After Life Read online

“There’s something wrong,” she insisted. “Tell me. Is there something the matter with the apartment?”

  “No.”

  “What then? Come on,” she coaxed.

  “I don’t like my good luck being based on someone’s bad,” he confessed.

  “Mr. Andersen,” she said, nodding. “I suspected as much. Was he married?”

  “To his job, from what I hear. He taught here for over twenty years.”

  She nodded again, her face full of concern. Then her expression changed.

  “Someone’s at the door,” she declared.

  “Huh?”

  The door buzzer sounded.

  “How the hell…”

  “I heard footsteps on the porch steps,” she explained.

  The buzzer sounded again. Lee got up slowly, still shaking his head, and went to the door to greet Bob Baker, an English teacher he had met briefly when he had first come for an interview. Baker was just over six feet tall, in his late forties, with that distinguished gray tint in his temples. He had an impish twinkle in his cerulean-blue eyes. He wore a tweed sports jacket, matching brown slacks, and a white shirt opened at the collar. Lee thought he either had the remnants of a late summer tan or he was a naturally dark-skinned man. Baker carried a bag that obviously contained a bottle of some alcoholic beverage.

  But Lee’s gaze was quickly drawn to Baker’s wife, who though not quite as tall, somehow evinced a taller appearance with her statuesque figure. Her face was an artist’s dream, sculptured features, high cheekbones, deep-set green eyes, and a straight, sensual mouth. She wore her light brown hair brushed back and down over her shoulders. It lay softly and had a healthy, silky sheen.

  “Lee Overstreet?” Baker said.

  Lee smiled.

  “Yes?”

  “As faculty president, I make it my business to formally greet newcomers and see to it that they are properly christened.” He handed Lee the bag, which Lee saw contained a bottle of champagne. And not a cheap one at that.

  “Well, now, thank you. Come in, please.”

  “Actually it’s only an excuse for Bob to drink,” his wife said, extending her hand. “I’m Tracy Baker. I hope this is not a bad time, although I can’t imagine when it could be a good time for you, having to move in practically overnight.”

  “No, no. It’s—”

  “Nervy of us,” Bob said, stepping past him. Jessie had made her way back and was standing in the hallway, smiling. “Hi,” Bob said.

  “Hello.” Jessie extended her hand and Baker moved forward quickly to shake it.

  “Bob Baker. And this is my wife, Tracy,” he said, turning.

  But before she greeted Tracy, Jessie pulled her hand from Baker’s abruptly because it felt loathsome, felt as if she had joined hands with a rotting corpse. She pressed her palm against her bosom and covered it with her other hand protectively.

  “Jess?” Lee said.

  She shook off the grotesque image quickly. These images, voices, when would they stop haunting her?

  “I’m all right,” she said quickly, and forced a smile.

  “It’s terrible of us to barge in on you like this,” Tracy said, “but Bob insisted.”

  “No, no, it’s all right,” Jessie said. “Really.”

  “It’s one of the few duties I have that I thoroughly enjoy,” Baker quipped. He gazed around. “You haven’t done too badly. I think it took us…what…ten days to unpack, Trace.”

  “More like ten months.”

  “How long have you lived in Gardner Town?” Jessie asked.

  “A little over ten years. Teaching was going to be my temporary job,” Baker said. “I had high hopes of becoming another Brando.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Jessie said. “I can appreciate what it means to be frustrated.”

  “Ah, I’ve adjusted,” Baker said. “Besides, teaching is really a performance. Look at what we’re competing with for the students’ attention these days: MTV, the Laugh Channel, and home videos.” He slapped his hands together and looked at Lee. “We can just open the bottle and pass it around, if you don’t have your glasses unpacked yet.”

  “Bob!” Tracy exclaimed. “He’s incorrigible and I think he tipped a few at O’Heanie’s before he came home from school today.”

  “Absolute poppycock,” Baker said.

  “I’ll get the glasses,” Jessie said. “Take them into the living room, Lee. Do we need a corkscrew?”

