by Billie Letts
“That caused a problem?”
“Gaylene didn’t like him much. Said he was a troublemaker. But that didn’t break up her friendship with Rowena. No, they were crazy about each other right up till . . .” Enid pushed back from the table. “How about a piece of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee, Nicky Jack?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll help you, Grandma,” Ivy said. But as she was stacking dirty dishes and gathering up silverware, the phone rang.
“Ivy, can you get that?” Enid called from the kitchen.
“Yeah.”
The old rotary dial phone in the living room sat on an end table just inside the door.
“Hello? . . . Hi, Mom . . . Yeah, we were . . . What?” As Ivy listened, she turned to lock eyes with Mark. “Okay. We’ll be there soon. Bye.”
“Is something wrong?” Enid asked.
“Mom just got a call from Hap. He said DeClare is crawling with reporters.”
Enid looked alarmed. “Why, Ivy? What’s happened?”
“It’s about Nicky Jack turning up.” Then, to Mark, she said, “They know who you are.”
February 9, 1968
Dear Diary,
Between first and second period I went to see if my pink sweater was in the lost and found closet. It wasn’t, but when I was coming out, Danny Pittman walked by and he SMILED at me! I almost wet my pants.
Oscar and his Mom have started going to our church. They moved here from Cherokee, North Carolina, to live with her sister after Oscar’s Dad went to prison for stealing a car while he was drunk. Oscar says they’ll probably move back when his Dad gets out.
Our Sunday School class is having a hayride and a weeny roast this Saturday night. Oscar asked me to go, but I told him I had to babysit for one of our neighbors. I thought telling him a fib was better than saying I didn’t want to go with him. I like him just fine, but I don’t want him to be my boyfriend. I just don’t feel about him the way I do about Danny.
Spider Woman
Chapter Sixteen
As they said good-bye, Enid, locking eyes with Mark, had taken his hand, then passed him Gaylene’s diary, leaving him stunned. Here, in his hand, were the words of a mother he had never known, given to him by his grandmother, a woman who had not existed for him until today.
As Ivy drove him back to town, he was silent, staring into the night, its darkness relieved only by the van’s narrow lights.
When she slowed on Main, a block from Teeve’s Place where he’d left his car, he finally spoke.
“Ivy, I appreciate you taking me out there today. I’m not sure how I would have handled that by myself.”
When she sped up and drove past the pool hall, Mark said, “Whoa. You just passed my car.”
“Did you see that Ford parked on the corner?”
“No.”
“The guy behind the wheel is Early Thompson, one of O Boy’s deputies.”
“And you think . . . what? That he’s looking for me?”
“Could be. He’s in an unmarked car, it’s Sunday night, everything downtown is locked up and yours is the only other vehicle on the street. Maybe O Boy’s keeping tabs on you.”
“I’d be surprised. You heard what he said this morning. He’s through with me, wants me to get out of town.”
“That might be the problem. You didn’t go.”
“Well, what the hell. Just drop me at the motel. I’ll pick up my car in the morning.”
“Okay, but you could come home with me. Mom would love to have you. She . . .” As Ivy rounded the corner to the Riverfront, she said, “Uh-oh. Looks like you’re a celebrity.” TV and radio news vans were parked bumper to bumper in the motel drive. Cars and pickups lined both sides of the street. Ivy stopped as two young women crossed in front of the van to join another three or four dozen people milling around the motel entrance.
“You’re going to have a devil of a time getting past all that,” she said.
“You think so?”
“Sure. They’ve heard about you. Now they want to see you.”
“But they don’t know what I look like. If I work my way through the crowd, take my time to get inside, they’ll think I’m there for the same reason they are: to get a look at this guy who’s supposed to be dead.”
“Is that right?”
“I’ll blend right in.”
“No, you won’t blend in.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you don’t look like you belong here. You’re an outsider, Mark. It shows. Those clothes you’ve got on didn’t come from Wal-Mart, and they don’t sell shoes like yours at Payless. That watch isn’t a Timex, the gold in your ring is probably twenty-four karat and you didn’t get that haircut from Ernie at the Corner Barbershop.
“Face it, Mark. You’re a California boy; you’re not an Okie. You start for that motel, you’ll never make it to the door.”
“Bet you ten dollars.”
“You’re on. I’ll wait for you right here. When you get back, pay me my ten bucks, then I’ll take you to Mom’s. You can spend the night with us.”
No one seemed to notice Mark as he started across the lawn. And only a couple of people looked at him when he reached the edge of the crowd. But as he began to thread his way through, he heard a woman say, “That’s him. That’s got to be him.”
“Hey!” a man shouted. “You’re Nick Harjo, ain’t you?”
Within seconds, the crowd closed around him. Flashbulbs blinded him as hand held minicams and microphones were stuck in his face.
“Mr. Harjo, where have you been since 1972?”
“Can you identify your kidnappers?”
“Have you been held captive all these years?”
Faces were blurred for Mark as bodies pressed close, so close that he could feel their heat.
“Was your arm injured during . . .”
“Mr. Harjo, my magazine has authorized me . . .”
“Nicky Jack, I lived next door to your aunt when . . .”
