Gone South

by Robert R. McCammon

  “Hell, girl, do he own you? I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of findin’ me waitin’.”

  Dan took the last bite of his pie. It was time to get moving again, before this booth got too comfortable. He put his baseball cap back on and stood up. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Not a thing, if you’ll help this young lady out.”

  He looked out the window. Still no sign of a Camaro’s headlights. “Listen, I’d like to, but I can’t. I’ve got to get on down the road.”

  “Road goes south,” Donna Lee said. “Both of you headin’ that way. Ain’t no skin off your snout, is it?”

  “I think she’s old enough to make up her own mind.” Dan saw that Arden was still staring out at the dark highway. He felt a pang of sadness for her. If the right side of her face were as pretty as the left, she sure wouldn’t have to be waiting for a punk who cursed her and left her to fend for herself. But he had enough problems without taking on another one. He put two dollars down on the table for the coffee, said “Thanks for the pie,” and he started for the door.

  “Speak up, hon,” Donna Lee urged. “Train’s pullin’ out.”

  But Arden remained silent. Dan walked out of the restaurant into humidity that steamed the sweat from his pores before he’d even reached the station wagon. He drove over to the self-serve pumps, where he intended to top off the tank. He needed another roadmap as well, and when the gas stopped flowing he went into the office, bought a Louisiana map, and paid what he owed for the fill-up.

  He was standing under the lights, searching the map south of Houma for a place called Vermilion, when he heard the sound of boots coming up behind him. He looked around and there she stood, suitcase in hand, her birthmark dark purple in the fluorescent glow.

  “I don’t think he’s comin’ back this time,” she said. “You got room?”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t ride with a stranger.”

  “Everybody’s a stranger when you’re a long way from home. I don’t want to wait around here anymore. If you give me a ride, I’ll pay you ten dollars.”

  “Sorry.” Dan folded the map and got behind the steering wheel.

  “It’s a birthmark, not leprosy,” Arden said with some grit in her voice. “You won’t catch it.”

  Dan paused with his hand on the ignition. “A southbound trucker ought to be along pretty soon. You can hitch a ride with him.”

  “If I wait for a trucker, no tellin’ what might turn up. You look too damn tired to try anythin’, and even if you did, I believe I could outrun you.”

  He couldn’t argue with her logic. Even with all that caffeine in his system, he still felt as weak as a whipped pup, his joints ached like bad teeth, and a glance into the rearview mirror had shown him a pasty-white face with what looked like dark bruises under his eyes. In truth, he was just about used up. The girl was waiting for his answer. Lafayette was about twenty-five miles. Maybe it would be good to have somebody along to keep him awake, and then he could find a place to rest until nightfall.

  “Climb in,” he said.

  Arden hefted her suitcase into the rear seat. “Got a lot of glass back here.”

  “Yeah. Window was broken, I haven’t had a chance to clean it out.”

  She took the passenger seat. Dan started the engine and followed the ramp to I-49 southbound. The truck stop fell behind, and in a couple of minutes the glow of green neon was gone. Arden looked back only once, then she stared straight ahead as if she’d decided that where she was going was more important than where she’d been.

  Dan imagined that her birthmark would bleach white if she knew who she was riding with. Donna Lee would’ve taken the slugger to him rather than put this girl in his care. Dan kept his speed at fifty-five, the engine laboring. State troopers were lurking somewhere on the interstate; maybe waiting around the next curve, looking for a stolen station wagon with a killer worth fifteen thousand dollars behind the wheel.

  He never had put much faith in prayer.

  Right now, with the dark pressing all around, his strength tattering away, and his future a question mark, a silent prayer seemed to be the only shield at hand.

  12

  Jupiter

  THE FIRST LIGHTS OF Lafayette were ahead. Dan said, “We’re almost there. Where do you need to go?”

  Arden had been quiet during the drive, her eyes closed and her head tilted to one side. Now she sat up straight and took her bearings. She opened her purse, unfolded a piece of paper, and strained to read by the highway lights what was written there. “Turn off on Darcy Avenue. Then you’ll go two miles east and turn right on Planters Road.”

