The Guilt We Carry

by Samuel W. Gailey

  “Mind if I roll one of your cigarettes?” Alice asked, hoping that a cigarette might help distract her from the pain.

  “Naw. Help yourself.” He grabbed his pouch of tobacco and rolling papers out of his overalls and handed them over to Alice.

  “Thanks. Haven’t rolled my own cigarette in a long time,” Alice said.

  Larry nodded. “Only way to smoke ’em if you ask me.”

  Alice took a pinch of tobacco leaves and sprinkled them onto a rolling paper.

  “You friends with that colored?” Larry jabbed his dirty thumbnail toward the bed of the truck where Delilah pressed up to the back of the cab. The young girl sat amidst assorted junk—an old bicycle with no tires, a beat-up floral-patterned armchair, and greasy-bottomed cardboard boxes loaded up with car parts, toasters, and jars of assorted nails and screws.

  Alice licked the edge of the rolling paper and twisted up a pretty decent cigarette. “Don’t know if I’d call us friends exactly. Just met her, but she’s a good kid.”

  “Steer clear of them, myself. Better off that way.”

  “Kids?” But Alice knew what he meant.

  “Naw. Colored folk. Their kind’s different from white folks. Oil and vinegar.”

  Alice didn’t know why she baited him, but she did anyway. “How so?”

  Larry snorted a laugh like that was the dumbest question ever posed. “I’ll tell you how. Not working jobs. Stealin’ stuff, drinkin’ and whatnot.”

  Alice found a pack of matches on the dashboard and lit up. “I don’t know, Larry. I know plenty of white people that do the same or worse.”

  Larry just shook his head. “Not like them. You just ain’t been around long enough to see it. You’ll see. You best watch out and not turn your back on ’em.”

  Alice’s cigarette burned at her lungs. Raw, unfiltered tobacco. Alice didn’t want to cough. That would just about kill her rib. “Well, I don’t think we’ll have any kind of problem with her. Like I said, she’s just a kid.”

  Larry pinched the cigarette nub between his fingers and tossed it out the window. “Don’t matter how old they are.”

  Alice forced her eyes out the window, staring out at the vegetation that hugged the freeway—cypress, goldenrod, and longleaf pine. It was quiet for a minute and she preferred the old man’s long runs of silence.

  “Pass me that bag of boiled nuts, will ya? Ain’t had my supper yet.”

  Alice passed him a lunch bag–size brown paper sack, the bottom of it black and soft from peanut oil. Larry grunted a thank-you and proceeded to stuff a handful into his mouth, shell and all.

  The hand-rolled cigarette went straight to Alice’s head, giving her a mellow little buzz. She let her neck tilt back and she watched the North Carolina landscape roll on past her. Her eyes were getting heavy again. She stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray and thought about trying to get some sleep.

  Right before she let her eyes slip closed, up ahead, about a hundred yards or so, Alice spotted a North Carolina State Trooper parked in the grassy median that separated each side of the I-95. The black and silver vehicle sparkled in the sunlight, freshly washed. She reached behind her, tapped on the glass, and Delilah gazed through the back window. Alice motioned toward the State Trooper, then waved her hand for the girl to duck on down.

  Delilah’s eyes went wider than usual, then she scooted down flat on the bed of the truck.

  As the old Ford puttered toward the State Patrol car, Larry began to tap on the brakes, slowing down and crossing lanes toward the median. Alice shot a look at the speedometer and the truck dipped below fifteen miles per hour.

  “What’s the matter?” Alice asked, attempting to keep a mounting panic in check.

  “Got some business to attend to. Won’t take but a minute or so.”

  “Well, we really need to get to Shallotte as soon as possible.”

  Larry nodded. “Getcha there soon enough.” The truck bumped along as it rode atop the gravel berm and jerked to a stop right in front of the State Patrol cruiser. Larry tooted the horn. Once. Twice.

  Alice peered back through the window and could see Delilah pressed down tight to the bed of the truck. When she looked back up, the State Trooper hauled himself out of his vehicle, hiked up polyester trousers over a low-hanging belly, and strolled over toward the truck. The man’s face was tomato red from the sun, his left cheek bulging fat with a plug of chew. A few dribbles of brown juice dotted his double chin.

