M.I.A.

by Michael Allen Dymmoch

  “How old are you?”

  She laughed again. I loved her laugh. “Sixteen.”

  Sweet! Jailbait! “An’ I s’pose you’ve never been kissed? When’re you gonna be seventeen?”

  She smiled. “In September.”

  I could wait. “When can I see you again?”

  “I’ll be at the library next Friday night.”

  Rhiann

  When I opened the door the next morning, John Devlin was on my porch. Behind him, in the yard, the leaves of the cotton-woods reflected light like bright green sequins. The morning was cloudless, the air still cool. A light breeze blew John’s scent toward me—a faint, pleasant aftershave I couldn’t name. John had on the navy blue T-shirt he usually wore to cut his grass. He looked too thin and a little sad until he smiled.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Did your son turn up?”

  “He called. He went to visit relatives. He didn’t tell me ahead of time because he was afraid I’d veto the plan.”

  “He’s at that age.”

  “I know. But he’s been so crazy since his father died I almost don’t know him.”

  John nodded—sympathetically, I thought. There was something irritatingly familiar about him but…

  I added, “You’ve been good for him.”

  “I guess I see in him the son I might have had.”

  “You never married?” I waited. I let silence draw him out.

  “I had a girl, once, but I took off—left her in the lurch—so she married someone else. Just as well. She didn’t need a felon for a husband.”

  The fear that passed through my mind must have shown on my face. I hid my anger. How dare he hire my son…

  He added, “I guess you’ll be afraid now.”

  “What were you convicted of?”

  “Reckless homicide.”

  Homicide? This quiet, polite man? And reckless? “Reckless” suggested unfeeling or thoughtless or immature. Everything I’d seen of John was just the opposite.

  “You don’t seem reckless.”

  “Not anymore.” He turned away.

  “John.”

  He turned again to face me.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  John

  I hadn’t been able to make bail, so I spent the weeks waiting for trial in the Cook County lockup. I had a lot of time to read—mostly paperbacks with pages missing. I didn’t have money to pay a lawyer, so they assigned me a public defender.

  The woman seemed too young to be responsible for people’s lives, only a few years older than I. Thin and hyperactive with straight red hair and a bright orange sweater suit. She took her responsibility seriously. When I told her I was going to plead guilty, she said, “You’re crazy.”

  I shrugged. “I killed a man.” Not on purpose, but he was just as dead.

  “That doesn’t mean you have to ruin your life, too.”

  I didn’t tell her my life was ruined already.

  “I can plead this down to a misdemeanor charge,” she told me. “With time served, you could be out in ten months—no felony record.”

  I was alive. I didn’t deserve more than that. I felt as worthless as my old man always claimed I was. I just shook my head.

  The courtroom was small and round, with a wooden bench, jury box, and tables. Spectators sat in three curved rows of wooden pews. All the wood didn’t make up for the yellowed acoustical tiles, dingy off-white walls, or the lumpy linoleum floors that were shiny from numerous coats of wax. I was herded in from the holding cell and stood, as ordered, with my hands behind my back. Reckless homicide was a class three felony—five to ten years. They’d offered me the minimum for pleading guilty, not that I wouldn’t have anyway. I was guilty.

  The judge seemed bored. “You understand that if you plead guilty you won’t be able to appeal?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The PD shook her head. Vigorously. Several times. Until the judge gave her an annoyed look. He spoke. The court reporter typed away on her machine. I stopped listening.

  After a while, the sheriff’s deputy tapped me on the shoulder, then herded me back to the holding cell.

  Prison should have scared me but it didn’t. By nineteen, I’d seen and lived through so much I wouldn’t have broken a sweat if they’d marched me through the gates of hell. Which pretty much described Stateville.

  I hadn’t even heard of Dante when the bus pulled up to intake. But years later, reading the Inferno had been an epiphany. Everything about the maximum-security facility was hellish, from the annular architecture to the never-ending din of despairing souls.

  Jimmy

  Steve slept in Saturday—’till noon. I got up early and scrounged some breakfast—he had Cap’n Crunch! I watched cartoons for a while, then snooped around the house.

  There was a family album on the coffee table. I studied the pictures. I recognized my mom and dad, and Billy Wilding, Steve, Grandma and Grandpa Reilly, and the guy Steve called Smoke. There were lots of people I didn’t recognize, but most of the stuff you could figure out—like the Fourth of July, and parades, picnics, weddings, and Christmases. Ma and Billy and Smoke were in some of the pictures, but most of ’em must’ve been Steve’s family.

  When Steve got up, he seemed surprised to see me. Then it was like he remembered who I was.

  He stretched and yawned and scratched his stomach. “What’s for breakfast?”

  I handed him the Cap’n Crunch box; he looked like he was gonna barf. “You could’ve at least made coffee.”

  “I would, only there was no coffee. And no filters. And I don’t know where the stores are around here.”

  “C’mon,” he said. “You’re driving.”

  The Eat Well diner was kinda like Denny’s—you could get breakfast any time. Which is what we did.

