What I first perceived as the patter of rainfall against my car’s windshield turned out to be something else entirely. It shouldn’t have startled me to discover Cora Hart standing outside my vehicle, rapping her liver-spotted knuckles on the driver’s door in an effort to beckon me from my spell. I wondered how much she already observed before I regained consciousness. Judging by her confounded stare, I presumed she witnessed far more than I preferred.
At least the gun was still secured beneath my clothing, and the car windows remained partially fogged, thereby limiting the busybody’s meddling inspection. Even still, my behavior warranted a hiatus in her routine, and her yapping dogs didn’t improve the aftereffects of my lingering headache. After my disorientation subsided, I rolled down the window and acknowledged her presence. Perhaps I smiled lackadaisically at the lady because this offering’s insincerity motivated no reciprocation from her side.
Mrs. Hart kept a tentative eye on my mannerisms, while maintaining taut leashes on both of her irritating (and now drenched) pets. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer toward the open window. Obviously, my wan appearance alarmed her considerably, but the fact that I looked as though I was sleeping with the Beetle’s sunroof open during a rainstorm caused her the most concern.
“Corbin?” she asked quizzically.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hart,” I replied. An awkward adjustment of my shirt did nothing to derail her curiosity.
“I thought that was your car backing up on the wrong side of the street,” she complained. “And, if I might add, you were driving quite erratically.”
“You’re right,” I conceded. “It’s been a long day.”
The elderly woman then jutted her face closer to mine, nearly stretching her wrinkled neck inside my car in the process. I guessed that she had acquired a knack for picking up scents of alcohol, or at the very least, imagining such an odor. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, but that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea at this point.”
“Your clothing,” she mentioned, “is soaked. And you don’t look very well.”
If I expected Cora Hart to demonstrate tact, I might’ve waited longer than she prayed for a house visit from the Pope. Apparently, she hadn’t yet heard about the circumstances at Ravendale High School. This possibility struck me as miraculous, since the woman typically reported on current events while they were still blossoming from gossipers’ lips. If this was the case, I didn’t intend on broaching this subject now.
“I was on my way home,” I said, stalling to organize a legitimate excuse for my behavior. In this instance, the truth was my best option. “I thought I saw someone I work with standing on the street corner. Maybe you noticed him during your walk. He was dressed in gray overalls and holding a broom.”
Cora motioned to her umbrella, which served as the sole canopy from the persistent rain. “I didn’t see anybody who fits that description,” she proclaimed. “And why on earth would any man be carrying a broom in the middle of a storm?”
“That’s a good question,” I returned. “Anyway, that’s why I pulled over on the side of the road. He’s been following me around all day.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I guess I’m not.”
“Would you like to try another excuse?”
I now cast an expression at the surly woman that was intended to project my sorrow and impatience. “Look, Mrs. Hart, I don’t mean to be rude, but I already told you that it’s been a long, grueling day for me. I really just want to be left alone.” Any other person with common sense would’ve regarded this confession as a sufficient warning and promptly dashed away, but Cora suffered from a delusional form of altruism that caused her to believe she had a remedy for every crisis known to mankind.
“I know very well what’s going on here,” she insisted. “Your behavior has something to do with what I told you about your wife this morning, doesn’t it?”
“Forget about it. You just informed me about what I already suspected anyway. Now I need to get home and straighten things out with Rachel.”
“I didn’t mean to cause you any pain, Corbin, but I wanted to preserve the integrity of this neighborhood. And you had a right to know the truth.”
“Yes,” I said compliantly. “You’ve done a fine job patrolling these streets.” I hoped that my voice didn’t sound too condescending, but she didn’t look very enthusiastic to honor to my request. Since she didn’t react to my subtle body language, I leaned against the steering wheel and gripped my forehead with my fingers. This emphasis on my fragile condition didn’t persuade her to move away from me along with her yapping dogs anymore quickly. Rather than resort to belligerence, I elected to preserve the trace of civility that remained between us.
“I really appreciate you checking up on me,” I said. “But, other than my headache, I think I’m going to be okay.” My hand was already rolling up the car’s window before I finished speaking. Cora, of course, was not accustomed to relinquishing the last word to someone else in any line of communication. Before I managed to shut the window completely, she wedged the tip of her umbrella between the glass and the door’s frame.
“Just a minute,” she insisted. “I wasn’t quite finished talking to you.”
