by Ann McMan
It was as close to a holy relic as they could get in these parts.
The owners wanted to create a permanent memorial to the famous car when they rebuilt the Bowladrome. So, they painted a bright red outline of the Camaro across the lanes in the exact spot where the car landed. Of course, those lanes quickly became the most popular—especially on league night. People would call up weeks in advance to reserve them for special events. And it wasn’t just because of the snazzy paint job and the status of getting to bowl on sacred ground. It was also because in the last year, bowlers had managed to rack up five perfect 300 scores—but only on those hallowed lanes.
Rita Chriscoe told James it was no accident. She pointed out that when the universe dealt you a perfect hand of cards, it was up to you to play them.
And that’s what they were celebrating here tonight—a windfall alliance that would soon catapult their upstart trucking company into the big leagues. James wasn’t too sure how “big league” a franchise contract with a commercial moving company was, but he did have to hand it to Jocelyn and Deb—the two of them had transformed their fledgling flag car business into a local powerhouse. Cougar’s was on their way to becoming one of the biggest haulers of domestic freight in southwest Virginia.
The one thing he wasn’t too sure about was how much the nature of the work would change now that they would be taking on more long-distance moves. The trip to Los Angeles to get Dr. Heller’s piano was one thing. He pretty much viewed that contract as a one-off. But if these overnight trips became more common, that would mean he’d be away from Henry more.
It wasn’t that Syd and Maddie minded taking care of Henry. In fact, James was pretty sure the opposite was the case. It was hard for him to admit that his son was better off staying out at their farm than he was when James tried to find someone to stay with him at their small apartment over Junior’s garage. Henry never complained, but James could always see the excitement in his face whenever he knew he was going to be staying in his room at the farm—the big front bedroom with all the airplane pictures.
Airplanes. Dr. Stevenson had her own airplane . . .
How could he compete with that?
There was a roar from the crowd. Deb Carlson had just rolled another strike. It was her fourth in a row. Heads were nodding. Money was changing hands. It looked as if Rita’s sister-in-law, Natalie, was holding.
Anticipation that it might be happening again spread through the place like wildfire.
Cougar’s Quality Logistics had lucked out tonight and got access to the premier spot because Natalie still had an “in” with the management. Their contingent was all spread out across a cluster of tables that sat just behind the trio of coveted lanes.
“Why don’t you get on up there and give it a go?” Rita asked him. “That leg of yours won’t make no difference. You won’t bowl no worse than the rest of them jokers.”
“No thanks.” James refilled his glass with beer from the pitcher on their table. “Besides, I don’t want anything to do with that word.”
“What word?”
“Handicap.”
Rita looked confused. “Who said anything about a handicap?”
James gestured toward the group bowling at lane twenty-three.
Rita rolled her eyes. “You mean that dickhead in the MAGA hat? Purvis Halsey?”
James nodded.
“The only ass that idiot could find with two hands is the one hangin’ off Yolanda Painter’s backside.” She shook her head in disgust. “His brain is the only thing around here that needs a handicap.”
“It’s okay. I never did like bowling much—even before the army.”
James rarely made any mention of his military background—much less his disability. He could see the surprise register on Rita’s face.
“You do know folks around here call you a war hero?” she said. “They’re grateful for your service.”
“I’m no hero.”
“Now why in thunder would you say that?” Rita gaped at him. “Didn’t you get one of them purple hearts?”
“Give me a break. I was riding in a truck that hit a bomb. It didn’t take any heroism to get my leg blown off.”
He could tell that Rita wasn’t sure what to say. She sat and fidgeted with her scorecard and stub of yellow pencil. James felt bad for making such a blunt comment when she was just trying to be nice.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I just don’t deserve to be called a hero. Especially now.”
“How come I feel like you ain’t talking about Afghanistan?”
He smiled at her. “You’re a smart woman, Rita.”
“Hell.” She refilled her own glass with beer. “If I was so damn smart then why would I be investing in hemorrhoid cushions instead of real estate?” She took a healthy swig of beer. “I had a shot once at making something good out of my life. I blew it. Don’t you be doing the same thing.”
“You think I’m blowing it?” he asked.
“It don’t matter what I think. It only matters what you think.”
He didn’t reply. He didn’t think he needed to. That didn’t appear to be a deterrent to Rita.
“It don’t take no rocket scientist to see that you ain’t happy with the way things is workin’ out. So why not make a change before you get dug in any further?”
“It’s not that simple. I have a kid. I can’t just pick up and go.”
“Who says you can’t? It ain’t like anything’s keepin’ you here. Not unless you’re gonna tell me you just love them deluxe accommodations in that penthouse up over Junior’s garage?”
He had to smile at that description. Rita sure knew how to turn a phrase.
“I don’t have any ties here. Not really. But Henry does. He’s made a lot of friends. I wouldn’t feel right taking him away from that.”
“Well, kids are pretty good judges of character. Kind of like dogs. Maybe he knows things you don’t?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“It ain’t like you couldn’t learn from him.”
They were interrupted by a loud chorus of moans.
