Against the Grain

by Phil M. Williams

  Anne nods her head. She takes a sip of tea and wipes again at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “It’s your mother. Jack was hooked on heroin, and your mother got her first taste of the stuff at his apartment. One of his stockbroker buddies gave it to her. Those guys were a bunch of creeps, if you ask me.

  “I always told him that she would’ve gotten into drugs somehow anyway. I’ve seen thousands of addicts as clients. I know the common personalities and family backgrounds of addicts. Your mother, bless her heart, had it in spades. He always blamed himself. Your uncle got clean, but your mother got worse. He wouldn’t see her for months at a time, until she needed money. He eventually had to cut her off. He didn’t want to fund her killing herself. I know it haunted him that he didn’t help her. I imagine having you was the closest he could come to making it up to her.”

  Matt takes a deep breath and looks away.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Is this too much?”

  Matt turns back toward Anne. “No, I already knew that she was into drugs. I guess I didn’t realize how hard her life must’ve been. Thank you for telling me. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  “Since Olivia called and I found out about you, I’ve tried to imagine Jack taking care of you all these years. What was he like as a father figure?”

  Matt offers a small smile, looks away for a moment, then back to Anne. “I’m not sure I really appreciated what he did for me, until he was gone. When I was twelve, he got sick. He slowly deteriorated after that. I resented him for not being able to help as much with the farm chores. He told me that he was sorry he was a broken old man. What I didn’t realize is that he took me as a broken five-year-old and brought me back to life. It couldn’t have been easy. I really don’t remember the early years.

  “I do remember that he encouraged me to think for myself. Actually a better way to put it is he challenged me to think for myself. We had philosophical discussions that lasted hours sometimes. He taught me to read and write. He taught me math. By the time I was twelve, I had to teach him. I learned so much preparing lessons for him. He was the worst student too.” Matt laughs. Anne and Olivia join in. “He’d ask me so many questions, like he was one of those students trying to show up the teacher.”

  “Sound familiar?” Ms. Pierce says with a grin.

  “I was good in your class,” Matt says. “But I had to be ultraprepared for my lessons with Uncle, or he’d be that annoying kid. And, if I didn’t connect with him, like if I tried to read directly out of a book too long, he’d act bored or pretend he wasn’t paying attention. It was actually pretty funny, but it also forced me to learn things so well, that I never forgot them.”

  “He sure was ornery,” Anne says, laughing. “What do you think was the most important thing you learned from Jack?”

  “He taught me about nature. It wasn’t just about farming or beekeeping or animal husbandry. He taught me to really watch and listen. I spent so much time on our farm that I knew every inch of it. Before all the problems, I was working on a design that would mimic the natural systems and would provide for all our needs plus the needs of the plants and animals. It was a closed loop that had zero waste, required zero inputs, and produced an abundance of food, medicine, and fuel, with less labor than a traditional organic farm.

  “Uncle was always trying to look at what I was doing. I told him to stay away, that it was a surprise. I was gonna give him the design for his birthday. I thought it would turn the farm around. He died a month before his seventy-ninth birthday.”

  Ms. Pierce grabs Matt’s hand and squeezes.

  “That must’ve been so hard,” Anne says.

  Matt nods. His eyes are downcast.

  Anne raises her glass of iced tea. “I’d like to make a toast to Jack Moyer, the love of my life, and a great father to a wonderful son.”

  Glasses clink; smiles, laughter, and fond memories follow.

  +++

  “Do you want to stop before it gets dark?” Ms. Pierce says. “There’s a rest stop coming up.”

  “Okay,” Matt says.

  She enters the turn lane for the interstate rest area and parks in front of a brick building with signs for bathrooms and vending machines. A concrete walkway snakes its way under and around large shade trees, with empty picnic tables scattered throughout. She puts the Jeep in Park and cuts the engine.

