Brambleman

by Jonathan Grant

  “Oh, I got an idea, all right.” He gave a lopsided shrug of his shoulders for emphasis.

  If Sheila harbored any ill will toward her brother-in-law, she did an excellent job of hiding it. For the first time in twenty years, Charlie and Sheila had a decent conversation, although it involved mostly bad news. She’d already heard about Romy and Wyatt and didn’t know what to make of this new development, but she was good-natured about it, as well as Charlie’s tentative reentry into family life. Charlie suspected Bradley Roy had laid down some law to her on the subject.

  Charlie thanked Sheila profusely for taking care of Beck and Ben.

  “It was like having two of my own for a while,” she said, sounding wistful.

  Charlie kissed her cheek and she hugged him. They packed up the kids’ stuff and buckled them into the van seats. Beck and Ben found the new van much preferable to the old one, since it had a DVD player in it. As he pulled out of the driveway, Charlie said, “You know Mommy’s hurt, right?”

  “Yes. A robber shot her,” Beck said.

  Charlie was relieved to hear her put it that way after having spent time in Forsyth County. Perhaps the curse of racism had washed away with the fall of the House of Varmint.

  “She’s getting better,” he said. “She should be home by the end of the month.”

  “Are you back at the house now?” Beck asked.

  “Yes. I think so,” Charlie said.

  “Yay,” said Ben.

  “Don’t you know?” Beck asked.

  “For now I am. We’ll see.”

  They were halfway back to Thornbriar before Charlie broke the news to them about their new siblings. Fearful of negative reactions, he was pleased to see that Ben was excited about the prospect of live-in playmates. “Romy and Wyatt are part African-American and part white,” Charlie said.

  “Which parts?” Ben asked.

  “All of them.”

  “So they’re mixed up?”

  “Not as much as you.”

  * * *

  The babysitter took Monday off. Charlie stayed home with all four kids, who played well together. Ben and Wyatt celebrated their newfound brotherhood with a wrestling match. Romy dressed up in an old Halloween costume of Beck’s, a white lace gown with a fluffy skirt and wings on the back. Once Romy found a wand, she danced around the house, enchanting everything, taking extra care to charm Sirius, because he was old and beautiful.

  That afternoon, the phone rang right after Romy “charmed” it. “You need to get down here to the Spinal Center,” Bradley Roy said. “It’s a miracle. It’s happening! She can walk, I tell you! It’s with a walker, but she’s walking!”

  Tears welled in Charlie’s good eye, and he wadded up the plans he was drawing for a wheelchair ramp. Shortly after he hung up, he was enchanted by Romy for the third time that day.

  “Hey, Romy. Enchant the phone again.” Romy came over and pursed her lips as she touched the cordless receiver lightly with her wand. It rang immediately. “Hello?” Charlie said hopefully.

  “This is Rachel with cardholder services. You may be eligible for more credit. Act now—”

  Charlie banged the phone down, muttering, “Doesn’t always work.”

  * * *

  The next day, Charlie took all the kids to see Susan, who was still weary from the exertion and excitement of taking her first steps. She managed a smile for Charlie. “Proud of me?” she asked.

  “You bet,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

  “Taking advantage of my slow reaction time, I see,” Susan said, giving him a look that was too severe to take seriously.

  “Always. And I’m still taking care of the dog.”

  “You are the dog,” she said.

  He smiled, grateful for the promotion.

  * * *

  Susan stayed at the center for three weeks, learning how to walk again and building her strength. During this time, neither she nor Charlie mentioned their relationship. He tiptoed like a jewel thief around the issue, trying not to draw attention to his movement toward his goal. Besides taking care of the kids, he was also busy fending off increasingly hostile reporters, agents, and editors.

  “I was trying to survive,” Charlie explained to one insistent TV reporter who showed up at this door with a camera rolling and wanted to know why he hadn’t gone to the police after the van bombing. No cops was such a simple rule, but so hard to explain.