  “What are you lookin’ for? Somebody’s house?”

  “The Twin Oaks nursin’ home.”

  Dan glanced quickly at her. “A nursin’ home? That’s why you came all the way from Fort Worth?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have a relative livin’ there?”

  “No, just somebody I have to see.”

  Must be somebody mighty important, Dan thought. Well, it wasn’t his business. He took the turn onto Darcy Avenue and drove east along a wide thoroughfare lined with fast-food joints, strip malls, and restaurants with names like King Crawdaddy and Whistlin’ Willie’s Cajun Hut. Everything was closed but an occasional gas station, and only a couple of other cars passed by. Dan turned right on Planters Road, which ran past apartment complexes and various small businesses. “How far is it from here?”

  “Not far.”

  His curiosity about the nursing home was starting to get the best of him. If she hadn’t come the distance from Fort Worth on account of a relative, then who was it she needed to see? He had his own problems, for sure, but the situation intrigued him. “Mind if I ask who you’re goin’ to visit?”

  “Somebody I used to know, growin’ up.”

  “This person know you’re comin’?”

  “No.”

  “You think quarter to four in the mornin’ is a good time to visit somebody in a rest home?”

  “Jupiter always liked early mornin’. If he’s not up yet, I’ll wait.”

  “Jupiter?” Dan asked.

  “That’s his name. Jupiter Krenshaw.” Arden stared at him. “How come you’ve taken such an interest?”

  “No special reason. I guess I just wanted to know.”

  “All right, I reckon that’s only fair. I used to know Jupiter when I was fifteen, sixteen years old. He worked on the farm where I was livin’. Groomed the horses. He used to tell me stories. Things about his growin’ up, down in the bayou. Some of ’em made-up stories, some of ’em true. I haven’t seen him for ten years, but I remember those stories. I tracked down his nearest relative, and I found out Jupiter was in the nursin’ home.” She watched Planters Road unreel in the headlights. “There’s somethin’ I need to talk to him about. Somethin’ that’s very, very important to me.”

  “Must be,” Dan commented. “I mean, you came a long way to see him.”

  She was silent for a moment, the warm wind blowing in around them. “You ever hear of somebody called the Bright Girl?”

  Dan shook his head. “No, can’t say I have. Who is she?”

  “I think that might be it,” Arden said, lifting her chin to indicate a low-slung brick building on the right. In another moment Dan could see the small, tastefully lit sign that announced it was indeed the Twin Oaks Retirement Home. The place was across from a strip mall, but it didn’t look too bad; it had a lot of windows, a long porch with white wicker furniture, and two huge oak trees stood on either side of the entrance. Dan pulled up to the front, where there was a wheelchair ramp and steps carpeted with Astroturf. “Okay,” he said. “This is your stop.”

  She didn’t get out. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

  “You can ask.”

  “How much of a hurry are you in?”

  “I’m not hurryin’, but I’m not dawdlin’, either.”

  “Do you have time to wait for me? It shouldn’t take
too long, and I sure would appreciate a lift to a motel.”

  He thought about it, his hands on the wheel. A motel room was what he needed, too; he was just too tired to make it the rest of the way to Vermilion. He’d found the fishing camp on the roadmap: a speck on Highway 57 about fifteen miles south of Houma, near where the pavement ended in the huge bayou swamp of Terrebonne Parish. “I’ll wait,” he decided.

  “Thanks.” She leveled her gaze at him. “I’m gonna leave my suitcase. You won’t run off soon as I walk in the door, will you?”

  “No, I’ll stick.” And maybe catch some sleep while he waited, he thought.

  “Okay.” She nodded; he seemed trustworthy, and she counted herself lucky that she’d met him. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Dan,” he said.

  “I’m Arden Halliday.” She offered her hand, and Dan shook it. “I appreciate you helpin’ me like this. Hope I didn’t take you too far out of your way.”

  He shrugged. “I’m headed down south of Houma anyhow.” Instantly he regretted telling her that, because if she happened to find out who he was, that information would go straight to the police. He was so tired, he was forgetting a slip of the lip could lead him to prison.

