Lookin' Back, Texas

by Leanna Ellis

  “When I was a little girl, he’d sit on the floor with me and line the dominoes up in a long line. Then he’d let me tip one on the end and we’d laugh as the line toppled, one domino knocking down the next, until they all lay flat. As I got older, we’d make little designs, making the dominoes curve around in circles and crisscrossing. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.”

  I pause, look toward Mike who gives me an encouraging nod. “Sometimes life is that way, isn’t it? We set things up, and one thing leads to the next. Once started, it’s hard to stop. The dominoes speed up, knocking into each other faster and faster until it’s out of our control. That’s happened in my own life.”

  My gaze veers toward Mother. She is sitting straighter, leaning forward as if she’s ready to bolt.

  “Sometimes we make decisions so quickly, just instinct really, self-preservation, and we get in a fix and can’t seem to stop the events we set into motion. And that’s what’s happened here this week.” I grip the dais for support. My legs are trembling, but at the same time I feel as if I’m taking flight and soaring on brand-new wings. “My father is not dead.”

  There’s no reaction at first. None. It’s like no one heard me. So I say it again.

  “My father is not dead. He’s alive. And well. He’s even here with us.”

  Someone on the back row calls out, “Amen.”

  “Suzanne,” Mother whispers, her tone harsh, “sit down. You’re making a fool of yourself and—”

  “No, Mother. It’s time someone spoke the truth.”

  “Betty Lynne.” A voice over the sound system bellows out from the speakers. I recognize the voice as my father’s. Just off stage, I can see him holding a microphone.

  This time there is a reaction. Someone cries out, “It’s Archie’s ghost!” A couple of people stand. Eyes widen. Gasps sputter through the crowd. I’m glad we didn’t let Daddy sit up in the coffin like he wanted—someone might have had a heart attack.

  “No, no,” I put my hand up to calm everyone. “It’s okay. My father is really alive. He’s not dead. He’s not a ghost. Daddy? Why don’t you come on out here?”

  My father steps out and gives a slight wave. “Hi there, folks. Don’t panic or nothin’.”

  Mother is the one who gasps now. I quickly step down from the stage to stand beside her. Murmurs of disbelief ripple through the crowd.

  “Stay calm.” Drew rises from his position halfway back in the dance hall, where Josie is sitting beside him. “There’s been a misunderstanding that needs clearing up.”

  “Don’t worry, folks.” Dad holds up his hands. “I was lost, but now I’m found.” He chuckles to himself. “Sorry, Pastor Reese, that was a rather poor joke.”

  Mother stands. “Archie Davidson!”

  “Betty Lynne,” Dad points at Mother, “you just sit on down. I’ve been listening to you for forty years, and now it’s time for you to listen to me.”

  Mother turns as if she’s going to bolt for the door, but I’m blocking one side and Cal Henry the other. I supposed they could make a run for it together. But I remember what she wrote in her eulogy: Archie was always my one and only love.

  Did Cal Henry hear that too? Did he understand? He seems frozen in place. Slowly Mother sinks back onto the wooden bench. Behind us I hear murmuring and confusion.

  Dad holds up his hand. “I’m not a ghost.” He clunks the microphone on the podium and claps his hand together to show he’s flesh and blood. “Although, my wife here would like it if I were just a ghost. You see, I did something foolish. I’ve tried to apologize, but Betty Lynne wouldn’t listen. I’m hoping she will now.”

  Mother looks down at her hands. Her knuckles are white.

  “But at least I won’t be dead. Just like my daughter said, I did something wrong and set a chain reaction in place. See, folks, I cheated on my wife. I did. And I’m awful sorry about it. No, I didn’t sleep with another woman. But I stopped loving my wife. I stopped doing all the little things I used to do for Betty Lynne. I let my heart harden against her.”

  He sticks his hands in his pants pockets. “I didn’t realize my wife was afraid of being deserted. And I plainly did that. I made her fears a reality. And she had a knee-jerk reaction. You see, I told her I wanted to leave. And it wasn’t until she killed me off—and I know she could’ve taken a gun and done me in just as easily as she concocted such a lie, and I sorely appreciate the latter—well, it was then I realized how much I’d hurt her, how much she cared.