  “But that was nearly a year ago,” the reporter insisted.

  “And I’m still trying to survive,” Charlie said, closing the door gently in the reporter’s face.

  By the time Susan was dismissed from Shepherd, Charlie’s useless, painful left eye had been removed, along with two of his molars. He brought her back to Thornbriar in the minivan. She was still dependent on a walker, so he carried her up the steps and over the threshold. Sirius bounced around to greet them. Charlie took Susan into the family room and put her down gently on the sofa.

  “Where are the kids?” she asked. “I thought the babysitter stayed here.”

  “They’re down the street. All of them. Both sets.”

  “Yours and ours,” she said.

  He’d had something planned, but suddenly, it seemed like a bad idea. “I’ll go get them.”

  “Go,” she said.

  Charlie stepped away from the couch. “Well, OK, then.”

  “Wait,” she said. “I mean—”

  She struggled to get up and took a tumble, managing to brace herself on the sofa arm as she landed on her knees. He knelt down to help lift her back up. “Wait,” she said.

  “OK.”

  “I mean, don’t go.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “Don’t go away again,” she pleaded. “I couldn’t stand it.”

  “I’m not back yet,” he pointed out. And suddenly he felt like crying.

  “All right. Charlie, please come back. I need you. God, I need you. Why’d you ever leave?” And then she started crying.

  He was silent for a moment. Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “I left a light on for you for the longest time,” she said, sobbing. “But it burned out.”

  “Me too,” Charlie said.

  “I have a confession to make.”

  Charlie braced himself. He didn’t want to hear about Bryan or Harold, and he especially didn’t want to hear about Scudder. But if she had to clear the air, so be it.

  “I prayed,” she said, then licked her lips. “It was kind of a mean prayer. I prayed … that no other woman would have you.”

  “Well, it worked.”

  * * *

  They bedded the kids down that night, and then Charlie helped Susan to the couch. After hemming and hawing for a minute, he pulled the new engagement ring from the pocket of his cargo shorts. “I thought we could pretend to start over,” he said.

  “Oooh. I like to pretend,” Susan said when she saw the diamond.

  “So, will you stay married to me?”

  She smiled. “I will.”

  “I should kiss you, I suppose.”

  “I suppose you should.’

  Due to lack of practice—at least on his part—they embraced awkwardly and pecked each other on the lips. When they separated, Susan said, “You didn’t have to do this, but I’m glad you thought you did.” She slipped the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit.

  “I remember Betty Richards came over to me at the bank in Macon and told me your check to the jewelry store was non-sufficient funds. She said, ‘Your fiancé got some money problems, hon.’ I thought, God, what am I getting into?”

  “Well, at least this time, you know.”

  “I’m still not sure. I don’t think I ever will be, with you.”

  * * *

  When Susan woke up the next morning, she scolded Charlie for sleeping on the couch. After that, they slept together. Just snoring, no sex. In the days that followed, Charlie and Susan were kind and civil to each other, but they remained somewh
at wary, and reconciliation was not complete.

  Life went on. Susan resigned her position from TransNationBank and started taking care of the kids full time (with Charlie’s help), which was what she’d always wanted to do. In late August, she traded in the walker for a cane. By then, Romy had turned four and was enrolled in pre-K, so all the kids attended Gresham Elementary. Susan called Romy “my little angel.” Charlie said, “Don’t. It will only encourage her.” Being a wise one for her age, Romy understood the need to use her special powers discreetly. Susan joined the PTA board and became the Room Mom in Beck’s class. Unfortunately, Charlie’s fearsome visage often frightened small children—at least until they saw that his scar was a rose, complete with thorns (when he didn’t shave). Charlie returned to writing with his one good eye and improved vision.

