Nobody Knows Your Secret

48

Beanie Fugate felt Humpty's pain. 

He knew something was eating Humpty. The man only visited once in a blue moon, but even then, Humpty wore his discomfort all over his face. 

He always looked ill whenever he dropped by to pay his respects. Beanie might not be the shiniest bean in the pot, but he wasn't the dullest either.

So Beanie made sure to work that section of the cemetery, rain or shine, whenever he saw Humpty Eldon's beat-up, old pickup turn under the large wrought iron arch entrance to MemorialGardens. 

Hadley was a smart woman. She'd been to college. She had lots of book smarts, Beanie knew, but some things were just common sense. 

Like this thing about ghosts.

No matter how many times Hadley Pell tried to tell him there were no such things as ghosts, Beanie would never be convinced. Ghosts were real. It was just a fact of life. Like old Linnie Clay who was always passing gas and denying it.

It's why no one would ever find Beanie working past dusk. 

Ghosts came out at night, when folks slept, when slithering things roamed the Earth, and evil spirits danced a jig on the clock tower of the courthouse on Main Street.

Roses are red and violets are blue. If you're caught out after dark, then the spooks will get you.

There were some inexplicable things in this world that just were because they just were. No sense wasting brain power trying to solve them. 

Riddles. 

All. 

Like the sphinx.

Like some of the old hags who visited Lou Edna's. 

They went to the beauty shop for some beauty. Did you buy it by the ounce? Beanie didn't think so. Pots of paint and buckets of hair dye couldn't turn those prunes into good-looking women, no matter how hot and heavy you poured that goop on.

Like he said, they were because they just were.

And anyway, Beanie thought, why risk it? 

Hadley Pell might be right. There may not be such things as ghosts. But there were always two sides to every coin. And she could be dead wrong.

There were plenty of folks, from believers in these back hills to the educated intellectuals, who would agree with the second vein of thought. They believed ghosts were real. There were TV shows about ghost hunters. They may have seen them or felt their presence or something. 

Beanie's head spun when he pondered such matters.

He may be dumb. Ghosts may not be real. But until he had some kind of proof he could hold in his hands, he would err on the side of caution.

***

Beanie wondered if this wasn't Humpty Eldon's problem. Beanie had a sixth sense about things like that, a hypersensitive radar that picked up on a person's discomfort, embarrassment, or distress. 

Since the pulp mill accident, Beanie had had lots of practice being the butt of cruel jokes and others' impatience at his slowness. Those things had honed his sense of empathy for others to a fine point.

So when Humpty's rust bucket of a pickup rolled under the arched entry, Beanie made sure he'd be somewhere nearby Mama Eldon's humongous monolithic memorial.

It is a big stone, thought Beanie. The biggest on the lot.

It looked impressive sitting there. Kind of like the Titanic before she left port for sea. Beanie didn't notice the H letter or the E letter. They were so small as to be almost invisible. The face of the marker was highly polished. The speckles in the granite were lovely. The shadow that the headstone made when the sun was low in the sky on a hot summer's afternoon was awfully nice, too. Like standing under a great big rock awning.

When Beanie needed a break, he headed over to Mama Eldon's giant sunshade headstone. That long purple shadow was also the perfect place for a picnic lunch.

But Humpty didn't seem to think so. 

He always looked like his stomach was griping him something fierce whenever he stood in front of it. 

Maybe, Beanie thought, Humpty can just make out the faint whispers Mama Eldon was making from her grave. 

Did he hear her old brogans kicking at the lid of the pine box, signaling to her son that she knew he was visiting? Or was Humpty always suffering from a bad case of indigestion?

"Hey, Humpty," Beanie said quietly.

"EYEIII!" Humpty yelled. "Beanie Fugate! You'll give me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Humpty," Beanie said. "How ya' doin'?"

"Okay, I guess. You keepin' busy?"

"As long as grass grows and weed sprout up, I'll keep busy."

They stood looking at the towering stone.

Humpty coughed like he had a frog stuck in his throat. His face was all wrinkled up like he was going to cry.

"Well, Humpty," Beanie said, "I got work to do. Don't mind me. I need to get back to it. Enjoy your visit. Good seein' ya."

Humpty just shook his head.

Beanie got a big bucket of water from the back of the golf cart he used while working in the cemetery. The golf cart was a perfect vehicle for hauling tools or for tooling about the grounds. Not too large. Not too small. Not to complicated to operate.

Beanie kept an extra fuel can on the cart. He'd let the engine run out of gas once. Harvey hadn't fussed when Beanie abandoned the cart to walk to the station for more fuel, but what if he'd let the golf car run out of gas at the end of the day. Then he'd be stuck in the cemetery - after dark.