I shrugged. “Not much, I guess. How about you?”
He spat out the grass and picked another blade. “I always just stay around here. Got lots of work at home.”
“Do you ever wish you had a brother or sister?”
“Sometimes. Why?”
“Well, I just wondered what it would be like not to have any.”
“You’re real close to Kevy, ain’t you?”
I resisted the temptation to tell him not to say ain’t. “Yeah.”
He looked into the distance at nothing. “Almost had me a brother or sister once.”
“What happened?”
“The baby died.”
His face held that drawn, Gerald’s-blood expression again, defining his jaw with pencil strokes of sadness. “Before it was born, you mean?” “Yeah.”
Gazing across the rocky bank, I watched a redbird flit across the water, its wings a brilliant sheen in the sun. I’d slipped out of my sneakers and socks, the thick, shaded grass cool between my curled toes. “How?”
I shouldn’t have asked. Clearly, Danny wished he hadn’t brought up the subject. There was so much about him I didn’t know, and I sensed that his detachment from me, from the rest of Bradleyville, ran as deep and cold as a mountain river current. The barrier I kept being swept against was the wall of the dam that held it back, rock solid and fortified by an inner pain I couldn’t reach. I wanted to break through it, but I was far too clumsy, asking my nosy questions. The truth was, the barrier would never come down unless Danny wanted it to. It couldn’t be comfortable, living with something like that inside you, I thought. Gazing at his lowering eyes, the narrow slant of filtered sunlight that danced across his shoulder, I thought that maybe he’d hidden behind that barricade so long, he didn’t know how to live without it.
“Mama had an accident.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I was imagining the details he’d left out.
“Yeah.” He looked thoughtful, as if making a decision. “It was a couple years back. Anyway, I . . . changed after that.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled wanly. “I started listenin’ to Mama. She has a strong faith in Christ, you know, even through everything. I don’t know why I changed then; you’d think somethin’ that awful would make me shake a fist at God. But for some reason I realized I really needed Jesus in my life. One night, with Mama’s help, I turned my life over to him. And I felt different inside. I didn’t get in trouble no more after that.”
I searched for words, amazed that he’d said this much. “I’m a Christian, too. I went to the altar at church when I was nine.”
He nodded. “And all your family? Well, I know your granddad is; everybody knows that.”
“I don’t know about Mama,” I said slowly. “She talks the talk and everything, but she doesn’t always . . .” The thought died away. “She has this thing with Granddad and me. She’s so harsh sometimes and I’ve never known why. As for Daddy, he’s pretty quiet about his faith but he sure lives it. Granddad talks to me about it quite a bit, though.”
Danny chuckled. “Your granddad and Mr. Lewellyn sure do have their fights.”
“Yeah, but that’s just for fun; people know that. It’s entertainment for them and the town. Goodness knows, nothin’ else happens here.”
Enough had been said. Our conversation veered away from personal issues after that, and we both worked at making small talk. After traipsing back downriver, we congratulated Kevy on his four trout. “Think you can do any better next week?” I asked him, making sure not to look at Danny.
chapter 12
Except for Saturdays, once school was out, I was encumbered with boredom. When I wasn’t baby-sitting Miss Jessie’s kids, I’d go over to Melissa’s or Barbara’s house, where talk of boys was the highlight of our social agenda. I remained quiet during much of the slumber party chatter, amused that details of my afternoons with Danny would have set off the biggest squeals of dismay and delight. He and I had fallen into a ritual of meeting at the river once a week while Kevy fished for our family’s supper. I still could not bring myself to talk about him, however.
“Why’re you so quiet?” Barbara asked during a sleep-over at her house in mid-July. She was wearing pink baby-doll pajamas that flounced over her voluptuous figure, an inquisitive finger against her cream-petaled cheek. Her brown hair hung genie-like down one shoulder from a ponytail on the top of her head.
“She hasn’t seen Bobby enough lately to add anything to the conversation,” Melissa teased. I played along, raising my eyebrows. Bobby. I hadn’t thought of him in weeks. “Oh, look at her; she does have something!” Melissa pointed her hairbrush at me, rosebud mouth pursed. “Out with it, Celia.”
