“What about the children?”
“They had a lot of diseases that we don’t. We get shots now.”
“Hmmm,” she pondered dreamily, then, “where do you think we go when we die?”
I had never really thought about this question too deeply. Other than my father, I had never been close, really close to anyone who had died. And really, my father didn’t count because I couldn’t remember him or his death. I knew about the people Dan killed but I had never been close to them, either.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged.
“Do you believe it’s a better place, like they teach in church?”
I shrugged again. She rolled over on the moss to her stomach, her hands crossed under her chin. I sat cross-legged, just in front of her.
“I like the idea of just going to sleep and never waking up, you know: eternal sleep. I don’t like the idea of a place where everything is perfect. How could everything be perfect? How could we all think the same things? It sounds boring. I don’t want to float around worshipping God all day. I mean, I know He is our creator and all, but He is sort of to blame for all of this, if He’s real. He could create heaven all beautiful, why couldn’t He do it here? It seems stupid when you think of it.”
I sat there pulling at the grass, “I’d like to think we go somewhere. I’d like to believe there is more to life than this. I mean, I’d like to see my dad again, if I could.”
She looked up at me. We were quiet for a long while.
“I’d just like to go to sleep someday.” She paused and then added, “Forever.”
“Well, don’t do it anytime soon,” I said to lighten the mood and threw some grass in her face. We laughed wildly.
Chapter Fifteen
About the same time as my life was beginning again, restarting after a long period of suspended animation, my uncle Elliot had a renewed interest in teaching me to drive. Each night, after dinner, we climbed into the car and drove around Sawyer. At first, we just went on back roads and country roads. We practiced in the church parking lot. Soon, he trusted me on streets. I learned to K-turn and parallel-park. He even had me drive into Hutton.
“I’ve been thinking, Bud,” he said one night as I smoothly glided into the driveway, “I’ve been wanting a new car. If you pass your driver test, I’ll give you this one.”
“Really?” I looked over at my uncle. He nodded his head firmly. I was curious about this new development. My uncle had never been particularly generous and a car was very generous. But I was not going to question him. I really wanted the car.
He had also taken over the rebuilding of our burned-out house. My mother had been unable to do anything for months. My uncle got her to sign some papers, power of attorney, and he was able to handle all her business. Rebuilding our house was her business and now my uncle was in charge. The house had been insured and my uncle convinced my mother that a modular home would be the best way to go. It would be up in no time, he said.
I rode my bike over there with Lindy one morning and he was right. The house came in two sections and it was being put together very quickly. The new house was a one story ranch style. It was blue with white shutters.
“It’s nice,” Lindy said sitting on the handlebars. She tipped her head to one side looking at the house.
“It doesn’t look anything like our old house,” I said.
“That could be a good thing,” she assured me.
“Yeah, but there was nothing wrong with the old house,” I said stubbornly.
“I like this one,” Lindy said approvingly. “Do you think your mom will let you come over and visit me when it’s done?”
She thought a minute, sitting on my handlebars, her head cocked to one side. I knew Lindy did not like talking about her parents. There was something secret about her parents that I just couldn’t figure out.
“If I don’t ask, they can’t say no.” She turned and smiled at me. I smiled back.
* * * *
We went to visit Dan one more time. This time Uncle Elliot stayed out in the parking lot and my mother and I went in to see him. He was worse than the last time. He was gaunt and yellow. He never spoke the whole time we were there. All he did was rock back and forth in a chair shaking uncontrollably. The visit only lasted about ten minutes because my mother started to cry and they made us leave again. I stopped thinking of him as my brother because, in truth, he wasn’t. Of course, I wanted to do something. But there was nothing to be done. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to help him. I just wanted to be his brother again. But our lives had changed irrevocably. Sitting in this shabby visiting room was going to be the best it was ever going to get.
Chapter Sixteen
The first frost had come and Lindy and I were trying to find warmer places to spend our time. Of course, the library was always an option. The waitresses in the diner were nice to us, too, when we had some money. My aunt was still slipping me money now and then. I did chores for her so I didn’t feel guilty about taking it. The women at the diner thought Lindy had cancer. That was my fault, though. One time when Lindy was in the restroom, the waitress asked me why we weren’t in school. I told them Lindy had cancer. She believed me, of course. After that, they’d sometimes give us free hot chocolate.
Lindy never really ate at the diner. She would just take small bites of my food. I would order something and cut it up very, very small and she would take the tiniest bites. When she thought I wasn’t looking, she’d spit it all out into a napkin. She never swallowed anything. Sometimes she just watched me eat. She said she liked to watch me eat. But I always felt a little funny when I ate in front of her. So, after awhile we stopped going to the diner.
Our house was almost done. I thought I would ask my mother if Lindy could come over. My uncle Elliot had said, “Absolutely not” when I asked if I could have a friend over. “The last thing we need is more trouble.” I didn’t know what kind of trouble he was referring to, but I didn’t ask. I figured Mom and I would be back in our own house soon and I wouldn’t have to ask Uncle Elliot’s permission.
