“Sorry ’bout that, Mabel,” he said. “Reckon I gotta mind my own strength.”
Barney kicked off his shoes upon entering—Mabel had always been a stickler for tidiness. He figured if there was one blessing in the dementia that had followed his wife’s stroke, it was that she did not care about the peeling wallpaper and cobwebbed corners that had come to define their home. She could not comprehend what their life had become.
He took her to the sofa, careful not to lay her on the cushion with the broken spring, and then collected what he needed from the bathroom. He placed a towel under the small of Mabel’s back and removed her pants without disturbing her. His forearm went under her knees and pushed them toward her chest, while his free hand undid the tape. Barney was mindful not to pull the diaper away—he’d done that before, and the result had been two messes to clean up, one hers and one his—but instead left it beneath her. He collected a handful of wipes and cleaned her from front to back, dropping the used ones into the stained diaper. He continued until the final wipe returned unsoiled. The diaper and wipes went into the garbage can. Baby powder went into the fresh diaper and onto Mabel. Barney checked her for rashes and then pulled the diaper on until it rested at Mabel’s waistline.
“There now,” he whispered. “Good as new.”
Mabel peeked through her eyelids and made a gurgling sound. Barney patted her arm and wiped a tear from his eye. He had always been a man of faith. He knew God was a kind and merciful God, a God of love. And yet in secret thoughts he would never share with anyone but Reggie, Barney knew that God was also cruel. The Moores had prayed for years to be blessed with a child. Barney redressed Mabel’s frail body and realized the good Lord had finally gotten around to granting that petition, only the child turned out to be his own wife.
He dropped his wallet and keys onto the kitchen table beside the unopened mail from the day before. From the hospital mostly, though there was also an envelope from the power company and one from the insurance place. Each stamped with Past Due or Final Notice, just in case Barney had failed to notice the sense of urgency in the letters and phone calls that had preceded them. He left them there and checked on Mabel’s breathing, then settled into the broken cushion on the sofa.
“Well, I’d call that a success,” he told her. “Sure, there was that little hiccup with Tom and Reggie, but it passed by. Who in the world is ‘spiritual but not religious’? I don’t even know what that means. Do you, Mabel?”
Mabel didn’t say. Her fingers danced on the pillow beside her. Barney wondered what tune she played and didn’t ask. He figured that answer would be the same as her answer to the Norcrosses’ fuzzy faith.
“And that little Leah, such a fine girl. Kinda trapped in herself, I reckon. She’s sure taken a shine to you, Mabel. I wonder why that is?”
Mabel didn’t say.
“She loved that easel. Did you see her face, the way it lit up? Like a million tiny lights. She even hugged me, an’ the way her momma and daddy looked, Leah don’t hug nobody. It was like it used to be when a little girl or boy got somethin’ I made. You remember those times?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” He reached for the blanket draped over the sofa and covered her. “I’m gonna go downstairs for a bit. Reggie’ll be here in a little while to watch you while I run your errands. You just rest now. You rest and dream of the ocean. I know how you loved—love—the ocean, Mabel. I’m gonna take you back there one day. You wait and see.”
Barney kissed Mabel on the cheek and watched as she drifted away to that foggy place where she lived. He sat with her for a long while in front of the open window. Beyond the alleyway, cars passed and people strolled and the world went on without him. It was that sense of lonely disconnect that bridged his thoughts from what was happening around him then to what he would do that night under the guise of his errands. It was a shameful act. Shameful and desperate. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes.
“But I reckon if you’re hungry enough,” he whispered to Mabel, “even poison tastes good.”
7
Allie padded down the sidewalk that led into town and felt as if a giant weight had lodged itself in her brain. She supposed Leah felt the same, since her head was down and she was rubbing at her thumb again. Probably the only thing that kept her upright was the Hello Kitty book bag she was wearing with Mr. Barney’s picture inside.