  “Today Pastor Reese showed me that eulogy she wrote. How many men have the privilege of seeing what their wives would say about them after they’ve gone on to the Pearly Gates? Not many. And it’s a humbling experience. Even more so when I realize Betty Lynne was sorely put out with me when she wrote that.

  “Betty Lynne could’ve told you lots more about me. Like when I left my underwear on the floor. But she never com plained. Well, not too much anyway. She picked ’em up and washed ’em, folded ’em … maybe even ironed ’em, I don’t know. I didn’t much care. I didn’t much pay attention.

  “But there’s a lot of things I did notice. I noticed how nice she always looked. And that might seem superficial, but I know it takes lots of effort. Women go through a lot to stay so purty. And mine done a lot. I know that, I do.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Mother lifts her chin a smidgen of an inch.

  “Now I know she done it all for me. Just like for all these years I went out on the road to provide a living for her, so she could decorate the house and make it nice and welcoming, so she could get all dolled up. I let distance and irritation build up and push us apart. And well, I took all those good times for granted. And there were mighty good times, weren’t there, Betty Lynne?”

  Mother sniffs but otherwise doesn’t move.

  “And I’m sorry, Betty Lynne, I truly am. I hope all of you can forgive us for all the inconvenience we’ve caused. We’ll try to make it up to each of you.”

  I sneak a glance at Mother and see tears flowing. Stunned, I glance at Mike then Daddy.

  His face is pale, his hands jittery. “If you folks don’t mind, I’d like to talk to my wife now. In private.”

  Mike stands, and with Drew and Flipper’s help, begins to escort all the shocked neighbors and friends out of the dance hall. I give Mother a brief, encouraging embrace. She feels like a stiff board. Cal Henry hasn’t left. He stands stone still.

  “You too.” Dad waves the back of his hand as if shooing away a stinging insect. “You can move along now. Betty Lynne is my wife, and I’m not givin’ her up. I’ll fight you for her if that’s what you’re aimin’ for. But I must warn you,” Dad pushes up his sleeves and makes a boxer’s stance, “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Betty Lynne?” Cal Henry looks lost.

  Mother dabs her eyes with her handkerchief. “You best go now, Cal Henry.”

  Without another word he stiffly trails out the front door behind the other guests.

  I walk over and hug my father. I can feel him trembling with emotion.

  “Say a prayer, Sugar Beet,” he whispers.

  I nod, unable to speak. Then I turn toward Mother, expecting recriminations. “I’m sorry, Mother. I hope you’ll forgive me. I know what it’s like to try to hide something only to find it broadcast to everyone. But uncovering secrets is the only way to find forgiveness.” I embrace her, feel her start to lean into me, then resist. “Forgive, Daddy, Mother. Please.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  Her words glance off my heart. “It’s true. Because I’ve had to learn to forgive myself the way Mike forgave me, the way God forgave me.”

  Holding Mike’s hand, I walk out the ‘Band Only’ door with him by my side. The pastor follows after us. Mother and Daddy stand alone, but as the door closes behind me I hear Daddy say, “Will you forgive me?”

  * * *

  WHETHER I WANT them or not, Mother’s perfectionist tendencies seem to have rubbed off on me. I fi
nd it hard to admit I’m wrong because there is a deep well of insecurity inside me. Is that where perfectionism springs from?

  “Are you okay?” Mike asks, stepping down out of the dance hall behind me.

  I nod but can’t speak for the tears.

  He moves forward to hold me, his features pinched with concern. For a long while we just hold onto each other. “It’s all going to be okay.” He smoothes back the hair from my damp face.

  “How do you know? Mother—”

  “Not your mother. I meant with us. I’m very proud of you. What you did in there, it was hard. But it was the right thing to do. We’re going to be okay.”

  I burrow my face into his shoulder and hold onto him.

  “We’re going to get through all of this.”

  I sniff. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. We’ve weathered worse storms. Sure, some things will change.”

