June Bug

by Chris Fabry

  At times like this, deep in the night and with nothing to hold on to but her faith and the worn edges of the rocking chair handles, she found it easier to chase the days of the past rather than the pain of the present. She had always wondered what her mother went through, watching them grow up to find their way—or not find it. She wondered what her mother would say about Dana and what should be done, as if anything could be. She was sure what her father would say: that she needed a good switching until she changed her ways.

  She craned her neck to see the kitchen clock, but it didn’t matter what time it was—she wasn’t going to sleep much, if at all. Her eyes were heavy, her legs and back ached, and her face felt so hot she thought it would melt.

  Mae picked up an old newspaper on the table and began to fan, which brought back another memory. That’s all she had now. Dana had come down with an earache—she always had the most piercing illnesses, that child. Mae would try to rock her to sleep and sing her songs to calm her. One night she was rocking Dana, singing “The Old Rugged Cross.” She was on the final verse, the one that said:

  To the old rugged cross I will ever be true,

  Its shame and reproach gladly bear;

  Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,

  Where His glory forever I’ll share.

  Dana looked at her with those big eyes, and she could see the pain on the little girl’s face. “Mama, why do you always sing about the cross?”

  She’d thought about giving her a theological answer, something about the substitutionary atonement for little minds, but then thought better of it. “I suppose it’s like singing about somebody you love,” Mae had said.

  “Like ‘Tom Dooley’?”

  “Not exactly. ‘Tom Dooley’ is a tragic song about losing love. ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ is a victory song because love didn’t lose; it won.”

  “Don’t sing it anymore. I want to hear ‘Tom Dooley.’”

  That was the first time Mae had felt Dana reject her faith, and it was a small thing that had grown bigger. There had been distance between them off and on, especially at the end of grade school and into junior high. Mae had taken a job at the bank about that time, and she always wondered if not being home when Dana returned from school had been the start of the trouble or if it was something inevitable, that she was just going to go her own way no matter what.

  Of course, Mae had blamed herself when Dana had run off with boys in high school, a different one every weekend it seemed, and she’d be gone from Friday until late on Sunday. Mae considered calling the police, but the girl would eventually drift home, half-drunk. Leason had scowled and huffed about the house, talking about “raising a hussy,” but he didn’t do anything more.

  For Mae, it ate at her every day, and as Dana’s ways became more erratic—dropping out of school and moving in with a guy on Barker’s Ridge—Mae became more spiritual, more in tune with God. She always felt the folks at church judged her and didn’t understand. How could they? The worst thing their kids did was toss toilet paper at some trees in people’s front yards. Other than that Hatfield boy who ran those kids down on the road early one morning, most of the people in town were upstanding citizens. But instead of giving in to the pressure and cutting off the relationship, Mae tried to love her daughter through the hard times. She wasn’t sure that was the right thing, but when she looked back at it, she believed keeping that door unlocked was a good idea.

  It wasn’t until Dana showed up on their doorstep with a muskmelon-shaped belly that things changed. She had moved on to several other guys and was living in Huntington with a “roommate.” She was thinking about going back to school, but whoever was paying the bills at her place had thrown her out when she wouldn’t have an abortion. She’d come home asking for help. Begging, actually. Mae saw the whole thing as a second chance and an answer to prayer.

  There was a rhythm to the hills, a certain cadence to life that she had grown up with. Living and dying and living again, with life springing from the most unlikely places. Sometimes trees grew at odd angles right out of the sides of rocks or plants grew between the cracks in the concrete. There were some things you simply couldn’t pave over, and life was one of them, and that girl having a baby was a sign to Mae that there was a God and that he was faithful to his promise, just like “The Old Rugged Cross.” Sin would not only find you out, it would hunt you down and stick a foot on your neck. But the fruit of this sin had come home in a car seat and was so cute Mae could hardly breathe.

  Mae had set Dana up in the side bedroom that used to be the laundry room and put fresh linens and soft pillows on the bed. She loved her with kind words that would have turned around the most hardened criminal, but instead of being thankful, Dana had almost punished Mae. She laughed at Mae. Leason asked Mae why she endured it, and she shook her head. “The Lord put up with a lot from me. I reckon I can put up with some from her.”

  There was talk of adoption and even selling the baby to some rich couple over the state line, but once that red-haired beauty had come into the world, Mae knew it wouldn’t happen. Surely Dana would see the error of her ways and would become a responsible mother.

  Mae began caring for the child full-time, being more than a mother to her, and letting Dana go about her life. Mae couldn’t remember Dana ever changing one of Natalie’s diapers. She’d just let the child sit in her own mess. Mae knew she had raised a monster—or as near as you could get to one—but every time she looked into that angel’s eyes, her little Natalie, she forgot about the bad choices and knew God had brought something good out of something bad. Natalie was living, breathing proof of Romans 8:28. Mae even called the girl Roma after that verse, but now the taste of it on her mouth felt bitter and useless. All the work of loving and what good did it do?

