Home Grown: A Novel

by Ninie Hammon

  “I’m with Donnie,” Jimmy Dan said. “I say we come back for the money on June first and not before. Agreed?”

  They turned to look at Doodlebug and the fat man just shrugged. He didn’t think leaving the money here was a good idea, period. But they were partners and they had to stick together.

  It would never have occurred to any of them to fear betrayal. What they shared was deeper than trust. Their bond was a common understanding of the nature of reality. If one of the group went back and claimed all the money for himself, what would he do with it? Where would he go? Callison County was the known universe and it afforded nowhere to hide.

  Donnie got a big rock and shoved it up against the door. With it open wide, the interior of the shed was lit well enough to see a ladder on the wall. As the smallest, Jimmy Dan was dispatched to the loft with the money bag, which he shoved up against the back wall and covered with the dusty burlap sack.

  But when he turned toward the ladder to climb down, a hunk of ancient timber under his left foot gave way, dumping him on the floor with his leg dangling through a hole above Doodlebug’s head.

  Donnie and Doodlebug burst out laughing, then Donnie realized Jimmy Dan didn’t think it was funny.

  “Aw, come on, J.D., don’t be like that,” he said. “It’s good you made a hole right there, ain’t it, Doodlebug? Now, nobody can get to the back wall of that loft where the money is.”

  And he was right, nobody could get to the money bag. But as it turned out, nobody had to; the money came down out of the loft all by itself.

  • • • • •

  On her way to cover the Andersonville Christmas parade on a freezing December morning, Sarabeth spotted it. A little white building set back from the road with a steeple that dwarfed the rest of the structure and a scattering of tombstones in a fenced-in area beside it. Sonny’s church.

  He’d told her about it the Friday before Election Day when he’d taken her to lunch, an oft-repeated but seldom accepted invitation. Sonny had never actually asked her out, but he’d come perilously close a time or two. Though she’d managed to sidestep his advances, he’d joked once that “dating isn’t a disease, you know.” No, she’d thought, but Multiple Sclerosis is.

  They had been seated across from each other in one of the booths that lined the back wall of the Jiffy Shop next door to the county jail. Dukakis and Bush were probably sweating bullets, coming down to the wire neck and neck the way they were, but Sonny Tackett was totally relaxed. He was running unopposed.

  They’d been discussing politics when he’d suddenly shifted gears so quickly Sarabeth was left standing on the tracks as his train of thought pulled out of the station without her. Happened a lot with Sonny. He was … random. A man you could envision mounting his horse and riding madly off in all directions.

  “Well, don’t look at me like you just discovered a new species!” Sonny laughed. “I said I was a preacher, not a proctologist. And I’m not Jimmy Swaggert!”

  It had been all over the news that the televangelist had been caught in New Orleans with a prostitute.

  “You don’t see it as odd—that you’ve got a gun in your hand on Saturday night and a Bible in your hand on Sunday morning?”

  “Right and wrong, good and evil, they’re just different sides of the same coin,” Sonny had said. “I try to help people focus on the most important part—the good guys win in the end.”

  Ben had begged off the Christmas parade shoot. He and Jake were headed to Louisville to round out their Christmas shopping in a mall.

  Her shopping was almost done. Ben had been easy. He’d grown up in California. Didn’t own a winter coat or a single wool sweater. Now Jake was another matter. She still hadn’t come up with a gift idea for the young man who had become such a fixture around their house she had taken to calling the boys Thing One and Thing Two. She’d even threatened Jake that she was going to claim him as a dependent on her income taxes. Of course, that had been before Sonny had whispered in her ear at the homecoming football game.

  “You remember that list I told you about the first day I came to your office?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, the very first name on it, in all caps, is Jake Jamison’s father, Bubba.”

  Sarabeth had managed to wall that information away from her relationship with Jake. He was a good boy, deeply troubled, but kind and thoughtful. She refused to visit the sins of the father on this particular son.

  Rounding a corner, she saw Andersonville up ahead. The highway went right through the center of the little town, up a steep hill to a traffic light and down the other side.

