“Problem is,” he said after a long, long time, heaving a sigh, “I’m in love with you.”
Save for some soft breathing, there was no reply. Her head felt heavy on his chest. Troy raised his head in order to look, then lay back again, while his heart pounded in his throat. She was sound asleep.
Chapter 12
December 5, 1977
Dear Diary,
Well, I finally did it. I told the judge. Aunt Dobie made me. Well, I could have told her it was a big mistake. What I should have done is just left town while I had the chance. Funny thing, it seemed like he was madder at Aunt Dobie than he was at me. I heard them yelling at each other for a long time after he sent me to my room (isn’t that funny? Here I am Pregnant, and he sends me to my room, like I’m a child!)
Anyway, of course the first thing he asked me was who’s the father. Naturally he thinks it’s Richie. You should have seen his face when I told him it wasn’t! Now he really thinks I’m a slut-big deal, on top of everything else, right?
By the way, Richie called me a slut the other day. I didn’t know he had such a mean mouth. I’m glad I found out his true nature, though. I don’t know how he found out-not from me, that’s for sure! Besides Colin, I only told Kelly Grace, and she promised me she wouldn’t tell a soul. I should have known better. She probably told Bobby, and he told Richie, and so I’m sure the whole town is in on my big secret by now.
Thought for the Day: I’m sure glad I didn’t sleep with Richie.
PS I think I just felt the baby move!!
He woke up in Eden. Or maybe a Walt Disney movie-he’d been thinking of both, he remembered, just before falling asleep with Charly wrapped in his arms and her head cradled trustingly on his chest.
His arms were empty, now. So was the place across his legs where Bubba like to sprawl whenever he got the chance. The nearby sounds of rustlings and cracklings eased any concerns he might have had about that, so he saw no reason to deny himself the luxury of a slow and peaceful awakening.
Though it was already getting too warm where he lay, dappled by sunlight slanted through the branches of ancient trees. The air smelled of the life cycle of growing things-of new shoots pushing through sun-warmed soil, of flowers and ripening fruit, and of dead leaves slowly returning to the earth from which they’d come. He thought again, fleetingly, of circles.
A pair of cardinals flitted across his line of vision, chasing each other. Somewhere in the distance a mourning dove was calling. And all around him, permeating all his senses…water. He could hear it tinkling, trickling, whispering, feel it on his skin, see it swirling like gold dust in the shafts of sunlight, smell it, even taste it, cool and brassy on his tongue.
He sat up, and the breath left his body on whispered words of awe, “Oh, man…”
Straight ahead and on his right, cliffs of black limestone rose into the pale blue sky, their faces glistening with moisture that looked eerily, from this distance, like a woman’s tears. Water seemed to spring from the rock itself, seeping from nooks and crannies where sword ferns and wild primroses flourished, cascading down over ledges and outcroppings festooned with vine tendrils and carpeted with the lush emerald green of moss. At the base of the cliffs the water splashed and trickled into a dark green pool, from the banks of which rhododendrons reached up…and up toward the cliff heights with flower-laden branches thick as arms, like virgin priestesses offering bouquets to their gods.
Troy was a Georgia boy born and raised, and he was used to red clay soil and woods filled with deer and possum and wild turkeys. But this…well, he’d seen places like it in South America and Africa, but he’d sure never expected to run into such a sight in northern Alabama.
“Good morning,” Charly called to him softly, “welcome to Mourning Spring.”
He saw her, now, standing barefooted in the shallow stream where the spring water emptied out of the pool and ran away to disappear into a culvert they’d driven across in darkness the night before. It sure did look to Troy like she was wearing his boxers again, although how she could have managed to sneak a pair out of the motel room without him noticing was beyond him, and was doing kind of a delicate little do-si-do with Bubba, who was wallowing around and trying his best to use her for a maypole. Of course, being a Lab, any form of water the pup could manage to get himself into, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven, so he was being even more enthusiastic than usual.