  The moon was bright and almost full as a car came around the bend in the road. One headlight was out, and it slowed at the downward slope and stopped altogether by the line of rosebushes on their side of the blacktop. The road had been just a rut-marked patch of dirt until a few years ago when the county paved it. Now cars flew in and Mae knew it was going to get somebody killed.

  The car inched forward, then turned into their driveway. Gravel crunched under the tires and the engine bogged down as the car came over the incline. She wished she’d kept the light on at the end of the walk so she could see who it was. The driver parked and just sat there.

  It wasn’t the sheriff’s car; she knew that by the sound of the engine. She equally hoped and feared the sheriff had caught Graham Walker and that he’d confessed and told them where he put Natalie. As she peered into the darkness, she wondered if this could be Walker himself, needing to make amends for what he’d done.

  She stood, her nightgown stuck to her back. Half-wanting to run in and get the loaded .22 Leason left by the trash can at the back door (for the groundhog he was constantly warring) and half-wanting to just stay and watch, she edged toward the screen door and opened it, standing there in the moonlight. If it was the wiry man she saw on the news, she swore she would scream, doubting that would wake Leason with the fan on, but still it might scare Walker away.

  The car door opened and out stepped a female with straight hair and an angular nose.

  Mae squinted. “Dana?”

  The girl sauntered up the walk like she’d never missed a day of calling and checking on her. Straight up to the porch she came, arms dangling, staring at Mae.

  Mae tried to hug her, but it was clear from the stiffness Dana wasn’t going to return the affection.

  “I been driving by here at night looking for a light on,” Dana said.

  “You been driving by? What for?”

  Dana looked at the floor. “Just to see if anybody’s here. If anybody cares.”

  Mae edged back. “I’m not sleeping too well these days. Came out here because it was hot. It must be two o’clock in the morning.”

  “Three thirty,” Dana said. She looked stick thin and almost haunted.

 
“Do you want me to fix you a sandwich? You look like you’re starving.”

  “I always look like I’m starving to you, Mama.” Dana laughed with derision. Then she sat in the rocking chair, her feet propped on the railing.

  “Whose car is that?” Mae said.

  “It’s mine. Delbert gave it to me.”

  “Who’s Delbert?”

  Dana rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to tell you. You’d just judge him.”

  Mae collected her thoughts in the quiet and sat on the front step, where there was just enough room. She could think either the best or the worst. Maybe this was God’s way of giving her another chance with her daughter.

  “I was sitting out here thinking about you as a little girl. Remember when you used to get those terrible earaches?”

  “They weren’t that bad.”

  “That bad?” Mae leaned against the front door. The same one Dana had slammed and broken years ago. The hinges had never been the same. “You’d squall and holler about the knife in your ear and that you needed somebody to take it out. It was awful.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “I wish I was. Every time those infections would come, it cut me to the quick, you in all that pain. I’d have taken that from you in a second if I could have.”

  Dana chewed on a thumbnail, and it looked to Mae like she’d gone as far as she could go with it, just staring with those hollow eyes. There was something more to this visit than old infections.

  “I need some money, Mama.”

  “I suppose we could all use some.”

  “No, I mean it. I’m leaving. I’m probably not coming back. There’s just too much of the past here.”

  “What about Delbert?”

  She shrugged. “He’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “What’s the hurry? Why now?”

  “I can’t take all the news and cameras. I can’t relive that.” She put her hands in her hair and pushed it up. It looked like dry spaghetti.

  “Where you headed? The news is the same all over the country.”

  “I don’t know. Some place where I can make a fresh start. Where people don’t judge you.”

  “Well, if you find it, tell me where it is because I’ve never been there before.”

  “I’m serious. I can’t live here.”

  It was too dark to see the walnut tree on the other side of the driveway. But in her mind Mae could see its gnarled branches and the way the tree had struggled. Trees are like people, she thought. It’s all about the roots. “How much do you need?”

  Dana shook her head, a bit of light coming into her eyes. “I’ll take whatever you can spare.”

  “What I can spare and what I have are different amounts. But I have to know you’re going to use this for a fresh start and not a fresh high.”

  “I swear to you. Just once more and I’ll be out of your life. I’ll be gone. I’m going to do something with my life.”

  Mae looked off in the distance to the headlights passing on the interstate. She thought of the hope she used to have for her daughter and all of those dark nights and times she wished her daughter had never been born. And then of Natalie. Always of Natalie. “Let me talk with your father.”

  “You know what he’s going to say.”

  “I have a good idea.”

  “And I need it now. I want to leave right now. So don’t wake him up. Just give me whatever cash you have and I’ll make do.”

  Mae looked at her hands and then back at her daughter. “What’s wrong? What’s got you so worked up?”

  “I told you, it’s the news.” She choked up like she was actually going to cry. “I can’t take it. I need help.”

  Mae turned away from the tears and stood. “All right, Dana. I’ll help you. But I have a condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “I need something before I give you any money,” Mae explained.

