Shoot the Moon

by Billie Letts

  When they parted, he said, “I kissed my cousin that way once.”

  “Mark . . .”

  “Don’t say anything, Ivy. Please. Not yet. Just know that I care for you. And your baby.”

  The woman who answered the door couldn’t have weighed ninety pounds. She was totally bald but wore her head uncovered; had an infinity of wrinkles carved gently into her face; and her coloring ran somewhere between overripe cucumber flesh and stale cottage cheese.

  Mark didn’t have to be told this woman was fighting a tough battle against a nasty opponent: cancer.

  Still, she was lovely. She had deep-set brown eyes that looked as rich and strong as polished walnut; her full, unpainted lips held the tint of pale raspberries; and her delicate bone structure emphasized high cheeks and an Audrey Hepburn chin.

  “Hello,” she said as she offered a warm, firm handshake. “I’m Clara, Lige’s friend, lover and wife, pretty much in that order, but I’m working hard to put lover in the number one position.”

  “I appreciate your letting me come by today, Mrs. Haney.”

  “We’ve been anxious to meet you. Please. Come in.”

  Mark followed her down a short hallway, where she whispered, “Lige is probably asleep, but when I wake him, he’ll say he was just resting his eyes, which is kind of funny when you think about it.”

  The room they entered had more books than it was built for, even though bookcases, from floor to ceiling, covered three walls. The books that wouldn’t fit in the filled cases were stacked on the floor, the coffee table, the mantel, and in large baskets scattered here and there.

  “Lige,” Clara said to the small man sleeping in the over-stuffed chintz chair, “our guest has arrived.”

  “Of course he has,” Lige said, straightening. “I heard him at the front door.”

  “Oh, I thought you might be sleeping.”

  “No, no. Just resting my eyes. Glad to meet you, Mr. Harjo,” he said, offering a hand.

  “Please, just call me Mark.”

  “I’m not surprised that you use the name you’ve been accustomed to for so many years. New realities need time to take root, don’t they,” Lige said. “Sit down over there, Mark, where I can see you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Lige. Just plain old Lige and Clara. And this is Phantom.”

  At hearing her name, Phantom rose from beside Lige’s chair, waiting patiently for a command.

  “We have company, Phantom,” Lige said. “Where are your manners?”

  The dog wandered over to Mark, sat on her haunches and offered a paw, which Mark shook. “How do you do, Phantom,” he said.

  Her duty complete, Phantom returned to her “spot” and reclined again by Lige’s side.

  Lige still had most of his hair, silver and as shiny as Christmas tree icicles; his sightless eyes were covered by dark glasses; and he wore a mustache and goatee, which Mark guessed were tended by Clara.

  “You know, Mark,” Clara said, “you’re our number one celebrity around here.”

  “Certainly seems that way sometimes. Can’t say I enjoy it, though.”

  “I noticed when I let you in that you’d been followed by several vehicles.”

  “Yes, I have an entourage wherever I go now.”

  “May I get you some coffee?” Clara asked.

  “Please don’t go to any trouble for me.”

  “Actually, we enjoy a cup every morning about this time. We like it with just a hint of Irish cream in it. Quite a lovely drink. Join us.”

  “All right. I think I will.”

  “Wonderful.”

  When Clara left the room, Lige smiled and began to recite softly, almost to himself.

  Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—

  I will study wry music for your sake.

  For should your hands drop white and empty

  All the toys of the world would break.

  “That’s beautiful,” Mark said. “Did you write it?”

  “No, but how I wish I had. John Frederick Nims. The title is ‘Love Poem.’ So, Nick, we haven’t had such goings-on in DeClare since you were taken from us. And now, you walk out of our past and into our lives once again.”

  Clara, returning with a tray holding three mugs and a plate of brownies, said, “Lige, dear, this handsome young man has asked us to call him Mark.”

  “Oh, did I slip up?”

  “No problem,” Mark said.