  “Naw, it’s a twist-off,” Baker said. “Old wine in a modern container.”

  Jessie smiled and then began her slow journey back to the kitchen, feeling her way down the corridor. The Bakers stared and then turned slowly toward Lee, who nodded.

  “Yes,” he said softly, “she’s blind. A car accident a little over a year ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Tracy said quickly. “Bob, I told you it wasn’t right to intrude.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Lee said. “She doesn’t let it prevent her from doing much. She’s already memorized her kitchen. Come on in and sit down. I appreciate the break and chance to relax.”

  “This is a roomy apartment,” Tracy said, gazing around. “I didn’t know it was available. Old man Carter, the cemetery caretaker, still lives upstairs, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Lee said, and then indicated they should sit on the sofa. He sat across from them in the high-backed, thick-cushioned easy chair.

  “I heard he’s in his nineties,” Tracy said, “but I guess he still does his work satisfactorily.”

  “How do you know? Just because none of his residents have voiced any complaints?” Baker said, and laughed at his own joke.

  “Bob, that isn’t nice.”

  “One thing,” Lee said, quickly gazing toward the doorway. “Jessie doesn’t know we’re practically on top of a cemetery. I left out that detail when I described the surroundings. I’ll break it to her slowly,” he added.

  “Understandable,” Baker said. He slapped his hands together and leaned forward. “Well, you’ve come from a rather big school system. It’s going to be a lot different here, but I think you will like it. We have a fairly intelligent faculty and the board of education isn’t bad if you look at them relatively. It’s nothing like some of the outlying communities with schools governed by crew-cut conservatives who think the blackboard is a frill.”

  “And,” Tracy added, “you’ll find the community very sports-minded, especially when it comes to the basketball team.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve already been told about two hundred times how well liked Mr. Andersen was and how important it is to the school to have a good basketball team. I think the reason I was hired was because of my record as a basketball coach and my own achievements as an undergraduate.”

  “Very astute of you,” Baker said. “You’re in your element, buddy.”

  “Now, Bob, don’t say anything to discourage him,” Tracy warned. “He can be a terrible iconoclast when he gets started.”

  “Oh?”

  “What is that, Bob?” Jessie asked from the doorway. “Don’t tell me teaching has made you cynical.” She placed the glasses on the coffee table carefully. The Bakers were mesmerized by her every move. She sensed it in the silence. “I’m fine,” she said, smiling. “Bob, you sound like a very nice and very interesting man. Are you cynical?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I get a little envious sometimes. I mean Lee here will get my students absolutely riled up into an hysteria with his basketball team, but I will struggle to get them to stay awake and try to understand why poetry has any purpose. But let’s not get too philosophical here,” he added quickly, and leaned over to open the bottle. “Let’s get right to a toast.”

  He poured the champagne and Lee gave Jessie hers. They raised their glasses.

  “To Lee and Jessie Overstreet. May their lives flourish and be productive and happy here in Gardner Town. Good luck and welcome from the faculty of Gardner Town High. Here, here,” Bob said, and tilted his glass. They all drank.
r />   “Did you teach anyplace else before Gardner Town, Bob?” Jessie asked. She turned her head so that she faced him directly. Although the wires had been tragically shut down behind those silvery gray eyes, they still held a glint of exuberance, a sparkle of life. It was as if she had the aim of someone in meditation, focusing her entire being on whomever or whatever she attended to.

  “Like Lee, I taught for a few years in a bigger system. I was in Yonkers. I wanted to be very close to New York City in those days, and the theater,” Baker explained.

  “Don’t you miss the livelier urban area, the richer school system?” Jessie pursued.

  “Well…”

  “We did in the beginning,” Tracy replied quickly.

  “What changed for you?” Jessie asked. Her hand searched for Lee’s. He closed his fingers around hers and smiled at the Bakers.

  “Jessie’s a writer; she likes to know what makes people tick,” he explained, gazing at her with some pride.

  “A writer!” Baker leaned forward. “Really? Have you published anything?”