I passed my driver’s test in late November and true to his word, Uncle Elliot gave me the car. Lindy squealed with delight when I showed up at the library in the car. We didn’t have to worry about the cold anymore, plus, we could travel farther, go to real places.
I only went to Lindy’s house once. She had asked her mother if I could drive her home from our tutoring. Lindy invited me in and I met her mom. Lindy’s mom was a fleshier version of Lindy.
“This is Gus,” Lindy introduced me.
“Hello, Mrs. Stevenson.”
I held out my hand. She glanced over at Lindy clearly pleased by my manners. She took my hand and shook it graciously.
“You look very familiar,” she said.
I shrugged and glanced at Lindy.
“Everyone looks familiar in a small town, Mom,” Lindy said.
“No, really. Have I met you before?”
“No, ma’am,” I said politely.
“Maybe I know your parents...”
“My father’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Your mother, maybe? What’s your last name?”
What’s your last name? The last question I wanted to hear. I glanced again at Lindy. She had sucked in her breath and held it.
“Woodard,” I said coldly.
“Woodard.” Her voice was high, gushy, “Where have I heard that name? Woodard?”
“Mom, you don’t have to be so nosy,” Lindy tried to rescue me.
“I’m not being nosy, darling. I’m just trying to be polite.” She turned back to me and said “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of hot chocolate?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied.
Lindy rolled her eyes after her mother as I followed them into the kitchen. Lindy had saved me for now.
The kitchen was bright, white cabinets with blue trim. There were large windows and a breakfast nook. She motioned me to a chair while she put hot water on to boil.
She pulled out two mugs and put some chocolate mix in them. Lindy sat across from me at the table.
“So, you go to tutoring with Mrs. O’Reilly at the library, too?”
Mrs. Stevenson was busying herself in the kitchen but I knew she was probing. I didn’t know if I would get myself out of it this time. Lindy squeezed my hand.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
“And what grade are you in?”
“I’m a senior. I graduate in June.”
“Oh, how nice. And do you have any plans?”
Did I have any plans? No, I didn’t. I hadn’t even thought of life after school. Life had been stuck in a rut for me for a long time. I hadn’t thought of a future.
“I’m thinking of going to community college.”
“That is a good idea. I always think starting at community college is such a good idea.”
The kettle whistled. She poured the water in our mugs. I stirred mine watching the spoon making swirling circles in the water.
“When will you start back at the high school?” Mrs. Stevenson joined us.
“Excuse me?”
“Lindy said you were in an accident and broke some bones. You certainly look recovered. When will you go back?”
“Mom!” Lindy cried.
Her mother looked at her with a reprimand in her eyes.
“I...uh...am not going to be able to go back,” I stammered, making it up as I went along. “There’s been complications.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I sipped my chocolate. The room grew quiet.
“Woodard,” Mrs. Stevenson said idly, “I know that name from somewhere.”
We were all quiet. I sipped. I noticed Lindy taking tiny sips off her spoon. Then I saw the look on Mrs. Stevenson’s face. It started with her thinking, her brow furrowed in the act of recollecting, trying to grab that thought that was just out of reach. Then her eyes widened when the fact presented itself to her, and then she tried to return her face to some sort of semblance of calmness. It didn’t work. She had remembered where she had heard my name before
“Well,” she smiled at me. The smile was forced. She turned to her daughter, “Lindy, may I see you in the living room for a moment?”
Lindy glanced at me as her mother got up and walked from the room.
“I’m sorry,” Lindy turned and mouthed.
Of course, I heard them. Lindy actually started it all.
“Mom, you’re being rude to him.”
“Melinda Mavis Stevenson! What do you think you are doing? You cannot be friends with that boy. Do you know who he is?”
“Of course I know who he is, Mom. Gus Woodard.”
“His brother is the Sawyer Shooter!” she exclaimed and then continued talking more to herself than Lindy. “I knew I knew that name from somewhere.”
“His brother is Dan Woodard. He’s mentally ill. Gus is nothing like his brother.”
“Shhh,” Mrs. Stevenson chastised, lowering her voice, but I could hear it clearly, “if I had known that you were being tutored with that boy, I would have put an end to it.”
“Mom, I don’t have friends. I like him and he helps me with my work.”
“Absolutely not. You cannot see him again. I’m calling Mrs. O’Reilly.”
“Mom!” I heard Lindy yell and I was on my feet. I stood there listening.
“Go to your room.”
“Mom!”
“Go to your room!”
I heard Lindy stomping down the hall. Mrs. Stevenson re-entered the kitchen. She was smiling and smoothing her hair.
“Well, now, Gus,” she said, but could not look at me, “Lindy wasn’t feeling well. I sent her to her room. Perhaps you can come again another time.”
I nodded and mumbled, “Thank you for the hot chocolate.”
I could feel angry tears in my eyes. As I left the house I resisted the urge to slam the door. I got in the car and slammed that door. I sat there for a minute trying to gather my thoughts. How could her mother do this to us? Was this never going to end? Was this going to be my life forever?
