Scolding himself for once again allowing his frazzled imagination to dupe him, Rob returned to his car like a man taking his final stroll down the long corridor to the electric chair. The sun's heat now seemed more intense, and his shirt clung to his back and chest.
He picked the nozzle up from the ground and balanced it in his hand.
"Can I pull the trigger, Daddy?"
Every time he pumped gas he'd think of Jimmy. It was one of those little things that would haunt him the rest of his life. But it was a haunting he welcomed. After squeezing out the rest of his thirty bucks, Rob returned the nozzle to the pump, opened the car door, and was hit by a breath of heat.
Sitting in his car was like hanging out in an oven, but Rob did not turn the ignition. The air outside was still and the heat sweltering. Sweat seeped from his pores, wetting the front of his shirt. He thought of the image of his son and that familiar gait and noticed his hands were trembling. Tears formed in his eyes, blurring his vision.
"Jimmy." He said the name again, as if it were some holy word that could cross the span of the finite and infinite and bring his little boy back. He wanted to hold him, bury his face in Jimmy's hair, and draw in the smell of sweat and cookies.
"I like how you smell, Daddy. You smell like a daddy."
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Rob started the car, pulled away from the pump, and headed east toward Mayfield.
As he drove, the empty seats beside and behind him burned like hot coals. As much as he tried, he could not dismiss the memory of Kelly reaching over and placing a graceful hand on his thigh, her hair rippling in the wind, a smile stretched across her face. Nor could he stop glancing in the rearview mirror, half hoping to see Jimmy bouncing against the back of the seat.
Rob slapped at the steering wheel. He knew he was going mad, that the solitude of the last three months had nearly driven him over the edge and blurred the line between reality and fantasy. And he was obsessing again. He had to think of something else, so he turned his mind to the house his greataunt Wilda had left him. He'd never seen the place, had never even met Wilda. But when he found out he was the sole heir to the house, his mother raved about how much Kelly and Jimmy would love the place. That was six months ago.
Before his world got flipped on its head and everything went to pot.
Before he went insane and entertained thoughts of death.
The boy and his mommy walk back to the car to clean his hands. He's been working on a candy apple for some time, and it's creating quite the mess. Daddy told them he'd meet them at the lemonade stand. Lemonade is great for a warm day, he said. The grass in the parking area is brown and ground into the dry dirt from everyone walking and driving on it. His mommy is holding his clean hand and singing a Sunday school song about Joshua and the battle of Jericho. The boy is still thinking about the eagle the man behind the table was holding. He never knew eagles were so big. And when it looked at him, it seemed to see right past his skin and into his insides. They had other things at the stand too-an owl with big yellow eyes, a couple different kinds of snakes, and an aquarium full of toads-but the eagle was his favorite. He wondered what it would be like to be able to fly like an eagle, way up in the sky where no one could bother you, seeing the whole world at once.
"Here we are," Mommy says. Their car looks extra clean because Daddy washed it just before they left. The black paint looks like a dark mirror and makes him look funny, like one of those curvy mirrors at the carnival.
Mommy opens the trunk and leans over into it, looking for the napkins. It reminds him of a poem about a crocodile with a toothache. He wishes he could remember all the words. Something about the crocodile opening so wide and the dentist climbing inside, then SNAP! Mommy always claps her hands real hard at that part, and it always makes him jump.
A man comes up behind Mommy. He's wearing dirty old blue jeans and a tight black T-shirt. His face is big and round, and there are a lot of little scars on his cheeks. His eyes are placed real close together and pushed back into his head. With his shaggy hair and large face, the boy thinks he looks like a head of cabbage.
"Excuse me," the man says. He reaches out to touch Mommy's hip then looks at the boy.
Mommy jumps and stands up fast. She turns around and looks at the man, crossing her arms in front of her. She seems nervous. "Yes?"
Cabbage Head looks nervous too. He pushes his hand through his hair, and the boy notices the sweat on his forehead. It makes his hair wet where it comes out of the skin. "It's your husband-"
Now Mommy looks scared. "Wha-what's wrong?" Her voice shakes.
