by McNay, Dan
The one beer had turned into several.
Daydee talked about a little Easter basket she found on her kitchen table upon rising late Easter morning. It was full of daisies and chocolate bunnies. John’s doing. There were little things that they all did that were endearing, despite the non-responsiveness and clumsiness and immaturity. Daydee found herself talking about John’s one memory of his mother who died young. He used to gather colored leaves to take home to her from school as a bouquet. He would search out the best colors. She was in the ground by his third birthday. Why on earth was she telling these women these stories?
“He wasn’t a dishonest man,” she heard herself saying. “He and a friend broke into a dry cleaner’s shop to steal money. The dry cleaner was a big-time bookie, they figured that they would make a killing. John’s partner worked with him in the print shop. He had seven children. They didn’t pay him what a white man would make. He had a sick mother who didn’t leave the house. Not John, his negro friend. In New Orleans, the electric company would extend credit to you in the hot summer months so you could run your air conditioner, but you were expected to pay it off through the winter. This guy never got caught up. John turned himself in for the robbery so they wouldn’t find and arrest Wilbur as well. John told the police that he had done it by himself.”
They all wanted to know when he was getting out. He still had six months, it would be after the baby was born. Was he coming here? Was he happy that she was doing well? Did they write, or call each other? Daydee looked around. They all thought this was terribly romantic. They hoped they would meet him.
Daydee thought of his hands suddenly. He was a printer, the fingers on both hands were stained black from the ink. When they saw his hands would they still think the same way? Twelve months might be long enough for the ink stains to be slowly washed away, if they didn’t have him running a press in the prison. Would they all think the same thing, once they realized he was a drunk?
She was really wondering if he would show up. She had written out a list of rules he would have to follow if he was coming here. She had started it in seriousness and then it turned into pure silliness. She hoped he would get a laugh out of it if he ever saw it.
“We laughed a lot,” she told them. “Most of the johns weren’t...” she stopped in mid-sentence, realizing what she had just said.
The women looked at her curiously. No one said a word.
“How about some music, ladies?” Sarah spoke up. She went to her shelf for a record. “Rod Stewart?”
“I was raped here before I ran away,” Daydee said.
Sarah looked at her. “You all right?”
“I guess so. The beer has gone to my head, I think.”
“Is that true?” Hanna asked.
“I guess so. I had an abortion in New Orleans. I couldn’t remember how it had happened. I was usually stoned out of my mind the last year I was here. I thought it could be anybody. When I came back, Edward and Jack and Winston freaked out – they were sure I was going to try to hang them.”
The women looked at Sarah.
“It’s true.”
“The holy of holiest is up there every Sunday telling everybody how to live their lives,” Hanna said. “And his wife is worse.”
“Edward, sure. But Winston?” asked one of the women.
“He’s asked me to forgive him. He’s actually been very kind to me. But he’s very crazy, I think. Deep down inside. He’s afraid of going to hell.”
“We ought to do something about this!” Hanna said, probably feeling the beer as well.
This turned into a very large expression of indignation and all the women suddenly seemed bent on somehow humiliating all three men. Jack became the easiest target. They could protest outside the church with picket signs. Write mean letters to the town newspaper. Rent a billboard.
* * *
They had been at the house. The minute she turned her key in the lock, her father opened the door and pulled her inside. He looked scared and disheveled. They dead bolted the door.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded.
“Right after you left there was a great pounding on the front door. They said they were with the sheriff’s office and to open up. I hollered back that we were under the city police’s protection and if they tried to break the door down I would shoot their brains out.”
“Did you see them?”
“Nope, they tried that back window that’s all rotted out, but it looks like it was glued shut. I couldn’t see nothing ’cause it was dark out, so I shot out that window. A car sped off a few minutes later. I don’t think I got any of ’em.”
She went back to look. He had upended the kitchen table against it. The window itself was covered by a garbage bag that he had taped to the sill.
“You’ve been busy,” she said.
“They didn’t seem ready for a shootout.”
“They probably thought you were in that state you were when you got picked up off the street.”
“Ha on them.”
“I’ll get somebody to come fix the window tomorrow. You had dinner?” Daydee asked. “I’ll make you something.”
“I could probably put new glass in it. I used to know how to do those kinds of things.”
“Maybe it’s time for a whole new window,” she said.
“You look a little happy, you all right?”
“Too many beers. I said some stuff I shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t know much about the way women talk. Don’t they always say too much?”
“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know much about the way they talk either.”
Over dinner, Daydee told him about her life in New Orleans.
“Jesus Christ,” was about all he could say. After the third time, she asked him to stop saying it. He stopped.
“It was my choice,” she heard herself going on. “I didn’t want to be a waitress. I was too young to be hired at any kind of regular job. Ringer was just right up my alley. Drugs and cool clothes and a warm place to sleep at night. He treated me better than Mom ever did.”
“You’re lucky to still be kicking,” he said.
