Dee started wailing, and I peeked out enough to see Enoch comfort him. I heard Enoch mention lunch and the little boy nodded his head vigorously. Lunch? It was past two o’clock. I guessed Astrid was on strike, or to be fair, too upset to make their lunches. Oh, man, I thought, this family is so screwed up, I might report them to family services myself.
Something about Dee reminded me of Abit, back when I first met him. Abit was older, of course, but everyone had called him retarded for so long, he believed them and acted younger. He’d broken through that yoke with the help of the school and people who believed in him. I hoped someday Astrid and Dee would get the same chance to live fully, without fear.
When the three of them headed to the kitchen, I extricated myself from the foliage and joined them. Enoch began chopping carrots, the thwack of his knife on the cutting board louder with each strike. He kept shaking his head, telling Horne over and over that he didn’t know what had happened to Lilah. Finally he put the knife down, picked up Dee, who’d started to cry, and gently rocked him. “Listen Sheriff, I don’t want to talk about this in front of the children.”
“It’s hot in here,” Dee whined. “Let’s go out to the screamed-in porch.” Enoch and I shared a smile. Precious incarnate. He gently lowered him onto the couch on the porch and gave him a few carrot sticks to eat—or play with, as it turned out. Enoch seemed deeply troubled for his son, and I’d watched him be kind with Astrid. I was beginning to see another side to the guy.
8
Della
Horne left in a huff after Enoch refused a house search without a warrant. I had to hurry after him to make sure I got a ride home. We didn’t say much as we raced down the road. More than likely, Horne was mentally collecting facts to make his case for the warrant, and I was busy trying to get those kids off my mind. Horne dropped me at my store with barely a goodbye before speeding toward the county seat.
He got the warrant with no trouble; he had a harder time convincing me to be there that evening when the officers conducted the search. I didn’t see what I had to contribute, but Horne said it would be a big help to him. At least Coburn’s would be closed then, so I didn’t have to worry about daycare.
The evening sky radiated a rosy light that belied the task ahead. Horne’s men were already busy when we arrived, and Horne rushed to join them. Without anything specific to do, I just poked around and paid attention.
Enoch spoke quietly to Astrid, who was still not talking to me, though she did offer a weak little hi from behind his leg. It was obvious she was willing to cook all those meals because she loved her father and wanted to please him. Awful stereotypes at play for a little girl and her eight-year-old naiveté, but at that point, she didn’t need a feminist manifesto. She needed love.
Enoch asked them to search the kids’ rooms first. When they’d finished with Astrid’s, he carefully tidied up before easing her back in there and closing the door. He held Dee while they searched his room.
I made my way back to Astrid’s room and knocked on the door. She opened it without speaking and then flopped back on her bed. I’d assumed she’d be torn up about her mother, but she surprised me. She actually seemed more at ease than I’d seen before. Even as crazy as my drunken mother had been, I knew she loved me, best she could, and I would have missed her when I was as young as Astrid. But at the Holt’s, I got a dark feeling that Astrid didn’t have much to miss.
I really wanted to talk with her. She was whip-smart and, no doubt, would have picked up on anything untoward going on between her folks. But I couldn’t budge her. I gave up. When I stood to leave, she finally spoke.
“I’ll talk to that boy who drove the Rolling Store,” she said.
“He didn’t drive the bus,” I told her, ever the stickler for detail.
“You know what I mean. The one who knows about bullies.” I wondered why she didn’t use Abit’s name; I remembered introducing them at the store. She did that mind-reading thing again. “I know what you call him, but I won’t use that name. I know why he’s called that.”
What a kid. I did feel a pang of guilt that we still called him Abit, but to those of us who’d known him so long, it was just a nickname—and a habit. I tried to explain that I often called him Mister to dodge the issue, but I could tell that didn’t satisfy her. Finally, I mentioned I was the one who’d given him the nickname V.J.
“Really?” she said, looking up at me for the first time. She looked puzzled, furrowing her little brow in her best impersonation of an adult. I explained those were initials.
“What do they stand for?”
“Vester Junior.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“That’s why he goes by his initials.” She nodded her approval, not quite smiling but showing a hint of her natural spunk.
“I figured that Rolling Store was where he got away from his … his … crappy life, and I want to see what that might feel like. I’ll talk to him there.”
“The bus is out of gas and can’t go anywhere,” I told her.
“We don't have to go anywhere, I just want a tour. I want to imagine being in there and driving around giving people food and other things they need. And maybe driving away and never coming back.” That took my breath away. When I didn’t say anything, she stared at me and said, “Well?”
“It’s mostly filled with storage for the store.”
“Are the front seats full?”
“No.”
“Okay, we’ll sit in the seats, and you can watch through the windows.” As though she knew the sheriff would require that. Eight going on twenty-eight.
I convinced her to follow me when I went into the living room and brought Horne up to date. He looked at me as though I’d lost my mind, but when he saw Astrid standing there, arms akimbo, feet firmly planted on the floor, he knew better than to object. He looked over at Enoch, who nodded his approval.
“Okay, but it’s late now. Do it tomorrow. Keep me informed—and keep an eye on them.”
