by Vicky Jones
“That’s all we need. Frank’s gonna be pissed,” Lucy huffed as she searched for something to plug up the hole.
"It wasn’t your fault. It would have come down anyways at some point,” Shona reasoned, picking up an old hessian sack and ramming it into the gap. “There. Should hold it for a bit.” She smiled and dried her hands on her pants.
As they headed back up the basement steps, relieved at their near miss, they passed Chuck who was working his way through the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he’d taken from the bar. He glared at Shona.
“Why is it you don’t drink, Shona? Come on, do a shot with me. It’s Friday night, damnit,” Lucy encouraged, placing two bourbons down in front of them.
“No thanks. I might not be working tomorrow but I still gotta drive home, remember,” Shona replied, sipping her soda instead.
“Your loss.” Lucy reached over the bar and took both glasses, downing them one after the other. She gasped, screwing up her face. “Goddamn. Why do people drink this stuff?”
“Lucy, why do you put up with Frank, if he pisses you off so much? You’ve done nothing but bellyache about him for fifteen minutes now,” Shona asked.
“Wanna know a secret?” Lucy whispered, the bourbon loosening her tongue. “I’m thinking of taking a little time away from him. Head up to Tennessee, spring break maybe? I’ve got an aunt up there so I thought I might spend some time with her. I need some time to think about what I want. What I really want to do with my life.” She rolled the empty glass between her index finger and thumb. “And she’s a little less square than my parents. She won’t be as mad as my mom and dad’ll be about me skipping classes.”
“How come you ain’t been going to college lately? I thought you liked it there?” Shona asked.
“I thought going there was what I wanted. Thought it would finally make my parents proud of me. You see, Shona, they are the height of social climbing. But I made so many mistakes while growing up. I’ve always been a disappointment to them.”
“They politicians or something?”
“Not quite. Mom’s a school principal and Dad’s a surgeon. They’ve done so well for themselves and I am proud of them. I always thought I wanted to teach, you know? One day. But…” Lucy trailed off.
“What?” Shona pressed.
“Oh, nothing. You know what, Shona? I envy you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re so free. You don’t answer to no man, have nothing holding you back, no textbooks to smother you. Why, you’re like the birds out there. You can move around any time you want,” Lucy replied, refilling her glass.
“So can you. You’re not a tree,” Shona retorted, raising her eyebrow. “Nothing to stop you travelling around for a bit, then maybe after a while try college in Tennessee when you go and stay with your aunt? Just tell your parents it didn’t work out here. I’m sure they wouldn’t be too disappointed.”
“That’s not why they’d be disappointed, believe me. I’ve done far worse lately.” Lucy held the glass in front of her mouth for a moment of contemplation, then downed the shot. Just as Shona opened her mouth to speak, Lucy’s eyes refocused on her. “Say, didn’t you say you were from Tennessee?” she said, her half-drunken mind regaining its sharpness.
“Um… Yeah. Born and raised,” Shona said, taking a sip from her drink, hoping, unlike Harry, that Lucy wouldn’t pry too much for specifics about the state she’d only visited once in her life.
“Really? You know, it’s funny, you don’t sound like my aunt does. Your accent is more… Louisiana.”
Shona almost dropped her glass.
Chapter 17
“It’s all over the news again today, Harry. Damn election ain’t even for weeks yet,” Marcie said, looking over the top of her cat-eye glasses to Harry as she flicked through the paper the following Monday morning.
“Who’s running again?” Harry asked.
“Um… Max Whitfield and some guy from outta town, Dennis Compton his name is. I ain’t never heard o’him.” She closed the paper and took off her glasses, laying them both on the table next to her plate.
“Max’ll be good,” Harry mumbled through a mouthful of toast. “I heard he wants to invest in this town. Gets my vote.”