Everything Leah had told her was still crashing around in Allie’s mind when she spied Jane Markham sitting on the sidewalk ahead. In Jane’s hand was a half-eaten orange Popsicle melting in the sun. Jane had not gone to Leah’s party and would not, declaring the day before to a gathering of class-mates at a church softball game that “anyone who’d be friends with somebody like that needs srain burgery.” Everyone had laughed. Everyone always did what Jane wanted, as she was the most popular girl in the whole entire fourth grade. Allie had laughed too, not just because Jane was popular and they were friends enough, but because switching the b and s in “brain surgery” was nothing short of comedic gold. But that had all been before Preacher Goggins called and asked the Grandersons to attend the party because it was the Christian thing to do, and it had been way before everything Leah had just told her.
Jane looked up as they approached, and there was nowhere for Allie to hide. The Popsicle went from pointing skyward to across the street. A thin runner of orange goo dripped from the stick to the sidewalk. Jane had seen them, Allie knew that just as she knew soon it’d be all over town that she was now best friends with the stuttering girl who lived in Henrietta Fox’s old house.
“Well, what’re you gawkin’ at, Jane Markham?” Allie asked.
Jane said nothing, just sat there with a how-dare-you glare, and the more she did so, the angrier Allie became. Leah’s head found her shoes and she drifted into the grass of Jane’s daddy’s yard. Allie pulled her back. In for a penny, in for a pound, that’s what her momma always said. Allie hadn’t known what it meant until that moment. They passed Jane, and Allie said, “You better pick your jaw up before a fly lays eggs on your tongue.”
They walked on in silence, Leah now next to her. A faint smile was on her lips.
“Don’t you worry about her none,” Allie said. “She says somethin’, I’ll set her straight. Now, you wanna tell me all that again?”
Leah’s smile disappeared. Her voice was soft and distant. “I’d really luh-like it if I duh-didn’t have to.”
Allie shook her head. “Friends, I sure can pick ’em. They told me, you know. My other friends, I mean. ‘Don’t be friends with her, she’s as odd as a football bat,’ they said. But no, I didn’t listen. I had to be a good Christian. Jesus wept.”
Leah looked from her thumbnail to Allie and asked, “You duh-don’t want to be my fuh-friend anym-m-ore? I thought you buh-lieved.”
“I didn’t say that,” Allie answered, though she had to admit the not-being-friends part had crossed her mind. As for the other, well, “It’s just that . . . geez Louise, you know?”
Leah nodded and resumed her scratching.
Allie stopped midstride, grabbed Leah’s hand, and asked, “What are you doing to your finger?” A brief tug-of-war ensued. Allie countered by putting all her weight on Leah’s elbow—“Don’t make me hogtie you”—and pinning her. Leah surrendered her thumb. “Holy wow, Leah, there’s a hole in your thumb.”
Leah braced against Allie and pushed, freeing herself. “It’s nuh-not a h-h-hole,” she said, “it’s a puh-p-place.” She lowered her eyes and resumed walking. “I get n-nervous sometimes.”
“Okay,” Allie said. She ran to keep up. “One thing at a time. We’ll work on your thumb later. And since you don’t want to repeat it all, I’ll do it. Because that ain’t the sort of stuff you say once and never again, Leah Norcross. So I’ll talk, and you just nod or shake your head. Okay?”
Leah nodded.
“Okay, so before the party you see this man that no one else can see, and he’s a-singin’ to you.”
>
Nod.
“And he was with us earlier up on the hill.”
Nod.
“And he’s walkin’ right beside us right now.”
Nod.
“Stop nodding, Leah.”
“He’s ruh-right here,” Leah said. “I had to tuh-tell somebody. I’m too small to d-do this all b-by myself. I asked Puh-Pops if he buh-lieved in magic, b-but he s-said there’s just good truh-tricks. You said we were f-friends, and you’re the only f-friend I have. The R-rainbow M-man said you’d help me. But you don’t buh-lieve me, d-do you?”
Leah scratched at her nail again. Allie let her. One thing at a time.
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe. I just need proof is all. Everybody needs proof about stuff they don’t believe, Leah. That’s how they start believin’.”
They walked on. The quiet side street lined with plain homes and baseball fields gave way to fancy homes and churches. They were close. Snyder Avenue would lead to Jackson, Jackson to downtown, and downtown to the Treasure Chest.
Leah said, “I’ll guh-give you pruh-proof. What do you w-want?”
“I want to see him.”
“You c-can’t. And n-no, I don’t nuh-know why. Isn’t the p-painting enough?”