  “I won’t be long,” she promised, and she got out and walked up the steps, entering the building through a door with etched-glass panels.

  It occurred to him that the smart thing to do might be to set her suitcase on the porch and hit the accelerator, but he dismissed the idea. Weariness was creeping through his bones, his eyes heavy-lidded. He was going to ask her to get behind the wheel when she was finished inside. He cut the engine and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes closed, and he listened to the soft humming of insects in the steamy night.

  “Mister?”

  Dan opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. A man was standing beside his window, peering in. Dan had an instant of cold terror because the man wore a cap and uniform with a badge at his breast pocket.

  “Mister?” the policeman said again. “You can’t park here.”

  “Sir?” It was all Dan could get out.

  “Can’t park here, right in front of the door. It’s against the fire code.”

  Dan blinked, his vision blurred. But he could make out that the face was young enough to have acne eruptions, and on the badge was stamped TWIN OAKS SECURITY.

  “You can park ’round the side there,” the security guard said. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”

  “No. No, I don’t mind.” He almost laughed; a lanky kid who was probably all of nineteen had just about scared his hair white. “I’ll move it.” He reached down to restart the engine, and at that moment Arden came out of the building and down the steps.

  “Any problem?” she asked when she saw the security guard, and the kid looked at her and started to answer, but then his eyes got fixed on the birthmark and his voice failed him.

  “I was about to move the car,” Dan explained. “Fire code. You finished already?”

  “No. Lady at the front desk says Jupiter usually wakes up around five. I told her he’d want to see me, but she won’t get him up any earlier. That’s about another hour.”

  Dan rubbed his eyes. An hour wasn’t going to make much difference one way or another, he figured. “Okay. I’ll park the car and try to get some sleep.”

  “Well, there’s a waitin’ area inside. Got a sofa you might stretch out on, and it’s sure a lot cooler in there.” Arden suddenly looked into the security guard’s face. “You want to tell me what you’re starin’ at?”

  “Uh … uh …” the kid stammered.

  Arden stepped toward him, her chin uplifted in defiance. “It’s called a port-wine stain,” she said. “I was born wearin’ it. Go on and take a good long look, just satisfy the hell out of yourself. You want to touch it?”

  “No ma’am,” he answered, taking a quick backward step. “I mean … no thank you, ma’am.”

  Arden continued to lock his gaze with her own, but she’d decided he meant no disrespect. Her voice was calmer when she spoke again. “I guess I wouldn’t want to touch it, either, if I didn’t have to.” She returned her attention to Dan, who could see the anger fading from her eyes like the last embers of a wind-whipped fire. “Probably be more comfortable inside.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” He figured he could’ve slept in a cement mixer, but the sofa would be kinder to his bones. He fired up the engine, which sounded as rugged as he felt. “I’ll pull around to the side and come on in.” The security guard moved away and Dan parked the station wagon in a small lot next to the Twin Oaks. It was a tribulation to walk the distance back to the front door. Inside, though, the air-conditioning was a breath from heaven. A thin, middle-aged woman with a hairdo like a double-dip of vanilla ice cream sat behind a reception desk, her lips pursed as she absorbed the contents of a paperback romance. Arden was sitting nearby in a waiting area that held a number of overstuffed chairs, brass reading lamps, and a magazine rack, and there was the full-length sofa as pretty as a vision of the Promised Land.

  Dan eased himself down, took off his shoes, and stretched out. Arden had a dog-eared National Geographic in her lap, but she looked needful of some sleep, too. The place was quiet, the corridors only dimly lit. From somewhere came the sound of a low, muffled coughing. Dan had the thought that no policeman in Louisiana would think to look for him at a Lafayette nursing home. Then his mind and body relaxed, as much as was possible, and he slept a dreamless sleep.

  Voices brought him back to the land of the living.

  “Ma’am? I believe Mr. Krenshaw’s awake by now. Can I tell him who you are?”

  “Just tell him Arden. He’ll know.”

