by Cole Savage
Kyle peeled out and drove to Bowden for the night— the fragments of a scheme he wanted passionately for her to grasp, had slipped from him. Nicki instantly became the itch he couldn’t scratch. His smirk gone. The swagger that had accompanied him through life, the forces that had chosen him as the vehicle for their conquest, instantly humbled. Freedom for Kyle had nothing to do with political privilege, the second amendment, the notion of rights, or the consent to say what you want when you want to, even the freedom to go where you want to go. For Kyle, freedom was the ability, and right, to withdraw inwardly from the press of Nicki’s absence. Yesterday, Nicki saw a modicum of how Kyle was grappling with the constant pain of losing her. Kyle could have easily contracted into feeble defensive cynicism, relieved only by the unfulfilled fantasy of escape from her grasp, but Kyle had fallen hard for her. Something he never imagined could happen.
Kyle came back in the morning, last night a too close distant memory, a harbinger of death, eradicating the warmth of future sunrises, the characterization of hopelessness and irrevocable loss, unchanged. He felt as though fate had imposed upon him a role he had seen many hapless individuals play, when one day they discovered that they were alone, that no one believed their story or understood the nature of their loss and depth of their grief.
He rolled up the driveway, parked the car outside of Karen’s house and walked over to the front porch where Nicki waited in short denim shorts, cowboy boots, a pink tank, braless, on an ample chest that left little to the imagination. Nicki’s nipples looked like they were suffering from cold water immersion, and her hair was in a ponytail, under a baseball cap that said, ‘Chicks Rock’. She donned a brown leather vest, much to Kyle’s chagrin, and called Karen out to say hi. A minute later, Karen came out with flyswatter in hand, wearing a blue robe and bed slippers. Kyle seemed star-struck with Nicki, so he failed to notice Karen. Karen, at sixty-two, was a small pear-shaped woman who looked seventy because of vices like smoking, drinking and repetitive combat stress injuries received from her now dead husband, Trent and the human race. Her skin hung loosely on her slouching frame, a rebel-rouser that never took shit from anyone, especially Trent. Early on, Trent thought he was going to push Karen around, and one night during their first year of marriage, Karen found out he was down in Blacksville with a woman, at a local watering hole; drinking like a sailor on fifty cent beer night. Karen was miffed when she found out, so she took Nicki out of the crib, put her in the wagon and drove thirty miles to Blacksville, where she skidded to a stop on the gravel parking lot and parked outside of Billy Bob’s. Karen Snatched Nicki out of the car and ran inside where Trent was sitting, jawing a California widow (what Karen called a whore). Karen, wild-eyed and hair awry, took old Betsy (cast iron skillet) in one hand and Nicki in the other. She approached Trent, a man shocked momentarily with the look of a kid who just got caught with his hand in a cookie jar, and every feeling Trent never wanted to feel, clearly manifested itself on his face—identifiable as life lines on a hand, exhibiting a hollow angry look of a man not only annoyed but scared. Trent was full as a tick, so Karen whaled on Trent. She pounded him on the back, yelling obscenities while patrons watched and laughed like they scored front row seats to the Super Bowl.
“You deadbeat, white-eyed, toad strangler… You Steppin’ out on me? Paintin’ the town red with this Calico Queen,” she said pointing the skillet at the unsuspecting woman who thought Trent was single. “I’ll give these people something to look at, you sum-bitch. I’ll give these folks a front seat to your necktie social and nail your ass to the counter, whoremonger” The woman next to Trent made a hasty retreat to the door, along with her girlfriend.
“You best be leavin’, Harlot. Next time I catch you runnin’ round with a family man, I’m gonna tan your Hyde, sure as I’m breathing... You and that Smokey mountain canary best skedaddle before me and old Betsy forget I’m a good Christian woman.”
That was the last time Trent stepped out on Karen.
******************
Karen stopped three feet from Kyle, her arms crossed, flyswatter in hand.
“Well, well, looky here”.
“Momma mind your manners.” Nicki said from the front porch swing, pulling Kyle away.