  Clara handed Lige a mug, then placed the tray atop a pile of books in braille on the coffee table. “Help yourself, Mark. I should tell you that I added a pinch or two of pot to the brownies, a trend I missed in the sixties, so I’m just now catching up.”

  Mark took a mug of coffee, sipped at it, then realized it was a cup of cream liqueur with perhaps a couple of tablespoons of coffee added.

  Lige held his mug aloft, waited for Clara and Mark to heft theirs, then said, “‘The Joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard, dies young.’ Here’s to you, Anne Sexton.”

  “Lige can’t eat, drink or go to the john without quoting poetry,” Clara said. “Well, I think I’ll retire to my room to do some reading and let you two take care of your business.” She wrapped two of the “spiced” brownies in a napkin, grabbed her coffee mug and started for the door. “If I don’t see you before you leave today, Mark, I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” Mark said, standing. After she’d gone, he added, “She’s a lovely woman.”

  “Yes. She is.”

  The room was quiet for such a long moment that Phantom raised her head to check things out.

  Finally, to break the awkward stillness, Mark said, “Lantana Mitchell told me you might have some information that would be important to me.”

  “Yes, perhaps I do.” Lige reached to a table beside his chair and picked up a newspaper, yellowed with age. “This is an article I wrote in 1972. It was to be a three-part feature story about Kippy Daniels. I imagine you know something of his background, don’t you?”

  “A bit. Teeve and Ivy have filled me in on some of his history. I know that his mother went to school with him almost every day from first through twelfth grade.”

  “And so much more. She did so much more for that boy. She made him a Boy Scout, she even became a den mother. She helped him with his 4-H projects; taught him to ride a horse; to make change. She took him to dance classes; gave him art lessons.

  “In other words, she made him a world he could fit into. A world that would accept him. And he was accepted by almost everyone but his own father. I think O Boy has always been ashamed of Kippy, a resentment he takes out on Carrie. But apparently that’s a trade-off she has accepted. Decided she’d rather take her lumps from O Boy than live without her son.”

  “What do you mean,” Mark asked, “live without him?”

  “It’s no secret that when Oliver found out about the boy’s impairment, he wanted to put the child in a home. I guess he all but beat Carrie to death when she refused. But refuse she did. And the boy flourished because of her and her alone.

  “Anyway, just before this, the first in the series of articles to be published, Hap Duchamp set up the Kippy Daniels Trust Fund at the bank, Hap’s bank then. You see, Kippy needed surgery. He had a congenital heart disease that goes hand in hand with Down syndrome children.

  “Without the surgery, Kippy wasn’t going to make it, but the operation was expensive. Of course, Carrie didn’t have any money. And O Boy was a deputy, making just enough to get by; Carrie was taking in ironing, cleaning houses, baking and delivering pies and cakes. She worked here for Clara once a week. She’d do any kind of work she could get as long as it was after school or on weekends because she spent Monday through Friday in class with Kippy.

  “So Hap and Clara and I came up with the idea of the fund, and Hap kicked it off by contributing ten thousand dollars.”

  “Wow.”

  “Oh, Hap�
��s the best kind of man. Decent, generous, kind. He’s gay, you know, but if we had more men like Hap Duchamp, this would be a better world.”

  “So how much money was raised?”

  “None. The day the article came out, I got a visit from O Boy. He was enraged. Out of control. Said I’d better not print another word about his ‘geek kid.’ That’s what he called Kippy, his ‘geek kid.’

  “Threatened to sue me, the newspaper, the bank and the city. Implied physical threats as well. Said he didn’t need charity and Kippy didn’t need surgery. Blamed the whole ‘mess’ on Carrie, then went home and beat hell out of her.”

  “So what about Kippy’s surgery?”

  “Here’s the strange thing about that. A few weeks after O Boy’s blowup, Carrie called Clara, told her she wouldn’t be able to clean for her the next week or do her ironing. Said she and Kippy were going to Arkansas to see her daddy. Carrie’s parents were divorced, had been for a number of years, but Carrie had hinted that her father was well-off.

