by Cameron Judd
“Melinda, I know as well as you do that, no, I didn’t look handsome in high school. My big old buck teeth made me look like a damn cartoon. That’s what’s changed about me: I got my teeth corrected so I’d look better in my wedding pictures.”
“Oh … yeah, I heard you got married! Congratulations!” She’d heard no such thing, Jimmy Beaver not being a subject of conversation among the young women who were Melinda’s peers. He’d been a nobody in high school, and was mostly forgotten afterward.
“Thanks,” he said. “Our first baby is on the way now.”
“Well! Congratulations again!”
“I heard a rumor about you, too,” he said. “Engaged?”
“I am.” She put her left hand out the car window for him to see. He smiled down on her ring, which caught a glimmer from a street light that made it look a little bigger than it was.
“It’s beautiful,” Jimmy said. “Congratulations to you … and you too, Eli. You’ve found yourself a good one here.”
“I agree. Thank you, officer.”
“Just call me Jimmy.”
“Sure thing, Jimmy.”
OVER IN THE TENT, MEGGY WAS DREAMING. In the dream she heard voices talking not very far away, and one of them sounded like her big sister’s.
She murmured and rolled over, eyes opening a moment and taking in her surroundings. They were different than usual. Where?
Oh yeah … she was in the tent in the backyard of the Lane house. With her was her friend, Nelly Lane, now snoring softly just half an arm’s length away. Meggy listened for the voices again, and heard a male voice she didn’t recognize saying something about bringing somebody some coffee, if they planned to be awake anyway. She heard Melinda’s voice voicing happy acceptance of the offer.
Was Melly really out there? Out in the yard or on the street, or wherever? In the middle of the night? If so, why?
Megan crept to the zippered flap door of the tent to investigate. She found herself unwilling to actually look, though, because into her mind came the image of the two men she’d seen watching her house that earlier night. What if the sounds she was hearing, or thought she was, had to do with them? What if she unzipped the tent opening, thrust out her head, and saw them, right there, looking down on her? Then reaching to her …
No. She’d leave the tent door as it was. It separated her from the darkness out there, and gave her a sense of protection, however meager. Crawling back to her sleeping bag, she curled up to await the coming of daylight and to pray that those troubling men were not out there.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“I APPRECIATE YOU COMING BY TODAY, Brother Larry,” said the murky-eyed man slumped in the powered wheelchair. “Mighty nice of you to take the time.”
“Listen to me, Cale: when I get a call from anybody telling me they want to learn about the Lord, I try to answer that call. I know calls like that aren’t easy to make. I appreciate you having the courage to ring me up.”
“You told me some good stuff, Larry. Gives a man plenty to think about.”
“I hope you will think about it, Cale. Then I hope you’ll quit thinking and just make the turn. All you have to do is be ready for it and open the door.”
“I don’t doubt it’s true for lots of folks, Brother Larry. Not for me, though. I’m way too far gone to turn around now.”
“Then don’t. Ask Him to turn you around. I’ve seen some hard-fossilized old sinners turn into brand-new men when they do that. Never underestimate the capacity of a man to change, or to be changed, Cale. There’s nobody too far gone.”
“I’m a big sinner, Larry. You don’t know half of what I’ve done. Few do. If some of it was known, we’d be talking in a prison cell right now, not my bedroom. I’m a mighty big sinner, Larry. Mighty big.”
“He’s a mighty big God, too. Let Him show you what He can do.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Do that. And you know I’m only a phone call away anytime. Day or night. Call me if you want to talk some more. Or don’t call me, if you’d rather not have somebody around. You can talk to Him entirely on your own, just like you’ve been talking to me. I can’t save you. He can. Let Him do it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Do that, my friend.”
CALE PARVIN WATCHED REV. LARRY CAVNESS exit the room, if “watched” could be considered a valid description of seeing no more than a moving form swimming through the overwhelming thick blur that was all Cale’s failing eyes ever really saw. It had been a long time since the man had ever truly seen anything, and it seemed to him it was growing worse by the day now.