She could see the sorrowful look in his eye, all about his regret. She didn’t want that. All she wanted was for him to know who she was.
“It was just a year after I got there that I woke up one morning and was tired of being stoned, tired of not seeing what was going on around me. It didn’t seem like much of a big deal. You just passed when it was offered. You had a little taste of the bottle to be polite and then you left it. It’s harder to quit smoking cigarettes.”
“You’ve got a whole caboodle of backbone.”
“I don’t know. I had nothing to have a party about. Nothing at all to celebrate. I got rid of Ringer and did my job to make money. I liked the down time. Reading a book. Watching television. Going for a walk. I didn’t need anyone at all. It was like I was tired of people. Tired of all the fucking agendas.”
“You’re not like that at all.”
“Something changed when I decided to keep the baby. I pretended I wasn’t pregnant for a while, thinking it might disappear on its own. Then I wouldn’t have to be disappointed if it wasn’t real. It’s just hormones. I guess it will all change again after she comes,” Daydee said. “And then there was you sitting out there in the weeds.”
“I gets to be a grandpa.”
She felt like crying again.
“Go take a load off,” he said, patting her hand. “I’ll do the dishes.”
She curled up on the couch with a cushion under her head and watched the television. When he finished, she made room for him on the couch and then put the cushion on his lap and lay her head back down.
“You mind?” she asked.
“Not in the least bitty bit.”
He stroked her hair. About midnight she awoke and got up to get him to stretch out, covered him with a blanket and went to her own bed.
* * *
Sarah
knocked on her door on the next Sunday morning. Everything outside was bright blue and white. A few of the ladies from the quilting bee were waiting in the car. Sarah told her she had to come. Daydee really did not want to confront anyone this way, but Sarah pointed out that she was out voted and the women were bound and determined to do this with or without her. Hanna waved at her from the car. Sarah asked her if she really wanted to miss the occasion. Put that way, she decided she would regret it if she didn’t go. Maybe they could all do it for her and she could just watch. Hanna had some old grudge against Jack which she refused to talk about. Sarah thought it came out of some craft fair they had held at the church years ago, and her handicraft had been slighted by the good pastor and his wife and she never forgave them and had actually quit the church because of it. Daydee was growing to like this odd slender boy-woman.
All of them were dressed for church. So they had to wait for her to get ready. She also checked the shotgun on the way out and told her father to stay put. Daydee thought it strange that two of the women that she had only just met –she would be pressed to remember their names – were out here on her behalf. Or maybe it was something else. They were early, despite Daydee taking time to get ready, and all had agreed they wanted to be up front. So they filed in twenty minutes before the service was to start. Sarah was grinning. She was having a great time. Jack’s wife and her friends were whispering furiously in the corner, but it lasted only a minute and they grew silent and stern and they separated to be with their husbands and children. Jack was oblivious until he mounted the stage in front to begin the service. And there they were. He was suddenly nervous. He began with a hymn and everyone stood and sang. Then everyone sat down. Hanna took a folded piece of paper out of her purse and unfolded it and held it against her bosom for Jack to see. Only Sarah and the woman next to her on the other side could read what it said. This wasn’t planned or discussed. Daydee and the others were not sure of what they were doing. Jack turned very bright red.
There was a pause.
“Ladies, I want you to feel welcome here. Please stand so I can introduce you to our congregation.”
Daydee wasn’t sure if that was supposed to embarrass Hanna into putting her sign away, but she didn’t. As she turned, Daydee read ‘Rapist’ on the paper she held on her chest. The congregation could now read it as well.
“Please introduce yourselves,” Jack said.
The women did. Just first names. Daydee felt silly. Everyone knew who they were.
“Please welcome our newcomers with a round of applause. We want all who have come seeking salvation to be welcome in our place of worship.”
They sat down again.
“We are children of Jesus. Children. Children will make mistakes, sometimes grievously wrong mistakes. Jesus does not desert his lambs. All that is required is confession and regret and allowing the Son of God into your heart. A new life can be found. And an entry to heaven…” And on and on for the next fifteen minutes. A long tale with a few parables thrown in about Jack’s redemption. It felt improvised, and he seemed to lose his train of thought here and there. Daydee wished Winston could have been here. It might have made some sense to him. Daydee had never felt any shame about her life. She didn’t need anyone to tell her she was forgiven. How was he going to explain the sign to his wife? To be honest, she was more pissed off about his attempt to steal the backhoe shovel than anything else. He finished and they sang a couple of hymns and he read from the New Testament and they sang another song and the service was done.
Jack, pulling on a coat and muffler, went out front to shake hands with the people that wanted that. His wife remained over at the side in back of the pews, so Daydee and her friends, in filing out, would come nowhere near her. The women purposely lined to shake Jack’s hand before they left. He looked nervous. Daydee went last. She hadn’t really heard what any of the others might have said to him.
“Thief,” she said, smiling.
“Today you will be with me in Paradise,” he replied.