  “Well, she left, came back a few days later and took Kippy to Tulsa for his heart surgery. I heard she paid the doctor and the hospital in cash.

  “Any idea where she got the money?”

  “I had assumed she got it from her father in Arkansas. But later I learned something weird. Very weird.”

  “Weird? In what way?”

  “Clara and I went to a little town, Beebe, Arkansas, to visit an old friend who taught at a college there. Found out while we were there that Carrie’s dad had died in 1969.”

  “So she lied about going to see her father. And the money for the surgery?”

  “I don’t know where it came from. But she paid for Kippy’s surgery five days after Gaylene was murdered.”

  April 2, 1970

  Dear Diary,

  I’m about to finish my painting of the two faces of the Indian woman. I don’t know yet what I’m going to call it, but I think I’ll give it to Mr. Duchamp.

  I went to lunch today with Kyle Leander. We had fried chicken at the Hen House. I know Kyle is doing drugs again. I can tell. And he’s only been out of rehab for about a month this time.

  I’ve been thinking that after I finish college, I should live in New York City. It’s a place where artists have a good chance to show their work. When I asked Row if she’d go with me, she said she and Junior Warner might get married when school’s out. Well, if that happens, I’ll go to New York by myself. I’m not afraid. Not at all. But when Oscar gets out of the Marines, maybe he’ll come to New York, too.

  Spider Woman

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Mark arrived at the bait shop in the middle of the afternoon, which turned out to be a good time since there was only one couple, a middle-aged man and woman, buying a few dozen minnows, some hooks and soft drinks. When Carrie saw Mark come in, she turned to her work, obviously not thrilled to see him.

  As soon as the couple left, she started mopping up the floor where water had sloshed over the side of the minnow bucket.

  “How’re you doing, Carrie?” Mark asked.

  “Thought I asked you not to come back. Told you your coming here caused me problems. Either you didn’t hear me or you don’t care if I get in trouble.”

  “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

  “It’s not my time I’m worried about, but I’d appreciate it if you’d clear out of here before O Boy comes driving up.”

  “At this hour of the day? I figured he’d be in his office or—”

  “You can never tell with him when he’ll show up. Sometimes it’s four in the morning; other times, like now. So I wish you’d just leave before—”

  “Kippy had some serious surgery when he was a kid, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Carrie said, her suspicion already set in motion. “Why? Why do you want to know about that?”

  “I heard it was pretty damn expensive.”

  “So?”

  “Carrie, would you mind if I asked you where you got the money?”

  “Yes, I’d mind. That’s none of your business.”

  “You told Lige and Clara Haney you went to Arkansas to visit your dad. They thought you got the money from him, but as it turned out, your father had been dead since 1969. So I’m wondering why you told that story.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. And I think I know what happened.”

  “Do you? Then you must be pretty darned smart. Or maybe you just think you’re smart.”

  “I believe O Boy killed Gaylene, then sent you to California with me for a prearranged adoption that would pay you twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Right,” Carrie said with a wry smile. “I can just see O Boy handing over that kind of money to a hospital. You don’t know him very well, do you.”

  “No. But if Kippy were my son—”

  “Well, he’s not, so don’t try to second-guess what you’d do if he was yours because there’s no way for you to know what it’s like to raise a son like Kippy who has a father like O Boy.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me.”

  “I’m not telling you nothing. Now, I’ve got work to do.” Carrie lifted a case of cigarettes from the floor to the counter and began stocking the rack behind the register.

  Mark said, “If I could just ask one more question—”

  “You can’t. So you might as well take off. I don’t have nothing more to say to you.”

  “Afternoon, Kippy,” Mark called out as he skirted the edge of the pond to where Kippy was fishing.

  “Hey, know what I caught? Come see.”