“Can I have your autograph for my . . .”
As Mark struggled, tried to push his way free, someone kicked his ankle, a hand snatched at his hair, an elbow jabbed into his ribs.
When he finally broke clear, he bolted, running for Ivy’s van, but before he reached it, a man chasing him grabbed the back of his shirt, ripping the fabric from the collar to the sleeve.
Ivy had the motor running, and he was barely inside when she floorboarded it and shot around the corner.
“My God,” Mark said, gasping for air.
“Well, you were right. You just blended right in, didn’t you?” Ivy held out her hand, a signal for him to pay up.
“I don’t suppose you’d take a check,” he said.
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Then how about I clean your van? I can guarantee you the job is worth more than ten dollars.”
“What’s wrong with my van?”
“It’s a damn mess. More junk in here than—”
“Hey, this isn’t junk. It’s my stuff. Keeps me free.”
“What does that mean?”
“Everything I need is in here. If I decide one morning to move on, I just grab my toothbrush, my keys, and I’m gone.”
“Gone where?”
“The next place.”
“Of course I don’t mind, Mark,” Teeve said. “We’ll make up the Hide-A-Bed in the den. I just hope things settle down around here so we can all get some rest.”
“What things?” Ivy asked.
“Oh, I’ve had more people at the door than you could fit in my hot tub.”
“Mom, you don’t have a hot tub.”
“Yeah, but if I had one, they wouldn’t all fit.”
“How much of that cough medicine did you take?”
“I can’t remember. It made me a little woozy.”
“No kidding.”
Teeve pulled a wad of tissues from t
he pocket of her bathrobe, sneezed, then blew her nose. “Nothing more miserable than a cold.”
“Right. Now, who were these people that wouldn’t fit in the hot tub you don’t have?” Ivy asked.
“Well, let’s see. Amax Dawson was the first to stop by, then a couple of women came in a TV car, which brought out the neighbors. O Boy was here, left one of his deputies parked out front for over an hour. And Opal Headen, she’s the new president of the Ladies’ Auxiliary, she wants to have a parade for you, Mark.”
“Great.” Mark propped an elbow on the kitchen table, then cupped his chin in his hand. “A parade. That’s just great.”
“And the preacher from First Baptist came to discuss a special service he’s planning to welcome you back to the fold.”
When the phone rang, Ivy made a move toward it, but Teeve waved her off. “Let the machine get it.”
After three rings, they heard the voice of a man through the answering machine speaker.
“It’s Brandon Miller again with the Daily Oklahoman. I still haven’t connected with Nick Harjo. Want to make sure he has my number—555-782-6500. Thanks.”
When the machine cut off, Teeve said, “I talked to him a couple of hours ago, and that’s the third message he’s left. He’s persistent, but more polite than some of the others.”
“What others?”
“A man who claimed to be Geraldo Rivera, but I don’t think it was him; some woman from the National Enquirer; a guy said he was with Good Morning America; a filmmaker in Florida, says he wants to make a movie of your life.”
“Oh, God,” Mark said. “Please let this be just a bad dream.”
“Don’t be so discouraged, Mark. I think we could turn a profit out of this.” Teeve grinned. “The National Enquirer woman offered me five hundred dollars for a story and some pictures.”
“Hold out for a thousand, Teeve.”
“Oh, here’s something odd. A woman named Lantana Mitchell called, says she wants to write a book about you.”
“There’ll be a lot of people trying to cash in on this,” Ivy said.
“Yeah, but here’s the thing about this Mitchell woman. She was here in ’72, writing stories for the Tulsa World. I heard she was carrying on with O Boy then, but we had so many rumors making the rounds, no way to know if it was true.”
“I’m really sorry,” Mark said.
“What for?”
“For disrupting your lives like this.”
“Why, Mark, you haven’t done anything wrong. Besides, you’re the most exciting thing that’s happened around here since Ivy came home pregnant.”
“Well, I’m glad to know our little community was enlivened because I got knocked up.”
“Oh, honey, I’m just joking.” A thump came from the back of the house. “What was that?”
“I’ll see.” When Ivy stepped into the den, a flash popped outside the sliding glass doors that opened to the patio. “Get the hell out of here!” she yelled at the retreating figure in the backyard.
“You okay?” Teeve called out.
“Yeah.” After closing the drapes, Ivy returned to the kitchen. “Some creep just took my picture.”
“Suppose it was that woman with the National Enquirer?”
“Right. She’s been hiding out there behind your begonias all day, hoping for a shot of Mark.”
“Then why would she photograph you?”
“Oh, they’ll find a way to make me part of the story. Headline’ll read ‘Pregnant Woman Shielding Long-Missing Cousin Sees Face of Spider Man Emerge in Her Stretch Marks.’”
“Ivy, how do you think up these things?” Teeve said, laughing.
“I’m going to make sure we’re locked down before someone tries to sneak in with a camera.” Ivy started with the kitchen windows and doors, then disappeared down the hallway to the bedrooms as Teeve was seized with a fit of sneezing.
“Can I get you something?” Mark asked.
“Maybe a glass of water.”
When Teeve regained her breath, she said, “Now, tell me, what did you think of Enid?”