"I need you to come with me." He looks at the boy with those deep eyes then back at Mommy. "The boy can stay here at the car. We'll only be a minute."
Mommy bites her lower lip and looks around. She kneels beside the boy. She looks real scared and is breathing fast. Her hands are shaking, and she's still biting her lower lip. "Stay here, OK? Don't leave the car. I'll be right back. Don't leave the car."
She hugs the boy then kisses him on the cheek. Opening the back door of the car, she motions for the boy to get in. "Remember, stay here. Don't go anywhere. I'll be back for you soon." She closes the door, blows him a kiss, and leaves with Cabbage Head. The boy watches as they walk away and disappear behind a trailer.
It doesn't take long for it to get too hot to stay in the car. He opens the door and slides out, staying low to the ground so no one will see him. He leans against the car, but the black metal is too hot. So he sits Indian-style on the ground next to the back tire and picks at the grass. He wonders what could be wrong with Daddy. Did he have a heart attack or get cancer? Mr. Davies next door got cancer last year and died. This scares the boy. Maybe Daddy's just lost and the man needs Mommy to help find him. He thinks about the man and his deep eyes. They were like the eagle's eyes. Something about them didn't look right, though. The boy feels like if he looked at them long enough he'd see things that would give him nightmares for a very long time. And they would see things in him too.
It seems like a long time of sitting by the tire and picking at brown grass before the boy hears footsteps coming, the sound of dry grass crunching like stale potato chips. He stands and looks around, hoping it's Mommy. But Cabbage Head is coming toward him, alone. Where's Mommy? Is she with Daddy, and the man is coming to take him to them?
Cabbage Head comes close. He's sweating even worse now, and his hair looks like it has been messed up. He offers the boy his hand, a big meaty thing that looks like a bear's paw. "C'mon, son. You must come with me."
"Where's my mom?" the boy asks. He notices his own voice is shaking.
"She's fine. She wants me to bring you to her."
The boy can tell the man is lying. He wants to run away but is afraid he'll never find Mommy or Daddy on his own. "Where is she?"
Cabbage Head closes his hand and opens it again. His wide palm is all shiny with sweat. "Come. She's waiting for you."
There's no way the boy is going to hold the man's hand. He turns to run but the man catches him by the arm. "Oh, no, you don't. You're coming with me."
The boy tries to holler, but the man's sweaty hand is over his mouth, pressing so hard it hurts. The boy has never known what it is like to be so scared. He's sure Cabbage Head is going to kill him, or worse, keep him alive but never allow him to see his mommy or daddy again.
Two
AYFIELD WAS NOT MUCH MORE THAN ONE STREET lined with well-painted homes and meticulously manicured lawns. A large white sign with bold black letters that read Mayfield: Home of Maryland's Oldest Apple Festival welcomed passers through. On the west end of town, the end Rob entered, there was a small grocery store, a barber shop, and a hardware store, all looking to be well managed and maintained. On the east end, which could be seen from the west end, stood a small brick school that housed elementary through high school. Midway up Main Street, on the left side of the road heading east, Mt. Zion Methodist Church sat like a keystone, holding the two ends of town together with its w
hite siding, steeply pitched slate roof, and sharp high spire. Across the street from the church was the town's only eatery, Mary Jane's Diner.
As Rob entered Mayfield, he slowed his car to a comfortable speed and glanced at the address of Great-aunt Wilda's house. 310 Main Street. Following the even numbered houses on the left side of the street he counted up by tens until he reached the three-hundred block, which happened to be the final block before Mayfield ended and more rolling hills began.
Wilda's house was the last place on the left. And it was not what Rob had expected. Styled after a Mexican adobe, the stucco walls were coated with green mildew. One window was busted out, and the ceramic corrugated roof was cracked in some places, broken in others. A large half-dead hickory with bark that looked like peeling skin provided spotty shade in the front yard. The lawn, where there was grass left, was shin-high and waiting to be harvested.