I reversed the window and shifted uncomfortably toward the door. The rainfall continued to pour from the sky, but even the sight of her waterlogged Pomeranians didn’t encourage her to seek shelter. “Your dogs don’t sound too happy,” I reminded her. “Maybe we can resume our chat another day when it’s a bit nicer outside.”
Cora then jerked the dog’s leashes as if they were the reins to two Clydesdale horses. “Typee and Omoo aren’t afraid of water,” she contended. “They can handle the rain, but I’m more worried about what you’re prepared to handle, Corbin.”
I sometimes wondered if this old lady still imagined me as a ten-year-old boy playing in her backyard’s tomato garden. While I occasionally recognized her intentions as charitable, it was impossible to overlook how she often harbored ulterior strategies of purification for the residents of Willows Edge. My voice became sterner when I reaffirmed my position. “Leave me alone now, Mrs. Hart. It’s not a good time for us to talk.”
“I know you think I’m a nosy spinster,” she decried, “but if you weren’t inclined to be so judgmental, you might listen to what I have to say.”
“I’ve always listened to you,” I countered. “However, that’s a problem for another day.”
“Listening without taking a noticeable action on the matter is the same as ignoring me.”
I was afraid that any prolonged dialogue between us would’ve devolved into a one-sided sermon on the mistakes I made throughout my life. In her own mind, Cora had developed the powers to detect evil as if she carried a divining rod instead of an umbrella. Right now, in her mind, I must’ve looked like the poster child for mortal debauchery.
“Ever since your mother died, you’ve been floating around like a hunk of driftwood in the tide,” she proclaimed. “I promised Norma that I’d try to guide your happiness, Corbin, but for as long as you continue to reject the Lord’s way, your purgatory will be eternal.”
I thought about rolling my eyes at the absurdity of her statement, but this action would’ve likely caused me to appear increasingly demonic to the woman. Of course, I realized that Cora Hart refused to separate a single action from the Bible’s teachings. I couldn’t pretend to agree with her overzealous pitch for organized prayer, and I needed her to understand this. “I don’t want to talk about religion with you ever again,” I declared.
“That’s precisely how I’d expect a heathen to respond,” she returned matter-of-factly. “But I’d be neglecting my duties as a servant to my savior if I let you bob away so easily.”
“Don’t do this now,” I beseeched her. When I stared at her face again, her head seemed framed in an ashen halo. “I’m not such a bad person, am I, Mrs. Hart?”
“Perhaps not yet,” she mused, “but you’re vu
lnerable. I’ve known you a long time, and I watched you grow up even when you thought I wasn’t watching. Your mother, God rest her soul, bragged to everyone at the church that you were going to be a famous author someday. She wanted that to happen for you so badly. I know you wished for her to live long enough to see you become a successful writer.”
As Cora spoke, my eyes swayed toward the journal beside me on the passenger’s seat. I clamped my hands around the steering wheel as if trying to condense it to the diameter of a spaghetti strand. A burning sensation singed my eyes, causing me to twitch with emotions I barely revisited anymore. My body’s shivering became clearly visible to the old woman now. Although she detected my sorrow, it didn’t prevent her from proceeding with her oration.
“God’s insight may seem like an inconvenient chore for you to undertake right now, but what do you think will become of your life if you don’t pursue spiritual intervention?”
When I swung my head back toward the old lady, my eyes pooled with tears. I’m not certain if her words stirred such a reaction within me, but I still defied her counseling. “You’re talking to the wrong person,” I snapped. “This lecture might’ve worked better if you gave it to my wife when you first started noticing Leon Chase’s car in my driveway.”
Cora’s face deflated momentarily, but she had no intention of retracting her point. “What’s done cannot be changed,” she said sedately. “But it’s not too late to make a difference. As a matter of fact, I’ve gotten to you at a time when it matters most. I can’t say for certain that Rachel and you will ever be able to mend your marriage, but I do know that you will be unable to achieve such a goal without God at your side.”
“Why must you always preach this dogma to me, Mrs. Hart? Is that the only way you can cope with all the terrible things that happen to people?”
“Do you have a better plan, Corbin?”
