Minerva Day

by Christie Keele

  "Where's George?" John asked.

  "He's with another search party." Piper rose and walked to the small kitchen separated from the living room by a swinging door. "You hungry?"

  John followed her into the kitchen. "I could eat something." Piper saw his attempt at a smile and she managed a hint at one. "I'll ask George if they need me to help search," he said. "Here, let me help you with that. I can feed myself. You need to get some rest." He took a plate of ham from her and placed it on the table. She handed him coleslaw and biscuits to go with it. "Neighbors bring all this?"

  "Most of it, or people from churches. People have been very good to us." Piper handed him the salt and pepper and sat down. "You go ahead, I'm not hungry."

  She watched him take a bite of glazed ham and glance sideways at her. "You not eating?" he asked. "How much weight have you lost?"

  "None that I didn't need to lose." She heaved a sigh, propped her elbows on the table then lowered them as if they weighed too much for her to bear. She folded them and rested her puffy face on the crook of her elbow.

  Piper looked up and saw John's eyes boring into hers. "Bullshit. You lose any more, you'll blow away." He pushed a plate towards her. "I won't eat if you won't eat."

  He scooped up a piece of ham and put it on her plate, cutting it into small pieces. "Here," he said. Piper watched him cut it and then took a bite. She chewed like her teeth hurt. A thick strand of once golden hair, now with a few streaks of gray, tumbled from behind her ear.

  Piper looked at her brother. "John, do you think Mother had anything to do with Dad's death? I mean, I'm not saying...I just never asked you...what you thought." Piper looked as if she'd been struck and pulled back, realizing the weight of her words.

  John swallowed a bite, took a sip of tea, and reached for a pack of sweetener. "This sugar free?" She watched him tear off the top and pour it in his glass. "You know I'm diabetic."

  "Uh, sure, I know." She glanced at his face before reaching for the iced tea.

  He swirled his glass and the ice clinked against the sides. "Big chance of getting diabetes yourself, might want to watch the sugar." He took another long drink.

  She saw the pained expression on his face. "I don't want to start anything. It's just that—"

  "Maybe she did." John's eyes fixed on the blue and yellow checked tablecloth.

  Piper stared at him. "You think so?"

  John leaned back and a chest full of air escaped his lungs like a puncture in a tire. "You got a cigarette around here? I need a fucking cigarette."

  "We don't smoke. You can take my car to go get some if you'd like."

  "Nope. Told George I'd stay with you. You guys don't own cell phones like the rest of the world, huh?"

  Piper's lips formed a thin line. "George has one, I don't. It's a work phone," she said.

  "How backward is that? Everyone has a cell phone nowadays." John pulled his out and Piper watched him flip it open. "See? I already missed a call." He pointed to the phone. "The world at your fingertips, right here."

  "Guess I'm just old fashioned." Piper watched him dig through his jacket pockets. He seemed to be doing anything to avoid talking about their father's death.

  He found a half pack of cigarettes and lit one before he spoke. "I sure miss Uncle Dill, don't you?" Piper suggested they move to the back porch so John could smoke. They settled in a porch swing under the awning. He took a deep drag and exhaled into the frigid air.

  Piper pushed her foot against the concrete and the porch swing rocked a gentle beat. "When are you giving those nasty things up? No telling what they're doing to your lungs." John didn't reply and Piper looked out across the yard. She noticed a red brick was loose in the concrete fishpond that George made last summer. "Yeah, I missed seeing Dill when he was down for Thanksgiving. Mom said you guys left a day early."

  "She didn't tell you why?"

  Piper shook her head and heard John's loud guffaw.

  Piper looked perplexed. Neither John nor Dill had told her what Minerva had said to cause them to leave early, but she figured this wasn't the time to ask. Over the years, they had learned how to shield each other.

  Piper glanced at the phone where it sat on a wooden plant holder by the front door, then pulled the rest of the phone cord through the bottom of the door. She wanted to be within earshot of it if George or someone called.

  "I guess you trusted Mother with Fellow?" John asked.