  “I’m going to run to the bathroom. Do you want to find a table?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  Ms. Pierce strides into the brick building. Matt opens the rear hatch and takes the picnic basket from the Jeep. He meanders down the concrete path to the table farthest from the road noise. He spreads out a blue tablecloth on the table. He sets up Ms. Pierce’s tea, his water, and pulls out the salad container, along with two sandwiches. He sets up the silverware and folds the cloth napkins underneath. He sits, listening to the sounds of the squirrels rummaging through the trees and the birds singing their songs. Ms. Pierce strides down the sidewalk toward him.

  “What a beautiful spot,” she says, as she sits across from him. “You didn’t have to wait for me. You must be starving.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No Whole Organics this week. All the veggies are out of our garden.” Ms. Pierce smiles and takes a bite of her salad.

  Matt grins and bites into a cherry tomato.

  After the main course, they place the containers back into the willow picnic basket.

  “I brought that yellow watermelon for dessert, the one you picked and cut yesterday. It’s really sweet,” she says.

  Matt and Ms. Pierce sit in the shade of the oak tree eating cut pieces of watermelon. Matt swallows the seeds whole. Ms. Pierce picks them out with her fork.

  “So what did you think of Anne?” she asks.

  “I can see why Uncle loved her,” he says. “It’s sad though.”

  “What’s sad?”

  “They loved each other. They’re both nice people, but they ended up alone.”

  “Sometimes we’re our own worst enemies.”

  “I agree,” he says, placing his empty bowl back into the basket.

  Ms. Pierce gazes at Matt. “I want to ask you something, but I want you to know that it’s okay to say no.”

  Matt folds his hands on the table and leans toward Ms. Pierce. “Okay.”

  She takes a deep breath. “I know you’ll be eighteen in less than a year, but I want to adopt you.” Her eyes water; her speech is strained. “I want to be your mother. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. I already think of you as my son. I love you very much.”

  Matt stands up.

  She wipes the corners of her eyes. “You can say no. I know you probably don’t need a mother at this point. You’re more mature than most men I know.”

  Matt moves around the table. She stands. Matt hugs her tightly for a moment. He steps back and looks into her puffy eyes.

  “I’d really like that,” he says.

  [ 24 ]

  Visiting Day

  Matt unscrews the gas cap and plunges the nozzle into the hole. He holds down the trigger and clicks the latch to hold it in place. He leans against the Jeep, watching the numbers march higher. Ms. Pierce walks across the parking lot, with tea and a bag of barbecue potato chips. Despite the heat wave, she wears a conservative billowy dress that hides her figure.

  “You sure you don’t want something?” she asks.

  Matt shakes his head, glancing at the potato chips.

  “I know they’re bad for me, but they’re so good.”

  The nozzle clicks, and the gas pump stops. He resets the nozzle and returns her credit card.

  Ms. Pierce drives the Jeep down a country road, surrounded by soybean fields. A massive concrete wall, reminiscent of the Great Wall of China, emerges in the distance. Towers on the corners of the octagon-shaped building look like part of a medieval English castle. Ms. Pierce turns into a spacious parking lot, only half full. She parks the car and shuts off the engine. She gr
abs a white sweater from her bag. She puts it on over her dress, further covering her chest.

  “Are you ready?” she asks, her face red.

  Matt nods. “You look nervous.”

  “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. You have your passport?”

  “It’s right here.” He holds up the blue booklet.

  They stride across the hazy asphalt parking lot to a concrete building, built into the massive walls. Matt opens the glass door, holding it for Ms. Pierce. They walk into the lobby. A handful of frazzled women, who are probably younger than they look, try to entertain their children. An older couple holds hands and whispers to themselves. A sign greets Matt and Ms. Pierce, just beyond the glass doors.

  YOU MUST HAVE IDENTIFICATION: Adult visitors must have a CURRENT state-issued ID, driver’s license, or passport. Visitors under the age of 18 MUST be accompanied by a parent or legal guardian during the ENTIRE visit. Minors between 15 and 18 years old MUST also have a CURRENT state-issued ID or passport.