“So now you know my middle name.”
I was startled by a voice in the back seat. I turned. Lindy lay across the seat, smiling. I laughed.
“Mavis,” I said grinning.
“It was my grandmother’s name. I hate it.”
“I kinda like it. Melinda Mavis.”
“Don’t let her bother you.” Lindy shrugged. Her knees were bent and her hair splayed around her face on the seat.
“She’s no different from anybody else,” I commented wryly.
“It’s not fair.”
“Will she really call Mrs. O’Reilly?”
“I don’t know.”
We were quiet for a moment. Lindy still lay across the back seat. I gazed out the front windshield.
“Gus, let’s run away.”
“What?”
“Let’s run away. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“I don’t think I could leave my mom. She’s really sick over this whole thing with my brother.”
“Hmmm...”
We were quiet for a little while longer. Then Lindy got out and went into the house. I pulled out of the driveway. I felt I had let Lindy down. I was suddenly afraid of losing her.
Chapter Seventeen
My uncle dropped his bombshell at the dinner table.
“I’ve been up to the house, Helen. It’ll be all done by Friday. Then you and Gus can move in.”
“Thank you for your help,” my mother said. I don’t know if she was happy about moving back or not. I don’t think my mother cared much about anything anymore. I was hoping having a new house to fix up might help her.
“Well, now that you and Gus are settled, I have some good news to share.”
Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked at him. Uncle Elliot was not a good news kind of guy.
“I got a transfer to the Holyoke plant in Massachusetts. Me and May will be moving at the end of December.”
My mother’s fork froze midair.
“What?” I gasped.
“I got a transfer, Helen.” Elliot spoke to my mother, as if she had asked the question, ignoring me. “Me and May are moving to Massachusetts.” He paused. “You and Gus are all set now. The house is done. Gus can drive. May and I will rent a place up there, and put this house up for sale. We’ll buy a house when this one sells. The agent says prices are up; it’s a good time to sell.”
My aunt’s face was full of pity as she looked at my mother but she said nothing.
“When did they tell you that you were going to be transferred?” my mother’s voice was so soft and flat it was barely above a whisper.
“I put in for it myself. About a week after...”
The only sound in the room was the ticking clock. My uncle took a bite of his food. I could hear him chewing.
“Would anyone like some cake?” Aunt May stood up.
“No, thank you.” My mother looked down at her lap.
“So, you’re just going to leave us here?” I blurted out incredulously. I knew I shouldn’t be speaking. We were an old-fashioned family: children were supposed to be seen and not heard. “You’re just going to abandon us like everyone else in this town?”
My uncle dropped his fork angrily and threw his napkin on the table. My mother tensed, startled by this move. My aunt stood frozen behind her chair.
“This ain’t no place for us. I can’t stay here no more. I can’t even buy a cup of coffee anymore. May and I can’t go to church. If your ma did what was best for you, she would have gotten out of this town a long time ago. It was bad back then and now it’s impossible.”
“Elliot, don’t...,” May said softly.
“The boy should know. He should know.”
“Know what?” I asked looking around from face to face.
“This ain’t no place for you. It ain’t been no place for you for years. We already had enough burden then your damn brother had to go and do
this. We can’t show our faces.”
“What burden? What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Your father, that’s what I’m talking about. You were already gossip. Now this. It’s even worse.”
“What about my father?”
The room went dead silent. The clock ticked. My mother stifled a sob.
“What about my father?” I repeated.
“He took a dive off the Mill Street Bridge,” Elliot said finally. “It was in all the papers. A disgrace. An absolute disgrace.”
Uncle Elliot looked directly at my mother with accusatory eyes. Then he looked at May. Her eyes were filled with tears but she didn’t dare cry. My mother’s hand flew to her chest.
I looked at my uncle a long time then said flatly, “What do you mean my father took a dive off the Mill Street Bridge?”
No one spoke. I looked from my uncle to my aunt to my mother. No one would look at me.
“Did my father jump off the Mill Street Bridge?” I asked loudly and angrily.
Everyone kept their gaze from me. “Did my father commit suicide?”
Again no one spoke and no one would look at me.
“Did he?” I shouted.
Finally, my mother breathed, “Yes.”
“He didn’t die from complications of pneumonia like you told me?”
“No.”
“My father killed himself?”
I rose and looked at them. My mother was looking down at her lap. My aunt was fidgeting at her chair; my uncle’s face was stone, staring at the wall.
“The whole fucking town knows that my father killed himself except me? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Watch your language!” my uncle barked.
I was standing at the back of my chair.
“Did Dan know?” I asked ignoring his anger. I had to repeat myself louder and more forcefully, “Did Dan know about Dad?
“Yes,” my mother exhaled the word.
“When did he find out?”
“A week before—,” she sputtered, her hands fluttering around, like wounded birds, not knowing where to land, “he found some clippings in my dresser.”
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