  “I don’t have anything but that old car and a few clothes I took from Delbert’s house.”

  Mae shook her head. “I don’t want that. I want the truth.”

  “The truth about what?”

  “About that night. About what really happened.”

  Dana rolled her head back on her shoulders as if doing some sort of stretching exercise. “I’ve told you and the police and anybody who cared to listen what happened.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mae said evenly. She had spent her life trying to keep the young woman from yelling and pitching a fit. Somehow it didn’t seem right anymore. “Tell me what happened to Natalie.”

  Dana clenched her teeth and stuck her hands in her hair again, grabbing it and pulling. “See? This is what it always comes back to. That little girl. You care more about her than anybody. Especially me.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “It’s true,” she shouted. “Natalie got a lot more attention in one day than you ever gave me my whole life.”

  “Dana,” Mae said, “how can you think that?”

  “Because it’s true. She was a mistake and you treated her like royalty.”

  Mae was horrified. “What have you done?”

  “I haven’t done a thing. I’m just asking you to think about me for once.”

  “What happened to her? You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Dana said quickly, crossing her arms.

  “Did that Walker boy have anything to do with it? Did you . . . ?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Did you sell her to him? or trade her away for some dope? Tell me that’s not what you did.”

  Dana looked at Mae with a contempt the woman had never seen. “How could you think that?”

  Mae put out a hand to steady herself. “I’m trying to imagine what could have happened. If what you’ve said all along isn’t true. If you’ve been lying. Just tell me.”

  “Oh, Mama, you can’t imagine the worst. ’Cause if you could, you wouldn’t be able to look at me or live with yourself.”

  “What do you mean? Why couldn’t I live with myself?”

  Dana cocked her head. “I been thinking. Especially since they brought that car up. And you know what I came up with?”

  Mae shook her head, the feeling of a little girl creeping back into her heart. The emptiness and soul-drenching fear bubbling.

  “You’re the problem,” Dana said. “If it wasn’t for you, Natalie would still be alive. Having a birthday party soon.”

  “You know she’s not alive?”

  Dana stepped forward and pointed a crooked finger at Mae. “I didn’t say that. But it was you. All that doting and all the bows in the hair and the presents. You made it worse.”

  Mae slapped her hard across the face. “How dare you speak to me like that. Now tell me where that girl is.” Her voice was shaking now, uncontrollable, and the adrenaline caused her to grab Dana’s arm, the skin turning white under her fingers. “Tell me the truth or you’ll never get another dime.”

  A sick smile came over Dana and she jerked away. “Look in the mirror, Mama. You want the reason she’s gone, go to the mirror.”

  “Where is she!” Mae screamed, grabbing at her again, but she was gone through the screen door and it fell hard, hitting Mae in the face.

  “Have that money ready when I come back,” Dana shouted over her shoulder.

  Mae sat down hard in the rocking chair as the car headed down the driveway. The taillights were dim and seemed like two eyes staring at her.

  The door opened behind her. “What was all that yelling about?”

  “Nothing,” Mae said. “Go on back to bed.”

  21

  Sheriff Hadley Preston awoke to the sound of sizzling bacon and cursed when he saw the sun through the window. He’d meant to sleep only a couple of hours, but he glanced at the clock and rose, still dressed. He’d fallen into bed with everything but his shoes and his gun belt on. There was a greasy pain in his stomach, no doubt the chicken he’d eaten in the wee hour
s.

  He undressed quickly and stepped into the shower, figuring this was his one shot for the day. If last night was any indication, it was going to be a long one.

  Macel had biscuits and eggs ready when he sat, the water beading and dripping from his hair onto his starched collar.

  “Late night?” she said.

  “Thanks for keeping the chicken warm.”

  “What time did you make it back?”

  He told her.

  “Did you catch him?”

  “No, ran into a little trouble.”

  “What kind?”

  “Walker had a gun. He got away.”

  She nearly dropped the pan with the gravy. “What in the world happened?”

  Preston laid it out as best he could without frightening her. The last thing he wanted was to upset her before he even finished his breakfast. “Nobody got hurt; that’s the good news. Bad news is he got away.”

  “That could have been you,” Macel said.

  He separated a biscuit and the steam rose. He poured honey over both halves and gravy over the biscuit next to it. “I suppose, if I’d have been dumb enough to charge into that shack. I think he would have come out on his own if Mike had waited like I told him.”

  His wife stared at the tablecloth. She was deep water. There was no doubt about it. She could laugh with the best of them, but when she got something in her mind, it was best just to leave her be until she came back. He put some hot sauce on his eggs and moved the melted cheddar cheese. This was how she’d made them the past few years.

  Finally Macel spoke. “You don’t know what you’ve got until you almost lose it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just means that I’d miss you if you didn’t come home. I prayed all night.”

  “Not all night.” He smiled.

  “As long as I could hold my eyes open. And then some.”

  “Well, I could feel it.”

  She cocked her head. “You could?”