One More Knight

by Kathleen Creighton

  It’s not too late, he’d told Charly, with all the confidence of somebody who doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Now, looking at the kid, he wasn’t so sure of himself. He kept thinking he ought to do something to help things along, say something to the boy, maybe strike up a conversation, find out what made him tick. But he didn’t, partly because Troy remembered what he’d been like at that age, bullheaded and sure he knew everything there was to know about the world and everybody in it, including himself. And partly because he was…well, galling as it was for a former U.S. Navy SEAL to have to admit, the fact was, the kid had him just about scared to death.

  Lord help Charly, he thought grimly.

  Then inspiration struck. “Hey,” he said, digging in his pockets for change, “I’m goin’ down to the Coke machine. Can I bring you somethin’ back?”

  The kid flicked him a glance, then went back to studying the piece of carpeting between his feet. “No…thanks.”

  At least, Troy thought, somebody’d taught him manners. “You sure? How ‘bout a soda, or somethin’? I’m buyin’.” Ah, hell-that’s tryin’ too hard.

  “Naw,” the boy muttered, “I’m fine.”

  “Well, okay,” said Troy.

  So then, of course, since he’d said he was going to, he had to take a walk on down to the damn vending machines and get himself a can of iced tea he didn’t really want. While he was there, he got a Coke for Cutter, just in case the kid could be persuaded to change his mind about accepting it. He was on his way back to the sitting area with a cold can sweating in each hand when he saw Charly coming from the direction of the ICU, wiping her eyes with a wad of tissues. His heart started to pound.

  They came together just outside the waiting-room doorway. “Hey,” he managed to say in an undertone, fear thickening in his throat, “how’d it go? Everything okay?” Damn, but he wished he could put his arms around her, touch her, at least, but he couldn’t because his hands were full of cans.

  “Yeah,” she said, dabbing at her nose with the tissue, “it went fine.” But she wasn’t meeting his eyes.

  She took the Coke he’d brought for Cutter, absently mumbling “Thanks” as she popped it open, then drank from it deeply, like someone parched. As she lowered the can with a long exhalation and a soft, unabashed burp, her gaze slid past him, aimed like a searchlight’s beam through the doorway and into the waiting room. She had kind of a shiny wet newborn look about her that for some reason brought a lump to Troy’s throat.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he whispered, touching her arm now that he had a hand free.

  She finally jerked her eyes to him, and to Troy it was like having the sunlight hit him full in the face after a long time in darkness. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “Really. It went…very well. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I have to talk…” She gave a slight nod, looking once more toward the sitting area, where Cutter had risen to his feet and was waiting for her, primed and tense as a fighter waiting for the bell to ring.

  So then what could he do, when every instinct in him wanted to be ridin’ to her rescue, swords drawn and guns blazin’, and the damn dragons were nowhere in sight? Nothing. That was the only answer he could come up with, and the only one he’d been coming up with, and it was about to drive him crazy. Charly was on her own. And all the help he could give her was to nod his head, swallow nails, step aside and let her go and get her heart broken.

  Because he knew damn well that was what was going to happen; he could see it in the kid’s face. Twenty years of hurt and anger were written there, plain as day. No way that boy was going to let it go, not yet and not without a fight. Maybe not ever.

  Lord…help Charly…please.

  As she walked toward her son with the Coke can clutched against her stomach like a bride’s bouquet, Troy wondered if it was to keep her hands from shaking.

  Cutter watched her come, standing his ground with his arms folded across his chest, stiff necked and bristling, until she got to within hand-shaking distance. Then he shifted abruptly, turned a shoulder to her and said stiffly, “Okay, you did what you came to do. You saw him, you talked to him-now you can leave.”

  “Cutter,” Charly said in a voice so low Troy had to strain to hear, “I’d really like to talk to you. Do you think we could-”

  “I’ve got nothin’ to say to you.” The boy flung the words like knives, and Troy felt each and every one of ’em right in his own heart.

  Charly didn’t flinch, though. “That wasn’t what I asked,” she said in a stronger voice. “I said I’d like to talk to you. Maybe you could just listen to what I have to say?”

  While she was saying that, Cutter’s chin pushed up and then jutted out, and Troy, watching, felt a shiver of recognition that almost-almost-made him laugh. It reminded him so much of Charly, the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her, coming down the hallway that night he’d bailed her out of jail. Lord, he thought, if the kid had very much of his mother in him, then Charly was in for the fight of her life.

  “There’s nothin’ you have to say that I want to hear.”