“Well, shoot.” Rita slammed her pilsner glass down on the table. “Bed posts.”
James looked up at the scoreboard. Deb Carlson had just rolled a seven-ten split.
“Well, that’s that.” Rita drained what was left in her glass. “Guess there ain’t gonna be no perfect game tonight.”
“No,” James agreed. Not tonight, and not any other night, either.
◊ ◊ ◊
It was a busy night by the pond. By Maddie’s count, Pete had taken at least half a dozen flying leaps off the porch to chase unwelcome critters off. Eventually, he decided enough was enough and his shift for the night was finished. Now when thirsty intruders approached the water, the big yellow dog would simply lift his head and emit a low, rolling growl.
“Yeah, big guy.” Maddie reached down and scratched between his ears. “You give ’em hell.”
Syd emerged from the house carrying two oversized tumblers of . . . something. She handed one to Maddie and reclaimed the seat beside her—after moving Rosebud.
Maddie sniffed the contents of the glass.
“Oh, boy. Is this the good stuff?”
“It is as far as I’m concerned.”
Maddie took a cautious sip. So luxurious. How was it possible to make grapes taste like liquid amber? She swallowed. And fire?
She held the tumbler up to examine the miracle brew in the moonlight. “Is this the French stuff?”
“Yes, honey. This would be the French stuff.” Syd nudged her arm. “Like all cognac.”
“Oh, come on. You know what I meant.”
“Yes, it’s the D’ussé.”
The VSOP was Maddie’s current favorite. She slid lower into her chair. “You’re spoiling me.”
“I think you deserve it.”
“I don’t know about that.” Maddie sighed. “I wish we could’ve sent some of this home with Liz
zy.”
“Me, too.” Syd sipped from her own glass.
Maddie noticed a change in the music. They’d been listening to Murray Perahia’s new recording of the Bach French Suites—a gift from Celine. But now there were sensuous sounds of someone crooning over lost love. It was . . . perfect, actually. Soft and smooth. Warm and mellow.
Just like the French stuff.
I let a song go out of my heart . . .
“Who is this?” she asked Syd.
“Catherine Russell. I thought we both could use a change.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that.” Maddie listened to a bit more of the song. “This is beautiful, but kind of doleful.”
Syd nodded. “I thought that seemed right for this evening.”
“Yeah.” Rosebud jumped up onto Maddie’s lap and immediately started to knead. Maddie grimaced and returned her to the porch floor. “This cat is a freak.”
“She’s certainly persistent.” Syd patted the side of her leg to distract the cat from her pursuit of Maddie. “Do you think Lizzy will be okay?”
“Eventually. I mean—physically, she’s fine. Although this will be a shock to her system.”
“And her emotions.”
“Yeah. There’s no dodging that roller coaster ride, I’m afraid. But Lizzy is a nurse, so she’ll know what to expect.”
“What do you think happened?”
Maddie shook her head. “It’s impossible to say. This early in a pregnancy? It could have been anything. The human body is enormously self-righting. It’s difficult to tell someone that a spontaneous abortion is often the body’s best way to resolve a problem. But . . .” She didn’t finish her statement.
“I fear that Lizzy will punish herself for her ambivalence.”
“I wouldn’t have said that before. But now, I think you’re right. It did seem like she was making her peace with the idea.”
“I thought so, too.”
Rosebud tried to get on Maddie’s lap again, but Maddie cut her off at the pass.
“I was surprised when Lizzy called and said you were there with her. When did you decide to talk with her?”
“Almost immediately after I realized what an idiot I’d been by talking with Tom.” Syd made another futile attempt to draw Rosebud away from Maddie’s chair. “Were you angry?”
Maddie looked at her with surprise. “Angry about what?”
“That I went to see Lizzy.”
“No.” Maddie reached over and laid a hand on her arm. “Of course not.”
“I’m glad.” Syd met her eyes. “I need you to know how much I regret what I did. I promise you that I’ll never break your confidence again.”
Maddie gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I know that. But thank you for saying it, just the same.”
“Do you think we were right to let her go home alone?”
Maddie nodded. “She’s a big girl. She said she hadn’t told her parents about her pregnancy yet. But she was going to call her mother.”
“I’m glad.”
“She also made sure I knew how much it meant to her that you came out to see her. I think she was very relieved that you were there with her.”
“I hope that’s true.” Syd sighed. “I wonder if she’ll tell Tom?”
“You mean tonight?”
Syd shook her head. “No. I mean ever.”
“I can’t imagine she wouldn’t.”
“I can.”
Maddie was perplexed. “Why would you think that?”
“You mean, apart from the fact that he behaved like a complete knuckle-dragger and forfeited any right he might have to the information?”
“Well. There is that . . .”
Syd gave a bitter-sounding laugh. “The pathetic part of this is that he really does love her.”
Rosebud made another ill-fated attempt to climb onto Maddie’s lap, and was summarily evicted.
“If that’s true,” she asked Syd, “then why do you think he behaved the way he did?”
“You’re asking me this question? Aren’t you the one with all the advanced medical degrees?”