“It’s that sorry ass, four-flusher, claims he ain’t got a pot to pee in. Isn’t this sight just precious. I here you’s runnin’ with the big dogs these days?”
“Momma, you promised to behave.” Karen took another step closer to Kyle, now sitting next to Nicki, and stared him down. Kyle had a two-foot height advantage on Karen, even from his sitting position, but he looked crestfallen, Karen squinting at him in a spiteful rage.
“You, Sum-bitch. I threw those divorce papers away cause you dun told me not to worry. Don’t worry, Momma, Nicki will be back soon. Nicki will be back right quick, Momma. All you’re bellyaching. I’m sorry, Momma. I don’t have a job yet, so I can’t send money right now. Ten years, Kyle. In ten years you didn’t send us a plug nickel. You white-eyed weasel. You have any idea what it’s been like round here? What in tarnation were you thinking, boy?” This is your flesh and blood,” Karen said waving the flyswatter.
“Momma, stop it.” Nicki stood and moved between them.
“Let Kyle be. And quit waving that stick in his face. Only thing that matters right now is that he’s here.” Kyle stood, took a few steps back, following the railing, and said trying to get distance between him and the flyswatter.
“Karen, I’m”-
Nicki put her fingers on his lips. “Shhh. We’ll talk to her later when she settles down. Right, Momma?”
“That sum”-
“Shut up, Momma. Kyle let’s go get the boys. Momma, when we come back, you’re gonna to have to be settled or Kyle won’t stay for lunch.” Kyle and Nicki stepped off the porch and headed for the Buick.
“That sum-bitch buying my lunch?” she yelled, directing it at Kyle.
“Best be glad I’m a God loving Christian, Kyle, or I’d pull out my lead pusher and put six blue whistler’s right up your ass, you sum-bitch.”
Kyle opened the passenger door for Nicki at a very brisk pace, and Nicki quickly slid in the passenger seat. He strolled around the back of the car, ducking to avoid potential incoming flying objects, and slid in the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him, but Karen still had the faucet on. She walked off the porch and stood next to the driver’s side door, hitting the window with the flyswatter.
“Remember, Nicki. Keep Skunks, bankers, and wily old Coyotes at a distance. And you,” she said, looking at Kyle through the window, “you sum-bitch. You best sleep with one eye open.”
Turning the Buick on brought a welcome silence, but Kyle could see through the bug littered windshield that she hadn’t stopped her vitriolic tirade as she retreated to the porch. She turned around two feet from the steps.
“It’s fixin’ to rain shit on you, Kyle. Like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock. When I’m done with you, your breath is gonna smell like a Buffalo fart, you sum-bitch,” she said, still pointing the flyswatter at Kyle like a medieval sword. Looking at Kyle, all Nicki could do was laugh. Her eyes dilated, she covered her mouth so Karen wouldn’t see her laughing.
“Momma promised she’d behave, Kyle. I’m sorry.” Nicki said laughing.
“Don’t be sorry, I had it coming. She’s quite entertaining. A part of her I never saw because she always liked me… The part I liked best is when she said, and I quote, “I’m gonna take your sorry ass out to the woodshed, beat you with my switch till your hind side is bloody. Then I’m gonna take my washboard, run it across your bleeding bare ass, pour salt on it, and after you cry uncle, I’m gonna throw a necktie party for you and throw your carcass out on the garden for the maggots to feast on.”
“She has a Thespian side when she wants to,” Nicki said.
CHAPTER 13
They laughed all the way to the Devlin’s, who lived three blocks away. Kyle negotiated the red clay drive, up to a double-wide home nestled
in the shadows of a copse of Oak trees, scattered with rusty cars that hadn’t run in twenty or thirty years, including a fifty-five Chevy and two indistinguishable vehicles entombed on an embankment of dirt, hay, and cow manure. Old farm equipment, used for spare parts, rimmed the edge of the house, bikes were strewn around, complemented by a rusty swing set with missing swings.
The white double wide trailer with aluminum siding was in desperate need of paint and a thorough cleaning. Most of the screens on the house were either missing or hinged on the verge of falling off, and the front porch was scattered with kid’s toys. Kyle and Nicki stepped out of the car, still laughing at Karen when Chester, one of the eight siblings, swinging on a makeshift tire swing said,
“Hi, Miss Griggs.”