  “Yes ma’am.” There was the sound of rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

  Dan opened his eyes and looked out the nearest window. Violet light was showing at the horizon. Nearing six o’clock, he figured. His mouth was as dry as a dust bowl. He saw a water fountain a few steps away, and he summoned his strength and sat up, his joints as stiff as rusty hinges. The girl was still sitting in the chair, her face turned toward a corridor that went off past the reception desk. She’d opened her purse, Dan noted, and she had removed the small pink drawstring bag from it. The bag was in her lap, both her hands clutched together around it in an attitude that struck Dan as being either of protection or prayer. As he stood up to walk to the water fountain, he saw her pull the drawstring tight and push it into her purse again. Then she rose to her feet as well, because someone was coming along the corridor.

  There were two people, one standing and one sitting. A brown-haired woman in a white uniform was pushing a wheelchair, her shoes squeaking with every step, and in the wheelchair sat a frail-looking black man wearing a red-checked robe and slippers with yellow-and-green argyle socks. Dan took a drink of water and watched Arden walk forward to meet the man she’d come so far to see.

  Jupiter was seventy-eight years old now, his face was a cracked riverbed of wrinkles, and his white hair had dwindled to a few remaining tufts. Arden was sure she’d changed just as much, but he would have to be blind not to know her, and the stroke he’d suffered two years before had not robbed him of his eyes. They were ashine, and their excitement jumped into Arden like an electric spark. His nephew had told Arden about the stroke, which had happened just five months after the death of Jupiter’s wife, and so Arden had been prepared for the palsy of his head and hands and the severe downturn of the right side of his mouth. Still, it was hard because she remembered how he used to be, and ten years could do a lot of damage. She took the few last steps to meet him, grasped one of his palsied hands as he reached up for her, and with an effort he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Miz Arden,” he said. His voice was like a gasp, almost painful to hear. “Done growed up.”

  She gave him the best smile she had. “Hello, Jupiter. How’re they treatin’ you?”

  “Like I’m worn out. Which I ain’t. Gone be back to work again soon as I g
et on my feet.” He shook his head with wonder, his hand still gripping Arden’s. “My, my! You have surely become a young lady! Doreen would be so proud to see you!”

  “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

  “I was awful down at first. Awful down. But Doreen’s the pride of the angels now, and I’m happy for her. Gone get on my feet again. Louis thinks I’m worn out can’t do a thing for m’self.” He snorted. “I said you gimme the money they chargin’ you, I’ll show you how a man can pull hisself up. I ain’t through, no ma’am.” Jupiter’s rheumy eyes slid toward Dan. “Who is that there? I can’t —” He caught his breath. “Lord have mercy! Is that … is that Mr. Richards?”

  “That’s the man who brought me —”

  “Mr. Richards!” The old man let go of Arden and wheeled himself toward Dan before the nurse could stop him. Dan stepped back, but the wheelchair was suddenly right there in front of him and the old man’s crooked mouth was split by an ecstatic grin. “You come to see me, too?”

  “Uh … I think you’ve got me mixed up with some—”

  “Don’t you worry, now I know I’m gone get up out this thing! My, my, this is a happy day! Mr. Richards, you still got that horse eats oranges skin and all? I was thinkin’ ’bout that horse th’other day. Name right on the tip of my tongue, right there it was but I couldn’t spit it out. What was that horse’s name?”

  “Jupiter?” Arden said quietly, coming up behind him. She put a hand on one of his thin shoulders. “That’s not Mr. Richards.”

  “Well, sure it is! Right here he is, flesh and bone! I may be down, but I ain’t out! Mr. Richards, what was the name of that horse eats oranges skin and all?”

  Dan looked into Arden’s face, seeking help. It was obvious the old man had decided he was someone else, and to him the matter was settled. Arden said, “I think the horse’s name was Fortune.”

  “Fortune! That’s it!” Jupiter nodded, his eyes fixed on Dan. “You still got that ol’ wicked horse?”

  “I’m not who you —” But Dan paused before he went any further. There seemed to be no point in it. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I do.”