“Well,” I said slowly, “actually, I did run into him at the IGA last week. Mama had sent me down to pick up some things, and I was rummaging around in the frozen section when he came up behind me and squeezed my neck.”
“What did you do?” asked Mona. She pushed her glasses up her sweaty nose with one finger, then played with a curly pigtail.
I shrugged. Feigned interest was a hard thing to sustain. “Just talked awhile, that’s all. He did walk me home.”
“Whatdja talk about?” Melissa was brushing her hair again as she pranced about the room. She could never keep still for very long.
Remembering the affected bravado in Bobby’s voice, the courtly precision with which he’d offered to carry my grocery bags, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Poor Bobby. “He made a point of telling me that when he turns sixteen next year, he’ll be allowed to drive his daddy’s car around town.”
Barbara’s hazel eyes grew wide. “Ooh, he wants you along. Before you know it, he’ll be askin’ if he can take you out.”
“For what it’s worth. That’s a lifetime away.”
“Wouldn’t you want him to?”
I grabbed a pillow and hugged it to my chest. “My mama’s not goin’ to let me date until I’m seventeen anyway.”
Melissa sighed. “Mine either.”
The magic age in Bradleyville. When a girl was seventeen, a boy could formally ask her parents for permission to date their daughter, or “come to call,” as older folks termed it. Asking permission was an anxiety-filled event for the boy standing before the parents of his heart’s desire. If he was approved, he could take her on dates to Albertsville, to the bowling alley maybe, or to sit in the park. But their behavior had to be impeccable.
My friends were moaning that they’d never even be kissed before marriage if their mamas had their way. Lying on Barbara’s bed, I found my thoughts drifting to Danny. Mona’s breathy voice ran the gamut of inflection as she went on and on about Wendell Roberts, her new heartthrob in eleventh grade. Danny and I had met seven times now, not counting when Kevy almost drowned. Mama knew I was meeting him, although we never talked about it directly. She’d quiz Kevy but I’d trained him well. “They just talk,” he’d answer, not bothering to add that we’d typically walk upriver to our shade trees. Things were so much better between Mama and me that I think she was relieved that the only price she had to pay for peace was letting me out to fish once a week. At least we weren’t fighting about Albertsville anymore. Now I lived for Saturdays.
After about a month Danny and I had settled into an amicable ease. He smiled more often and I’d tease him gently. We still didn’t talk about his home life, however, and by some implicit understanding neither did we talk of mine, lest the comparison plunk us too close to forbidden territory. School was out; Bradleyville was eventless. So we spoke of the future.
“I want to travel,” he’d declared two weeks ago, his profile lighting up at the thought. The river’s current was slow and the weather hot and dank.
“So do I. Where do you want to go?”
He wore jean shorts cut off in a fringe and a plain gold T-shirt that matched the hairs on his tanned arms. “The ocean. I want to sit on the beach. Run the sand through my fingers, watch the waves. I bet I could do that for
hours.”
My intake of breath turned his head. “Me too,” I whispered. “I’m always drawing something, and lately I’ve been drawing nothin’ but oceans—you should see all the pictures on my bedroom walls. And so many times I’ve dreamed of sitting on the sand at night, wrapped in a blanket, seeing the moon’s reflection on the water.”
I didn’t tell him the dreams once included Bobby Delham.
Danny had gazed at me with those green eyes, a faraway expression softening his mouth. How many people yearned to see the ocean? Thousands, millions, yet the discovery of our shared desire brought a glow to his face as if he’d just unearthed the world’s most precious jewel. Perhaps it was because we had so little in common. Or perhaps my desire somehow validated his own.
Then there was last Saturday. Just thinking about it now made me hug Barbara’s pillow tighter. We’d been talking of traveling again, Danny saying he was praying that God would allow his future work to take him sailing around the world.
“What would the job be?” We were leaning against one of the wide oaks under our canopy, legs stretched out, my right shoulder touching his left as we gazed dreamily at the river.