The Oak tree, the swing was suspended from, overshadowed the house and looked like it was two hundred years old, leaving on to think that in the next storm one of those gigantic branches would break off and devour the spec of a home. Nicki yelled to Chester, “Chester, can you run and get the boys.”
“Miss, Griggs, what boys you talkin’ about?”
“Tyler and Cole, of course.”
“Miss, Griggs. Tyler and Cole ain’t here.”
“What are you talking about, Chester?” Nicki turned her head and looked at Kyle with concern.
“Chester, can you fetch your momma?”
“Sure, Miss Griggs. Be back in a flash. Look how fast I can run.”
Nicki smiled at Chester as he raced up to the house.
“Boy, you’re fast, Chester.” Nicki screamed loud enough for Chester to hear, then she resumed biting her nails, her arms crossed, looking at Kyle.
“I’m sure everything’s fine, Nicki. They’re probably playing pretend.”
“He didn’t look like he was playing, Kyle. I’m really worried.”
They walked up to the house, stepped on the porch and waited for Sarah to come out. Sarah Devlin came through the screen door with knitting needles in her hands.
“Is that Kyle Tillman?”
“Hi, Sarah. Been a while.”
“Never thought I’d see you around these parts again, Kyle. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, Sarah… How’s Floyd?”
“Floyd is up in Huntington. He’s seeing a doctor about his Black Lung Disease. He talks about you all the time. I know he loved playing football with you.”
Nicki interrupted.
“Sarah, I don’t mean to be a wet dog, and I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but”-
Sarah jumped her.
“No bother, Nicki. You and the boys are always welcome here. What can I do for you?”
“Sarah, the boys said they’d be spending the night here with the kids, and Chester said he hasn’t seen them.”
“Well, I’ve never known Chester to lie, and I’m sure I ain’t seen them runnin’ around. Didn’t see ‘em at supper last night, or morning constitutional— It’s just me and my youngins’ here.”
Nicki covered her mouth as if the gates of hell had just opened. Kyle reached out and embraced her. She looked at Sarah.
“Sarah, you sure?”
“Did I look like I stuttered? If you’re gonna ask me the same question ten times, we’re gonna’ be here a long time. Now I dun told you— I ain’t seen your boys. Maybe Momma Griggs misheard them? They’s probably at the Clinton’s stead.”
“Thank you, Sarah. I wish you and Floyd the best with his sickness… Tell Floyd we’ll catch up some time. We really have to run,” said Kyle.
Kyle and Nicki excused themselves and bolted to the car— Nicki called Karen.
“Are you sure they said the Devlin’s, Momma?”
“Nicki, I’m blind as a bat but I can hear termites chewin’ on my house. They said the Devlin’s.”
“Okay, Momma. We’re running to the Clinton’s. I need you to call the Wainwrights and the Beckley’s.” Nicki paused. She placed her hand on her chin and said, “Momma, was anything amiss at the house the last couple of days? Is anything out of place?”
“Not that I recall, but I reckon I can take a look.”
Kyle sped down the dirt road, negotiating turns, and Nicki remembered that the Clinton’s didn’t have a phone, so they would have to wait till they got there. They raced across Main, over the trestle bridge on Elm that traversed the Potomac, and headed for the Clinton’s who lived outside the town limits— five miles up Highway 33. Nicki didn’t have to tell Kyle to hurry, he was gunning the accelerator. Five minutes later, he took a right on a red dirt road, barely discernable from 33. He negotiated the turn too fast and the car lost control. The Buick fish-tailed, so Kyle turned the wheel to the left sharply, and the car overcorrected. Kyle hit the brakes and the car slid sideways, spraying red clay in a cloud. Nicki took hold of the dashboard, and three feet from a culvert, the car came to a stop.