  This question broke her thoughts and she turned to him, surprised at the abrupt way he asked. "I decided to give her another chance." She looked as if something dawned on her, but didn't say what. "We had a long talk about what happened that day Fellow was bruised."

  John stared at the floor and Piper looked away from him and then back to the yard. "I always suspected Mother," he said. "Dad was sick all the time, and sometimes it seemed like...she just didn't have any feeling about it. She could be just ...so cold."

  "Why didn't you say anything? You could've said something to me." Piper asked.

  "I hated her sometimes." John lit another cigarette and took a deep drag.

  Piper watched him exhale cigarette smoke into the air before she replied. "Me, too," she said.

  ***

  George slipped through the mud by the ravine and looked down, searching for clues. Farther down the road in either direction were more searchers, young men, older men, and some women. They were bundled in wool coats, down jackets, boots, high top tennis shoes, most with knit caps or hats on their heads, searching the ravine, high bushes, around trees, inside dens. They searched for hours, looking on this side, that side, travelled down the road a quarter mile, stopped, began searching again. This went on until one man yelled, "That's enough for tonight, let's gather the flashlights. We'll start again in the morning at six a.m."

  George pulled his cap further down his forehead and climbed in the truck. He had driven out with a couple of work buddies. They took turns picking him up: Dennis last night, Paul tonight. He'd ride out with Dennis again in the morning since it was Saturday and his day off. The construction company offered George time off, but the first two days with Piper was all he could afford. Friends told him he was better off working, just to help get his mind off things. He vehemently disagreed and said nothing was working.

  George's work cell phone rang and he unfolded it. "Hello?" He listened and his worried look creased his face. He turned to Paul and gestured they needed to leave right away.

  Flanked by Paul, George whisked inside the Pinewood Sheriff's Department ten minutes later. It was now dark and the old building seemed deserted. They rode the squeaky elevator to the second floor where Sheriff Davis and a deputy awaited him.

  "Have a seat," Davis said. They both sat on the little couch against the wall, the lines on George's face deep ruts while he stared at the bag in the deputy's hand. "Like I said on the phone, Mr. Johnson, reason I called you in here this evening was to identify this item." George watched Davis reach for the bag and the deputy hand it to him. "Let's take a look." But before he opened the bag, Davis clamped a steadying hand around George's forearm. "I know this is tough." He nodded and felt the sheriff release his grip.

  Thirty minutes later, George arrived home and was met at the door with a hard hug from John. John told him he'd help search tomorrow or he could stay with his sister. George heard Piper say she'd like that and John agreed to stay with her. George said he appreciated him staying with Piper and she rose on unsteady legs to bring out the food.

  "Before we eat, come sit by me Piper," George said, patting the couch, his eyes downcast. "I need to tell you something." She turned and George's eyes met hers.

  "I'll set the table," John said, rising.

  "No, please, sit here with us," George told him. John sat opposite him in a cushioned rocking chair and Piper sat beside him on the couch.

  George noticed the pleading look on his wife's face. "Oh, God," she said. Piper tried rising but fell against the couch. George's hands went around her waist to s
teady her.

  "I have some news."

  "Oh, God," Piper said again, yanking herself from George's grasp.

  "What is it?" John said, leaning forward in his chair.

  George's eyes squared at John's. "They've found a red coat. Sheriff Davis thinks it belongs to Fellow."

  He saw Piper slump and her face turned ashen. "Where? Have you seen it?"

  George paused before answering, his lower lip trembling. "Yes, I've seen it," he said. "At Davis' office."

  Piper moaned like a wounded animal, the guttural sounds rising from deep inside her chest. George closed his eyes for a moment and placed his hand on her back.

  "Was it Fellow's?" John asked.

  George met Piper's eyes. "Yes, it's Fellow's. His name was written on the tag."

  Minerva had written his name on the coat. She wanted no one stealing it. George had agreed it was a good thing for her to have done.

  "There was something else they found," George said, still looking at his wife. His voice cracked while he spoke. Piper shrunk further into herself and John gripped his own knee.

  "There are blood splatters on his coat." George's voice turned to a hoarse whisper. "They'll need samples of DNA."