  “Maybe you should hear me out before you decide that,” Charly countered. She cleared her throat. “Look, my father and I just talked. We both said some things that needed to be said. And…it was a good thing. Maybe a new start. Don’t you think you could…give us the same chance?”

  She hadn’t touched him, but he shook himself away from her as if she had, taking a step backward and holding up his hands. “Look,” he said, “I’m glad you and Pop talked-I really am. That’s between you and him, all right? And if that’s what makes him happy, then…fine. But you and me? That’s somethin’ else again.” He turned from her, enough so Troy could see his face plainly, and the struggle that was going on inside him-the struggle between the little boy he’d been and the man he wanted to be.

  “I’m not tryin’ to be mean,” he said in a man’s voice…a boy’s mumble. “All right? I just want to make sure you understand, I don’t want you in my life. I don’t need you, okay?”

  “Cutter-”

  The hand came up again, demanding silence as he fought his inner battle for control. Finally he pulled in a sustaining breath. “There was a time I did. I used to say my prayers every night-‘God bless my mama and keep her safe and bring her back.’” In spite of all his efforts, his voice cracked. He drew another breath. “But that was when I was little, okay? I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need a mother, and if I did, it wouldn’t be you. Dobie and Pop, they’re my mama and daddy. You had your chance, and you blew it when you walked out on us. You’ve got no place here. So you can just…finish up your business and go, okay? Go back to…where you came from-I don’t care. Just…leave us alone.”

  Troy watched as the smooth young face seemed to crack like old china, finally letting loose the tears the kid had been trying so hard to contain. And he thought, That’s one more thing he’s gonna have a hard time forgiving her for.

  As for himself, Troy was discovering that there was nothing in this world quite like the pain of watching somebody you care about-somebody you love-get hurt. He’d had things happen to him before-like his dad dying, buddies getting killed-but at those times, it seemed like there’d been a kind of a buffer, a sense of unreality, of shock, that he guessed must be nature’s way of protecting people from things that might otherwise be more than they could handle. Here, there was nothing between him and the pain, nothing at all. He could see it like a crushing burden pressing down on Charly’s head and shoulders, and feel the weight of it in his own chest. And added to it, the sharp, cutting agony of helplessness, of wanting so badly to help her, and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.

  He was barely aware of it when Cutter brushed past him, heading for the exit. His eyes were on Charly, and he was moving toward her like a man wading through a swamp.

  “Hey,” he’d just managed to say through the muck in his throat, and was reaching for her, had just touched her shoulder when they
both heard a sound.

  They turned at the same moment to see Dobrina standing in the doorway. She hesitated a moment when she saw Troy, then gave him a polite nod and came on in. She had a big handbag over one arm and another, smaller one, clutched to her chest.

  “You been in t’ see your father?” the housekeeper asked, zeroing in on Charly with her fierce, deep-socketed glare. “He’s been askin’ for you.”

  Charly whispered, “Yes, ma’am,” and brushed at her cheeks as if she had no right to tears. Then she cleared her throat and said in a stronger voice, “Yes, I did, Aunt Dobie. We had a good talk. Um, Cutter just-”

  “I saw him leavin’.” The woman’s voice had the hard-edged, angry sound of too much emotion. “Best to leave ’im be, for a while. Just leave ’im be. He’s young, you know-he don’t understand…” She paused, her head moving from side to side, as if she’d lost her way. Then she looked down at the pocketbook she was holding and thrust it at Charly. “Here, honey, I brought you your purse.” She lifted her head up. To Troy it looked as if she was bracing herself.

  Charly reached for the purse, murmuring thanks and sniffling a little, but instead of handing it over, Dobrina shook her head and clutched her arm with one strong, brown hand. “The Good Lord forgive me for takin’ it-and for puttin’ that bottle a’ whiskey in your car, too. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did.” Then she drew herself up, proud and fierce once more. “Maybe it wasn’t my place to interfere, but I wasn’t about to let you leave again. No, sir-not after the way you and your father were talkin’ to each other, just yellin’ and hurtin’ each other, and nobody speakin’ the truth. There’s been enough a’ that in this family. And enough, I say, is enough.”

  With that, she let go of Charly’s arm and reached into the big handbag she had slung over hers and pulled something out. It was a book-Troy could see that much-about the size of a prayer book, green leather, embossed in gold, letters he couldn’t quite make out. But he heard Charly give a little gasp of recognition as Dobrina placed the book in her hands.

  “I found this,” the housekeeper said in a cracking voice, “after you went away. Maybe I shouldn’t have read it-I expect that’s somethin’ else the Lord’s gonna have to forgive me for, and you, too-but I thought…well, I thought maybe there’d be somethin’ in there to tell us where you’d gone.” She laughed soundlessly through the tears that had begun to stream down her smooth, nut brown cheeks. “Well, there was, I guess. Yes, there was somethin’, all right. But honey, California’s a mighty big place.