“Nooo,” Maddie drawled. “That would be my mother.” She batted her eyes at Syd. “I skipped all my psych classes, remember?”
“You are so full of shit.”
“Hey, I never professed to understand anything about the male psyche.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
Maddie drained the rest of her French stuff. “Thank god Henry is more transparent.”
“At least he is for now. We should enjoy it while it lasts.”
“I don’t know about you, but I hope it lasts forever.”
“That reminds me.” Syd shifted in her chair to face Maddie. “You never really filled me in on how your conversation went with his unfortunately named teacher.”
“You mean Mr. Hozbiest?”
Syd nodded. “The very one.”
“Yeah. The little troll refused to speak with me.”
“What?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘You’re not his parent.’ I thought about throttling him, just on principle. But I couldn’t force the conversation. We’ll have to talk with James about it.”
“That really infuriates me.”
“It does me, too. But we have to accept that we have no real standing in Henry’s life. At least, not legally,” she added.
Syd stared out across the lawn. Maddie could sense her frustration. It really was an untenable situation for them—one with no real remedy.
“Did you see that?” Syd was pointing toward the pond.
“What?” Maddie tried to follow her gaze.
“I swear I just saw a lightning bug.”
“No. You couldn’t have. It’s too early.”
“There it is again. Look. Near the bracken fern.”
Maddie squinted her eyes. Sure enough. She saw a faint flash. Then another.
“My god.”
“The soothsayers are right. It’s going to be an early summer.”
“And a hot one,” Maddie agreed.
“I wish we could slow it down.”
“What?”
“This.” Syd spread her hands. “All of it. Everything. I just want to drag my feet or tie an anchor to the moon—anything that will make it all last longer.” She looked at Maddie with eyes full of sadness. “He’s going to be gone from us. He’ll grow up or go away and we won’t have had enough time with him.”
Syd was right. There was no argument Maddie could make that would change the outcome.
She took hold of Syd’s hand. “I know.”
Syd leaned her head against Maddie’s shoulder. They watched the slow dance of the fireflies and listened to the dying strains of another jazz classic.
Chapter 7
Charlie was surprised when Roma Jean called her and asked if they could get together after church for a picnic. She was even more shocked when, instead of saying they’d meet up someplace neutral, Roma Jean said Charlie should pick her up at home.
That had never happened before.
It wasn’t that Charlie had never met Roma Jean’s parents. She had. But showing up at their house to retrieve their daughter for something that looked a whole lot like a date was something new. The prospect was exciting but also nerve-wracking. For one thing, she had no idea what to wear, and she ended up changing her clothes five or six times. They were going on a picnic, so that meant she needed to be casual. But to her, that implied wearing jeans or cargo shorts—which might make her look too butch. On the other hand, trying to look “feminine” would be a stretch for her on a good day.
Charlie never could pull off wearing girl clothes. It wasn’t that she looked bad, or anything—it was more about how the garments made her feel. Clumsy. Awkward. Like she was a phony—pretending to be something she wasn’t. And none of that had anything to do with being female. Charlie had no problem with her gender.
Especially lately . . .
No. It was the uniform women wore
that caused her problems.
She supposed that was part of what made getting a job in the sheriff’s department appeal to her. It took that whole wardrobe issue right off the table.
She retrieved her service revolver from its safe in her bedroom.
Having access to you fixed a bunch of stuff, too.
Going to work for Byron solved a lot of problems in her life. For one thing, it allowed her to break free from her father, who had threatened to kill her when he found out she was gay. He damn near made good on his promise, too—until Byron got wind of it from the guidance counselor at school and managed to get her away from him. Whatever he had said to Manfred Davis must’ve made an impression because her father packed up his Chevy one night and took off without looking back.
Charlie had no idea what had happened to him after he left Jericho. The last her grandma heard, he’d taken up with a woman from South Carolina and was working third shift at an airbag plant in Cheraw.
Airbags. Things that were made to explode on impact. They were perfect for him.
She didn’t miss him. She didn’t miss any part of her childhood. The only thing she regretted was not having the chance to learn how people in normal families related to each other. That’s why she didn’t blame Roma Jean’s parents for being worried about her. That’s what people who cared about you were supposed to do—worry about you and try to protect you from making mistakes.
Even though Charlie knew in her heart it wasn’t a mistake for Roma Jean to be with her.
She was sure of it.
Roma Jean was unlike anyone Charlie had ever known. She was like that big milkshake blender at Dairy Queen—filled to the brim with every wonderful thing you could think of, and running flat out. Shy. Blunt. Clumsy. Confident. Funny. Sad. Smart. Clueless. Sassy. Scared. She was all those things—tumbled together inside the best Blizzard ever made.
Charlie once took some web design classes at Alleghany Community College when she first went to work for Byron, and part of her job was maintaining the department’s website. One of the first things they talked about was how you needed to know the difference between subtractive and additive color. One system started with white and ended with black—and the other started with black and ended with white. The whole point was that black and white were the results you got when you either subtracted or added all colors together. Whether you were adding or subtracting, it took all colors to reach opposite ends of the spectrum.