  Larry unrolled his window partway with a few grunts and groans, then had to use both hands to get it the rest of the way down. “Say, boy, I got some business to discuss with you.”

  The State Trooper tucked his thumbs under his belt. Chewed and spat and didn’t look at all pleased that he had been forced to climb out of his vehicle. “That right?”

  Larry spat right back. “Yup.”

  The State Trooper’s right hand went to the stock of his service pistol. “I’m listening, old-timer.”

  Larry looked over toward Alice for a moment, shook his head, then directed his attention back on the Trooper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been gettin’ your boiled nuts from someplace else, Mackie.”

  Mackie spit some more brown, then leaned in through the window. He had hairy arms. Big thick forearms. From the elbows down, he looked like a caveman except for a Timex strapped on his right wrist. “Naw. You should know better than that, Larry. You got the best in the county. Everybody knows that.”

  “Well, then, where the hell you been at?”

  “Ah, hell. Up against the kidney stones again and the doctor says to me to steer clear of peanuts for a while. All nuts, for that matter. Walnuts, pecans, almonds. All of ’em. Christ almighty.”

  Larry rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “That right? Them kidney stones, huh?”

  Mackie nodded. “Yeah. Hell.”

  “Had the stones myself years back. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, let me tell you. Felt like I was pinching out wooden nickels.”

  Mackie spit again. “Shoot. Durn things bring tears to my eyes and leave me on the floor next to the toilet. Rather wrestle me a wild boar than piss out one of them stones again.”

  Larry started with a laugh that resulted in a painful hacking fit.

  Mackie let the old man cough his way through it, smiled over at Alice, eyes falling on her breasts for a second. “And just who’s your pretty lady friend here? You trade in Sally for a younger model?”

  Larry chuckled and hacked some more. “Naw. Just giving her a little lift is all.”

  Mackie kept smiling, taking another look-see at Alice’s breasts. “Young lady, you sure you wanna be ridin’ with this here fella? He’s about as shady as they come.”

  Alice smiled back at the trooper, leaned forward a little, giving the man a glimpse that would keep his eyes away from the back of the truck. “Larry’s been nothing but a true gentleman. A real sweetheart.”

  Mackie guffawed and slapped the roof of the truck. “Shoot. Bet that is the first and last time Larry here will ever be called the likes of that.”

  Larry nodded his head that that was true. “I’ll take what I can get. That much is for sure.”

  “Oh, boy.” Mackie wiped at his eyes. “The wife good? Old Sally giving you any fits?”

  Larry chewed on his boiled nuts and nodded. “Mean as a three-legged dog with fleas and ticks. I swear she’s gonna up and kill me one of these days.”

  “Sounds about right,” Mackie agreed.

  “And how’s your folk? Your youngest boy must be growing like a weed.”

  “Yeah. He’s nearly up to my chin now. Gonna be a tall one, that one is. Helluva football player. Left tackle. He’s gonna be good, alright.”

  “I hear that. The boy gonna go off to Community?” Larry twisted up another cigarette and had to strike two matches before getting it lit.

  “Hell. If I can afford it.” Mackie cleared out his nose into a handkerchief, folded it over, then wiped his neck with the same piece o
f material. “We’ll see. Gotta graduate first.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Larry smoked and Mackie swatted at a fly that kept going after his ear.

  “Any interesting stories to tell me, Mackie? Or are you just having yourself a little taste in that squad car of yours and passing the time?”

  “Naw. Been pretty quiet to tell you the truth. Did stop a fella earlier this morning that blew out his right front tire, riding that old rim, sparks going every which way. Doing about fifty. Dumb son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Ha. Probably a Yankee,” Larry said.

  Mackie nodded. “He was.”

  Larry rubbed at his face some more. “Say. Whatcha know about the traffic on the 95 anyways? Heading down to Shallotte.”

  Mackie gave him a sideways look. “Shallotte? What the hell you driving down to Shallotte for, Larry?”

  Larry shrugged. Motioned over toward Alice. “Taking these two young’uns down there. Needed a ride and such.”