The rolled-up piece of paper stuck out from the top of Leah’s book bag. For a moment, Allie thought yes. That was enough. That painting looked so real she could almost smell the rain and hear the gold coins clinking out of the sky. Leah went to work on her thumbnail again. Allie realized as well as a child could that the gully in Leah’s thumbnail wasn’t the only one she had. There was another gully somewhere deep inside herself, and Leah was ready to fall into it.
“Well, what’s he look like, then?”
“I cuh-can’t describe him,” Leah said.
“Proof, Leah. You have to try.”
Leah looked to the side where Allie wasn’t. The waning sun cast two shadows on the gray sidewalk.
“He’s three tuh-times bigger than my smuh-small,” she said. “And he g-glows, but it’s not like g-glowing.” She paused, eyebrows scrunched, looking for words her mouth couldn’t form. “I duh-don’t think the him I suh-see is the real him. I think it’s juh-just all the him he wuh-wants me to see.”
Allie kept her stride beside Leah, which wasn’t easy given that her friend—and she now considered Leah a friend, there was no going back on that one—was a good four inches taller. How could Leah think she was too small to go downtown by herself?
“Tell me more,” she said. “What’s he sound like when he sings?”
Leah looked to the shadows again. “Suh-sometimes it’s like a b-baby laughing. Or like the r-rain. Right now it suh-sounds like an ocean w-wave. Not like it’s c-c-crashing, but kind of luh-like it’s c-crashed and g-going back over a million tuh-tiny shells. It’s m-music l-like I’ve n-never heard. It’s so buh-beautiful it hurts my ears. My m-mind can’t hold it.”
Allie looked to Leah’s opposite side and strained to see. Aside from the shadows and the grass, there was nothing. A part of her heart felt heavy, almost guilty. It didn’t sound right to be jealous of someone who was so afraid of the world that she’d worn a hole in her thumb, but it was envy just the same.
The T in the road ahead meant Main Street. First Church sat on the left. Preacher Goggins’s truck was in the lot. Across from that was the park, which was already undergoing its transformation into fairgrounds for the carnival next weekend. Four firemen were busy stretching a banner across the street between two telephone poles. MATTINGLY SUMMER CARNIVAL, it said, and underneath, THIS SATURDAY FUN FOR ALL!!
“T-tell me about the cuh-carnival,” Leah said.
“It’s only the biggest thing ever. Everybody comes. There’s rides and games and stuff. It’s awesomesauce. Are you going? We can go together.”
Leah said, “We’ll b-be there,” but the words came out flat, as if being there was more a matter of having to than wanting to. “Do you buh-lieve now?”
“More than I did,” Allie told her.
“W-well, what else do you wah-want me to do, Allie? I’ve tuh-told you everything I c-can. You have to buh-lieve. He wants you to guh-go into the Maybe with muh-me.”
Allie didn’t know what that meant and didn’t ask, there already being too much in her head. She considered her options. Only one remained. It would be a risk, but only if Leah was telling the truth.
“I got a secret no one knows. If he can tell you what that secret is, then I’ll believe.”
Leah bent toward the shadows and listened. Allie looked away. She couldn’t decide if it was because watching made her uncomfortable or if it made her scared.
“Oh Emm Juh-jee,” Leah whispered. “You kuh-kissed a b-boy.”
Allie felt all the muscles in her face slacken. She froze and pulled on Leah’s arm.
“How’d you know that?”
“He tuh-told me.”
“What else does he know?”
Leah shrugged. “I d-don’t know, but I think he nuh-knows everything. Do you buh-lieve me now?”
“Yes. Will you ever tell anyone?”
Leah crossed her fingers, spit on them, and crossed her heart. “Nuh-never.”
That was good enough for Allie Granderson.
They reached Main Street and turned right at the diner onto Second. The steady churn of cars and voices was swallowed by the empty brick buildings and old signs of the alleyway. It was as if this one street had balked at the chance to carry on with time, choosing instead to remain behind.
“Why are we really taking this to Mr. Barney?” Allie asked. “Not that I mind, a’course. I like him fine. Miss Mabel too. It’s just that a lot of folk don’t pay him no mind no more. That picture ain’t just a thank-you, is it?”
“The R-rainbow M-man didn’t tuh-tell me. All he suh-sang was that it’s what Mr. Buh-Barney needs.”