“Mine too. I can’t bear the sight of Frank’s bar falling apart like it is lately. It was such a nice place to go when Norm was running it, but since Gloria signed it over to Frank, it’s gone to Hell in a handbasket. That damn window on the front has been broken for weeks now.” She paused for breath and took a sip of her coffee. “At least if Max gets elected, we might get a little help around this town to smarten everywhere up, starting with that bar. And it won’t have to keep coming out of our pocket, like usual.” Marcie leveled her eyes at her husband as she emphasized the final two words of her rant.
“I know I can’t put it off any longer. Me and his mother need to talk. Frank can’t keep drifting from day to day, not knowing if his father’s ever coming home. It’s high time that boy knows the truth."
“Gloria? It’s Harry. Yeah, look, I’m sorry I ain’t called you back sooner but… I know we need to tell him. I know he’s gone too far with the drinking and gambling these last few weeks… Hey, I said I know. Quit yelling at me about it. I agree with you, OK? We should tell him. Today? OK. I’ll meet you over at his place, say 4 p.m.? I can ask one of my guys to lock up. We gotta catch him before he goes downstairs to the bar, otherwise we’ll never get any sense out of him once he starts drinking. OK, bye.”
Harry replaced the receiver and looked over at Marcie who smiled to show her support.
Leaving Shona to lock up the garage, Harry made his way across the street to meet Gloria, who was already waiting at the foot of the fire escape.
“You ready for this?” she asked, dropping her cigarette and squashing it underneath the heel of her pump.
“He needs to know,” Harry replied, gripping the handrail.
Gloria headed up first, then waited the few moments it took for Harry to join her. She watched him limp heavily on his bad leg, and then banged her knuckles on the heavy wooden door.
“Yeah?” yelled the voice inside.
“It’s your mother. Open up.”
Frank’s annoyed face emerged as the door opened.
“What’s with the rough talk? Georgie-boy not puttin’ out?” He cackled at his own crass joke, draping his arm upwards against the edge of the doorframe.
“You watch your mouth,” Harry retorted, pushing Frank’s arm out of his way and striding into the apartment.
“Come in, why don’t you,” Frank muttered as his mother glared at him as she passed. Closing the door behind them, he drained the last of his beer and plonked it down on the coffee table. “This gon’ take long?”
“Sit down, Frank. We need to talk. Your poker game can wait,” Gloria said.
Lucy stepped out of the bedroom.
“Frank, do you have the… Oh, hi Harry… Gloria, what are you both doing here?”
“You’ve heard somethin’, ain’t you? He’s comin’ home.” Frank’s face erupted with a smile as he stared at his mother.
As if she hadn’t noticed the happiness glaze across his face, Gloria planted her hands on her hips, then looked at her son. “Oh, grow up, Frank. Stop actin’ like a baby. It’s time to let go.” Gloria hated herself for being so cold, but it needed to be said. “Harry has somethin’ else he needs to tell you. Sit down.”
All eyes turned on Harry, who licked his dry lips. “Frank, um… we’ve come over to talk to you about your, um… problem.” Harry looked at Gloria who rolled her eyes at him backing out once again and changing the subject. “There’s the election coming up and if you act smart you can really put that bar on the map. Max Whitfield wants to invest, and yours could be the first place he goes.”
“I know all about that election. It’s a no-brainer. Whitfield’ll get in, not the other guy. They won’t vote for an out-of-towner.”
“For God’s sake, boy
, you can’t just sit on your ass and hope that happens. You gotta clean that place up so it impresses him. The gambling, the drinking, the state of the building? It’s gotten out of hand, son. You need—”
Frank, as if in slow motion, lifted up his booted foot and struck the beer bottle he’d left on the coffee table, sending it careening into the wall less than six inches above Lucy. Ducking as it smashed into pieces, she covered her head with her shaking hands and stared in silent disbelief at Frank.
“Frank… my God,” Gloria gasped.
“Now you listen here, you ignorant son of a bitch. This is serious. You will lose that bar if you don’t start growing up. You gotta face facts, son!” Harry bellowed.
“What the goddamn hell gives you the right to tell me what to do, huh? I’ll clean up that place in my own time, you hear? And I ain’t your son. You ain’t fit to tie my father’s bootstraps.” Frank squared up to Harry, who didn't back down. As both of them stood red-faced and toe-to-toe, Gloria suddenly noticed something that everyone else, including Lucy, had completely missed.