An unexpected thing had happened to Cale as his vision degenerated. Not being able to see the outer world had turned him increasingly inward, making him live in memories and look again at things in his mind and memory he’d long wished to forget. He’d forgotten much less than he realized. The more he looked into himself, the more came back to him, came to life again. And with that had come waves of guilt and self-hatred. He’d done almost no good things in and with his life. It was a sorrowful place to explore, the land of Cale Parvin’s memories.
He had surprised himself when he called the Lower Lights Rescue Mission and asked to speak to Brother Larry Cavness. He didn’t know the man, but knew of his work, knew he was the kind of man who loved unlovable people and had a message of hope even for hopeless human wrecks. Cale had always generally despised preachers, viewed them as fulsome hypocrites living off the gifts of congregations who got little back from the investment except a weekly haranguing about their sins. Yet the faithful went back for more of the same, week after week, especially in such a Bible belt domain as Kincheloe County.
Brother Larry was the only clergyman Cale Parvin respected. Not that he knew many of them … but he heard others talking, and sometimes heard snatches of overwrought sermons on the radio and television, and what he heard put him off. Nothing real in that stuff, in his opinion. Larry Cavness, on the other hand, knew the real world up and down. He’d lived in it himself. Still did, though he’d left behind the darker parts.
Cavness had wasted no time in answering Cale Parvin’s request for a visit. He’d brought with him coffee and doughnuts, day-olds from the rescue mission pantry, but tasty nonetheless. Cale liked doughnuts, and had three of them while listening to Brother Larry tell him that it was not too late for him, that his personal sins and evils were not too much for God to forgive, and that his life could change dramatically, even if he’d given up hope that it could.
Cale had listened respectfully and mulled with all seriousness the things Cavness had said. Cavness had asked him to bow his head and pray with him, silently if he wished, and the wheelchair-bound man had politely dipped his head and closed his eyes. Cavness had prayed aloud. Cale did not pray at all, silently or otherwise.
He sensed Cavness was reluctant to leave, probably wanting to give Cale every opportunity to “get religion,” as Cale thought of it. Cale simply remained silent, maintaining a mild smile.
“I appreciate you visiting me, Brother Larry,” he said. “It was mighty good of you.”
“When you make the decision to turn to the Lord, call me and let me know,” Cavness said.
“You’ll be the first to know, if that happens.”
“I’ll be waiting for the phone to ring. God bless you, Cale.”
“Nah, any blessing would be for you, preacher-man. You deserve it. Me, not at all. If you knew some of the things I’ve done, Brother Larry, you’d not stand in the same room with me.”
CAVNESS’S VISIT HAD BEEN A MORNING ONE, and Rawls Parvin was arriving in answer to his father’s earlier summons just as the rescue mission preacher was leaving. Cavness had never met Rawls and didn’t know just whom he was encountering beyond the obvious fact he was a Parvin. Cavness knew that “Parvin glare” as well as any other Kincheloe Countian.
“Good day to you, young man,” he said as he passed Rawls stepping up onto the porch as Cavness stepped down.
“Hello, sir,” Rawls said to the stranger.
Cavness noticed that the young man did not knock on the door, but entered the house as readily as if the place was his own. Knowing that Cale Parvin had a son, he wondered if …
Cavness was already whistling a favorite hymn and thinking about a sermon he was preparing as he climbed in his car. He hoped he’d get that call from Cale Parvin, telling him he’d embraced a new life. Cavness knew from repeated experiences that such a thing could happen to the most unlikely people. It was up to them, if they felt the divine nudge and answered it.
Cavness was enough of a realist, though, to know that sometimes the choice went the other way. He’d done what he could. The rest remained in other hands.
“HOW IS YOUR OLD DADDY LOOKING TO YOU, RAWLS?” Cale asked his son, who stood before him, seeing Cale clearly while Cale saw him in turn only as a murky blur of smeared color in a vaguely human shape.