Normally, I might’ve had a curt retort to such a question, but my thoughts came up as vacant as a heretic’s prayer book. In the meantime, Cora removed her umbrella from my car’s window. I quickly sealed up the opening and attempted to drive away, but a stomp on the Beetle’s gas pedal produced no acceleration. The engine sputtered and then kicked off with an unceremonious thud. After inspecting my car’s dashboard, I realized that I had forgotten to put fuel in the tank. “Out of gas,” I huffed, realizing that Murphy’s Law seemed as authentic to me as any faith on this day. Of course, Cora must’ve interpreted my misfortune as a harbinger from a higher power.
Since I was well within walking distance to my house, this registered as only a minor setback. Without further contemplation, I nudged open the car’s door and stepped out into the rain beside Cora and her white shadows. She was prudent enough to shift her stance three steps away from the curb. But the menacing dogs barked incessantly. In my haste, I realized that I had clutched my journal in one hand. I might’ve returned the booklet to my car to avoid getting it wet, but the rain suddenly stopped. A split in the storm clouds provided me with a temporary refuge, but I couldn’t resist mocking Cora Hart’s likely elucidation.
“You see,” I remarked sardonically, “this is a sign from above that things are looking brighter for me already.” A sliver of sunlight then pierced the leaden sky. Not even Cora Hart could’ve manufactured the next event in a timelier fashion. Just beyond the rooftops along the adjoining street, a faint rainbow arched between the blotchy clouds. “If I was a superstitious man,” I continued, “I’d be able to look at that rainbow and view it as a symbol of hope. But my practicality forbids it. I know that a rainbow is nothing more than an optical illusion. Some people waste their entire lives stooped over and mumbling prayers to objects they can’t see. I don’t intend to be like any of them.”
“So that’s the basis of your agnosticism—what you can’t see isn’t truly there? I suppose that’s the same as believing that the stars in heaven aren’t really present when the sun is shining.”
“We’re not going to convince each other to change, Mrs. Hart.”
“Only one of us needs to change direction, Corbin. Your spiritual compass is broken.”
“So be it. I’ve made it this far without anyone’s help.”
“We both know that’s untrue.”
For now, it was better for my purposes to disregard whatever else Cora Hart wished to impart. I had already permitted her to squander too much of my shortened supply of time. My intended farewell amounted to little more than a wave from my hand. I then turned away from Cora and started up the street toward my house. I only managed to dodge three puddles underfoot before noticing another assemblage of crows plucking worms from a sparsely seeded lawn parallel to me. “Another sign,” I snickered incredulously. Then, in a moment of sheer spontaneity, I shouted toward Cora, “Just what I needed to see—more crows.” For a moment the woman glared at me as if I had just committed a cardinal sin; several seconds passed before she let me know what I failed to recognize.
“Those aren’t crows, Corbin Cobbs,” the old woman fumed. “I would presume that a man who dallied in the woods for half of his life would be able to discern one species of bird from another. Those winged creatures are ravens, and if I wasn’t such a gullible old bird myself I might not be inclined to see them as dark omens yet to come.”
My decision to eschew Cora’s correction only served to hasten my progress toward home. After submitting to my curiosity, however, I turned back once to watch the lady. She looked like a black pillar in the muted sunlight. Her white minions scampered within their limited range, entangling leashes as they splashed puddles over Cora’s pointed boots. If she had decided to unleash those wooly pests, I’m sure they would’ve chased me up the road while nipping at my heels.
Even before leaving Cora Hart standing on the street, I already knew that I wasn’t going to make it back to my house without another interruption. Predictably, within one block from my front door, I encountered yet another spell of vertigo. In this instance, I resisted the onset of an episode, but it was futile endeavor on my part to circumvent what couldn’t be controlled. I managed to lurch my way to the roots of an old live oak that had grown through the sidewalk’s fissures long ago. The tree prevented me from tumbling into the road, and I was grateful to embrace its trunk as if it was a life raft on the open water.
As it always happened, my eyesight started to dim, but it remained intact long enough for me to observe another figure watching me from across the road. The custodian surveyed my predicament passively, strangely apathetic to my current turmoil. At that moment, I was too fatigued to yell out to him for assistance, but I wondered what he wanted from me now. Instead of staggering away from the tree to confront him, I leaned in closer to the oak; its wet bark smelled earthy and pure. In three minutes, I’d be awake again, and perhaps able to reach Rachel. But despite the current proximity to my home, I suddenly felt as though I roamed a thousand miles away from any familiar landmark.
Chapter 68
5:16 P.M.
The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs Page 68