Approaching the Clinton’s house, Kyle slowed the van, anxious about the possibility of plowing head-on into one of the Clinton’s kids. He parked by the house, in a meadow surrounded by White pines, Douglas firs; covered in a dense undergrowth of native vegetation. Edgy and distraught, Nicki threw the door open and ran over to Randall Clinton, who was under a cluster of pines working on an old Ford Bronco.
Randall was a tall slim man in his sixties, bulging beer belly, wearing denim coveralls and sporting a cap with the initials NAPA above the rim— a good ole boy who refused to work at Kessler when Kessler came into town in 1992. Randall’s only vice was beer in the morning, beer at lunch, and a six pack for supper. Kyle was a few steps behind Nicki, approaching Randall. “Mr. Clinton, have you seen Tyler and Cole? Did they spend the night last night?”
“Good afternoon, Nicki…I can’t say that I have. But I got home early this morning. I was up at the gorge working all night— you might wanta run in and ask Martha.” Nicki gasped, turned and headed for the house.
“Thank You, Mr. Clinton,” said Kyle.
“Ain’t you Kyle Tillman?”
“I am, Mr. Clinton. It’s a pleasure to meet you. But if you’ll excuse me were in a bit of a pickle. I’d love to come back and talk when we find the boys.” Kyle remembered Mr. Clinton. Randall was the town mechanic for many years and never missed a football game that Kyle Played in.
“Good to see you, Kyle. I loved watching you play. Hope you find those youngins’.”
“Good to see you, too.” Kyle turned and headed to the house, but Nicki was turning away from Martha, who was standing on the front porch. Running with raw urgency, Nicki screamed, “They’re not here. Damnit, Kyle, they’re not here”. Kyle switched directions and went back to the car that he had parked by an old-school bus.
“What are we gonna do, Kyle?”
“Don’t panic. Let’s go see the sheriff. He’ll help us get more eyes out. Call Karen— see if she had any luck with the Beckley’s and Wainwrights.”
“No, Kyle, Momma would have called.”
They scampered back to the car, buffeted with the pressure of time, then sped down the dirt road. Kyle took a left on 33 going south, headed back to Franklin, when the phone rang.
“Nicki, I called the Wainwrights, the Beckley’s, and Daltons. Nobody’s seen the boys.”
“Okay, Momma— sit tight. We just left the Clinton’s, we’re headed to see the sheriff— we’ll call you after we talk to him.
CHAPTER 14
Kyle made the ten-minute drive to Franklin in seven, and Karen called back as they crossed the bridge on Elm.
“Nicki, you told me to check the house. I was looking in his room and I noticed that Tyler’s hunting knife was missing, and their backpacks were gone. Which isn’t unusual cause they was doin’ a sleepover. I checked the pantry, and a loaf of bread I bought yesterday is missing, along with a jar of peanut butter. The pantry seemed a little light, but I can’t put my finger on exactly what’s missin’.”
“I knew those boys were acting suspiciously, Momma. It was right after we told them Kyle was coming to get them.”
“Were coming home, Momma.” Kyle flipped a U-turn on Main, away from the sheriff’s office, and drove north on Main, until he got to Elm (Karen’s road) and turned left.
Karen was waiting with some garments in hand. The Buick came to a stop on the gravel. Kyle and Nicki jumped out and scrambled over to Karen, who was standing on the front porch.
“Nicki, I think the boys ran from home. I can’t find two pairs of the boy’s wranglers. Tyler’s green flannel jacket, and Cole’s camo jacket are missing, too.”
Kyle jumped in.
“It’s July— why would they need a jacket?”
“Because, if they’re staying in the mountains they’d need a jacket. Up on those ridge lines and plateaus it gets brisk at night,” Nicki said.
“I knew those boys were acting strangely, Momma.”
The three of them sat on the front porch and discussed a plan of attack. The sun was getting low on the horizon, and searching right now seemed pointless, but Nicki still felt compelled to look.
Karen went to the sheriff’s office in hopes that he could assist in the search; knock on a few doors, call a few people to see if anybody had seen them.
“What do you think their motivation was, Nicki?”
“I know they were upset about going to live with you, but this seems a little extreme.”
“You know, Nicki. They’ve probably heard awful things about me over the years.