Rob smiled. He could hear Kelly raving about how much potential the place had.
"It's exactly the way I imagined it. Think of the possibilities. Oh, I already have a million ideas."
She was always the positive one.
He pulled the car into the driveway, shut off the engine, and got out. Looking back up Main Street, he realized for the first time how quiet the town was for a Saturday evening. No one was strolling the sidewalks; no one was doing yard work or enjoying a moment's rest on their front porch. No cars drifted past. The town appeared lifeless, as if it was some movie prop and the cast and crew had wrapped up for the day and gone home. Maybe the heat had driven everyone indoors.
He circled the house, noting the overgrown garden beds, the rusted and bent gutters, and another broken window. The backyard was wide but shallow, bumping up against a sprawling field. A few more large hickories dotted the yard. By the house, not twenty feet from the back door, stood a mature dogwood with low twisted branches. A great tree for climbing. Jimmy would love this place.
"Cool, Daddy, look! A climbing tree!"
Standing in the breezeway between the side door and the one-car garage, Rob was suddenly overcome with a feeling of deja vu, as if he'd been here before and stood in this very spot, eyeing the very same silver aluminum storm door. The feeling was so familiar, so common, that it was even accompanied by an emotion. He noticed again that his hands were trembling. For several seconds he remained there, in the cool shade of the breezeway, holding his hands, trying to calm himself. And for an instant, the briefest of moments, he had second thoughts about entering the house. But he'd never been here before; he knew that. He'd never met Wilda, and he'd never seen her house. He would remember a place like this. The memory and emotion were bogus, mere trickery of the mind.
Digging in his pocket, Rob found the key he had been given, turned the lock, and went inside. A large living room dominated most of the single-story dwelling. Two small bedrooms, separated by a full bath, opened off the main room, and a small kitchen and dining area were found at the end of a short hallway. With the exception of some cracked and water-stained plaster ceilings, the interior was in better shape than the outside. The family had left the house fully furnished, and everything was covered with heavy plastic sheeting. Boxes were stacked shoulder high along the walls of the living room and in each bedroom. In one of the bedrooms was a wooden door that opened to a steep staircase that led to the attic.
A rumble in Rob's stomach reminded him he hadn't stopped for lunch, making it twelve hours since his last meal.
Before leaving, he looked around the inside of the house one more time, and for some reason he thought of the attic. There was something about the wooden door leading to it that he didn't like. It reminded him of... something, but he had no recall.
"You're definitely going crazy," he said to the silence of the house.
And then he left the house and the attic and the strange feelings behind and headed out to fill his belly.
Mary Jane's was your typical small-town diner complete with an up-front cash register, vinyl-upholstered booths, a "Please Seat Yourself" sign, and a dozen or so seniors eager to dip into their Social Security checks. Rob found a booth in the corner, out of the locals' way. He could already feel their heavy stares. Mayfield may have appeared friendly at first glance, but under all that whitewash and landscaping it was like any other hick town-closed to strangers. He wanted to make it known he wasn't there to upset the rhythm of the town. He could make himself invisible.
Within seconds of seating himself a young lady no more than twenty-five years old appeared dressed in khaki pants and a maroon shirt with "Mary Jane's Diner" stenciled in the upper left corner. She was not attractive in the familiar way, but her dark hair and pale skin and blueberry eyes held a unique kind of beauty, the kind that gets mostly overlooked at school dances and church socials.
She smiled wide, revealing two rows of bone white, perfectly aligned teeth, and placed a laminated menu in front of Rob. "Welcome to Mary Jane's, Mayfield's number one diner. Get you something to drink?"
"Number one diner, huh?"
"Number one."
"How 'bout a Diet Coke."
"Diet Coke is something I can do. By the way, I'm Juli. I always forget that part." She appeared confident in a cute, bouncy sort of way.
"You forget your name?"
"My name?"
"Juli. Remember?"