  The waitress reminded me of Gramma Reilly—heavy and real cheerful. She had on a pink flowered dress and nurse’s shoes with crew socks. Her apron had ruffles and big pockets. According to her badge, her name was Carol. As she came towards the table with a coffeepot and two mugs, Steve leaned over and whispered, “Don’t tell her anything you don’t want the whole town to know.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Hi, Steve,” Carol said. “Coffee?”

  Steve said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  She put down the mugs and patted Steve on the back while she poured—like he was a kid. Then she looked from me to Steve and said, “Aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Carol. This is my cousin Jimmy. Jimmy, Carol.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Carol held up the coffeepot. “How ’bout you?”

  “Ah. No, thanks.”

  “What’ll it be, then?”

  “A Coke?”

  She nodded. “You boys ready to order?”

  Steve nodded and asked for eggs and sausage and pancakes and OJ and more coffee. Carol took a little notebook out of her pocket and wrote it all down. I asked for a burger. Deluxe. She wrote that down, too. Then she went in the back.

  While she was gone, we stared at the other three people in the place—two cops and a lady who looked about a hundred. The old lady ignored us, just kept reading the newspaper. When the cops were finished eating, they got up and dropped money on the table. One of them headed for the men’s room; the other headed our way.

  “You stayin’ outta trouble, boy?” he asked Steve.

  “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff turned to me. “Who might you be?”

  “I might be Steve’s cousin Jimmy.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

  “No, sir.”

  “And don’t be followin’ in your cousin’s footsteps.”

  I didn’t bother to answer; the sheriff didn’t seem to notice. When his deputy came out of the can, they went away.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, I asked Steve, “What was that about?”

  “I haven’t had a drink in three years—nobody around here’s noticed. They still treat me lik
e I’m just comin’ off a drunk or headed into one.

  “But they like me, so they’re subtle about it.”

  Steve and I spent the rest of the day hanging out. We took in a movie, then bowled a few games. I suggested McDonald’s for dinner, and Steve was a good sport about it, even though he didn’t seem excited about Big Macs. I didn’t see Beth or Stephanie anywhere. And I sure was keeping an eye out.

  Later, I dropped Steve off at work, then went back to his house and watched TV until I fell asleep.

  Steve rousted me early the next morning. He handed me a sport jacket that was too big and a tie that looked like a hand-me-down from his grandfather.

  “What’s this for?”

  “We’re goin’ to church.”

  I didn’t argue. I’d gone to church with my parents almost every Sunday of my life. We stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for some breakfast on the way.

  The church was a big old gray stone job with a bell tower and stained-glass windows. It wasn’t Catholic or Baptist, so I was worried I wouldn’t know the prayers. Steve said not to worry, just do what everybody else did and say whatever I liked. He said us going was mostly just a social call. And anyway, you didn’t need to go to church to pray.

  We sat in the last pew, where you couldn’t see anything but the ceiling and the back of people’s heads. The service was long and the sermon was boring. Steve seemed to be bored, too. I didn’t get the point.

  Afterward, just outside the door, Steve stepped in front of a big overweight guy walking with his wife and two boys. The guy looked like an ex-football player; his wife looked scared of her own shadow.

  “What do you want, Reilly?” the guy asked.

  “I want to introduce you to your nephew.”

  “Who?” You’d’ve thought Steve was speaking Klingon.

  Steve said, “This is Jimmy, Billy’s kid. Jimmy, this is your uncle Bobby.”

  “No shit!” Bobby must’ve realized what he’d just said and where, ’cause he turned bright red. He looked around; nobody seemed to be paying attention. He stared at me. “You really Billy’s kid?”

  I nodded.

  He offered me his hand. “Nice to meet you, kid. What brings you to town?”

  I shook his hand and shrugged.

  He didn’t introduce me to his wife. When one of the kids started whining, Bobby made a face. His wife grabbed both kids by their collars and hurried them toward the parking lot. Bobby watched them for a minute, then said, “You’ll have to come by the house sometime and get acquainted with your cousins.” He didn’t mention a time frame. “Bring him by the house one day,” he told Steve. Then he turned and walked away.

  “Steve. What was that about?”

  He grinned. “He’s an asshole. Don’t take it personal.” He looked around. “Hope we do better with your grandparents.”

  Now I got it. I looked around, and sure enough, Mrs. Wilding was coming out of the church, between the minister and a skinny old man in a suit that fit him as well as Steve’s jacket fit me. I waited till they were closer to say, “Good morning.” I didn’t know what to call them. “Grandma” and “Grandpa” seemed too personal, but “Mr. and Mrs. Wilding…”

  She acted like I wasn’t there. The old man seemed like nobody was there.

  I stepped in front of my grandmother. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  That got her. “Your mother threatened to have me jailed.”

  “That was a long time ago. Things’ve changed.”

  “I wish I had your confidence in that.”

  “You would if you knew my ma.” I thought she looked surprised. Maybe she wasn’t used to wiseass kids. I said, “Careful, you’re smiling.”