“Oh, my. Honey… you’re bleedin’.”
She rushed over to Lucy, who stood motionless by the fireplace, staring down at the remnants of the broken bottle. Raising a hand to her forehead, Lucy pulled it back to see dark red blood coating her trembling fingers.
“Let me see that…” Gloria held Lucy’s face in her hands as she inspected the cut just above her left eye. She turned to Frank, giving him a look that he’d never seen before. He was used to disappointment, disgust, even pity from his mother, but this was one of pure contempt.
“Harry, we need to get this lil’ girl down to the doctor. She’s gon’ need a stitch or two, I’d say. And you, boy? Lose the business, see if I care. But don’t you come cryin’ to me when it’s all gone.”
Gloria, clamping her handkerchief to Lucy’s eyebrow, walked her to the door and carefully down the fire escape.
“I’m fine, really, Mrs. Smith. I really don’t think I—” Lucy began, stumbling.
“Nonsense. You’re gon’ need that seein’ to. And if I had my druthers, you’d be headin’ to the bus station straight afterwards. That son of mine is no good. You should get yourself as far away from him as possible. He’ll drag you down with him.”
Frank looked out of the window and watched his mother walk inside the doctor’s office with his girlfriend’s bleeding head pressed against her palm. With tears in his eyes, he turned back to Harry and stared at him.
“You need to sort it out, kid. Double time,” Harry said in a low voice, before stepping past Frank and closing the door quietly behind him.
Sinking down into his armchair, Frank buried his face in his hands and broke down in pitiful sobs, stopping momentarily to look up at the picture of him sitting on his father’s shoulders, the precious letter he’d received now splattered with the dregs of his beer. Shattered dark brown glass from the bottle lay strewn around it.
“Where the hell are you?” he whispered.
“What in the blue blazes happened to you?” Shona gasped as she opened the door to a patched-up Lucy.
“Long story. Can I come in?” she replied.
“Um… best not, Dorothy’s got the doctor round. Her leg’s bad again. Wanna go for a walk?”
“Sure. Not sure I wanna see the doc twice in one day anyway.” Lucy grimaced.
“Looks painful. How many’d you get put in there?”
“Just three. Wasn’t that deep. I was lucky it missed the eyeball.” Lucy smiled, then winced.
“It?” Shona repeated, reaching behind the door to get her jacket and a lantern flashlight.
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
With the lantern beam illuminating the way, they walked to the edge of the driveway and then hopped over the fence into the field opposite, which led down to the river. Shona felt most at peace when she was by the water, and judging by the snippets of information she was getting from Lucy, it was a safe bet that peace was what she needed too.
“It don't have to be this way, you know. Why can’t you just leave him if you’ve had enough?” Shona asked, staring at Lucy’s profile as she gazed into the distance.
“Shona… can I ask you something?”
“Depends what it is,” Shona replied, feeling a familiar prickle of dread.
“Have you ever done a thing so bad, so unforgivable, that you don’t know how to make it right?” Shona stared at her. “You ever felt so trapped in your head that you can’t catch your breath? Like the walls are closing in on you and you just don’t know what to do.” She turned to face Shona, the tears pooling in her bloodshot eyes. “I can’t go home. My parents would never forgive me after what I’ve done.”
“What can you have done that was so bad?” Shona asked, shaking her head. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to put her arm around her friend, but her instinct was telling her not to. Instead, Shona looked out over the moonlit water.