  ***

  George dressed at sunrise the next morning, tiptoeing so not to wake Piper. John was already up and had packed him a lunch of chicken, egg salad, and a small box of apple pie. George thanked him and pulled on his knitted scarf, gloves, and snow boots at the kitchen table. A light snow had begun the night before and he knew the land would be harder to search today. George finished the last sip from his coffee mug and filled his thermos. "Let me know if Piper needs anything. I'm really concerned about her. Seems she's constantly taking pills to help her sleep, more than what she needs."

  "I'll keep an eye on her," John said. "You got my cell number, too."

  George heard Dennis honk and stepped out. "There's my ride. Hopefully I'll be back real soon."

  "And hopefully, not alone. Be careful out there, George."

  George turned around and nodded his head. "I really appreciate your help, keeping an eye on Piper and all."

  ***

  Walter slipped into his best dress shoes, adjusted his tie, and left for the police station. Sheriff Davis' office had called and asked him to come down as soon as possible. He knew they were inquiring about Minerva. Even though he said he'd rather not talk about his friend, they insisted he come or receive a summons later. He replied of course he'd do his civic duty.

  He wouldn't tell Minerva he got the call. Walter wasn't made to hurt anyone's feelings. Sometimes he was too friendly and forgiving, even when people hurt him. He had realized this himself when, shortly after marrying his wife, the problems began. He had no clue about the inner life of his wife, and why she changed seemingly overnight. She was often intensely angry with him, withdrawn, or in tears. Walter never understood what made her angry, or which state of mind she'd be in when he got home from work, but he made up his mind early to make the best of it, for better or worse. Wasn't that the right thing to do? He'd ask his closest family members.

  They would just smile and tell him how naïve he was, not seeing the evil in someone. And he loved his wife, like he said, until death, naïve or not. It didn't help when she was diagnosed with cancer; it only served to make him feel guilty for ever thinking the worst of her. When she died, he vowed to be a better person if he ever remarried, a more tolerant man, kinder.

  Walter watched Davis scoot his chair to the side of his desk and sit down. "So you've dated Ms. Day, right?"

  Walter crossed one thigh over the other. "Yes, sir, I've dated Ms. Day a couple times over the course of about two months now, just like she said."

  Davis stroked his chin with a few fingers. "Ever seen a bad side to her?"

  "No, sir."

  "Not once, huh? You've got a good friendship then?"

  "I'd say we have a pretty good friendship," Walter's lips pursed and he nodded. "And yes, I think she'd say the same."

  "Are you two lovers? Pardon my getting personal, but—"

  "Lovers?" He laughed self-consciously. "No. Like I said, we're new friends. But I like her, she's a nice lady."

  "Ever seen her out of sorts?"

  Walter cleared his throat. "What do you mean?" He continued before Davis could reply. "Maybe once. She forgot a pan on the stove and had burnt caramel all over the kitchen. Of course, you could understand that. We all make mistakes." He smiled and his foot jiggled. Deep down, a budding thought pressed on his nerves. What in the hell am I doing here, defending a woman I hardly know? This is crazy!

  "She was upset then, huh?"

  Walter squinted at the wall, still deep in thought. "She was mighty upset when I got there. I had to comfort her. Got her a towel for her forehead, that sort of thing."

  Walter uncrossed his leg and saw Davis lean an elbow on his desk. "Was she having a fit?"

  "No, sir, she didn't yell and scream, just seemed...disturbed about the incident - like it bothered her a lot, but on the inside. It took a while for her to feel better." His late wife crossed his mind, the way it had taken her a while to calm herself after she got angry, but he shoved the thought out of his mind and looked again at the sheriff.

  "What happened after she settled down?"

  "I cleaned the kitchen, let her rest." Walter again stared at the wall. "Yes, she was terribly out of sorts about it."

  "Any medications that you know of?"

  "Medications? She only mentioned her medications once," Walter said. "But I don't know what she takes or for what. I don't ask." Again he thought of his deceased wife and the pills she had to take before she got sick with cancer. I can't get involved in her situation. Maybe I shouldn't see Minerva after this, not anymore. There is something not right here.

