by Lisa Smartt
Doug walked toward the porch steps just as a gray-haired man dressed in a black suit stepped out of the car.
Doug threw up his hand. “Hello there.”
The man moved toward the porch but didn’t extend his hand. Clearly, he wasn’t at all like the Farm Bureau guy who comes by the house every year to do a property assessment. The Farm Bureau guy always talks about high school football and whether our relatives are all in good health. But the man who got out of the black car didn’t seem interested in the health of our relatives at all. “I’m Edgar Morgan and I’m looking for Matthew Prescott.”
“I’m Doug Jameson. Nice to meet you, Edgar. Won’t you join us for lunch? We’ve got plenty.”
“I’m looking for Matthew Prescott.”
“Yes, I heard that. What’s…”
Before Doug could finish his sentence, Matthew moved forward and spoke calmly. “I’m Matthew Prescott.”
“Yes. I’ve been commissioned to deliver a message to you personally.”
“Okay.”
“It’s from your father, Jonathan Prescott.”
“My father?”
“Yes. Do you have some way of proving that you’re Matthew Prescott?”
“I have an ID, yeah.” Matthew nervously removed an ID from his billfold and held it up for the man’s inspection. “Not a great picture, but yeah, that’s me.”
“Is there somewhere we can go in private?”
Doug said, “Sure. You guys just stay on the porch and we’ll go inside.” He looked at James and Collin, still finishing their ice cream. “Hey boys, I think ya’ll need a bubble bath! Let’s head in the house.”
In less than a minute, we had all filed into the kitchen. Matthew and Edgar sat on the porch rockers that faced each other. Of course, each of us took turns pretending we needed something from the kitchen pantry which just happened to be next to the patio door. Doug got a bottle of water, even though it was room temperature and he’d already downed two big glasses of tea. Ashley pretended she wanted a graham cracker even though she rarely eats carbs.
Sadly, I’m the worst participant in the discreet game because I always feel the need to make a full verbal explanation. “I wonder if we have enough baked beans for next week’s church potluck? I’m worried about it. I guess I’ll need to look in that pantry and check on our baked bean inventory.” Any time someone uses the term “baked bean inventory” they’re definitely involved in a massive cover-up.
Even though several of us got a good glance, none of us spoke a word about what was taking place. Edgar pulled some papers out of a manila envelope and used an ink pen to point to things on the paper.”
Matthew’s expression never changed. Was this bad news? Sad news? Good news?
In less than ten minutes, Matthew opened the kitchen door. He was carrying the manila envelope and he looked almost exactly the way he looked at the beginning of his speech downtown. Nervous but resolved. “You guys can come out now. He’s gone.”
Dusty moved quickly toward the door and patted Matthew on the arm. “You okay, man? Everything alright?”
His voice cracked a bit. “Yeah, fine.”
Dusty made one more attempt. “Anything we can help you with?”
“No. I’m good. Just need to get back to Chester and Ida’s and help with the yard. Chester’s arthritis has been bad lately.”
Sarah did the same thing Sarah did every Sunday afternoon. She even said the exact same words. “I can give you a ride. I’m going right by there.”
I hugged Matthew and whispered, “If you need anything, you know we’re here, right?”
“I do. Thanks.”
I handed him the tray of leftover sandwiches. “Tell Chester and Ida we said ‘hey.’”
He dropped his head. “I will.”
It’s weird to watch Sarah and Matthew drive away every Sunday afternoon. Kind of like watching an old married couple. He opens the driver’s side door for her. She smiles and says, “Thanks.” Then he runs around the back of the car and gets in on the passenger side. One of them must say the same funny thing every week, because they always look at each other and laugh as they fasten their seatbelts. I wish I knew what they were saying. I wish I knew why Edgar Morgan came all the way from California too. Oh, and I definitely wish I knew where Matthew Prescott went last week…and why he went there. But mostly? Mostly I wished, prayed, that Matthew Prescott could find a home. I had a feeling his original one had burned to the ground.
Chapter 23, SARAH: Unraveling the Mysterious Matthew
I tried to put a positive spin on the mysterious visitor. “You must be really important, Matthew.”