Troy got up and went over to her, telling himself it was to see if she needed any help with the dog, but mainly because he had a sudden and profound hunger for the warmth and the smell and the feel of her. He stopped on the edge of the bank, close enough to see that it wasn’t his boxers she was wearing after all, since not even in the wildest days of his youth had he ever owned a pair with pictures of Tweety Bird on them. Nor, in his best recollection, a T-shirt bearing the portrait of a bad-dispositioned Puddy Tat. He had to admit, though, that on her they looked pretty damn cute.
“Mornin’,” he said. And when she remained stubbornly out of his reach, in a voice husky with ripening desire, “This place sure is somethin’.”
“I guess it is.” She said it with the indifference of a home-towner as she switched the leash from one hand to the other, while Bubba wallowed around behind her, plowing through the stream with his nose in the water. “Anyway, it’s how the town got its name. If you look at it just right, it sort of looks like a woman crying.”
“Yeah,” said Troy, “I saw that.” He just wished to goodness she’d get out of that water, because otherwise in about a minute he was going to have to take his shoes and socks off and go in after her.
“Anyway,” she went on, sounding like a tour guide at a national park, “it’s supposed to have been an Indian campsite at one time. Supposedly there wasn’t a spring here, then, but there was water down below, in the creek. According to legend, one day there was a huge massacre on this spot, and the village was pretty much wiped out. And when that happened, the ground shook and tears began to pour from the rocks. So they say. Thus the name-Mourning Spring.”
“Makes sense,” said Troy. “Earthquake probably opened up seams leading to some underground river. There’s limestone caves all up through these mountains, in Tennessee…Kentucky. Missouri.” Come on…get outta there. He had to grind his teeth together to keep from saying it out loud. What was the matter with her, anyway? She was acting like she didn’t want him within ten feet of her.
“We used to come up here a lot when I was growing up,” she said, as Bubba gave himself a shake, spangling her long, slim legs with rainbow drops. “Picnics…birthday parties. And later on, when we got driver’s licenses…naturally it was everybody’s favorite party spot.”
“Naturally,” said Troy as inspiration struck. He snapped his fingers and said, “Hey, Bubba, come on outta there now. You heard me, come on.” Bubba raised his head and stared at him for a minute, then ambled on over to see what he had to offer, towing Charly behind him. Which, of course, had been Troy’s intention.
“Of course,” she said as she followed the dog onto dry land, “that was before this was officially a park, so they didn’t have that rule about closing at dusk back then.”
“That right?” Troy took Bubba’s leash from her, noticing as he did so that the skin around her eyes and across the tops of her cheeks had a stretched, transparent look. Something about that slowed him down, and at the same time made his breathing catch and his heartbeat quicken. “Who’d they make it a memorial to, do you know?”
A movement of her head directed his gaze toward something he’d seen before but hadn’t really noticed-a big block of granite sitting near the edge of the pool. Fastened to the face of it was a brass plaque, on which he could clearly see the words In Loving Memory. And now, for the first time, he noticed the name: Colin Patrick Stewart. And the date: March 17, 1978.
It was hard for him to haul his eyes back to Charly’s face. The breath he’d just taken felt like an anvil in his chest. “Colin,” he said so
ftly. “He was your friend, wasn’t he? The one in the band uniform. The one who died.”
She nodded, her face suddenly vulnerable and unshielded as a child’s. “They found his body right there.” Again she used only her head to show him the place. “On the rocks, halfway in the water. He didn’t drown, though. They said it was the fall that killed him.”
“My God,” Troy exploded. He realized that he was trembling with reaction-anger, shock, horror. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you let me bring you here? Jeez, Charly-”
“No, it’s okay-I wanted to come.” There was something peaceful about the way her eyes were resting on the granite block, their color deep and dark as the pool beside it. But they had a certain shininess, too, that reminded him of things so fragile that even a whisper could shatter them-things like bubbles, or the mirrorlike surface of a pond. “I haven’t been here since…it happened,” she whispered. “I guess…I needed to see.”