9
Abit
“What the hell are you suggesting?”
I wasn’t mad at Della—just that damned sheriff for thinking she had to be my chaperone while I talked to Astrid. Della tried explaining it to me, but I interrupted her. “Oh, I get it all right. He thinks I’m a pervert.”
“No, honey, I don’t think Sheriff Horne does. He’s just anticipating what others might say.”
“Oh, great. So it’s not just one guy, it’s the whole fuckin’ community.”
She hugged me before getting in the Jeep to go get little Astrid.
I was working in the woodshop when the Jeep returned and parked in front of the store. Della waved at me as I started down the steps, and Astrid ran to the back where we parked the bus. I noticed Della had to lift Astrid so she could reach the high steps of the bus. I didn’t dare touch her. My own mother was surely looking out the window, thinking the darkest thoughts.
I settled behind the wheel while Astrid stroked the back of the fake leather seat like it was something special. Cinderella’s carriage fixin’ to take her away.
Della brought us a couple of sodas and closed Astrid’s door. She motioned that she’d be across the way on an old chair out back. Not too close, but close enough she could keep an eye on me, for god’s sake. I didn’t know who was watching the store, but I’d seen people leaving with bags of groceries, so I figured Mary Lou was inside.
After looking round and getting settled into a seat about three times her size, Astrid asked, “What was it like, driving around in this bus, bringing things to people in need?”
“Well, I didn’t drive. I was in the seat you’re in.”
“And what about seeing all those people? That musta been exciting.”
At first, just the contrary folks popped into my mind, the ones who never liked what we brought—too big a can, not the right brand, too small a can. But then I saw the faces of mothers who’d run out of milk for their young’uns or the folks who were happy
to get them giveaway items Della always sent, things that didn’t sell so well in the store but meant the world to others.
“I loved it. Most of the time,” I answered. “People really liked seeing us come lumbering down their roads.” I flashed on the kids, all trusting and happy, dressed in saggy underwears or sometimes nothin’ at all. “Especially them kids.”
“Oh, I can still feel how thrilling it was to see that bus coming down our road. Something from the outside world showing up at our door. I was only four, but I remember. I guess that was after you’d gone off to school. You wouldn’t know about how Mama got upset with that old woman who rode along. One day, I don’t know what happened, but Mama came running out of the house, her face all twisted, and she told ‘em to never come back. That seemed unfair to me and Daddy. We didn’t get a say in something that was part of our lives, too.”
Della had told me how growed up Astrid acted. Before now, we’d mostly talked about bullies and such, so I hadn’t seen that side of her. I couldn’t believe she was only eight year old. I looked over some questions Della gave me, just in case we ran outta things to say, and asked her how her mother acted the last time she saw her.
“Same as always,” Astrid said. “Sad. Quiet. Locked in her room most of the time.”
“Her room?” I asked.
“Yeah, we all have our own rooms,” Astrid answered with an innocence that tugged at me. She was quiet for a while, so I started trying to find another question to ask. Then she piped up again. “Did you ever think about driving out to the highway and never coming back?”
“I did sometimes, but like I said, I wasn’t driving, so I couldn’t exactly take a run for it. But I’ll tell you, I sure had them thoughts while I was traveling through Virginia a few year back.”
“But you came back home. Settled right back where you’d growed up at your parent’s home.”
“Well, not exactly. That’s just my shop, and I pay them rent for that space. And first I went back to school in Boone for a coupla year.”
“Big deal. That’s just up the road, and school is like being in a prison your parents send you to.”
I didn’t bother to explain that those were the best times of my life. I’d’ve wished the same for her, but she was too smart to go to a school for special people. Funny, I’d never thought about it like that before, but I kinda felt sorry for her, missing out on somewhere like The Hicks. “I came back to live next door to Della,” I said. “And now I’ve got my own place out on Chatauga Lake.”
She just nodded at that. “But you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? That feeling of getting away.”
I did. Sometimes I still did. My thoughts drifted off to just how much, especially at her age, I wanted to escape. Get away from all the bullies and people who looked down on me. But things had improved oncet I went to The Hicks and then had my own cabin to go to. When I went swimming of an evening, I’d get down under the water and block out the rest of the world. I could hear sounds and see the light changing, everything getting slow and kinda muffled. Soft. Peaceful. Like you wished life were.
Her voice cut like a razor through my thoughts when she said, “I think that’s what my mama did. First, she left us in her head. When that wasn’t enough, she just got to moving and decided never to come back.” She started crying, silent tears running down her face onto her little striped T-shirt. “I guess me and Dee drove her crazy. Though, you know, Mama could be fun, baking cookies and even singing some old love songs she told us were by the Beatles, whoever they were. But not much lately. She had these Dark Days, I called them. Or Tiptoe Days—that’s what Dee called them. And then she and Daddy would get into it. Arguing, fighting, cursing. Did your daddy hit your mama?”
“Not that I ever saw. To tell you the truth, they didn’t seem to care enough to fight. They just ignored each other.”