"Oh, no, I've had that my whole life. I forget to introduce myself. Most people who come by here already know me. How's about you look over the menu, and I'll be right back with that Diet Coke." She turned to leave then spun back around. "Oh, yeah, our special tonight is a fish and chips platter, and the soups of the day are cheddar broccoli and chicken noodle."
Rob smiled. "Thanks, Juli."
She headed toward the kitchen, and Rob turned his attention to the menu. Out of habit, he first flipped it over to check what was available for kids. They had a hot dog meal. Jimmy would be all over that.
"I want a dippy-dog. I want a dippy-dog."
Before he knew it, Juli was back, setting the soda in front of him with a paper-covered straw.
"Have you decided yet?"
He hadn't. "Would you recommend the fish and chips?"
Juli smiled wide. "Only if you're a fan of fish sticks and potato chips."
"Memories of school lunches. I'll take it."
"Good or bad?"
"Excuse me?"
"Memories of school lunches. Good or bad?"
"School lunch memories are always good. I still crave the grilled cheese."
"Nothing compared."
Juli retreated again, and Rob took in his surroundings with a more careful, yet furtive, eye. There were four rows of booths, each able to seat four adults. One row over sat a man and his wife, ignoring each other while they worked their meals like cows apathetically chewing their cud. Across the aisle was an old woman, stooped over her plate, staring at it as if it revealed some secret message she was given to decipher. She glanced at Rob then quickly returned her attention to her plate.
From the kitchen, the sound of clanging metal and tinkling silverware mixed with the aroma of cooked grease and fried oil.
Then Juli was back, large brown tray held at shoulder height. She set down the tray and served Rob his meal, placing each plate before him as if she were serving a king. When she was finished, she stood with her shoulders back and tray under her arm and nodded. "Fish and chips."
"Thanks," Rob said.
Juli motioned toward the plate on the table and said, "Otto makes good fried flounder, but I wouldn't want it for my last meal."
Just then an elderly woman appeared behind Juli. Her graying hair was pulled into a tight bun, and she wore a gray skirt and maroon cardigan.
Juli dipped her head and smiled politely. "That's my cue. I'll check back in a bit."
She headed back for the kitchen, and the older lady with the sour-lipped face filled her void. The lines around her eyes and mouth were deep crevices and told a story of happiness and laughter a very long time ago.
/> "Is everything OK?" she asked. Her back was so rigid and straight Rob expected to find a rod sewed to her sweater when she left.
"It's great. Thanks."
She eyed him down her thin nose for a moment then said, "Well, then. You staying long in Mayfield?"
Rob shrugged. "We'll see how the wind blows."
The bells over the door jingled, and Rob turned to see a man dressed in a white shirt and black pants standing by the register. He looked to be about fifty or so, but his skin was so white and smooth he could easily pass for younger. His peppery hair, cropped close and thinning a little at the crown, gave away his age, though. His clothes were outdated but in fine condition. But it was his skin Rob came back to. There was something different about it, something odd. It was too smooth and had a subtle sheen to it. It almost looked waxy, like one of those figures in Madame Tussauds Wax Museum.
The man looked over and met Rob with coal-black eyes. Rob's heart stuttered, and a buzz ran along the crest of his scalp and down the back of his neck. The man's eyes were so piercing, like black sabers in the hands of an accomplished swordsman. Rob could have sworn they looked into his soul and found the fear and gloom that resided there.
Immediately, the woman turned and headed for the man. In her stride was the cadence of decisiveness and determination. She said something to him and pointed at the door. Rob couldn't make out what she was saying, but her body language was throwing him out. When she had finished, the man sported an easy grin that boasted the woman's words had no effect on him, then dipped his chin and left.
The woman stood there a few moments, taking deep breaths, then spun around and returned to Rob. Her face was flushed, and she was obviously shaken.
"You OK?" Rob said.
The woman's hand went to her throat, and she swallowed hard. "Yes. Yes, of course." She glanced around the restaurant. The other patrons quickly looked away.
Turning her attention back to Rob, she said, "I saw you at Wilda's. You kin?"
Darlington Woods Page 2