Widow Town

by Joe Hart

  Gray moved along the bank, his feet crackling in fallen leaves. He imagined the sound the water normally made within the rough channel. Its voice was calm, the words it spoke rushing with its passage. Its urgency to reunite with the sea muted by the forest around it.

  A flash of clothing through the trees stopped him mid-stride and he waited, listening to the footfalls coming closer around the bend in the streambed. A teenager appeared, head down, eyes combing the ground as if he’d lost something. Gray watched his progress until he was within a stone’s throw of his position.

  “Good morning,” Gray said.

  The boy flinched like someone had taken a swing at him, his eyes flying to where Gray’s voice had come from. Gray moved into full view.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “That’s okay, I didn’t expect anyone to be down here.”

  “MacArthur Gray,” he said, extending his hand as he walked closer. The boy had an ugly gash on the left side of his face, a blossomed bruise around its edges. The teenager shook his hand, his grip feeble and quick.

  “Ryan Barder.”

  “Barder? You wouldn’t be Dr. Barder’s son, would you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Small world. Your dad fixed me up yesterday after the incident with your neighbor,” Gray said, nodding his head back toward Hudson’s property.

  “I heard about that,” Ryan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Unfortunate. You never noticed anything strange?”

  “About Mr. Hudson?”

  “Yeah, or anything around his land?”

  “Not that I can think of. He was a pretty quiet guy. He looked scary but always kept to himself.” Ryan shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “I see. Never heard any strange sounds coming from his place?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  Gray nodded and glanced around the streambed. “Beautiful out here. I forgot how nice it is, even without the water.”

  Ryan looked at the ground. “Yeah, it’s been dry.”

  “Sure has. Well, I’m just on a little hike, taking a peek around. You doing the same?”

  “Uh, yeah. Our place is just a mile or so that way,” Ryan said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Were you looking for something?”

  “No, just walking.”

  “How’d you hurt your face?”

  Ryan’s hand went up to his cheek. “Tripped the other day and hit the kitchen cabinet.”

  “Ah. It looks like it hurts.”

  “Dad took a look at it, it’s not so bad today.”

  A gust of wind tunneled through the overhanging limbs and made the leaves whisper to one another. Ryan met Gray’s eyes and then dropped them to the ground once again. Gray stared at the boy for a span before smiling. “I’ll leave you to your walk, Ryan.” Gray put his hand out again and Ryan shook it. “Very nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Ryan said, turning in the opposite direction.

  Gray watched him go and then began to make his way back toward Hudson’s property. As he entered the weed-choked yard his cell rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Sheriff, I just heard about Miles. I’m very sorry,” Ruthers said.

  “Thank you, Joseph, he was a good friend.”

  “Monty said it was a stroke of some kind.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You think that it wasn’t?”

  Gray reached his cruiser and climbed inside. “I’m not sure what I think, Joseph. I haven’t committed to anything yet.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Out at Hudson’s poking around.”

  “Find anything interesting?”

  Gray paused, wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow. “Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  ~

  Ryan waited until he could see the cornstalks of the field before he began to sprint. He made it three steps before a hand snagged his arm and yanked him around. A short yell came from him and he knew that when he turned it would be the sheriff standing there, dressed in his black clothes, his hat pulled down over those hard, questioning eyes.

  Instead it was Darrin’s face that pressed close to his own.

  “What was that all about?” Darrin asked giving Ryan a shake that sent a throb of pain through his head.

  “It was nothing.”

  “The fucking sheriff was poking around on the edge of our property, dipshit, and I saw you talking to him. Now what did he say?”

  “Nothing, he was out for a walk. He was checking out Hudson’s.”

  “And what the hell were you doing down there?”

  “I wanted to make sure all the footprints and blood was gone from where Mr. Ba—where he fell.”

  Darrin’s gaze was a vice that wouldn’t relent. His dark eyes contained a coiling violence that built like a storm front.

  “We swept the prints and raked the blood under already, Ry-Ry.”

  “I know, I’m just paranoid.”

  Darrin studied him for another second before releasing the painful grip on his arm.

  “Don’t go down there again, little brother.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’m watching you, Ry, always. Remember that.”

  Ryan nodded and began to walk away.

  “Dad’s off tonight and he wants us all to go to the festival.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said, and kept walking.

  “Cheer up, little brother, we’ll have some fun tonight.”

  Ryan said nothing and continued past the corn. Their leaves swayed and fluttered with the wind as the sun climbed an azure ladder in the sky.

  Chapter 29

  The lights strung over Main Street were like low hanging stars.

  Gray looked up at the jeweled wires crisscrossed from the buildings into the night sky beyond but couldn’t see the real thing for light pollution. He ambled down the sidewalk, nearing the festivities, the sounds of a dozen songs filtered out through the doors of the open businesses.