“I don’t know. I’m good with fixin’ things, since I always had to work on equipment and stuff on the farm.”
“A sailin’ janitor,” I said, giggling.
His muscles tensed. “You think that’s all I can be, a janitor?”
There was that chip again. Why did he always have to be so sensitive? “No.” I rolled my head in his direction against the tree, its bark catching my hair. “I think you can be anything you want, because you’re Danny Cander. And you can have whatever you want. For the same reason.”
He rolled his head toward me, chin practically touching his collarbone. His eyes were so green, like velvet emeralds. I’d never been that close to them before, had never noticed the golden-tinged ring around his irises. He was staring at me with such intensity that I felt heat rise in my chest. The shy Danny I knew would not look away, his eyes searching mine with a longing that captured my breath. I could smell his skin, rich and musky, like Granddad’s sandalwood box. His hands rested on his stomach. I was clutching my elbows. Kiss me. The thought wafted through my head, leaving a clamor in its path like a sudden breeze through wind chimes. He swallowed, his gaze traveling to my mouth and up again. In the last second his eyes fell away. Neither of us moved.
“Danny,” I said quietly, letting go of my elbows. He would not look up. Before I lost my nerve, I reached out to take his hand. He shot me a startled glance, then slowly and solemnly entwined his fingers through mine. It was too embarrassing to look at each other anymore, so we gazed at the sunlight dancing across the river.
Remembering it now in Barbara’s room, my friends chattering on, I could re-create the scene—the roughness of his palm, his smell, the black fringe of his lashes when he’d glanced away. A long sigh escaped me. This was only Tuesday night. How could I possibly wait until the weekend to see him again?
“Ooh, look at her.” Barbara’s voice drifted over my thoughts.
“She’s gone, y’all, totally gone,” Melissa piped, nudging me with her brush. “Hey! You dreamin’ about bein’ in that car with Bobby?”
I just smiled.
chapter 13
After staying up half the night at Barbara’s, I could hardly keep my eyes open as I watched Miss Jessie’s kids. Busy making bridesmaid dresses for a couple over in Albertsville, Miss Jessie had lately been requesting my help often during the week. I didn’t mind; it gave me something to do and the extra money was good. And we were all proud Miss Jessie had gained such a reputation as a seamstress that people were beginning to come from Albertsville just for her services.
“It’s good for local business,” Mr. Tull had remarked in his reedy voice a few days ago after the bride-to-be and her mother had bought numerous articles in his store. Granddad and I were standing at the counter, having just brought our glasses, sticky and rose-colored from our strawberry milk shakes, back inside. Jake Lewellyn and Hank Jenkins were still ensconced under the awning in their usual chairs.
Wayne Tull had run the town’s drugstore for twenty years, having inherited it from his father. He was now forty-five. The whole town knew his age due to his unabashed announcing of his birthday every year, complete with balloons and a colorful sign in his large front window. This naturally prompted the competitive ladies of the Methodist church and the Baptist church to bake him their fanciest cakes. He would gush and sigh over every flower decorating those cakes, privately declaring to each woman, “Now don’t tell Mrs. So-and-so, but I do believe your petals are the prettiest.” I used to think Mr. Tull announced his birthdays for the attention. Now I realized he just loved a party.
Mr. Tull was short with a round, spectacled face and sparse tufts of brown hair. He looked and moved like a fussy bird, flitting around his store with unending energy, now filling a prescription, now making sodas. Jake Lewellyn and Hank Jenkins were two of his favorite patrons, but Granddad walked on water. Mr. Tull would titter unendingly at the shenanigans of Granddad and Mr. Lewellyn, telling the latest exploit to all his customers. He was Granddad’s public relations dream.
“Sure is,” Granddad had replied. “Miss Jessie’s just plain good for this town. Not bad to look at, either.” He winked at Mr. Tull, who gave him the expected mock-disapproving huff. Mr. Tull couldn’t disagree, however. Miss Jessie had wavy brown hair, a smooth complexion, trim waist, and an equally beautiful disposition.