“How’s that?”
“A personal messenger? I mean, we don’t get very many of those in Sharon.”
He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” He moved his hand to rest on the middle console. Working man’s hands. Strong. I so wanted to reach over and place my hand on top of his. I wanted to tell him it would all be okay, no matter what.
He moved his legs and I asked if he needed to scoot the seat back. He shook his head and we sat in silence. I wish it took longer to drive from Carlie’s to Chester and Ida’s house. I wish it took hours every Sunday to get there. But it doesn’t. It takes all of nine minutes and that’s only because I drive five miles below the speed limit.
Matthew cleared his throat and looked out the passenger side window. “I guess you’re wondering about that back there.”
“I am. But I’ll live even if it remains a mystery. No pressure.”
“Thanks.”
Soon we were in front of Chester and Ida’s house. I was glad they weren’t out front. Maybe Matthew would linger. I turned toward him. “I hope you have a good week. I’m sure you’re tired. Maybe you can squeeze in a nap after the yard work, or some reading anyway.”
He tapped his hand gently on the console. “Yeah, maybe so. Can I ask you a question, Sarah?”
“Absolutely. If it’s about times tables, I’m a genius. Anything else, well, it’s up for grabs.”
He turned to face me. “Your mom, you said she never finished grieving for your dad, like it happened yesterday. But why is that? It’s been what? Seventeen years?”
“Eighteen last month. I don’t know really. I’d say it’s because she loved him so much. But it’s not that. I mean, I’ve known people who’ve loved, and lost, and managed to move on.”
“Yeah, Dusty’s first wife and baby. I think about that a lot.” He looked out the front windshield. “But they weren’t killed by…they weren’t killed by a person really.”
“I don’t know. Dusty took a lot of responsibility for that whole scenario, saying if he’d been there, he would have heard the tornado alarm, gotten them to safety.”
Matthew’s voice grew softer. “Right. But it’s still not…it’s not…like someone directly killed them. It’s not like what Jim Hill did to your mother, right?”
“Or what you feel like you did? To your parents, I mean?”
He looked directly into my eyes. Anguish. Tiny tears forming in the corners of his dark brown eyes. Then I did it. I can’t believe I did it, but I placed both my hands gently on top of his left hand, still resting on the middle console.
“Matthew…Mary, she would have forgiven you. Completely. She’d want you to go on. She’d want you to live. Live well.”
His face turned red as he leaned forward a bit. “Thank you for that.” His right hand touched the side of my face as he whispered, “Sarah…”
The screen door slammed and he quickly drew his hand back. I was dizzy and could barely see Chester and Ida waving enthusiastically from the front porch. It’s like they were in a fog. Matthew opened the car door as he took a deep breath. “I better go see what Chester and Ida have planned for my afternoon.” He leaned into the car before closing the door, face still red. “Thank you, Sarah. Thanks for the ride, and for your help. You have no idea.”
I couldn’t speak, but managed to wave. He turned to look at me
one more time and then he was gone.
I only live five minutes from Chester and Ida’s house. Right on Mill Street. Left on Main. Soon, without remembering the drive, I was sitting in my driveway, wondering what just happened with Matthew Prescott. Or what didn’t happen, what could have happened. I closed my eyes and leaned the seat back. George Strait was singing about crossing his heart and making promises, making her dreams come true. I couldn’t even remember having dreams anymore. Busy teaching. Tending the rose bushes. Eating dinner with Mama every Wednesday and Friday night. But one thing I did remember. I remembered what his hand felt like on my face. Wonderful. Beyond wonderful.
There was something depressing about walking into the little yellow house, the house Papa and Granny loved for more than half a century. For the first time in my life, I realized why they loved it. It was life to them, the place they raised a family, cooked sausage every morning, built a fire every winter evening. The place Granny grew award-winning roses. The place she tended memories. Memories of real life and love.