He drew a deep breath, calming himself, and put out his hand and gently brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. It felt moist and cool to the touch. “He was the one, wasn’t he? Your baby’s father. The one who committed suicide.”
“Yeah.” She caught her breath with a sound much like a hiccup. “He was.”
“Jeez, Charly…” But as shaken as he was, there was no hesitation in him; all the frustration and doubts of yesterday were gone. Last night his heart’s compass had shown him the way, and the needle was still holding fast and true this morning. He stroked her cheek once more, and then, with utmost care and tenderness, reached across to her opposite shoulder and turned her toward him, then folded her into his arms.
A sigh went through her, and she softened against him, but there was no trembling, and no sobs. For a time he held her like that, while Bubba, perhaps miraculously, perhaps sensing her need, or maybe just plain tired out, sat at attention beside them, patiently standing watch.
“You want to tell me about it?” Troy asked presently, his heart swelling when she nodded. And so she began, even while he walked her slowly back to their blanket, got Bubba tethered once more to the trash can, found them seats on the nearest picnic table, where they sat side by side with their feet on the bench, holding hands.
“He was my best friend,” she said. “The best friend I ever had.”
Until now. Charly gazed down at her hand, lost in Troy’s bigger one, the words like a song inside her, a song she’d never really listened to until now. But it’s true, she thought. This man is my friend. It seemed like a miracle to her. Dazed by it, she had to wait a moment before she could go on.
“We’d been together, played together, since we were babies. And even when we got older, it seemed like we just had this…connection, you know? We told each other things we never told anyone else. And…well, he was just always there for me. Sometimes it was almost like we were the same person.” She laughed in that tender, careful way you do when tears threaten. “I used to imagine we were really twins, and that our parents had conspired at our birth to separate us. That was, until I got old enough to realize they expected us to many some day. That would have been a little much, even for Southern Gothic, don’t you think?”
“So, your parents were in favor of you guys getting married?” Troy’s eyebrows came together as he thought about that, and Charly knew what he must be wondering.
“Oh, yeah-I think they just assumed we would, since we’d always been so close, and all.”
“So why-?”
“Why didn’t we?” Pain blocked her voice, cramped the small muscles in her face so that it was impossible to say anything for a while. I can’t tell you that. Anything but that. I’m sorry…I’m sorry. I promised.
“I’m not sure I can explain,” she whispered. Still, she had to try. “I…loved Colin. He was the sweetest, dearest person I’ve ever known. Sensitive…kind. He was going to be a doctor, you know. He’d have been a great one, except that it would have been hard on him if he ever lost a patient. He had a heart like mush.” She dashed away tears, and when she lowered her hand it seemed a natural thing to add it to the one already in Troy’s keeping. “I adored him. But it was never anything to do with sex…boyfriends and girlfriends, you know? I used to tell him all about my little crushes and flings, and he’d give me advice. We were friends, that’s all.”
“So how-?” Troy stopped to clear his throat.
“How did we make a baby?” Charly finished for him, her lips making a lopsided smile. She took a breath and looked away, laughing softly. “Well, in a word-I’m not proud of this, you understand-I guess you could say we were…drunk.” At his startled exclamation, her eyes flicked back to him. “Oh, not that it was that simple.”
Restless suddenly, fragile with shame even now, she pulled her hands from his and used them both to comb her hair back from her face. “See, I had a crush on this boy named Richie-”
“The football player.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, it was Fourth of July, and Richie had finally asked me out-we were going to go to the big picnic and fireworks show the town always put on, double-dating with Kelly Grace and her boyfriend, Bobby. Well, when my father found out, he threw a fit-said we were going with the Stewarts, Colin’s family, like we always did, and that was that. With the judge, there were no arguments. So…we cooked it up, Colin and I. We’d go together like they wanted, but in the midst of the festivities we snuck off and I joined up with Richie and Kelly and Bobby. Well, Richie and Bobby had somehow managed to get a hold of a bottle of Black Jack.”