  Kippy dropped his pole and pulled his fish basket from the water to show off three good-size perch.

  “Good catch!” Mark said.

  “I lost one. A catfish, I think. ’Bout this long.” Kippy held his arms as far apart as they would reach. “He put up a damn good fight.”

  “I’ll bet he did.”

  “You gonna fish?”

  “No, not today.”

  “Then . . . I can’t remember your name.”

  “Joe,” Mark said.

  “Then why did you come to the pond, Joe?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Okay, but if that catfish comes back, I can’t listen to you ’cause he’ll be putting up a damn good fight.”

  “Kippy, do you remember a baby boy who lived close to you when you were little? His name was Nicky Jack. Nicky Jack Harjo.”

  Kippy’s face lit up. “He was my best friend. Him and his mama lived across the creek, back of us. I used to go over and see him. Sometimes his mama would let me watch her give him a bath or let me hold him while he took his bottle. And sometimes, when it was raining, she’d read us The Cat in the Hat. Do you know The Cat in the Hat?”

  Mark smiled and said, “I sure do.”

  “I loved The Cat in the Hat. So did Nicky Jack. He was too little to talk, but he always laughed when his mama read that story.”

  “Do you know where Nicky Jack is now?”

  “Me and my mama took him to the land of milk and honey. Or honey and milk. I can’t remember.”

  “Where is the land of milk and honey?” Mark asked.

  “I don’t know, but my mama said it’s a place like heaven.”

  “It is, Kippy,” Carrie said. “Just like heaven.” She’d come over the fence and through the weeds without making a sound.

  “Mama. Joe knows The Cat in the Hat.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “And look what I caught.” Kippy showed her the perch in his basket. “I lost a catfish ’bout this long,” he said, giving his arms another good stretch. “He put up a damn good fight.”

  “He must’ve been awfully strong.”

  “What’re you doing here, Mama? You gonna fish?”

  “No, I came to get you. It’s almost time for supper.”

  “We having something I like?�
�

  “Sure are. Weenies with ketchup, macaroni and cheese and green beans.”

  “Yay,” Kippy said.

  “You go on to the house and wash up while I talk to Joe for a few minutes.”

  “Okay. Bye, Joe. Next time it rains will you come over and read The Cat in the Hat to me?”

  “I’ll try, Kippy. I’ll sure try.”

  Carrie and Mark watched until Kippy topped the hill, carrying his fishing pole and basket of perch. After he disappeared, she said, “I’ve had so many good years with him.” She sat in the soft mud at the edge of the pond. “Wouldn’t have had many more, though. Actually, he outlived his time. Most Down syndrome adults don’t live much past thirty.”

  Mark sat down beside her as she looked across the pond, staring at nothing—something only she could see.

  “Kippy went over to the trailer one day,” she said. “Gaylene was asleep back in the bedroom, but you weren’t. You were in your playpen in the living room. Kippy decided to take you to the creek and give you a bath, the way he’d watched Gaylene bathe you at the kitchen sink.

  “So he took off all your clothes and all his, then waded in with you in his arms. But the water was cold and you started to cry. That’s when Gaylene, crazy with fear after discovering you were gone, found the two of you naked in the creek.

  “You were screaming and Gaylene was screaming and Kippy was so scared, he started screaming, too.

  “When I heard the commotion, I run to the creek, found the three of you there, sent Kippy home and tried to talk to Gaylene. She seemed sure that Kippy had done something bad to you, something besides dunking you in cold water, but I talked to her, tried to explain that Kippy only wanted to give you a bath. Did my best to settle her down.

  “Finally, she said she believed me, promised not to tell anyone, but I wasn’t sure, so I followed her back to the trailer, still hoping to convince her not to talk about what had happened. I knew if she ever told anybody, the word would get out that Kippy was dangerous and they’d take him away from me. Put him in a home for the rest of his life.”

  Carrie began to shiver though the temperature was close to a hundred.