“Daddy, I can’t lie to you … you’re looking kind of sickly.”
“I’m dying, son. I feel it every day, coming on me slow sometimes, and sometimes fast.”
“Aw, Daddy, you can’t say that. You could go on for years.”
“Some things you just know, boy. And what’s the point of going on when all you do is sit in a wheelchair, paralyzed and going blind?”
Rawls drew in a deep breath and sighed. It had always required an effort to carry on a conversation with his father, even on trivial matters. Life and death issues were that much more awkward.
“Who was that man that was coming out of the house when I was coming in?” Rawls asked.
“That was a preacher, son. From the rescue mission in town. Man name of Cavness.”
“Come to save your soul?”
“Came because I asked him to.”
“You, Daddy? Calling in a preacher?”
“Boy, when you see the grave looming ahead, you start thinking about your life and what you’ve done. When I look back on my own doings, and them of our family, what I see ain’t pretty. Nothing but sin and wrong, start to finish. That’s been the Parvin way. Sorry to say it, but it’s true.”
“Is that why you called me, Daddy? To tell me you’re getting religion, and that our family is trash?”
“No, son. No. For one thing, I ain’t getting no religion. There ain’t none for me. The preacher said different, tried to convince me I could be saved, but I know there ain’t no place in Gloryland for me. I’ve sinned too bad, too long. Not even Almighty God could wash this old soul clean again. The only hope I can see is punishing myself for my own wrong-doings. If I do that, maybe the Lord will figure I’ve paid for my Pearly Gates pass.”
“I wouldn’t know about that stuff, Daddy. I tried the religion thing once … well, kind of tried it … but it didn’t take. I guess I wasn’t serious about it. I was pretending because I was with Melinda and she was religious, and I thought maybe if she thought I was religious, she’d let me in her pants, you know. It didn’t work.”
“All that you got out of that whole thing was a bullet through the leg, boy, and the end of what would have been a great football career.”
“You think I don’t know that, Daddy? You think I don’t think about that the very first thing when I wake up in the morning every damn day?”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t, boy.”
“So why did you call me here today, Daddy?”
“You remember J.R. Medley? Used to work for folks around town doing yard work and painting and such?”
“Yeah. He’s dead now, I think.”
“No. It’s his brother who’s dead. J.R. is still around, and doing pretty good for his age. He visited me the other day. He came looking for gin, which I didn’t have. While he was here, though, he told me something interesting.”
“What was it?”
“He says that my brother is in town. Says he saw him with his own eyes the other evening, at that barbecue place on the county line. He was walking across the parking lot of the place. And he says he saw you with Lukey.”
“Wonder why he’d say that?”
“Only reason I can figure is that maybe it was true.”
“Or maybe he was drunk and just thought he saw Lukey and me.”
“Well, did he? Is Lukey here, son? Have you been with him?”
“Why do you care, Daddy? I’m grown up, so what difference does it make?”
“Boy, it’s part of that thinking process I was talking about … how you think about your life and ways when you see the end getting near. I care about you, boy. You’re my son, and whether you can believe it or not, I love you. And I know Lukey for what he is, and I know that if you involve yourself with him, nothing but bad will come to you.”
“A little late for you to start caring about that kind of crap, huh, Daddy?”
Cale Parvin winced, then nodded. “There’s no denying that, son. Just one more failure in a life full of them. And the worst is, I’m just like my own father before me … I’ve dragged you into the same swamp I’ve lived in. Taught you everything you need to know to live life all the wrong ways. I’ve been an evil man and taught you to be the same. But Lukey … Lukey’s the very Satan spawn, Rawls. He’s been drawn to the worst of the worst since he was a boy. You remember how he treated that poor little northern black gal from that campground? We all were there and took our own part in that evil, but it was Lukey who led us, Lukey who would have killed that girl if the rest of us hadn’t been there. That’s why I don’t take it lightly when I hear you’re with him. He’ll ruin you, son. He’ll destroy your life and push you back into the penitentiary and then straight to hell itself.”