  The street had been cleared of cars and was now lined with benches and chairs. People roamed between the buildings, most dressed well, kids running around their feet in circles of excitement, long glowing wands held in their hands. The air smelled of popped corn and brown sugar, frying grease and coffee. A wide tent was set up at the far end of the street, dozens of people passing through its pinned flaps for the cold beer being doled out within. The tunings of a twelve-person band came from the corner of the last block, their instruments not yet harmonious but alien and ugly in their discordant singularity.

  He breathed it in and looked at the front of Lynn’s store. A girl in her early twenties stood behind the counter in Lynn’s customary spot. She was smiling at a group of adults who all held wares from the shelves. The people flowed like water across the street and several of them raised a hand in his direction. He tried to smile and nod at each of them.

  “Evening, Sheriff.”

  Gray turned to find Ruthers and Siri, arm in arm, moving toward him. Siri wore a light blue dress that hugged her pregnant belly and brought out her eyes. Ruthers wore a pair of light slacks, a dark dress shirt, and a smile.

  “Well by God, look at the two of you. Puzzle pieces if I ever saw them.”

  Siri smiled and blushed while Ruthers grinned harder.

  “Or is this boy actually bothering you, Siri? I can have him hauled off in the blink of an eye.”

  “No, Sheriff, he’s behaving so far.” Her hand went to Ruthers’s arm and then dropped away.

  “Good. Beautiful night to have the festival.”

  “Yeah, no rain,” Ruthers said looking at the sky.

  “Yeah, no rain,” Gray said. “Well I won’t hold you two up, I’m throwing off how dapper you both look just by standing next to you.”

  Ruthers laughed and held out his hand. Gray shook it. “Have a good night, sir.”

  “You do the same.”

  He watched them move into the crowd,
how Ruthers supported her as she walked, making sure she wouldn’t trip over any of the power cords that stranded the street, how Siri held onto him in return.

  “They were just waiting for each other weren’t they?”

  Gray glanced to his left and saw Tilly approaching, her hair tied back and a red floral dress sweeping down just below her knees.

  “I believe they were,” he said as she stopped and watched the milling townspeople.

  “I hope they make it.”

  “They will, for a time anyhow. Everything ends eventually.”

  “Well you’re full of sunshine tonight.”

  He smiled. “I’m sorry for the other day, I didn’t mean to get so vehement.”

  “Was that just an apology from the great Mac Gray?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Well I’m sorry too. You were almost killed and I should’ve been a little more patient.”

  “Being almost gassed to death didn’t put those ideas in my head, you know.”

  Tilly sighed. “Yes, I know, Mac. But have you listened to yourself lately? The things you’re suggesting are out there.”

  “I’m just paddling upstream, that’s all.”

  “Did you ever consider that upstream might be the wrong direction?”

  “I consider everything.”

  Tilly shook her head. “You’re one aggravating individual.”

  “But you knew that in grade school, Tilly. I’m having a hard time figuring out why you’re so surprised at this point.”

  She laughed, a low and sad sound and looked out across the milling people before turning her gaze back to him.

  “Did you ever think that maybe what you and Lynn went through, what you’re still going through, is having an effect on you?”

  He stiffened, his spine straightening. “My judgment is my own, Tilly. There’s grief and there’s reason. I like to keep the two separated.”

  “Most people think they do.”

  “It’s okay if you believe I’m wrong, but don’t tell me I’m off because I can’t handle my emotions.”

  “Mac, I didn’t mean—”

  “Have a nice evening, doctor.”

  Gray moved away down the sidewalk, not looking back, his eyes flowing over the crowd, not seeing any of them. The street was empty save for him, the clack of his shoes. He walked past Lynn’s store and continued on, the glowing lights nearing and then receding as he passed across a vacant lot, dust puffing beneath his feet. Rocks that hadn’t been collected yet he kicked out of his way, the night closing in.

  The town pond had been filled during the last week in preparation of the town event. A gushing pipe, now underwater, continued to pump in hundreds of precious gallons a minute to keep the level up as the earth sucked at the artificial spring, pulling it down into the unquenchable dirt. There was no moon but waterproof lights were lit in its depths, their bulbs down in the dark like glowing fish that have never seen the sun.

  He walked to the railing that looked out over the pond, its surface flat calm, only a handful of scattered trees growing here in the center of town. The week before, children had played tag in the pond’s dusty depression, their heads well below that of street level as they ran. He stopped and leaned on the rail, its touch lukewarm even in the night. So quiet.

  A little sound came far down from his right and he looked, seeing a figure there wrapped in the darkness, but even from the distance he knew it. He walked the railing, his hand grazing it now and then, the brittle grass breaking as he moved. He cleared his throat when he got nearer, not wanting to surprise her.

  Lynn’s face turned toward him in the dark and just the faintest light from town coated her features.

  “Evening,” he said.

  She wiped errantly at her eye and looked out over the water. “Hello.”

  “Didn’t think I’d catch you standing in the dark. Thought you’d be dancing.”