  One evening in early September, after Wyatt and Ben had finished wrestling for the day and all the kids were tucked away in their bunk beds, Charlie was revising a chapter on one of his novels when he heard music playing. He got up to investigate, suspecting that Beck was breaking curfew. He found Susan in the family room, enthusiastically moving to a techno beat, holding her cane over her head like a tap dancer’s prop. Charlie stood in front of her, hands on hips, marveling at her recovery.

  “Romy enchanted me when I put her to bed, so I thought I’d check it out. Guess what? I’m healed!” she said, stumbling into his arms. “More or less. Dance with me, you fool!”

  As he twirled her around, she said, “I want to love you forever, starting”— she kissed him—“right”—kiss—“now.”

  And so they made love for the first time in more than two years—he gently, she with her eyes closed. When they were finished, Susan said, “I want to adopt Romy and Wyatt. And I want to run in the Peachtree Road Race. And make love to you again. Soon. I want us to be happy.”

  “I’m glad,” Charlie said.

  * * *

  After Susan gave a deposition for the plaintiff in the discrimination suit, TransNationBank offered to settle the case and change its personnel policy. Then Charlie helped Susan write an opinion piece about the bank’s lending practices that got the attention of (who else?) Tyrus Bannister.

  Charlie hadn’t bothered to cancel the credit card Tawny had stolen, but when the October statement came in, he saw that the charges had stopped. The last one had been made on the day Susan and he first made love again. It was for tuition at a community college in California.

  In October, Susan, with the help of Sandra Hughes, legally adopted Wyatt and Romy. Wyatt struggled to cope sometimes, but every day was better than the day before. As for Romy, she was, even at her tender age, a little bit beyond day-to-day struggles. Susan had worried about how her family would react to her two new kids, but by this time, only the opinions of her father and sister mattered, and they were happy for her. Bradley Roy insisted on taking his reconstituted family to the Forsyth County Fair. He carried Wyatt piggyback, and Charlie snapped a picture of Bradley Roy with the boy the old man now called, “my little man” underneath the Forsyth County banner. Bradley Roy introduced Romy and Wyatt to one of his old friends, a grandnephew of a 1912 lyncher, by Charlie’s reckoning. The man bought all the kids cotton candy and marveled at how the world had changed, then joked that Charlie Sherman was “the only person I know of in danger of getting run out of town these days.”

  * * *

  The remains of John Riggins, reunited with his right middle finger, had been buried alongside those of his wife.

  Minerva and Arlene, who had filed her own claim against the Cutchinses, dropped their lawsuits when they found out that the Cutchinses’ vast wealth was gone with the windbag and that fighting the developer would also mean fighting the state Department of Transportation and attorney general, since highway easements were now involved.

  There was one chunk of change remaining, however. Susan and Bradley Roy persuaded Phil and Sheila to give up what was left of their share of Pappy’s ill-gotten gains. Minerva, having learned of Arlene’s plight, split that money with her half-sister. Arlene would use her portion to buy a new double-wide and a pickup truck. During this process, Charlie had the opportunity to talk to Susan’s hermetic aunt, and he asked her, “What really happened to your baby? Did you have an abortion, or was the child institutionalized?”

  Arlene looked him in the eye and said, “Neither. I had a miscarriage.”

  Charlie was incredulous. “Then why ... why … oh, I give up.”

  “Best that you do,” she said.

  Minerva used her money to set up a college fund for Takira and hire lawyers for Demetrious. His lawyers were able to negotiate a guilty plea in exchange for a ten-year sentence1—a much better deal than the death penalty or even the two mandatory twenty-year sentences he faced if convicted. The deal went through after it received the victim’s approval.

  By that time, the old woman and young girl had decided it would be best for Baby Shaundra if she was put up for adoption. At John Riggins’s funeral, Minerva had asked Charlie if he knew of any prospective parents, Charlie mentioned Angela Talton and Sandra Hughes, who had told him at their commitment ceremony in August that they wanted to adopt. Minerva thought it was a grand idea for the girl to have two mommies. “I’m tired of men, anyhow,” she said.