“You know,” she began, “when I was about ten years old, back home, I once took a filly out for a ride. She was from the farm up the road. Wasn’t even our horse. She was beautiful, though, the most gorgeous horse I ever laid eyes on. I just wanted to take her down to the river, see how fast she could go. I felt like I was flying.” Shona paused, as Lucy had now stopped crying and was lying back on the cool grass, her eyes closed as she listened to her story. “But once my momma realized I was gone, and the farmer found the stable empty, they sent out a search party for me. They were so mad when they found me by the river asleep, the horse tied to the tree next to me. Wanted me arrested for horse rustling.” Shona laughed. “I was only ten.” Her smile faded. “But when my momma turned up at the river, she'd been so worried that I’d fallen in or been thrown off that she ran over and scooped me up in her arms. I told her I was sorry for worrying her. You know what she said back?” Shona paused and looked down at Lucy, who opened her eyes and turned her head to meet Shona’s gaze.
“No, what’d she say?” Lucy whispered.
“She said, ‘I wasn’t worried by you leaving. I was terrified you wouldn’t come back.’ Then she hugged me so tight. My momma was the only one who ever truly understood me. She knew who I was inside.”
“She sounds amazing. Where is she now?” Lucy murmured.
Shona stood up and wiped the tears from her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Heaven. Seven years ago.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“What I’m trying to say is… what can be so bad that someone like you can’t go home? Your mom will be OK, you just gotta tell her you’re sorry.” Shona held her hand out to help Lucy off the ground.
“Not about this,” she mumbled. “What happened after your mom passed, Shona? You live with your daddy?"
Shona swallowed hard. “So, what got Frank so mad anyway? Why did he lose his shit and kick that bottle?” Shona asked. She pulled out a huge clump of long grass, picking it apart as she walked a few paces ahead of Lucy.
“What?” Lucy replied, catching up to Shona. “Oh, lots of reasons. His father mainly… and he’s probably just worried about this election coming up, in case that Max fella don’t get in. He’s gon’ be the one investing a whole heap o’ money into the town, but if this other guy gets in then…”
“Who’s the other guy?” Shona asked, chewing on the end of a strand of grass.
"Um… I can’t remember his name, Frank just calls him D.C. or something. God knows why when he’s actually from Louisiana.” Lucy’s guffaw at her own joke meant that she completely missed the look of pure terror on Shona’s face as she turned around. Almost choking on the grass, Shona shot her arm out and grabbed Lucy’s elbow.
“What’s his name, Lucy? D.C. what? What does D.C. stand for?” She yelled at a bemused Lucy.
“I don’t know… All I know is that he’s some rich guy from Louisiana, who thinks he can make even more money for himself by investing in businesses in this town. But it won’t matter, Shona, ‘cos he won’t get i
n. People won’t vote for him. Shona? Shona.”
Shona was already striding away from her. A few yards away, she broke out in a run.
“What on earth’s the matter with you? You’re behaving like you got the devil in you,” Dorothy exclaimed as Shona ran past her and into the kitchen. Running the faucet and filling a glass, Shona gulped down the water.
“Dorothy… what’s the name of the man from out of town who’s running for mayor?” she asked, panting between gulps.
“Hold your horses now. What?” Dorothy replied.
“D.C.,” Shona yelled.
“His name is…” The old lady, in her bemusement at Shona’s frayed temper, stumbled over her words.
“What? What’s his name?”
Dorothy stared in disbelief at this new person in front of her. She shuffled into the front room and picked up the newspaper. Reaching down to the glasses that were hanging round her neck, she fumbled trying to put them on straight. After what felt like an eternity, she eventually located the story and read out his name.
“Compton. Dennis Compton,” Dorothy confirmed. She removed her glasses and stared at Shona, who had slumped against the doorframe.
“Calm down, Shona, it’s not him.”
“Hi, Mrs. Clark. Is Shona there, please?”
Lucy had gone straight back over to Dorothy’s house, unable to keep pace with Shona who’d run from her side like a scalded cat.
“She’s upstairs lying down. That my lantern?” Dorothy opened the door enough for Lucy to pass it to her.
“Yeah, Shona left in such a hurry she dropped it. I hope it ain’t broke or nothing.”
“It’ll be fine. Best leave Shona tonight. See her tomorrow.”
Dorothy closed the door with a clunk, leaving Lucy bewildered on the step. Seconds later the door opened.
“So, I guess you’ll be wanting a ride back to town?” she asked, her eyebrow raised.