She knew that was probably a quote.
* * *
She spent the day on the phone while the guy replaced her window. The police chief told her that the investigation was ongoing and that the sheriff had denied that anyone from his office had been to her house. It took the handyman all day, with the cold air flooding the house. It was something to watch. The entire window came out, frame and all and a new one was popped in. All in one piece. She made her father and the window guy grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Suzy homemaker. All she was missing was an apron. She called Sean about ploughing the roads through the cemetery. He didn’t have anything to do it with and he didn’t know if her mother owned a snow plough blade that could be put on the back hoe. He said he could probably put it on if there was one. Jack had handled all that before her mother died. Daydee told him that she would go look. She tried calling Winston, but there was no answer. There was a guy at the newspaper that she had met with his wife at the doctor’s. She called him about what the cemeteries here do for Christmas holidays. So people were expecting to be able to go put flowers on the graves. But he didn’t think she was required to clear off the headstones. Which was good, because she wouldn’t last very long out there in the snow with a shovel and broom. The baby would surely come out of spite.
When the handyman finally finished, she paid him, locked up and took her father along to Walmart. They picked out a tree in a box. And some lights and ornaments. If the baby came before, it would be her first Christmas. She tried needling her father about what present he would like. He couldn’t really think of anything but nice warm socks. They went to dinner at the local Denny’s and then headed out to the cemetery. Daydee wondered if this was smart, it was already dark, and was beginning to snow again, but she needed to get this figured out and she hated leaving her father alone to go run errands.
Was there a car following her? It turned off. She drove very slowly and carefully. The roads were slick. Up ahead was a snow plough truck heading toward them. As the truck passed, she caught a glimpse of the driver. It was Jack. He waved. And then he was gone. They turned into the cemetery gate and she realized that the drives around the grounds had all been ploughed – recently. That was dumbfounding. Did the road crews just include her just because? Why did she think it was Jack? Maybe he just did it every year when he worked the plough truck and he forgot this year that she was the enemy? Or he just did it to be nice to the old folks who bring flowers. Jesus could be helpful.
She pulled down to the shed to go look anyway. Grabbing the flashlight from the glove compartment, she got out. The snow was falling quietly. Flashing the light around the shed didn’t expose anything that looked like a snow plough. Well, there was a reason. They didn’t need it. Then there was a sound, a crunch in the snow behind the side wall of the shed. Movement. Someone walking. There was another dark figure walking down from the office. She ran for the truck. Grabbing her purse off the seat, she pulled out her little Ruger.
“Dad, lock the doors after me.”
She slammed the door and he climbed out of the other side.
“Dad!”
The first one came out from behind the shed. Edward was the one walking down to them. She faced Edward. Twenty feet away, she could see him well enough to shoot him. He was still coming. Over her shoulder, the other man had stopped.
“Stop!” she screamed.
He just kept coming. She fired at his feet. He went down in the snow.
“Goddamn it! You shot me,” he yelled.
She put the light in his face, afraid that he might have that gun he shot the dog with. His hands were empty. She turned on the guy behind her. In the light, it was no one she knew.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
“Jeremy Turner.” His hands were up. “Sheriff Turner’s boy. I don’t want a gun fight, ma’am.”
He sure sounded like his dad.
“Come up here with your friend.”
He took a wid
e path around her and walked up to where Edward was sitting in the snow. His hands were up. There wasn’t a uniform or a holster as far as she could see. She slowly approached them. It wouldn’t be good if she slipped and fell. Her father’s feet were crunching the snow behind her.
“Dad!”
Edward was trying to take off his shoe. It looked bloody. It looked like it hurt too much to remove it. She fired into the ground beside the two men. They both jumped.
“Dad, get back into the truck!”
She had no idea if he was going or not. Edward’s gun could be in a pocket. She couldn’t look away.
“Ma’am, Mr. Stills asked me to come along and help corral you and a crazy old bum. And escort you both to Chicago. Nobody was going to get hurt he said.”
“That’s a plan?” she asked. She looked back and forth between them.
“I wasn’t going to hurt him or you,” Edward said.
“Neither of you were trying to break in the house the other night?”
“No,” Edward said.
She fired the pistol at the snow about two feet away from Edward’s wounded foot. He jumped and covered his head with his arm.
“Christ, don’t shoot me, please,” he said.
“Are you afraid, Edward?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She fired again at the same spot.
“Are you afraid, Edward?”
He looked up at her and smiled.
“Turn your pockets out!”
“They won’t pull out. I didn’t bring my gun.”
“Help your friend up and get him back to wherever you left the car,” she told the sheriff’s son. “I’m waiting until you disappear.”
Jeremy nodded, and helped Edward get up. It looked painful for him to walk. She watched them until they were up near the office. Turning, she found her father right behind her.
“Let’s go,” she said. “You need to listen to me when I talk to you.”
After this, she started carrying the pistol in her coat pocket.
Chapter eighteen