  VISITORS MUST BE DRESSED PROPERLY: Clothing cannot be suggestive or lewd. The visitor will be refused, if the receiving officer deems it so. Do not wear tight-fitting clothing, tube tops, tank tops, halter tops, skirts above the knees, spandex of any kind, low-cut tops of any kind, and see-through fabrics. Individuals wearing these unapproved items will be REFUSED entry. Any person wearing clothing, visible tattoos, hairstyles, or other items associated with a drug or gang lifestyle will be refused entry.

  VISITORS MUST ACT PROPERLY: Anyone caught exposing or flashing one’s genitals or other sexually explicit parts or engaging in any behavior deemed to be of a sexual nature will be escorted from the premises and barred from visiting this facility in the future.

  THE METAL DETECTOR MUST BE CLEARED BEFORE ENTRY: Pockets MUST be emptied before going through the metal detector. The following items are prohibited:

  Tobacco products and paraphernalia

  Electronic devices, including but not limited to:

  cell phones, pagers, computers

  Sharp objects, including but not limited to:

  scissors, toenail clippers, knives

  WEAPONS OF ANY KIND

  Food or drink

  Pornographic materials of any kind

  “This place isn’t much fun,” Ms. Pierce says, after skimming the sign.

  They walk up to the bulletproof glass. A uniformed middle-aged white man with a crew cut sits behind the glass, browsing a hunting magazine. Matt and Ms. Pierce stand in front of the officer. After a minute, she taps on the glass. The man looks up, his brow furrowed, his eyes wild.

  “Step back from the glass,” he says.

  He returns to his magazine.

  “We’re here to visit someone,” Ms. Pierce says.

  The man exhales and slaps his magazine shut. “Did you sign in?”

  “I don’t know where to do that.”

  He shakes his head. “On the wall, where it says Visitor Registration. Then slide it in the slot here and wait, like everyone else.”

  He turns away from Ms. Pierce and reopens his magazine.

  They walk to the wall with the Visitor Registration sign. Matt pulls out the paperwork and attaches it to a clipboard with a pen attached. They sit in a lonely corner.

  “That guy’s a dick,” Matt says.

  “Do me a favor. Don’t ever get yourself put in a place like this,” Ms. Pierce says. “I shudder to think we both could’ve been put away.”

  “Some people think that crime statistics are massively underreported because it doesn’t include prison crime, where rape, assault, and murder occur regularly, but nobody seems to care. In fact prison populations are growing. We have more prisoners than China, with a fraction of its total population.”

  “Another excellent reason why I absolutely do not want you in a place like this. Do you understand me?”

  Matt nods.

  Ms. Pierce slides the form and their IDs through the slot next to the glass window. Matt and Ms. Pierce sit, alternately chatting and scanning the waiting room.

  A door opens next to the reception desk. A young uniformed white man with a brown crew cut enters the waiting room.

  “Olivia Pierce, Matt Moyer,” he says. They approach the officer, who guards the door. “I’m Officer Reeves. I’ll be your receiving officer for your visit. First I’m gonna take you to the screening room with Officer Tubbs.”

  The officer leads them to a room, where they’re given a seat in front of another officer, a middle-aged black man, with a gold name plate that reads Tubbs.

  “I’m not sure I should allow this visit,” Officer Tubbs says. “Let me ask you a few questions. The paperwork you gave us states you’ve been Matt’s legal guardian for about two weeks. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Officer,” Ms. Pierce says.

  “And, Matt, can you tell me about your relationship with David Whitney?” Officer Tubbs asks.

  “He was an old boyfriend of my mother’s,” Matt replies.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “That’s what his mother told me.”

  “What do you hope to get outta this visit?”

  “I’d like to learn a little bit more about my mother.”

  Officer Tubbs turns toward Ms. Pierce. “Ms. Pierce, you seem like a fine woman. And Matt seems like a fine young man. I’m just worried that this visit might not turn out like he hopes. Do you two know why Mr. Whitney’s here?”