  “Like?”

  He shrugs, the material of his shirt stretching over the muscles in his shoulders. “Oliver will have two dads. But that has to be better than one. Certainly better than none. And I’ve watched the sheriff. He’s a good guy.”

  I nod, believing him. “And Mother and Daddy?”

  “That’s up to them. We’ve done all we can.”

  Something Mike said suddenly gives me an uneasy feeling. “Where is Oliver? I haven’t seen him since before the funeral.”

  “He’s probably around.” His voice is calm, but concern tethers his brows.

  “This has been a lot for one boy to absorb.”

  He nods, taking my arm, steering me around the corner of the dance hall. “Let’s find him.”

  37

  A quick search of the grounds reveals no Oliver. Mike tries calling him on his cell phone, but he must have turned it off because his voice mail picks up. We search the crowd that has yet to leave Luckenbach and bunches underneath the canopy of trees, waiting for further developments from inside the dance hall. But our son seems to be missing.

  Down by the footbridge, not thirty feet from the dance hall, we stumble upon Drew and Josie. My gaze locks on their clasped hands. Is Drew the man she mentioned to me out on Makeout Flats? Is he the one she thinks she could love?

  Mike reaches out and shakes Drew’s hand as if the two men are coming to a silent understanding. It’s Mike’s way of saying no apology is necessary. Forgiveness is at the ready.

  “Are your folks finished talking?” Josie asks.

  “No.” Mike answers.

  “Is that why everyone is hanging around?” I look back at the crowd, some of whom are making use of the bar behind the store.

  “This is big news,” Drew says.

  “Bigger than the earthquake?”

  Drew frowns. “It wasn’t an earthquake.”

  “Has there been official word?” Mike hooks an arm over my shoulder.

  “The geologists left this morning. Said it was a combination of the drought and the underwater aquifer. There are fault lines running all over this county. It makes the ground unpredictable and somewhat unstable. But the seismograph didn’t detect an earthquake or aftershocks.”

  “Just a fluke happening,” Josie says.

  However I know none of this week has been a fluke. It’s all been aftershocks of a long-ago event. I worry there might be another seismic reaction within our own immediate family. Before I can voice my concerns, Mike asks Drew, “Have you seen Oliver?”

  Any kid might react in any number of ways to the information Oliver has recently learned about his parentage. And if he inherited any of my mother’s propensity for overreaction, then we could be in for some serious repercussions.

  “He doesn’t answer his cell phone,” I add.

  “He could just be out of range,” Drew says, but he suddenly seems less relaxed, more official, his posture straightening like a part of him stands at attention, ready to move, ready to take action.

  Together we walk up the small rise to where the crowd is gathered, the rumor mill churning out grains of half-truths and speculation. Mother and Daddy are still talking in the dance hall. Should Drew have frisked Mother before leaving them alone?

  “It’s my fault. I meant to try to talk to him again this morning but …” Mike’s voice trails off to nothing.

  “But Mother, right?”

  He shrugs, not looking to pin the blame on anyone but himself. I try to imagine him playing pin-the-tail-on-thedonkey as a kid, but I get the image of a little boy with floppy bangs, tugging off a blindfold and saying, “Mom?”

  The disjointed tapping of heels against tile alerts us to someone’s approach. Mrs. Hoover bustles toward us, seeming to limp as if her pointy-toed shoes have already given her a blister. “What a day! What a day!” she seems a bit too happy to report the news about my family. “So much going on, I can barely keep up.”

  I imagine the headlines in the local papers: Davidson Family Cracks Up. The Quake Ain’t Nothing.

  “Of course, I suspected all along. Why, I’m the one who discovered Archie wasn’t even in that casket! I kept quiet about it out of respect for your parents, Suzanne, and my duty as a citizen.”

  “You’re a real Woodward-and-Bernstein clone.” Josie elbows Drew.

  “Maybe,” I touch Mrs. Hoover’s arm in a confidential way, “we could keep some of this private. It’s going to be awkward enough for my parents to resume their normal life.”