  Mackie glanced back over to Alice. “Younguns? I only see but the one.”

  “The other one is in the back there. Ain’t no room up here. Not for her, anyways.”

  Mackie started to take a look in the back of the truck when the radio from his cruiser squawked. “Christ. What the hell they want with me now?” Mackie leaned back off the truck, hiked up his pants again, and started for his cruiser.

  Alice leaned over even further, pushing her breasts out even further as well. “Officer?”

  Mackie looked back into the truck, eyes falling on Alice’s prizes. “Ma’am?”

  The radio squawked again and Alice displayed a nice, sweet smile. “Will you be sure to tell Sally that if Larry doesn’t come back home tonight, that her husband is in good hands?”

  The radio continued to jabber away behind them, but Mackie couldn’t hear a thing. His face went slack for a moment, staring at Alice’s big, green eyes, then the man broke out into a toothy chuckle. He gave the roof of the truck another good pounding.

  “You’re darn tooting he’s in good hands. Shoot. That’s rich. Rich, I tell ya.”

  The radio went quiet and Alice leaned back into the seat.

  “Well. I reckon we’d be best moving on, and let you get back to your business. Hello to your missus,” Larry offered.

  Mackie hiked up his pants once again—the damn things wouldn’t stay up. “All right then. You folks take care now.” He tapped the roof of the truck one final time.

  “And you take care of those kidney stones, Officer.” Alice smiled and gave him a wink.

  “You bet I will. You bet I will,” he said and winked right back.

  As Larry pulled the old Ford back out onto the highway, Alice took a deep breath, wishing she had a bottle to drink from, but reached over for a handful of boiled peanuts instead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  DECEMBER 2005

  THE FIRST THING Alice noticed was that Mr. Roberts didn’t nod to her when she entered his store. She grabbed a basket at the front of the small grocery mart, walked past the cashiers counter, glanced over at Mr. Roberts, and he looked away without nodding.

  A little odd, Alice thought.

  Apart from Food Lion, Roberts was the only grocery store in Shallotte, more of a mom and pop place that carried the basics, everything overpriced. They stocked white bread and milk and sodas, coffee and beer, canned foods, cigarettes, candy, chips, and cheap magazines.

  Alice had gotten to know her way around the store the last few weeks. She’d become Elton’s official errand girl, pedaling down to the store every other day on an old Schwinn bicycle that he kept in his garage. Earning your keep, was what he called it. She picked up the usual items he favored: black licorice, pretzel sticks, and a few bottles of root beer.

  Mr. Roberts perched on a stool behind the counter like he always did. He wore the same white apron he always wore and listened to the radio, set on some sports talk station that emitted mostly static.

  Alice had been in here a dozen times and never saw the man smile, never heard him speak a word, but in his own peculiar way, he seemed friendly enough. After a while, she thought that maybe he was mute. She always meant to ask Elton, but she never did. It slowly became a quiet challenge to her, to see if she could ever get the man to speak. She’d say hello and thank you and how are you and see you later, but nothing elicited a verbal response. She came to think of him as the nodder. He would look up from the counter when she entered the store, nod, then would proceed to watch her move around his shop more out of boredom than actually keeping an eye on her. And every time Alice looked his way, he would nod, expressionless. Then, when she got to the counter to pay for her groceries, he would point to the cash register display to indicate how much she owed, and nod again. And finally, after she paid and he bagged up her items, he would give her one final nod goodbye. He was a human bobblehead.

  But not today. Not a single nod. And he was watching her. Watching her every move. But when she glanced in his direction, he quickly averted his eyes and fiddled with the radio dial.

  Alice carried her basket to the counter and set out her items. “Morning.”

  Mr. Roberts kept his chin to his chest, focused on ringing up her handful of groceries. His radio squawked behind him, a rundown of some college football scores. He cleared his throat without bothering to look at her. “You living up there at Elton’s place, ain’t you?”

  Alice almost flinched at the sound of the man’s voice. Low and gravelly, and it didn’t seem to match his appearance. “Yes, sir. You know Elton?”