For me, the yellow house had become a place of frozen dinners, old appliances, and a tote bag of flashcards sitting by the door. Loneliness. I wanted to turn the car around and go right back to that driveway. I wanted to politely tell Chester and Ida to go inside so Matthew Prescott could kiss me. But I couldn’t help but wonder what Granny and Papa would say about that, about him, about me. Good or bad, sadly, they were no longer alive to say it.
Chapter 24, SARAH: For the Love of Chester
I sat out on the porch all afternoon, holding out some odd sense of hope that he would come walking by. I’d be reading a magazine and he’d walk onto the porch. I’d ask if he wanted lemonade. He’d say it sounded good. I’d stand up to go inside and he’d stop me. He’d touch my face again. He’d tell me he couldn’t stop thinking about me. He’d wrap his arms around me and kiss me before I even had a chance to touch the screen door.
But evidently Matthew Prescott has nothing in common with a high school girl who drives by the band director’s house, just to drive by. So none of that happened. At 7:30 I got up to go inside just as Bart and Charlotte Nelson pulled into the drive. Bart rolled down the window. “Sarah, we came by to tell ya that Chester’s in the hospital! Heart attack. Dang fool won’t take his medicine. We’re goin’ up there, if you’d like to go with us.”
“Yes. Absolutely. Let me grab my purse.”
The hospital was quiet. Sunday evening, I guess. Well, it was quiet until Charlotte Nelson got there. The receptionist never looked up from her computer. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see Chester, of course!”
“Chester who?”
“How many Chesters you got in here? Lord, you got less than 50 beds, Hon, and most of em’s empty. There can’t be too many old men named Chester who had a heart attack this afternoon!”
The receptionist scowled. “Room 145.”
“Thank ya, Baby.”
Bart grabbed Charlotte’s arm gently. “Down this hall.”
Brother Dan and Doug were talking quietly, leaned up against the wall down at the end of the hallway.
Aunt Charlotte started shuffling her feet more quickly as she reached her arms out to hug Doug. “Baby, what do you know? Can we go in?”
“No. Only three at a time. Ida, Carlie, and Matthew are in there right now. Carlie’s getting Ida situated for the night. We told her we’d all take turns, that he’d never be alone. But she refuses to leave him.”
I broke in. “How’s he doing? I mean, what’s the verdict?”
Brother Dan shook his head. “Not good. His heart’s weak. They’re keeping him monitored. He’ll be here at least a few days.”
Carlie walked out of the room, dabbing her eyes with one of those brown paper towels from a public restroom. “He’s resting right now. Brother Dan, I told him you were here. He’s asking for you.”
Matthew followed Carlie into the hallway. His jeans and gray t-shirt were marred with dirt and sweat stains. He looked at Brother Dan. “I thought I’d give you some time with the both of ‘em.”
“Thank you. There’s a waiting room across the hall, if you guys want to go sit in there.”
Charlotte bellowed, “Just be sure to tell Ida and Chester we’re here. And we’ll be here all night long if we need to be. Oh, and tell her not to worry about makin’ that cake for Imogene’s birthday on Tuesday either. We’ve got it took care of.”
Brother Dan laughed. “I will, Charlotte. I will.”
The waiting room was empty. Doug and Carlie sat on two green vinyl chairs with an end table between them. Charlotte grabbed an old “Good Housekeeping” magazine and sat with Bart on a black vinyl couch. Matthew and I stood nervously near the door. He put his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry for being so dirty. I was in the middle of yard work, obviously.”
“Oh, no problem. What happened?”
“Ida just came running outside, yelling my name, saying Chester had fallen in the hallway. When I saw him, I knew he was in trouble. Breathing real hard. Covered in sweat. I probably should have called the ambulance. But….” He looked around and then shook his head.
“But what?”
His face grew solemn and his voice quiet. He leaned away from the group. “I drove him here. I shouldn’t have. Ida was screaming to get him to the hospital. I knew the keys were in the bowl by the door. So…I just did it.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled. “If you hang around long enough, you’ll probably find out.”
“I’m sure there are special circumstances, right? I mean, it’s not legal to stab someone in the throat either. But if you’re doing an emergency tracheotomy to try to save someone’s life, there’s a special provision, right?”