  She pulled into a parking space in front of the Andersonville Mercantile Store. The parade was scheduled for noon and it was only 11:30. She hoped to get something hot to drink before it started. The temperature beneath the clear blue sky was probably only a couple of degrees above zero.

  She climbed the wooden steps to the porch in front of the store and noticed an old man in a rocker. Wearing nothing but a ragged denim jacket, he was carving something out of wood.

  “Excuse me, could I get a cup of—?”

  “Can’t hear ye.” He looked her up and down, his eyes clouded with cataracts, and motioned toward the store. “Go on in and git what ye came fer. Price’s marked on ever’thing. Cigar box’s on the counter, but there ain’t change in it for nothin’ bigger’n a $20.” Then he turned his attention back to the carving.

  She opened the squeaky door and stepped inside, onto an oiled, hardwood floor so dark and worn smooth it could have been marble but for the slat marks.

  “Well, hello there!” came a voice from the shadows to her left.

  Seth!

  Sarabeth’s heart began to hammer in her chest like a fist on a door. She’d only seen him once since she’d interviewed him that day at Double Springs. There’d been a three-car pile-up on Spring-hurst Road in October and when she got there, Seth and two other rescue squad members were using the Jaws of Life to get one of the victims out of the wreckage. They’d barely had time to say hello, but she’d been profoundly unsettled by her response to his presence. She’d felt as shy as a tongue-tied teenager.

  She felt pretty much the same right now.

  “What brings you to Andersonville today?” she said.

  The big man stepped nearer. She caught a faint whiff of English Leather, her favorite aftershave, and her laboring heart continued to slug away in her chest.

  Grow up! You’re acting like a school girl with a crush!

  “The parade, of course. You do know this parade is a legend in these parts.”

  “What for?”

  “Because nobody watches it.”

  Sarabeth looked confused.

  “There’s nobody left in Andersonville to watch the parade because just about every man, woman and child in town is in it.” He smiled a hundred-watt smile. “You see anybody out there on the street?”

  She shook her head.

  “I rest my case.”

  When he just stood there smiling at her, she felt color rise into her cheeks and he seemed to notice her discomfort. “Truth is, I brought a barrel wagon over for the Methodist church to build a float on.” He looked around. “You want a cup of coffee?”

  She eagerly accepted his offer and managed to get her emotional ducks beak-to-tail-feathers by the time he returned with it. Then they sat in two of the chairs pulled up close to the wood stove in the corner of the room and talked. It amazed her how quickly she felt at ease around him, though she couldn’t look directly into his eyes for long. They were so dark and deep she felt like she was drowning. He was wearing a pale blue wool sweater under a light jacket, but sitting so close to the fire, he soon had to shed both and she marveled at his grace. Most big men were a little clumsy, but his movements were as lithe as a cat.

  Their conversation flowed effortlessly and she found herself laughing often and talking much more than usual. Seth asked lots of questions and was an interested, engaged listener.r />
  “Got all your Christmas shopping done?” she asked.

  “I’m always finished before Thanksgiving.” He laughed at her grimace. “I don’t have many people to shop for. Christmas for me is midnight Mass at Gethsemane Monastery near Bardstown and serving Christmas dinner at a homeless shelter in Louisville.”

  “You don’t go to a family gathering?”

  “You’re looking at the whole McAllister family.”

  The words formed and leapt out her mouth before she even had time to think the thought.

  “Then you have to come to Christmas dinner with my family!” As soon as she realized what she was asking, she hurried ahead before she lost her nerve. “I’m serious. There’s a big family blowout, a famstravaganza—Billy Joe’s word, not mine—at Aunt Clara’s house. More food than Attila the Hun and a teeming horde of barbarians could eat in a week. Kids everywhere. Neighbors dropping in. I was there at Thanksgiving and it was a grand time.”

  He hesitated.

  “Please!”

  “Ok, count me in.”

