleep, he drove slowly and studied his hometown. Not even a Hardee’s or McDonald’s. After making a third and final loop he returned to the road leading home, as if led by nothing more than a solemn cloud of fate.
Herb didn’t feel his usual pride when he pulled up to his home of thirty years. It was time to wake Shirley and Frankie, but he paused before turning off the engine, his hand frozen on the keys. For the first time since he’d left Arley over a week ago, Herb Blandon wondered if anyone had died while he was away, wondered if there was any work to be done.