“Why’s he need it?”
“He duh-didn’t say.”
Allie looked at the empty space beside Leah. “You know, for a guy who knows everything, he ain’t much on sharing.”
The sign on the door read AHOY, OPEN. The two entered. Their eyes slowly adjusted to their surroundings—candy behind the counter, dollhouses everywhere, toys made with love for no one to love them back. A faint bow in the wooden floor marked the path most traveled, leading from the door to the back. A wobbly set of stairs was in front of them. Two swinging doors stood to the right. Another door was to their left. It was to this door that Leah walked. Allie stopped her.
“That’s just the basement. Ain’t nothin’ down there but empty.”
“Yuh-yell if anyone’s here,” Leah said.
“Why me?”
“B-because it’d tuh-take muh-me too luh-long.”
Allie raised on her tiptoes and hollered over the shelves and barrels. “Hey there, anybody home?”
A rustle from the back of the store, then silence. Allie followed as Leah made her way toward the two swinging doors that led into Mr. Barney’s shop. They took one door each and pushed. The room on the other side was just as old and sad as the one they’d left. Cobwebbed machines sat scattered amidst worktables of varying size and states of disrepair. Tools hung backward or upside down on pegs along the wall. On the far end a broom handle propped open the large garage door.
Allie felt a tug on her sleeve. Leah said, “He’s over thuh-there.”
Mr. Barney was at the far end of the shop, perched on a wobbly stool beside an even wobblier desk. Stacks of paper surrounded him, some in piles even taller than Allie. Along the top of the desk were frames that held yellowing pictures of boys and girls holding toy cars or sitting in wagons. Tacked to the wall above these were thank-you cards scrawled in large, curvy letters.
Allie thought being surrounded by such adoration would bring a beam to anyone’s face, but she didn’t think Mr. Barney was smiling. His head was bent over the desk and hidden by his right hand. The shudders in his back and shoulders were different from the sort laughing would
cause—jerky and shallow rather than steady and long.
“I think he’s crying,” she whispered to Leah. “We should go. Nobody worth their bones wants anybody seein’ them blubber, that’s what I say.”
“Nuh-no,” Leah said. “It’s im . . . portant. We huh-have to.”
Allie’s fingers slid down Leah’s arm until they found her hand. The two girls crossed the width of the shop to where Mr. Barney sat. As they neared, the old man’s sobs became plain.
Leah reached out and touched him on the shoulder. Mr. Barney spun around and nearly fell off the stool, then raised his hands to his face. He reached for the rag in the pocket of his overalls and dabbed his eyes.
“Hey there, Mr. Barney,” Allie said. She smiled to make up for the sadness in her words.
“Allie?” Barney reached for the glasses lying cockeyed on the desk and wrapped them around his bulging ears. “Leah? I’m sorry, girls, I didn’t hear y’all come in.”
“That’s okay,” Allie said. “We just figured you was busy is all. We didn’t see you bawlin’.”
The old man blushed and shoved his fingers under his glasses. The big circles they made produced sucking sounds against his skin.
“Oh no, I weren’t cryin’,” he said. “Just got a bit of sawdust in my eyes is all. Been busy today, whole lotta busy. Just me an’ Mabel, you know. What brings you two ladies down here today?”
Leah’s voice was small. “I huh-have something f-for you, Mr. Buh-Barney.” She unzipped her book bag and pulled out the rolled-up sheet of paper. “It’s w-what you nuh-need.”
8
Of all the duties involved in being a small-town preacher, this was Reggie’s favorite. Not studying the Word, not preaching it (though he had to admit preaching it was right up there), but applying it.
Living it.
For years there had been whispers that he could retire from preaching and become mayor, a fact that even the current mayor, Big Jim Wallis, willingly conceded. Not because Reggie possessed any sort of political acumen, but because he was so well liked. So sought out. Which was why the short walk from church took longer than it should have. Children stopped him to say hello, men to ask for prayer or advice, women to flirt. Reggie understood that a man in his standing—relatively young, relatively handsome, and unattached—would be appealing to some of the town’s bachelorettes. He only hoped what few women who pined for him understood there was no room in his life for another love. His heart belonged to his God and his town, nothing more.
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