  She narrows her beady little eyes at me. “And what makes you think that’s going to happen?”

  I can’t tell if she is doubtful or looking for another scoop. But before I can answer, Mike asks, “Have you seen Oliver, Mrs. Hoover?”

  “Oliver? Your son?” She takes a step forward, tilting forward as if sniffing out another story. “Why, what is it? Is he missing?”

  “Mike …” I don’t want to reveal anything else to this woman.

  Drew claps Mike on the back. “It’s worth a shot. If anyone knows—”

  “Well, I just may have.” Mrs. Hoover cuts straight through our loosely formed circle and hooks an arm around a wooden support beam. Over the din of voices and heavy rain, she calls out. “Excuse me! We have a minor emergency here. We are looking for a minor.” She stops and a burble of laughter escapes. “Minor … and minor. Get it?” She waves her hand as if to dismiss her thoughts. “Oliver Mullins is missing. Has anyone seen him this morning?”

  A rumbling of voices rolls through the crowd. Heads bend together beneath umbrellas. More gossip. More conjecture.

  “I seen ’em,” a girl toward the back says. I don’t recognize the blond hair and blue eyes. “Saw him get in Rick Parker’s truck and drive off.”

  “Rick Parker?” I ask. “Who’s that?”

  “The kid I arrested with Oliver.” Drew’s tone is flat and hard as a stone tablet.

  My confidence in my son’s ability to handle all of these changes and revelations starts to crumble.

  * * *

  WE’RE CRAMMED IN the sheriff’s SUV. Drew drives, Mike navigates. Josie and I sit in the backseat, our knees bumping against each other’s and the metal gate. With the seat belt holding me in place, I brace one arm against the door and the other along the back of the seat. Josie looks over at me. I watch the rain moving up along the windows. I can hear the windshield wipers slashing at the rain, batting it away, but it continues relentlessly.

  My hair is frizzy, one sleeve of my dress damp from sharing an umbrella with Mike. My mind is numb with concern for Oliver. Where could he have gone? And with that wild boy? Why? Is it all my fault? Am I, once again, to blame?

  “I’m sorry.” Josie’s tone is soft yet purposeful.

  “For what?”

  “I knew there were rumors circulating about your husband and me.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I trust Mike.” Even though I know I did have doubts. And Josie does too.

  “I was trying to protect Hazel’s reputation. She was very upset by your father’s proposal and then your mother’s funeral p
lans. She was, quite frankly, scared your mother would come after her if she knew who the other woman was.”

  “But why couldn’t you have told me that? Didn’t you trust me?”

  “There was also a private matter I wanted to talk to your husband about.”

  “Oh?” Even now, after all we’ve been through, I feel my skin tightening. I release a slow breath. “Some legal matter?”

  “Remember I told you about my ex-boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I wondered if there was any recourse.”

  “You want to sue him?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Not anymore. Your husband helped me see that the situation was as much my fault as that jerk’s. Maybe not in eyes of the law. But I have to own my mistakes.”

  “I know. I’ve been learning that too.”

  “So is your mother.”

  “Yes.” I just pray she can.

  “You have a good man there.”

  “Thank you. I think so too.” My heart swells with pride. Others look to him for advice. And he’s always willing to help.

  She gives a little chuckle. “And I was worried you might be interested in Drew again. And he in you.” She shakes her head. “I was wrong.”

  “He’s a good man too,” I say and reach for Josie’s hand. “But it’s been over between us for years.” I lower my voice. “But what about you two?”

  She shrugs but there’s a secretive smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We’ll see.”

  Drew pulls up to a mobile home. The gravel driveway has pockets of rain. “Wait here.” He jumps out of the SUV, leaving the engine running as well as the wipers. In a minute he’s back. “No one’s home.”

  “Where now?” Mike asks.

  Drew frowns and taps his thumb against the steering wheel. The shoulders of his uniform are soaked. Rain drips along his sideburn. Without explanation, he throws the car in gear and takes off again. He stops at several places—a vineyard, a house that belongs to one of Rick’s friends, then finally to some girl Rick dates occasionally.