  That did make her smile. She said, “You have your father’s sense of humor.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

  “Yeah, but just her version.”

  “Come back next weekend and stay with me. I’ll tell you.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Sunday afternoon, I didn’t want to leave, but I’d promised Ma I’d be home.

  The highway between Greenville and home was nearly empty. I cranked the Chevy up to eighty. The wind pounded my ears. I had to turn the radio way up to hear it. In the forty-five minutes it took me to get home, I had a chance to think about the conversation I had with Steve before I left:

  “My dad didn’t like you much, did he?” I’d said.

  “Mickey?”

  “Yeah. He’s my real dad.”

  Steve stared off into space for a minute. “Mickey always liked everyone. It was more like he didn’t approve of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe ’cause I never made anything of myself.”

  I had the feeling there was more. I waited.

  Steve said, “And there was your mother.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Mickey knew I loved her.”

  “Your cousin?”

  He waved his hand at me like that didn’t mean anything. “You got a girlfriend?”

  I thought of Beth. “No one special.” Yet. “Just some friends who’re girls.”

  “Then you wouldn’t understand. But someday you’ll meet the one. When it hits, you’ll feel stupid whenever you get near her, and your hands and feet’ll be too big. And your brain’ll be warm Jell-O. You’ll see.

  “We all felt that way about Rhiann. She was Smoke’s from the get-go. He pretended he didn’t care, but that was just ’cause he didn’t feel he deserved her.

  “When he left, we had a clear field. I guess Billy wanted her more. He asked her first.”

  “Why do you s’pose my ma never told me any of this?”

  “Was she happy with Mickey?”

  “Well, ye-ah.”

  Steve shrugged. “Then why bring up the past?”

  “How come you and my ma didn’t keep in touch?”

  “A couple reasons. It was too painful for me to make the effort, for one. And I think Mickey was uncomfortable having me around ’cause he knew how I feel about Rhiann.”

  “Still?”

  “You never get over your first love, kid. Even if it’s unrequited.”

  Rhiann

  Tuesday morning, as rain slapped the window glass, I came awake in a flashback.

  “Mornin’, sunshine.” Mickey lay propped on his elbows next to me, smiling. Clouds hid the sunrise beyond our window, so his face was lit only in silhouette.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Memorizing your face.”

  “You ought to have it down by now.”

  He smiled. “Don’t want to forget any detail.”

  “In case you have to describe me to your sketch artist?” That was our inside joke. The state police sketch artist was a computer that turned out generic pictures of vague similarity to their subjects.

  “In case you finally wise up and leave me.”

  I shook my head and grabbed the front of his T-shirt. “You’d be too hard to replace. All the good guys are taken.” I tugged the shirt.

  He shifted on top of me, keeping his weight suspended on his arms. He was quick and graceful for a man his size.

  I pretended to struggle.

  The first time I’d played the game, he’d stopped, horrified. Now, fifteen years later, he smiled and kissed me until I arched my body upward, inviting him inside.

  “Oh, God!” I bit into my lip, trying to distract myself from the sudden awful emptiness the memory left me with. Withdrawal. His absence was almost as real, physically, as the weight his body had been on mine.

  I threw the covers back and rolled off the bed to escape the void where his comforting bulk had lain. A void like a ghost. Not his ghost. If there’d been anything of his spirit left here, it would have been comforting, not like this.

  I snatched clothes from my drawers and closet and fled to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would wash the ache away.

  John

  I knew at a
glance that Jimmy’d met a girl. Before I even said hello, I detoured past my Jeep and got him a handful of Trojans.

  “What are these for?” he demanded. Before I could answer, he figured it out and turned bright red. But he didn’t refuse the condoms.

  “Can I have next weekend off?” he asked. “Or at least next Friday?”

  “That serious, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Congratulations.”

  That seemed to startle him. “I haven’t really—I just met her.”.

  “That’s a start.”

  “But I don’t even know how to talk to girls. I mean—You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I’m a real expert on women.”

  “What if she doesn’t like me?”

  “If you treat her right, how can she resist you?”

  “What do you mean ‘treat her right’?”

  I laughed. “How did your dad act around your mother?”

  His eyes widened. “But they were married.”

  “Not at first. Ask your mom. She can tell you how to treat a girl.”

  “Hey! I could ask my ma.”

  “Why don’t you do that? Later. Meanwhile, why don’t you change the oil in that Ford?”

  “I could do that.” He started toward the car then stopped. “Hey, you never answered my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Can I have next weekend off?”

  Rhiann

  Friday afternoon there was another note from Jimmy: “Ma, Grandma Wilding invited me to spend the weekend with her. I’ll be back Sunday nite. Love, J”

  He’d been extra helpful all week—maybe making up for last weekend, maybe because Finn was wrapped up in his girlfriend and not available to “hang.” It made me sad—my son growing up, getting a life away from me.

  I changed into shorts and went to take my bad feelings out on the weeds in my garden. We’d had rain two days before, and the soil was crumbly soft. In no time, I had my wheelbarrow full of dandelions and creeping charley.