“Uh-oh,” said Troy. “How old did you say you guys were?”
She turned to smile at him ruefully. “Sixteen.”
“So is this one of those things you were talking about that you’re ashamed of?”
“No,”. she retorted, “it’s one of those things I was talking about that you’re supposed to be ashamed of, but aren’t.” But her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t sit still. She slid off the picnic table, and took a step away from him, holding her hair back with both hands. “Listen, it was not an uncommon form of recreation for high-school kids back then. I imagine it’s still not.”
“I imagine you’re right,” he said carefully. And after a pause, “Look you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t-”
“No, I want to.” She threw him a look across one shoulder. He was sitting hunched forward with his hands clasped between his knees, his beautiful eyes focused on her, reaching out, it seemed to her, like a strong and steady hand. The hand of a friend. She turned back to face him, shaking her hair free, letting her breath out slowly. “It’s just…you have to understand, I’ve never told this stuff to anybody before. Give me a minute, okay?”
“Take all the time you need,” he murmured. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
She came back and sat on the splintery bench beside his feet, rocking herself slightly. After a moment she cleared her throat and went on, “So there we were, out in the woods, drinking Black Jack and Coke and watching fireworks and making out like mad. Just when things were starting to get out of hand, I don’t know what happened, I just sort of…froze up. Chickened out. Got scared, I guess. But at the same time, I was…pretty wired, you know? Confused as hell.”
“I can imagine.”
“Yeah, well, you can probably imagine how Richie was taking it, too. To say the least, he was furious with me. Anyway, I took off for home, walking. And naturally, since I was upset, I went straight to Colin’s house, looking for him. He’d gone home after he left me with Richie, so our folks wouldn’t know we weren’t together. We were the only ones there-everyone else was still at the fireworks show. We got a bottle out of his folks’ liquor cabinet-I don’t even know what it was-and took it up to Colin’s room and started drinking it right out of the bottle, passing it back and forth. We were sitting on Colin’s bed. I was upset, crying. And I imagine my hormones were working overtime-his, too. He…put his arms around me-just to comfort me, you know? That’s the way he was. But then…s
omehow…I don’t remember… all of a sudden we were kissing. And…it just happened. ”
Then, for a little while there was silence, save for insects’ hum, the whisper and trickle of water and Bubba’s snores, while Charly sat quietly waiting for her breathing to return to normal. Troy waited with her, saying nothing, his hand in her hair, gently stroking.
“I don’t remember much,” she whispered, “about afterward. Except that I felt awful…so ashamed. I don’t even know how I got home that night. The next day, Colin came over, and we sat on my bed this time, and he held me and we talked-I cried-and he told me I shouldn’t be ashamed, that we’d both had too much to drink, and we should just forget it ever happened.” She gave a sharp, hurting laugh. “Which I would have been only too glad to do.”
“Except,” said Troy, clearing his throat, “somebody had other plans.”
“Yeah.” Charly sat up straight and waggled her shoulders, as if it were possible to ease the weight of memory. “I actually had a terrific summer,” she said, struggling for a lighter tone. “Richie and I patched things up, and he apologized for his behavior that night, and we spent the whole summer double-dating with Kelly and Bobby. Had a great time. School started-our junior year-and it looked like it was going to be so much fun. Bobby and Richie were football heroes, and Kelly and I were doing our bit as adoring groupies, hanging on to our guys’ big strong arms. Except for the fact that I’d sworn off sex, which annoyed Richie no end, and was sick to my stomach every other day, everything was fine.” She drew in a breath. “Just…fine.”
There was a thinking silence, and then Troy said slowly, in a voice raspy with disbelief, “So…you’re telling me that Colin…your best friend, and the father of your child, this sweet, kind, sensitive boy…committed suicide-killed himself-rather than marry you?”
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