  “We are aware, Officer,” Ms. Pierce says.

  “Then you can understand why I’d be concerned about a kid and a pretty young woman seeing this man.”

  “I understand,” she says.

  “You can imagine that, as a kid without biological parents, I’ve seen some things that a kid shouldn’t have to see,” Matt says to Tubbs. “I can assure you that I can handle talking to Mr. Whitney. If he says something that I can’t handle, I’ll walk away.”

  Officer Tubbs smiles and shakes his head. “I can appreciate that, Matt. I’ll grant the visit, but, if he gets unruly in any way, we will shut down the visit. Understood?”

  “I understand.”

  “Officer Reeves will take you through the metal detector. Then he’ll take you to the visiting room. Any questions?”

  “No,” Ms. Pierce says.

  Matt shakes his head.

  Officer Reeves leads them down a corridor with white walls and a gray linoleum floor. Two officers stand by the doorway-size metal detector. Ms. Pierce and Matt walk through without any beeping. Officer Reeves opens the door to the visitors’ room. The walls are painted a dull yellow. The floor is still gray linoleum. Plastic chairs face a battery of partitioned counter spaces, facing thick glass, with a single telephone hanging from each space. Black numbered placards are attached to the front of each counter.

  “He’s at number 6,” Officer Reeves says.

  Matt and Ms. Pierce sit down at the number six counter, the phone next to Matt. A man in an orange jumpsuit sits on the other side of the glass. He’s forty-two, but he looks closer to thirty. His nose is pointy, his hair light brown and wavy. He has a thin but muscular build. He’s handsome. The color drains from Ms. Pierce’s face. Her eyes are wide. Matt stares at the man’s facial features, searching for an answer to a question he never considered. David Whitney picks up the phone and taps on the glass with the receiver. Matt awakes from his daze and picks up the phone.

  “Let me talk to the lady,” he says.

  David stares at Ms. Pierce. His eyes move around her face, around her body, searching for something to hold on to, something profane. Matt hands the phone to Ms. Pierce. She listens for a moment. Her face turns red.

  “You will talk to this young man, or I’m walking away right now,” she says.

  She hands the phone to Matt. He puts it to his ear. David still stares at Ms. Pierce, licking his lips.

  “What the fuck you want?” David says.

  “I wanna talk to you about Elle Moyer from Philadelphia, my mother.”

>   “Elle,” he says, as if he’s savoring a thought. “She had nice tits.” He gazes at Ms. Pierce’s chest.

  She covers up with her arms.

  “Hey, dumbass, look at me,” Matt says, tapping on the glass with his knuckles. “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

  David looks at Matt dumbfounded. “What you mean, related?”

  “Don’t you think we look alike?”

  David studies Matt’s face.

  “Well, would you look at that? You can thank me now for them good looks. I bet you be gettin’ a lotta pussy with them little high school girls.”

  “Do you think I could be your son?”

  “Could be. I fucked a lot without no rubber. Me and your mama was back and forth for damn near eight years. We was practically married.”

  “She didn’t tell you that I was your son?”

  “She was a wild one, your mama. I wasn’t the only man she was seein’. We would be so hot for each other, then shit’d blow up, and I couldn’t take it, so I’d leave. I remember comin’ back, and she was big as a house. I done axed her if it were mine, but she said no. I thought it might be, but, if she ain’t gonna shake me down, I ain’t gonna make it easy.”

  Matt rubs his temples. “Detective Campbell, … do you remember him?”

  David chuckles. “’Course. Why you think I’m here?”

  Matt takes a deep breath. “Did Campbell kill my mother?”

  “I seen him comin’ outta her house at two in the mornin’. I was gonna go see her, but I don’t do sloppy seconds. A couple days later, when she started to smell, there was police cars everywhere. Campbell tried to pin it on me but ain’t no evidence.”

  “What about the other girls? There was evidence. I looked it up.”

  David frowns. “Campbell had it out for me. Pinned them rapes on me, so nobody looks at him.”