  “I’m tired, needed a rest.”

  “Beautiful night.”

  “Yes it is.”

  He paused, placing his forearms against the railing. A pair of ducks paddled across the pond, soundless and smooth feathers.

  “Thanks for coming to see me at the hospital.”

  Lynn didn’t move. “That deputy of yours can’t keep his mouth shut.”

  “He’s my deputy.”

  “I came to make sure you were okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t entirely for you, you know. I didn’t want you to die without saying a few things.”

  “Did you get to say them?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose you wouldn’t want to repeat them?”

  She sighed and her head drooped. “God, Gray, will you leave it alone?”

  “If you wanted it left alone you would’ve never come to the hospital.”

  “There’s a difference between compassion and love, you know that, right?”

  “Just as long as it’s compassion and not pity.”

  Lynn pushed away from the rail and began to walk past him. “You’re impossible.”

  He followed her. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “No, you’re trying to make jokes. It’s what you’ve always done. While I face things, you shield yourself and put up a front that you think holds everything back. You don’t realize that you leave everyone else on the outside. I’m the one that took things head on, and all I needed from you was a little support, that’s it, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to do that.”

  “Please Lynn, stop.” He grasped her arm, slowing her. She turned just enough for her face to be outlined against the lit town. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said that years ago. I’m sorry for the late nights and the early mornings and how I was. It’s a character defect not being able to open up. Believe it or not I tried over the years and I failed each and every time. I would go to tell you something that was on my mind or try to comfort you and a joke would come out, or something sarcastic. But for a while you seemed to be okay with that.”

  He let her go and she stayed where she was, still not looking fully at him.

  “I loved you, what else could I do?” she said.

  “Nothing, I wouldn’t let you. You think I don’t know these things? I haven’t just been thinking about it for months. I’ve known it for years. I wondered how to make myself better, how to be good to you.”

  “You were good to me, you just never let me in.”

  He sighed and rubbed his sweating palms against his pants. “We never talked about it. About Carah.”

  Lynn turned her head toward Main Street but she didn’t walk away.

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “There’s everything to say. She deserves that.”

  She spun toward him, her hands grasping his shirt, strong. “Don’t you tell me what she deserves MacArthur, don’t you dare!”

  “I didn’t want to face it, not after that morning. I couldn’t.”

  “Don’t,” she said, her grip loosening.

  “I always checked on her before work, you know that,” he continued, his mouth dry as the soil. “I would be late sometimes because I’d watch her sleep and lose track of time. Her little hands, that’s what I remember the most. How small her fingers were, and always balled into fists, like she was ready to fight the world.”

  “Please, stop,” Lynn said, her voice airy.

  “But that morning they were open, unclenched and spread out. She looked like she was still sleeping and I didn’t know, Lynn, I didn’t know for over a minute that she wasn’t breathing.”

  “Damn you, damn you to hell.” She hit his chest once and a sob slipped out, something broken, irreparable.

  Now his own tears were sliding like gentle rain down his face. “I tried, I tried to save her but I couldn’t, honey, I couldn’t, and I couldn’t talk about it even though I knew that’s the only thing you needed from me. You’re that strong, the strongest person I know, and all you needed from me was to say a few words.
I fought all these years against what I thought was wrong and something as fragile as a baby girl broke me when she left.”

  Lynn leaned her head against his breastbone and struck him again, lighter this time. He put a hand on the back of her head and stroked her hair. A gust of wind came up and curled around them. The dead grass talked and the band began to play.

  “I won’t bother you anymore, but I had to say it. I’m just so sorry it’s too late.”

  She clutched his shoulder and breathed deeply before letting it out. She pushed him away, not unkindly, and swiped once at her eyes.

  “She would’ve been beautiful,” Lynn said.

  “Just like her momma.”

  He didn’t realize until then that he was holding her hand. He let it go and made his way around her back toward the lights.

  When he stepped onto the street a group of men were sipping frosted glasses of beer. They turned as one as he moved out of the dark and he frowned.

  “Well, Sheriff! I’ve been meaning to come by and see how you were doing,” the closest man said. He was shaped like a pear, the belt of his pants seemed to go on forever. His face was red beneath the light and the little hair he had waved in the air as he moved to shake Gray’s hand.

  “John, how are you?”

  “Good, good. How’re you feeling?”

  “Never better.”

  “Still taking the nebulizer?” Vincent Barder said stepping forward. Gray nodded and shook his outstretched hand.

  “Sure am, doc.”

  Mark Sheldon appeared at the doctor’s shoulder. “I was just telling the Mayor the details about your impressive dispatching of Mr. Hudson, our local scourge. Our sheriff here did some very fine detective work and stopped him cold before he could hurt anyone else.” The DA gave him a frigid smile and Gray didn’t return it.

  “You’re quite the shot with that antique,” the rotund mayor said, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a much lighter man.