“Daddy, you’re losing it. The sickness and the living up in this room by yourself … it’s all finally broken your mind.”
“Maybe it has, boy. But what I say is still true. Stay away from Lukey, and anything he ever tries to draw you toward, you run the other way. Maybe then you can escape being what I am, not able to live and afraid to die, even though dying is the only chance I’ve got to atone for way I’ve lived. I wish I could believe Preacher Cavness when he says it ain’t too late for me. But like I said, I know better. Hell runs in my veins, boy. It’s part of me, and I’m part of it. No way out now.”
“Yeah, Daddy, you’ve lost it.”
“Is Lukey here, Rawls? Is he back in Kincheloe?”
“No, Daddy. He ain’t. Old J.R. Saw somebody else and thought it was Lukey and me. But Lukey ain’t here. No sir.”
“If ever he comes back, you stay clear of him, son.”
“I will, Daddy. I will.”
“I’m tired now, son. I need to rest.”
“You got food to eat, Daddy?”
“I haven’t starved to death, so you should be able to figure out the answer to that.”
“But how? You can’t even walk to go downstairs, and you wouldn’t be able to see much of what you were looking at even if you made it to the kitchen somehow.”
“Rawls, I get meals brought in to me from several places. There’s good people out there, and knowing them and all they do for folks like me is one of the things that’s helped me see how good the good is, and how bad us Parvins have been, on the whole, in comparison.”
“Daddy, you’ve changed.”
“It happens, son.”
“So who’s feeding you?”
“There’s a meals-on-wheels program that comes out of the senior citizens’ center, and another couple of things like that some of the churches here get together and run. There’s two neighbor families that share their meals with me, and some groceries, and a black woman named Flora Hamilton comes in and cooks for me just because she wants to do it. She keeps the house clean, too, and won’t charge me a penny for it. I tell you, Rawls, there’s a lot of folks out there whose shoes I wouldn’t be worthy to touch.” Cale’s voice cracked and Rawls saw that his father was growing emotional and struggling to hide it.
It was all too strange. He eyed the door.
“Daddy, let me go downstairs and see if I can’t find something to make you a sandwich with. I hate to leave without doing at least that.”
“Thank you, Rawls. But I won’t be needing a sandwich. Flora will be coming in later in the afternoon, so I’m good. I had a good breakfast this morning, and there’s some graham crackers in the cabinet in the corner.”
“You sure, Daddy?”
“I’m sure. I just need one thing from you, son. Come here and give me a hug. Let me feel those strong arms of my boy.”
Another bit of atypical behavior from a man who had always been cold and unemotional. As Rawls hugged his father, he pondered how many years it had been since he’d even touched the man in any meaningful way.
Something was going on here, and Rawls didn’t find it comfortable. He told his father what the man wanted to hear, repeating the lie that Lukey was not in Kincheloe, and vowing, quite sincerely, that he would not ally himself with Lukey if the occasion should arise.
“I love you, Rawls,” Cale said as Rawls began to move toward the door.
“I love you too, Daddy,” Rawls replied, though the words felt unnatural on his tongue. Within minutes he would have cause to be glad he’d said them.
He heard the slightly muffled crack of a gunshot before he’d made it fully out of the yard. Returning to the house, he found his father slumped to one side in his wheelchair, his dulled eyes now truly and fully blind.
He’d apparently had the pistol tucked between his right hip and the side of the wheelchair the whole time.
“Oh, Daddy,” Rawls said. “Oh, Daddy, what have you gone and done?”
He made the call to the police station anonymously, from a pay phone near the auto parts store, then hoped no neighbors had seen him come and go from the house. Rawls’s life had difficulties enough already without questions about an old man in a wheelchair with a bullet in his brain.
Chapter Forty-Nine