  “Short stories in small magazines, some poetry. Nothing major yet. So,” she said, the smile around her lips rippling through her cheeks and around her eyes, “you do like living in a small-town world?”

  “Yes. It sort of wears on you after a while. It’s nice not to have to fight for a place to park when you go shopping.”

  “Certainly you don’t have the same sort of problems big schools have,” Jessie said. “I’m sure kids here aren’t as into drugs and alcohol, are they?”

  “I guess we have our share of delinquents, but you’re right—it’s not as bad as the inner city. And as far as the school goes, Henry Young has a handle on things,” Baker said.

  “Yes,” Lee said. “I got that impression. I never heard so many superlatives when it came to an administrator. Is he really that good?”

  “Who told you all these good things about him?” Tracy inquired.

  “His secretary, naturally, but some of the teachers I met, too. Why?” he asked when he saw her pensive look. “Isn’t it true?”

  “Of course it’s true,” Bob insisted. “There’s no one I’d rather work under.” He lifted his glass. “To Henry Young.” He emptied his glass in a gulp.

  “In my house it’s practically as blasphemous to say anything that could in any way be construed as negative about Henry Young as it is to say anything negative about Jesus Himself,” Tracy quipped.

  “Tracy!”

  “Take it easy, Bob. These walls aren’t bugged, and the Overstreets aren’t going to run right out and say I criticized your precious leader.” She looked up at Lee quickly. “Are you?”

  Lee started to laugh, but saw that Jessie’s soft smile had evolved into a look of deep concern.

  “Hey,” he said in an attempt to lighten things up. Instinctively he put his arm around her. “I thought I was coming to work in a nice little old country schoolhouse with none of the tensions and politics of the bigger systems.”

  Baker looked up sharply.

  “You are,” he said. “Believe me, you are,” he added, and shot a reproachful glance at Tracy.

  Tracy managed to change the subject and get them talking about the things new residents would appreciate: the best dentist, places to shop, and the best doctor.

  “Actually,” she said, laughing, “we have only one in this community, and he’s so old-fashioned, he still makes house calls.”

  “Really?” Lee smiled.

  “Old Doc Beezly,” Baker said. “I’d sooner have him treat me than any of these computerized wonder boys coming out of medical schools these days. He saved my life.”

  “Oh, what happened to you?” Jessie asked.

  “I had a heart seizure. The old ticker actually had stopped, but Dr. Beezly used CPR and brought me back.”

  “What a fright,” Jessie said.

  “I’ve been all right since. No problems. I go to him for regular checkups. Wouldn’t go to anyone else,” he reiterated.

  They chatted some more and then a little over a half hour later the Bakers left, Tracy promising to come by in a day or two to show Jessie around the town.

  “They seemed like a nice couple,” Jessie said after Lee closed the door behind them. “I like her.”

  “He’s a bird,” Lee commented. He stared at her a moment. “What made you jump when he shook your hand? Static electricity or something?”

  “Yes,” she lied, and flashed a false smile. But Lee didn’t pursue it; he sensed it had something to do with those damn nightmares and voices.

  “Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “shall we attempt our first meal in our new home?”

  After the accident Lee had taken on more domestic duties, but as Jessie gained confidence and became more adept at overcoming her handicap, he drifted back into the role of a mere assistant. They fixed their first meal in their new apartment, ate, and enjoyed coffee and conversation. As soon as they had cleaned up, Jessie went to what would be her writing office, one of the extra bedrooms, to see about setting things up, while Lee watched some late news on television.

  Just before he turned off the set to get ready for bed, Jessie came in, moving so slowly and with such purpose, she looked like she was gliding along an invisible wire.

  “Hi,” he said. “I was just…”

  She didn’t reply. She went to a side window and pressed her forehead to the glass as if she could actually look into the darkness.

  Because they were on a side road and away from the center of town, there were no streetlights. The only illumination on the road and surroundings came from the half-moon that peered around the shoulder of a large, dark cloud. The resulting yellow glow looked like a pool of amber water flooding the graveyard. Lee came up beside Jessie and put his arm around her.