  “Wonderful!” Her voice betrayed just how wonderful she thought it was. “Here’s the drill: no presents. But each adult selects another adult for a gag gift. You have to make it yourself and you can’t spend more than $5.”

  There was a sudden, loud whoop-whoop-whoop sound from a fire truck at the top of the hill, signaling the beginning of the parade.

  Sarabeth grabbed her camera bag and stood.

  “I have to shoot this. I’ll call you with specifics about Christmas. Thanks for the coffee!” Then she turned and bolted, left him sitting there looking a little surprised by her abrupt departure. She wasn’t really in that big a hurry to take pictures, but she had to get out of the glare of the big man’s attention. It was like sitting alone in a spotlight on a bare stage.

  She knew she’d be sorry later for what she’d just done. As soon as she came to her senses, all the reasons why it was a bad idea to invite Seth McAllister to Christmas dinner with her family would crash down on her like Galliger’s mallet on a ripe watermelon.

  But right this minute, Sarabeth was supremely glad.

  She got a particularly good shot of Sonny on a black horse, leading a mounted unit of deputies near the end of the parade. Gracie was seated in front of him in the saddle. The little girl had mastered the weathervane wave and she looked like a queen reviewing her troops. Sarabeth would use that shot as the lead picture on the front page.

  Chapter 12

  Ben grabbed Jake from behind, wrapped his arms around him and jerked his body sideways, pulling him away from the boy Jake had just knocked to the ground.

  “That’s enough, Jake,” Ben hissed. Jake struggled to shake Ben off his back, but Ben held on. “You’ve made your point. It was just a lame joke. Leave him alone!”

  Jake stopped struggling. “Ok,” he said. “I’m done. Let me go.” Jake was so strong that if he’d really wanted to break Ben’s hold on him, he could have shrugged him off and kept at the kid.

  Stepping back, he stared down at the boy lying on the sidewalk in front of him. The boy’s lip was cut, his nose was likely broken, and he probably had some loose teeth. And Jake had only hit him once; the boy’d never landed a single blow.

  With a threat clearly meant for all the other teenagers gathered around, Jake told him menacingly, “Don’t you ever say anything like that about my sister again. Do you hear me? If I find out you’ve even spoken her name, I’ll kick you into the middle of next week.”

  Jake leaned over, picked up his ball cap off the ground and stormed away through the crowd. He got to his Jeep, banged his fist on the roof and then leaned over and rested his forehead on the door frame. Ben came up behind him.

  “You can’t go around smashing that fist of yours into just anything, you know,” Ben said pleasantly. “We may have lost in the playoffs, but that hand of yours is still a national treasure. You tossing ’em, me catching ’em—badda boom, badda bing—six points!”

  “You think I really hurt him?”

  “Yeah, you really hurt him!” Jake spun around in surprise and Ben continued. “You hurt his pride, might have been a mortal blow, hard to tell without X-rays and a CAT scan. His swagger, too, which is in intensive care but not expected to live. And I figure his reputation’s deader than a possum run over by a school bus.”

  Jake smiled in spite of himself.

  “Get in,” he said, shaking his head. “We got Christmas shopping to do.”

  As they headed out of town toward Louisville and the mall, Jake thought about the four months he and Ben had been friends. It seemed like a lot longer. One of the many things he’d come to cherish about his freckle-faced sidekick was Ben’s knack for draining the pressure out of tense situations and difficult conversations. The two of them had been in several of both.

  The first one had been only a couple of weeks after they’d met. Ben had just asked Jake straight out, “I hear your father’s a doper—is he? Because if he’s not, I’m going to have to start decking some people.”

  They’d been on their way to a homecoming party when Ben said it and Jake had almost run off the road.

  Ben had watched an incredible mixture of emotions wash over Jake’s face, and thought he probably should have waited for a more opportune time to spring such a question. But he’d needed to know. It hadn’t been important to him whether or not Jake’s father was a doper, but it had mattered huge how Jake felt about it if he was.

  “The Turtle Creek overlook is just up ahead,” Ben said quietly. “Let’s pull over and talk.”