“Well, we were both a little uncomfortable. I didn’t really know what to say. And she was pretty quiet, too.”
“She was probably too shocked to say much. But she’s naturally quiet. Kind of shy. Don’t let that fool you, though. She’s a strong woman, been through a lot. Had more than her share of grief.
“Her youngest boy, David, drowned when he was seven. Then she lost Gaylene, her only daughter. . . . And you, her first grandson.
“That left her with James and Navy, two brothers as different as sugar and salt. James is kind, thoughtful, dependable. Everything Navy isn’t. And wouldn’t you know, Navy was her favorite.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know, but I’ve seen it before. Mothers will favor the bad seed every time. Maybe they think that’s the one needs love most. But make no mistake. I hold nothing against Enid. Nothing at all. She treats me more like a daughter than my own mother did. And I love her to death.”
“You talking about me again?” Ivy said as she came down the hall.
“Sure am.”
“Bolted all the doors, barred the windows, put fresh alligators in the moat and loosed the dogs. I think we’re secure for the night.”
Teeve coughed until her eyes teared.
“Mom, you sound terrible and you look as bad as you sound. If you’re not better in the morning, you’re going to see Doc Bruton.”
“Oh, honey, it’s just a cold. Gotta let it run its course. But I think I will go to bed. Mark, make Ivy help you with that Hide-A-Bed. It’s tricky.”
“I will.”
“Good night, you two.”
“Hope you rest well, Teeve.”
“I’ll check on you later, Mom, see if you’re still kicking.”
“No, you stay away from me,” Teeve yelled from down the hall. “Don’t want you to catch what I’ve got.”
When he heard Teeve’s door close, Mark said, “Your mom’s great, Ivy.”
“Yeah.” Ivy smiled. “She’ll do. You hungry?”
“I could eat a little something. But don’t go to any trouble.”
“Trouble?” Ivy forced a look of confusion, held it a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, you didn’t think I was going to cook, did you? See, when I cook, it means putting a bagel in the toaster or dribbling butter on my popcorn.”
“So, you don’t cook.”
“Right. But I do eat.” Ivy ran her hands across her midsection where she’d once had a waist.
“I suppose you’re saying you’ve gained some weight.”
“No, of course not. I’ve always looked like a Volkswagen.”
Mark looked her up and down, then made a face, his look skeptical.
“Yes! I’ve gained forty pounds in—”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“You didn’t let me finish. I’ve gained forty pounds in my butt, another twenty in my belly, ten in my boobs. Throw in fingers and toes, and what’ve you got?”
“A Volkswagen?”
Ivy growled and flipped him with a dish towel.
Then, with no hint of teasing in his voice, he said, “I think you’re lovely, Ivy.”
They locked eyes as silence settled around them, time enough for Mark to feel a warm flush reddening his face and neck. What was it about this woman, he wondered, that caused him to act such a fool? Just yesterday, he’d been so furious with her that he’d yelled and stomped around like an angry child. And just now he’d told her she looked lovely.
He knew he looked ridiculous, standing in the kitchen in his torn shirt, his stained slacks and stocking feet, having delivered a line lifted from some sappy movie. But he wasn’t Richard Gere and she wasn’t Julia Roberts. He was a man trying to understand a life he’d never lived, and she was his pregnant cousin, a woman he shared nothing with except a lost history.
“Thank you,
Mark,” Ivy said. “No one’s called me lovely for a long time.”
He couldn’t think of a response, had no clue, so to cover his discomfort, he wheeled, opened the fridge and peered inside. “How about I cook for you?”
“Yeah?” Ivy sounded skeptical. “Like what?”
“You like omelets?”
“Sure.”
“Okay!” Feeling more sure of himself now, he started pulling out cartons and bottles and plastic bags. “Eggs, black olives, cheese. Onions. Salsa and ham . . .”
“I don’t eat ham.”
“How do you feel about turkey?”
“I don’t eat anything with a face.”
“So I can fix an omelet as long as I don’t put a face in it.”
“Right,” Ivy said. “You know, I’m amazed that you know how to cook.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you were a rich boy. Didn’t you have servants? Butlers, gardeners, cooks?”
“We had a Mexican woman named Luz who did all the cooking. I learned by watching her.”
Mark poured the eggs into the skillet, then sprinkled them with salt and pepper.
“You must have spent a lot of time in the kitchen,” Ivy said.
“I did. Luz was my best friend. Besides, she cooked mainly just for me. My parents were hardly ever at home for meals.”
“Why?”
“My father ate at his club; my mother almost always had dinner with her clients. So it was usually just Luz and me.”
Ivy looked puzzled.
“What?” Mark asked.
“When we were at the trailer you went on about what great parents you had. Said they spent so much time with you. Made me think you were the center of their lives. But if they were never home . . .”
“You want to grate this cheese for me?”
“No. I want to know why you told me that stuff.”
“I was being defensive, I guess.”
“Being defensive? Or lying?”
“A little of both. My father never seemed to notice that I was around. And my mother was disappointed because I didn’t become a movie star. I think I just never lived up to their expectations, but I can’t blame them for the way I turned out.”
“What way is that?”