  “I know of him.” The man still wouldn’t look her in the eye.

  “I thought everybody knew everybody here in town.”

  “I know of him, I said. Sure ain’t no friend of his though.”

  Alice wasn’t sure if the man was joking, but judging by his tensed jaw and mouth pulled straight in a line, he was as serious as hell. “Maybe if you got to know him. He’s real sweet.”

  Mr. Roberts jammed her groceries in a brown paper sack, then slid it across the counter toward Alice. “A man like Elton oughtn’t be letting someone like you live under his roof. Ain’t right. Ain’t right at all.”

  Alice smiled uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Roberts finally leveled his eyes on hers, shook his head. “A man like that could get in all sorts of trouble, doing what’s he doing.”

  Her face went flush. “I really don’t understand what you mean. What’s he doing wrong?”

  “You ain’t fooling no one. People are on to you.” He glanced toward the front of his market, then stared back at her. “Ten eighty for your items.”

  Alice handed him a twenty. Waited for her change.

  “You best take your business elsewhere from here on out. You can tell that to Elton.”

  “I’m sorry. But I really don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ve said enough. You go on, now. Like you out of my store.”

  Alice felt a sudden rush of anger, confusion, and embarrassment, all muddled together in the pit of her stomach. She’d only known Elton for a few shorts weeks, but she already felt protective of him, not appreciating someone like Mr. Roberts speaking badly of the old man. She wanted to say something to the shop owner. Wanted to tell him that he had no right to talk about people like that. Instead, she bit her tongue, plucked up her bag of groceries, and hustled out of the store without glancing back.

  * * *

  A community bulletin board hung on the wall outside of Roberts, right beside the newspaper vending machines. Notices for garage sales, kittens for adoption, upcoming bake sales, and fliers for community events. Many of the fliers were faded from the sun or crinkled up and brown from the rain, but in the center of the bulletin board, a brand-new eight-and-a-half-by-eleven piece of card stock stood out like a big, sore thumb. The piece of paper was bright orange so that it would get your attention. And it did. Right in the middle of the orange piece of paper was a picture of Alice. A smiling photo of her taken on her fourteenth bi
rthday. A happier time—before Jason’s accident. She had a wide smile, stared right toward the camera, looking so carefree and happy, unaware that her baby brother would be dead in a few months.

  Under the photo, in big block letters, it announced: RUNAWAY. HAVE YOU SEEN ME? There was a phone number as well to encourage anyone with information to call about the smiling girl’s whereabouts.

  Alice nearly dropped the bag of groceries at the sight of her photo. She hadn’t noticed the flier before. Must have walked right past it. She backed away from the bulletin board, almost tripped over her bicycle, but kept staring at her picture. A strange thing to look at a photo of yourself posted on a bulletin board. Alice could barely remember what it was like to be that girl anymore. She shuffled back toward the street, and felt as if she were floating, her feet lifting off the ground and hovering in the air like a dandelion shoot.

  She noticed that Mr. Roberts was staring out through the shop window. Looking straight at her. She marched forward and snatched the piece of paper off the board and started to crumple it between her hands, but stopped herself. She stared down at the ball of paper, then slowly uncreased the wrinkled flier, folded it in half, and stuck it in her back pocket. She stood rooted on the sidewalk for a minute, clutching the grocery bag to her chest like a stuffed animal, unsure of which way to go. She could feel Mr. Roberts’ judgmental eyes burning a hole right through her, so she started to move down Main Street, slow at first, but then she stopped when she noticed a few more fliers stapled to light poles and taped to store windows. She counted six, then seven fliers, but it seemed like they were everywhere. The photos of her younger self fluttered in the breeze, watching her, as if they were waiting for her to come back home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  FEBRUARY 2011

  “I’M SO TERRIBLY sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances,” Sinclair said dolefully. He stood alone on the red brick porch—Phillip nowhere to be seen as he had been instructed to park down the street, tucked safely out of sight—and clasped his hands in front of him in a deferential manner. “And I apologize that I had to be so abrupt on the telephone earlier, but unfortunately the agency I work for doesn’t have the financial means of providing cell phones and whatnot.”