  "Who are her friends?"

  Walter rubbed his knee as if doing so made him think better. "Well, none that I know of." He gave a half smile and Davis smiled back.

  "We're almost done here, Mr. Athens. Does Minerva sleep well?"

  "I couldn't say. I don't know." Walter almost told him they hadn't slept together but decided not to. It was none of his business.

  "Ever heard anything—shall we say—odd, about Minerva?" Walter felt Davis' eyes burning into him. "Mr. Athens, you all right?"

  Walter cleared his throat. "Yes." He wiped a sweaty palm on his clean-pressed trousers.

  The sheriff leaned forward in his chair and Walter stiffened, holding his breath. "It's all right. We're only trying to help find this boy, Mr. Athens. Anything you tell us will be a great help."

  Walter wiped his brow with his handkerchief. He thought about telling him what Piper had told him about Minerva that day in the snack bar. Walter exhaled sharply and wiped his face again. Piper had trusted him enough to speak to him in confidence. And he was developing warm feelings for the new woman in his life. It had been a lonely ten years since the death of his wife. "No, I was mistaken," he said, "I haven't heard anything. I don't know what I was thinking."

  He almost ran leaving the sheriff's office. He sat in his car without starting the engine while he took a few deep breaths. Despite the cold, sweat evaporated on his forehead.

  Twenty minutes later, Walter turned down Minerva's street, but stepped on the accelerator while he passed her trailer. He looked back before turning the corner. His jowls drooped and a frown deepened the wrinkles on his forehead. It was as if he'd given away precious secrets and she would know just by looking at him what he'd done. He then made the decision to wipe his previous thoughts about Minerva from his mind. He wanted to be fair, to give her a chance. And those kinds of thoughts, the ones that crept into his conscience about getting away from her, about running away from her, he pushed aside. The best he could do was to take things with Minerva slowly, but he couldn't give her up without knowing more, without giving her a fair chance.

  He wasn't the kind of man to simply turn away. And he didn't like being alone.

  Walter
drove by Minerva's trailer again the next morning on the way to work. Slowing to look at the windows, he noticed the curtains pulled shut. He hadn't talked to her in three days, not since he showed up at her trailer when she was on her way to the police station. He pulled in his parking space at Sav-A-Lot.

  "Maybe she'll come in today," Walter said when asked by a fellow clerk the whereabouts of his girlfriend. The clerk smiled at this. Walter did not.

  ***

  John collected the tray by Piper's bedside and closed the door. She lay asleep, the pill she took the night before causing her to not hear his coming and going. He scraped the hardened egg from the plate into the disposal and placed it in the dishwasher, flipped the switch on, then pulled on a heavy windbreaker, topped it with his cap, and stepped outside. John lit a cigarette and observed the weather. The snow had lessened only minutes ago and the slight breeze disheveled flakes across the porch and sidewalk. He stepped from the porch to the sidewalk where his sister's car was parked near and traced WASH ME on the side.

  After they received a clunker to drive as teenagers, writing in the dirt on the hood and windows became a game to them. The object was whichever of the two thought up the funniest saying was the winner and had to wash the car. More often, neither believed the other's was more humorous, and so no one would win. Sometimes, John would "let" his sister win, saying he'd wash the car because she was a girl and couldn't do it herself. But Piper knew he didn't mean this, so she would sometimes reward him with the same, washing and buffing the car until it sparkled.

  Taking light puffs of the cigarette, John examined the property, checked the butane tank level, jiggled the latch on a metal fence, then opened an old shed door and stepped inside. Stacked boxes of unpacked goods, George's tools hanging on the walls, and two bicycles leaning against a wall filled what small space there was left after the power saw and riding lawn mower. The garagey smell of oil and gasoline caused him to sneeze. John swung a leg over one bicycle and sat puffing the cigarette. He could see through a small window to the house in front of it. George and Piper used this as their front door, so he'd know if Piper came outside. He peered through the half snow-lined window then relaxed.