  They never made it to the party.

  “Does everybody think that? Do they talk about it? Is it common knowledge?”

  Ben was surprised Jake didn’t know what people said. But maybe he didn’t know because he didn’t want to know. “I just moved here, and I know. If I know, everybody knows. Or thinks they know. Maybe everybody’s wrong. People get reputations they don’t deserve. I’ll trust whatever you tell me. Is it true?”

  “My father has all sorts of business dealings, he buys and sells land, he finances construction projects, shopping centers and stuff like that. He makes boatloads of money in ways people never see.”

  Jake’s voice was just a little shaky. Ben sat quietly and watched his friend wrestle with it.

  “People say things because they’re jealous. It’s hard to see somebody making a whole lot of money when you’re barely getting by. I can see why people say stuff about him, but he works hard and … ”

  Jake stopped talking in mid-sentence, like a wind-up toy that had run out of juice. He stared at the valleys, hills and meadows dressed in fiery red, gold and orange autumn plumage spread out below the overlook. His eyes were moist.

  “Yeah,” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “My daddy grows dope.” He was silent for a time, staring straight ahead. When he continued, it was more like he was thinking aloud, not actually directing the words to anybody in particular.

  “Marijuana really shouldn’t be illegal anyway. It’s no worse than alcohol. Shoot, it’s better than alcohol. Smoke weed and you don’t get aggressive, you just get mellow. And hungry. There shouldn’t be a law against it, let people decide for themselves if they want to smoke, just like they decide if they want to have a beer.”

  Then he turned to Ben. “I’ve said all that stuff in my head for years, and a part of me believes it. Marijuana really shouldn’t be illegal. It doesn’t hurt anybody.” He dropped eye contact and looked out the windshield again. “But it is illegal. And if Daddy gets caught growing it, he’ll go to prison, for a long, long time.”

  He turned back to Ben and spoke in a low growl. “And I hope he does get caught! Ever since I was old enough to know what he was doing was against the law, I’ve dreamed that the police would show up at the door one day and put handcuffs on him and drag him away.”

  Choked-back tears thickened Jake’s voice. “ … and put him behind bars where he couldn’t ever get near me or Jennifer
again.”

  “Does he hurt you?” Ben blurted out, immediately sickened. “You and your sister? Does he abuse … ?”

  “Abuse? Grow up, Ben! You mean beat the crap out of us?” Jake made a humph sound in his throat. “‘Abuse’ defines our daily existence; it is the putrid stench of reality in the Jamison household.” The sarcasm drained out of his voice and he reverted to the odd, almost-talking-to-himself tone, staring out the windshield at nothing. “Tiptoeing around, trying to be quiet so you won’t attract his attention, ’cause the last thing in the world you want is for Daddy to notice you. My best-of-all-possible-days is to make it out of bed in the morning and back between the sheets at night without the awareness of my existence ever making it to the higher centers of my father’s brain. Even before Mama left—”

  He turned and looked Ben in the eye. “And I don’t blame her, by the way. Not one bit! I’m proud she got away, and I hope wherever she is, she’s happy!”

  He turned back toward the view. “But even when she was there, she couldn’t stop him. When he un-fastened his belt, pulled it out of his pants and started slapping his hand with it, nobody could … And when she tried, he just went after her with it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell somebody?”

  “Oh, come on—tell who? Who in this county’s going to stand up to Bubba Jamison? Some minimum-wage social worker from Child Protective Services? Yeah, right. But we learned. Jenny and I were quick studies. We figured out real fast that as long as you didn’t cross him, most of the time he’d leave you be and you could just go on with your life.”

  “But if you did cross him?”

  For just a moment, Ben saw raw terror skitter across his friend’s face. Then Jake slammed all the doors shut and sat with a haunted look in his eyes. “He’d beat the crap out of us, that’s all. Like I said.”

  Ben knew there was more, but he didn’t push it. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know what it was. He wondered if Jake had any contact with his mother. How could she just walk out and leave her children alone with that monster?