"I didn't see him today."
"Don't you think we'll be better off when he's dead?"
Adam looked at her silhouette. "No, Lee, I don't. Do you?"
She was silent and still for at least a minute. "You feel sorry for him, don't you?" she finally asked.
"Yes, I do."
"Is he pitiful?"
"Yes, he is."
"What does he look like?"
"A very old man, with plenty of gray hair that's always oily and pulled back. He has a short gray beard. Lots of wrinkles. His skin is very pale."
"What does he wear?"
"A red jumpsuit. All death row inmates wear the same thing."
Another long pause as she thought about this. Then she said, "I guess it's easy to feel sorry for him."
"It is for me."
"But you see, Adam, I've never seen him the way you see him. I saw a different person."
"And what did you see?"
She adjusted the blanket around her legs, then grew still again. "My father was a person I despised."
"Do you still despise him?"
"Yes. Very much so. I think he should go ahead and die. God knows he deserves it."
"Why does he deserve it?"
This prompted another spell of silence. She moved slightly to her left and took a cup or glass from the nightstand. She sipped slowly, as Adam watched her shadows. He didn't ask what she was drinking.
"Does he talk to you about the past?"
"Only when I ask questions. We've talked about Eddie, but I promised we wouldn't do it again."
"He's the reason Eddie's dead. Does he realize this?"
"Maybe."
"Did you tell him? Did you blame him for Eddie?"
"No."
"You should have. You're too easy on him. He needs to know what he's done."
"I think he does. But you said yourself it's not fair to torment him at this point of his life."
"How about Joe Lincoln? Did you talk to him about Joe Lincoln?"
"I told Sam that you and I went to the old family place. He asked me if I knew about Joe Lincoln. I said that I did."
"Did he deny it?"
"No. He showed a lot of remorse."
"He's a liar."
"No. I think he was sincere."
Another long pause as she sat motionless. Then, "Has he told you about the lynching?"
Adam closed his eyes and rested his elbows on his knees. "No," he mumbled.
"I didn't think so."
"I don't want to hear it, Lee."
"Yes you do. You came down here full of questions about the family and about your past. Two weeks ago you just couldn't get enough of the Cayhall family misery. You wanted all the blood and gore."
"I've heard enough," he said.
"What day is it?" she asked.
"It's Thursday, Lee. You've already asked once."
"One of my girls was due today. Her second child. I didn't call the office. I guess it's the medication."
"And the alcohol."
"All right, dammit. So I'm an alcoholic. Who can blame me? Sometimes I wish I had the guts to do what Eddie did."
"Come on, Lee. Let me help you."
"Oh, you've already helped a great deal, Adam. I was fine, nice and sober until you arrived."
"Okay. I was wrong. I'm sorry. I just didn't realize - " His words trailed off, then quit.
She moved slightly and Adam watched as she took another sip. A heavy silence engulfed them as minutes passed. The rancid smell emanated from her end of the bed.
"Mother told me the story," she said quietly, almost whispering. "She said she'd heard rumors about it for years. Long before they married she knew he'd helped lynch a young black man."
"Please, Lee."
"I never asked him about it, but Eddie did. We had whispered about it for many years, and finally one day Eddie just up and confronted him with the story. They had a nasty fight, but Sam admitted it was true. It really didn't bother him, he said. The black kid had allegedly raped a white girl, but she was white trash and many people doubted if it was really a rape. This is according to Mother's version. Sam was fifteen or so at the time, and a bunch of men went down to the jail, got the black kid, and took him out in the woods. Sam's father, of course, was the ringleader, and his brothers were involved."
"That's enough, Lee."
"They beat him with a bullwhip, then hung him from a tree. My dear father was right in the middle of it. He couldn't really deny it, you know, because somebody took a picture of it."
"A photograph?"
"Yeah. A few years later the photo found its way into a book about the plight of Negroes in the Deep South. It was published in 1947. My mother had a copy of it for years. Eddie found it in the attic."
"And Sam's in the photograph."
"Sure. Smiling from ear to ear. They're standing under the tree and the black guy's feet are dangling just above their heads. Everybody's having a ball. Just another nigger lynching. There are no credits with the photo, no names. The picture speaks for itself. It's described as a lynching in rural Mississippi, 1936."
"Where's the book?"
"Over there in the drawer. I've kept it in storage with other family treasures since the foreclosure. I got it out the other day. I thought you might want to see it."
"No. I do not want to see it."
"Go ahead. You wanted to know about your family. Well, there they are. Grandfather, greatgrandfather, and all sorts of Cayhalls at their very best. Caught in the act, and quite proud of it."
"Stop it, Lee."
"There were other lynchings, you know."
"Shut up, Lee. Okay? I don't want to hear any more."
She leaned to her side and reached for the nightstand.
"What are you drinking, Lee?"
"Cough syrup."
"Bullshit!" Adam jumped to his feet and walked through the darkness to the nightstand. Lee quickly gulped the last of the liquid. He grabbed the glass from her hand and sniffed the top of it. "This is bourbon."
"There's more in the pantry. Would you get it for me?"
"No! You've had more than enough."
"If I want it, I'll get it."
"No you won't, Lee. You're not drinking any more tonight. Tomorrow I'll take you to the doctor, and we'll get some help."
"I don't need help. I need a gun."
Adam placed the glass on the dresser and switched on a lamp. She shielded her eyes for a few seconds, then looked at him. They were red and puffy. Her hair was wild, dirty, and unkempt.
"Not a pretty sight, huh," she said, slurring her words, and looking away.
"No. But we'll get help, Lee. We'll do it tomorrow."
"Get me a drink, Adam. Please."
"No."
"Then leave me alone. This is all your fault, you know. Now, leave, please. Go on to bed."
Adam grabbed a pillow from the center of the bed and threw it against the door. "I'm sleeping here tonight," he said, pointing at the pillow. "I'm locking the door, and you're not leaving this room."
She glared at him, but said nothing. He switched off the lamp, and the room was completely dark. He pressed the lock on the knob and stretched out on the carpet against the door. "Now sleep it off, Lee."
"Go to bed, Adam. I promise I won't leave the room."
"No. You're drunk, and I'm not moving. If you try to open this door, I'll physically put you back in the bed."