I left her neatly kept house and dragged home in the afternoon sun to find Mr. Lewellyn hobbling up our porch steps, his white Buick carefully parked at the curb. Two years ago he’d traded in his old car and had immediately driven by to show off his new chariot to Granddad. “He’s just tryin’ to best me,” Granddad had grumbled that night at supper. “Just ’cause he got hisself a new car and I got rid a mine years ago.” Granddad stabbed forcefully at some ice cubes stuck together in his tea. “Well, he’s got car payments and I ain’t, so who’s bestin’ who?”
Jake Lewellyn reminded me of the old bulldog that used to live on our street before it got run over. His mottled jowls hung fat and red, and they shook with righteous indignation when he argued with Granddad. His legs were short and bent, his chest wide. He used to scare me to death. In the last few years he’d slowed considerably, the veins in his beefy arms popping out beneath thinning skin, an omnipresent black cane in his hand.
“Hi, Mr. Lewellyn,” I called, summoning the energy to run up the steps and open the screen door for him.
“Hello, Celia.” He bumped across our wooden porch. “Your granddad home?”
“I imagine so.”
“Sure as I’m livin’,” he said to himself with a wheeze. “Where else would the old goat be?”
“You okay?” I asked, pressing against the door frame to let him pass. “Sounds like you got a cough there.”
“It’s nothin’. Don’t go squealin’ it to Thomas now; he’ll be lookin’ for me to keel over, a gleam in his eye.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
In the hallway he stopped, both hands resting on his cane, which was smudged with a multiplicity of fingerprints. “Thomas Bradley, where are you!” He picked his way toward the dining room table and our box of checkers while I pulled out his usual chair.
“Want some iced tea?”
“Yes, pretty girl, and I thank you.” He smacked the table with an open palm. “Thomas! Where is everybody around here?”
“Mama’s probably at the store,” I called over my shoulder as I entered the kitchen. “And Kevy’s playin’ with Reid, I guess. Maybe Granddad’s takin’ a nap; I’ll check.”
“Humph,” I heard him mutter. “Naps’re for old men.”
When Granddad appeared, looking as spry as possible, he made sure to inform Mr. Lewellyn he’d been reading, not napping. Gray as Granddad’s face could become when his heart suffered palpitations, he always managed to exude ener
gy around Jake Lewellyn. Their lifelong competition hadn’t abated, I mused as I set Mr. Lewellyn’s tea before him; it had simply adapted to the limitations of their seventy-four years. I was pleased that Granddad looked the younger one, and often made a point of telling him so.
“No games yet, my girl,” Mr. Lewellyn said when I pushed the checkers toward him. His chair creaked as he leaned back, easing out his leg and rolling slightly to one side so he could dig in his pants pocket. “I came to show you this, Thomas.” Pulling out a newspaper article and unfolding it, he suppressed a cough.
Granddad accepted the piece of paper, eyeing his friend curiously. “You all right, Jake? Where’d you git that cough?”
“See what I tol’ you?” Mr. Lewellyn stuck his chin out at me. “One little catch in my throat and I made his day.”
Ignoring the comment, Granddad adjusted the article a certain distance from his face and began to read, lips moving. Once or twice he glanced up in surprise. When he was through, he studied the other side of the paper, eyeing a portion of an ad for a storewide clearance sale, then flipped it back over. “You expect me to believe this, Jake Lewellyn? Where’d you git it?”
“What is it, Granddad?” I reached for the paper.
“The Lexington Herald, see right there.” Mr. Lewellyn stopped my hand, pointing to the small print above the headline. “Page A-4, that’s what it says.”
“I don’t believe it; it ain’t real,” Granddad declared. “This is another one a your tricks. And a poor one at that, I might add.”
“Pshaw.” Mr. Lewellyn shook his head. “I come all the way over here to bring you this, and you end up callin’ me a liar.”
“Well, ya are one.”
“Oh, get off it, Thomas!”
“Get off it yourself!” Granddad shot back. “What do ya think I am, some acorn-spittin’ idiot?”
“You ain’t got no cause to shout!”
“I got cause when you try to trick my medals away from me!”
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