“Uh, yeah, if you’re a doctor. But if you have a felony record related to stabbing people, you’re probably not gonna get off that easy.”
I smiled as I gently hit him on the chest. “You don’t have a felony record related to driving old men to the hospital, do ya? So there. No problem.”
He dropped his head and frowned. “I have a felony record related to doing things without thinking them through. I should have called an ambulance.”
I touched his arm. “You did what Mrs. Ida wanted you to do. And that’s what any man, any good man would have done.”
He looked into my eyes and whispered, “I’m not sure what a good man would have done. The men I’ve known haven’t been the best, the best role models, I guess.”
“Well, you did the right thing.”
“Thank you, Sarah.”
Doug stood. “Who wants coffee? Doughnuts? Hamburgers? I’ll make a cafeteria run.”
Matthew answered, “Let me get it. I need to walk around a little. What does everyone want?”
Charlotte yelled out, “I ain’t supposed to be eating anything good, so can you get me a bran muffin? And a banana? And a carton of milk? And a pack of Juicy Fruit? Bart, give the poor boy some money.”
Matthew laughed as Bart handed him a five. “Absolutely. I can do that, Aunt Charlotte.”
Doug said, “We’re easy. How ‘bout two cups of black coffee? But here, I’ll come help ya.”
“I was hoping Sarah could help me.” He looked at me. “You available?”
“I am.” No truer words were ever spoken.
Chapter 25, SARAH: Heart to Heart
We walked down the long hallway. I could smell the odd combination of freshly mown grass and expensive men’s cologne. Matthew walked at a fast pace and I wondered if it had something to do with being in prison so long. Did they make them walk quickly? Or did he learn to walk quickly to stay out of people’s way?
I broke the silence. “Are you worried? About Chester, I mean?”
“He’s pretty tough. They both are. But yeah, I’m concerned. At least he’s stable now.”
“Mrs. Ida tells me you’re quite the reader. I saw all those books piled up by your bed.”
“Snoo
ping, huh?”
“Hey, I never even walked in the room. I can’t help it that you leave this big messy pile of books laying around.”
He laughed. “Messy?”
“Okay. I’ll admit the room looked pretty neat and clean. And yes, I was impressed that the bed was made. So you get nine points out of ten. How ‘bout that?”
“I’ll take it.”
“You mentioned that Jim Hill probably never slept well after…after what happened. I mean, is that why you have all those books there? Insomnia?”
He cleared his throat as we entered the cafeteria. “I guess. I never sleep all night, no. The sleep problems are probably more about prison than the accident. Traded one trauma for the other, I guess.”
“What’s it like? Prison, I mean.”
He shook his head as he stopped and faced me. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do actually.”
“Yeah, but Aunt Charlotte’s waiting on that Juicy Fruit, Sarah.” He smiled and turned toward the cafeteria line. “Maybe we can talk about it another time.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
My heart ached. Matthew was shutting me out. And that made sense, I guess. Rejected by his own parents, not to mention fourteen years of seeing God knows what every day. He was just trying to survive. Survive and get Charlotte’s Juicy Fruit. Soon we were entering the waiting room again.
Matthew spoke with gentleness as he handed Charlotte a brown paper bag, “Sorry, Aunt Charlotte. No bran muffins. We got you a banana nut.”
“That’s fine, Baby. Did you happen to bring any butter?”
Matthew looked away in an effort to keep from laughing. “Butter? Um, no. I didn’t.”
“Yeah, a big hunk a butter makes a muffin go down a lot easier, Darlin’. But your people, your California people may not have raised you eatin’ butter on muffins. And that’s okay. It is.”
I handed Doug the coffee cups just as Brother Dan walked into the room.
Everyone jumped to their feet. Aunt Charlotte hollered, “Tell us he’s okay, Hon. Go ahead. Tell us.”
“He’s resting comfortably right now. Ida seems pretty resolved and comfortable too. Bart and Charlotte, he definitely wants to see you. Both of you. But first…well, first he’s requested a meeting with Sarah. Alone.”