  In November, news broke that fugitive politician Stanley Cutchins had perished of dysentery in Costa Rica. The money he’d taken was never recovered. Evangeline remained in jail awaiting trial and refused to allow her public defender to plea bargain. She believed that she’d be vindicated in a trial because, in her words, Charlie Sherman “needed killing.”

  * * *

  While doing spring cleaning, Susan found Charlie’s $12,000 painting in the garage. She insisted that he get rid of it immediately. Charlie hated the idea of throwing away something so expensive, even if it wasn’t valuable, so he took it to Bay Street Coffeehouse to show it to Jean, whom he hadn’t seen in nearly a year.

  His favorite barista shook her head at the sight of him. “You’ve gone from lone wolf to pirate,” she said, then quickly added, “I told you Dana was bad news.”

  Danger Girl had recently been sentenced to twenty years in federal prison. Charlie didn’t want to talk about her. He just shook his head back at Jean.

  “Whatcha got there?” She nodded at the painting, which he’d placed just inside the door.

  “You want it?” he asked.

  “Are you serious?” She came around the counter to view it more closely.

  He groaned in embarrassment. “I know. Really. You can have it.”

  “How much you asking for it?”

  “It’s yours if you want it. In exchange for your many kindnesses.”

  “I don’t remember being that kind.”

  “Consider it payback for that cranberry muffin.”

  “A muffin?” She squinted at him. “Your wife making you get rid of it?”

  “Yup.” He picked up the picture and peered over the top of its frame. For the first time, he saw it as the artist had intended. “Oh, my God! Is that … oh, definitely take it, then.”

  “Prude.”

  “Former ascetic, actually.”

  Her eyebrows perked up. “You really want me to have it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “In that case, I won’t turn it down.” She grabbed the painting. “You realize this is a Travinci? No? Oh. He was killed by terrorists a few months ago. And you know what happens when artists die.”

  “Hell, I just got shot and got rich. I hope you do as well. Without getting shot, that is.”

  She smiled and then gave him a kiss that reminded him what he’d missed while under his wife’s prayer/curse. He left, glad to know he’d found a way to repay her for being his friend when he had no others.

  He never found out how much the painting was worth, but the next time he dropped by and tinkled the doorbell, the place had been renamed Jean’s Bay Street Coffeehouse. And while she wasn’t working at the time, there was a
laminated card taped to the counter that said Free coffee for one-eyed writers. The barista on duty looked up at Charlie and said, “You’re the one.”

  Epilogue

  Charlie was living a good life, loving his wife and children, giving away money, even donating time and effort to worthy causes. While Flight from Forsyth and American Monster had both been bestsellers, the issue of reparations died (again) without any concrete results, possession being more than nine-tenths of the law in this case. Charlie was disappointed that the books had not had a greater effect, even though he realized that some of the blame for this lamentable outcome fell on his shoulders. Still, he suspected that what had started that December night wasn’t over yet. Something large was out there waiting for him, just over the horizon.

  On a sunny day in May, Charlie felt a burning sensation on his thigh, like he’d struck a match in his pocket. After a blazing instant of pain, the feeling subsided. That evening, he heard the news that Redeemer Wilson had died, succumbing to cancer after a long battle. When Charlie read Crenshaw’s article about the civil rights icon, he wanted to make another donation to the cause, but he couldn’t even find anyone to take his money. The charity’s finances were hopelessly tangled, and its prospects were beyond grim: The Hunger Palace had been closed for more than a year.

  The old civil rights warrior was laid to rest on a Monday afternoon in overalls, with a bullhorn at his side, just in case. His pine box coffin was carried on a mule-drawn wagon to Eastside Cemetery, followed by thousands of marching mourners. He was laid to rest just a few feet away from John Riggins. As Charlie stood at the back of the huge crowd, he caught a whiff of that old familiar stench. He looked around but saw no bad angel lurking. Following the service, he slipped away unnoticed.