“Well, I wished that were true at our house. They don’t seem to care much for each other, either, but sometimes they’re ready to kill one another. It scared me and Dee, especially when the chopping knife came out.”
“Your daddy drew a knife on your mama?” I asked, my voice crackin’.
“No, the other way around.” Astrid paused and added, “But you know, those fights happened less than the silence. I swear, that was worse.”
We sat quite-like for a while, and I was just about ready to signal Della that we were done when Astrid said, “My daddy has a friend who might be able to help. She comes to visit sometimes when Mama goes away. She’s a lot happier than Mama. And I’m pretty sure he went off to see her from time to time because he’d come home smelling different—some kind of sweet perfume. Though that hasn’t happened lately.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“She said she was from over near Spruce Pine. Maybe she knows why Mama went away.”
“Hey, listen, Astrid, there are any number of things that could’ve happened to your mama,” I said, scrambling to make her feel better. “Maybe she was going for a visit somewhere, to get her wits about her, and then something waylaid her. It wasn’t your fault.”
That started her crying again, and I felt like an idiot. Man, what was I thinking? I was just trying to ease the pain of her mama leaving, blaming someone else for keeping her from coming home. I guessed what she said had triggered somethin’ for me. I’d always felt I weren’t good enough for my parents, and I wanted to let her know that she—and Dee—were enough. More than enough.
After a while, she turned off the waterworks, wiped her face, and started telling me about finding a new suitcase, hidden in the back of her mother’s closet one day when she was playing hide-and-seek with Dee. She said it was just a little suitcase and thought it would be good for her doll clothes. That’s why she went back looking for it, but it was gone.
After that, she told me all kinds of things, as if a stopper had popped, and everything came pouring out. Like how the night her mama left, she’d heard her parents fighting. Really loud. Banging things, maybe a glass breaking against the wall. She and Dee just huddled in their rooms, afraid to even look out. When I asked if anyone had cried out for help, she shook her head. “No, nothing like that,” she said as she tried to brush tears off her T-shirt.
And then, just like that, the stopper was back. She folded her arms over her chest, letting me know our conversation was over. She patted the dashboard and said, “Someday, I’m gonna get out of here.”
10
Della
For a while, I watched Abit and Astrid from that old chair, but it dug into my back, so I moved to the front of the store. Besides, I knew I didn’t have to keep an eye on Abit.
I sat on the bench he’d made for the store, running my hand along Wilkie Cartwright’s head, noticing how smooth the gleaming wood felt. We’d placed the bench under the overhang to keep it from warping in the rain or drying out in the summer sun. It was so lovely, I suggested we store it somewhere protected from the weather during the cold and rainy winter. Abit surprised me with a stern no! He made me promise to always leave it out front; he’d repair any damages or replace it, if necessary.
As I waited, I realized how odd it was that I never sat in front of my own store. Up until that day, I’d only admired the bench when I opened each morning and closed in the evening. Of course, I stayed busy inside, but I vowed to sit there more often.
I heard Abit call me, so I walked toward the back. When I reached the passenger door, he cranked it open from the driver’s side. Astrid jumped off, not like someone escaping, just ready to go home. She called over her shoulder, thanking Abit for the bus tour.
Abit stepped down, that crooked smile of his telling me he’d gotten some good information. I whispered to him to try calling the sheriff’s office; I wanted Horne to know as soon as possible what she’d told him. When we pulled away from the store, Abit stood in the driveway, waving goodbye. Astrid rolled down her window and leaned out to wave back.
As the Jeep made its way up the Holt’s drive, I
was surprised to see Horne standing outside talking with Enoch. Astrid jumped out the second I stopped and ran to her father. He gave her a hug and told her to run inside, just like the first time I met him, only without the push. I nodded at Enoch but stayed by the Jeep. Horne said something to him and came over my way.
“We finished up last night,” Horne said, “but I needed to come out this morning to ask Enoch a few more questions. We didn’t find anything untoward. No missing knives or hidden guns. We confirmed that Mrs. Holt hadn’t taken many clothes, just what she was wearing; maybe a couple of other things, best Holt could tell. Though I don’t know what man would notice that kind of thing. I never had any idea about my wife’s favorites.”
Figures, I thought to myself. I asked if they’d found anything interesting. “A journal,” he said. “Bizarro, I’ll tell you. I’d like you to take a looksee. The entries range from weepy and loving to ready to kill Enoch and kids.”
I was about to tell him that more than likely every mother had experienced that range of emotions, but from the look on his face, I thought better of it. Maybe Lilah’s diary was more graphic. I said I’d look it over in the next couple of days and get back to him. Horne went on about exploring every possibility, including suicide. I was glad the kids were off in their rooms.
“In fact, it was more what we didn't find. Mrs. Holt’s suitcase was missing, but Holt swore she’d given that to the Goodwill months ago. Did you learn anything from the girl?”
“Well, Abit did. I think we should head back to the store so you two can talk.”
“Astrid said her mama had bought a new suitcase, which she hid in her closet,” Abit told us. We were sitting in the back, and no one else was in the store. “Astrid found it when her and Dee were playin’ and ...”
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