  “What is it, honey? What’s wrong?”

  “All those voices,” she said softly, and raised her head from the window to turn to him. “Don’t you hear them?”

  “Hear them?” He listened. “No, honey, I don’t hear any voices. It’s as quiet out there as it must be on the surface of the moon.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s as noisy as a congregation full of Sunday worshipers, everyone talking at once,” she said, putting her hands over her ears.

  “Jessie, baby…” He took her hands into his, but she continued to grimace in pain. “You’ve got to see a doctor about this. There’s no one out there, honey. Honest, we’re—”

  “Right beside a cemetery,” she said, her eyes wide. The way she said it drove a sword of ice through his heart. She turned back to the window.

  “A cemetery,” she whispered. “And something’s very wrong, very wrong.”

  2

  Lee studied the twelve boys standing before him for a moment. Barry Gilmore held the basketball against his side as if he owned it and he was only letting the rest of them play with it. He looked impatient and openly telegraphed so with his distinct smirk. The caramel-skinned boy was six feet five and, from what Lee had been told, was supposed to have an excellent opportunity to achieve high scorer’s honors in the Southeastern Zone this year.

  Donald Hodes, a six-foot-two-inch pasty-white boy, looked awkward and gangly standing beside Gilmore. Gilmore’s body was lean and well proportioned for a basketball player. The power in his legs and his shoulders was evident. Hodes had trouble standing straight when he stood still. His prominent collarbone protruded and the bones in his shoulders stuck up so sharply it looked as if his body were on a metal hanger. Like Gilmore, Hodes appeared bored with Lee’s opening remarks, and Lee wasn’t very impressed with him. Yet Larry Thompson, the temporary substitute, had told Lee that Donald was strong under the boards.

  “He’s all elbows and hips, bumping and poking,” Thompson had said. “Swear, he could stab someone with that sharp, right elbow. He doesn’t hesitate to get away with it,” Thompson had added, and winked. Lee didn’t like the implication.

  “Now, I know it’s hard for any
team to pick up a new coach halfway into the season,” Lee began when he faced the boys after school for their first practice with him, “but maybe we can turn this into an advantage. The way I see it, all you guys are going to have to prove yourselves again. I look at you with fresh eyes.”

  “Does that mean there’s no such thing as a second team, Coach?” Paul Benson asked. He was a five-foot-ten-inch muscular white boy with very dark black hair and heavy sideburns. His remark was greeted with much laughter.

  “There’s a second team, Paul. We just gotta see who’s on it.” Lee sat down on the bench, clipboard in hand. “All right,” he said, “we’ll begin the scrimmage. You guys on the benches watch the clock and substitute yourselves every ten minutes.”

  “Who’s gonna be the ref, Coach?” Billy Simins asked. The wiry six-footer had a way of tilting his head to the side when he spoke. It made him look sly.

  “Ref yourselves. I want to be able to sit back and observe everyone out there to see who stays back and lets the other guy do it. I’m looking for hustle.”

  Shortly after the boys had begun playing, however, the scrimmage came to a halt when they saw Henry Young enter the gym. They stopped in their tracks and stood at attention. At first Lee didn’t know what was happening. Then he turned and saw the principal coming toward him.

  “Carry on, boys,” Mr. Young said.

  Gilmore passed the ball sharply to an unprepared Paul Benson, almost knocking him over. Lee caught the anger in the guard’s eyes when he received the ball, but his concentration on the boys was broken as Young drew closer.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the principal said, and sat down beside him.

  “No problem.”

  “First few days are always the hardest, getting the boys to accept you, learning the ropes, finding the squeaks, eh?” He gazed out at the players, his eyes growing small, intent. “These kids are tough, real competitors. Kurt was proud of them, proud of all his teams, but especially proud of this one.”

  “Oh?” Lee wondered why. He saw nothing outstanding in this group of boys, especially in light of the championship banners that hung on the walls and trophies that were displayed in the glass case in the lobby of the gym. Andersen’s previous teams had to have been head and shoulders above this present one.