  “I never told your father, nor Cutter, either. It wasn’t my place. That’s yours, Charlene, honey-yours to keep or to share. That’s up to you. But that boy a’ yours-he needs to know the truth. Time he knew the whole truth, child-about his daddy-” Charly gave a small, involuntary gasp “-and how it was with you all. You give that book to Cutter to read, honey. You give it to him, now. It’s time.”

  She patted Charly on the arm and turned away, nodding, while Charly stared at her, her face bone white and glistening, like a marble statue in the rain.

  “Miz Phelps?” The young ICU duty nurse was standing in the doorway, looking like a little girl in her lavender cotton scrubs. “Ma’am, the cardiologist would like to talk to you. Long as you’re here…”

  Both women started forward at the same time. The nurse flicked a glance at Charly as she beckoned the housekeeper past her. “I meant Mrs. Phelps-sorry about that.” And to Dobrina, she said, “Ma’am, if you want to, you can just go right on in.” She gave Charly an apologetic smile and went back to her station.

  She left behind her a stunned and vibrating silence. And then the air exploded from Charly’s lungs.

  “Aunt Dobie? When? How long have you-?”

  “Nineteen years last April,” Dobrina said with quiet dignity, standing straight as a pillar with her hands clasped loosely at her waist. She lacked only one of those tall, pointed crowns, Troy thought, and she could have been a golden statue guarding the entrance to an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb. “One year to the day after you left home.” Her chin rose a fraction of an inch higher. “It was his idea. I nevah asked for it.”

  He heard a peculiar creaking sound and realized it must be Charly, trying to swallow, trying to speak. And then she was moving toward the other woman, slowly and wobbling a bit, like someone just getting on her feet after being sick for a while. “I’m…glad…Aunt Dobie. I really am. I’m just…surprised. I never-I didn’t know my father…”

  “No, you didn’t,” said Dobrina softly. “Nor your son, either. It’s time you did, child. Time you did.” She patted Charly’s hand once more, hesitated for just a moment, then continued on to the ICU and the husband that needed her.

  “Oh, boy. Wow. I can’t believe it. Married. Oh…boy.” Charly kept it up, a breathless, whispered monologue as she and Troy hurried through the hospital corridors. “My father and Aunt Dobie. Wow.”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” Troy asked when they were outside on the concrete apron, blinking in the unexpected light of a brilliant Sunday afternoon.

  She threw him a look, letting go of a little gust of laughter. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

  He shrugged. “Figured she had to have a better reason for stayin’ with the man all those years than just bein’ his housekeeper. She loves him. It was right there in her face, plain to see-guess you’ve just been too preoccupied with everything else that’s been goin’ on to notice.”

  “Wow,” she said in a wondering tone, staring at her feet. After a moment she shook her head, and they started across the heat-shimmery parking lot, Charly still agitated and wanting to move a lot faster than Southerners generally like to in the summertime, those with any sense. Troy took hold of her elbow to slow her down a little, and she looked up at him with confusion darkening her eyes. There was some anger there, too, sparking and flashing like bomb bursts in a night sky.

  “You don’t understand,” she finally burst out. “You’d have to know my father. All he cared about was appearances-what people thought, fitting in, being accepted. That’s why he was so upset when I got pregnant. That’s why he wanted so much for me to many Colin.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  She heaved an impatient little sigh and rolled her eyes. “Colin was a Stewart. In this town that was like royalty-poor as church mice, but old blood. You’re a Southerner, you should know how it is-was…can be still, some places. The Stewarts go back two hundred years, at least. They were the original founders of this town, owned most of it until the war. My father’s people, on the other hand, were carpetbaggers-founded a fortune on the misfortunes of people like the Stewarts.”

  “Lord,” said Troy, “that was over a hundred years ago.”

  “Yeah, but that’s the old Southern question, isn’t it? How many generations does it take before you belong?” She gave a soft, ironic laugh. “My father is a fourth-generation Alabamian, and still felt like an outsider all his life. My marrying Colin would have given the acceptance he always longed for to the next generation, at least.” She paused. “I didn’t have all this insight back then, you realize. I was just a kid, and mad at my father because it seemed to me all he cared about was how we looked to other people. I can’t imagine that he’d ever have married-”

  “A black woman?”

  “Well, yeah, no matter how much he may have loved her.”

  “Things change,” said Troy softly. “Times change. People change.”

  She gave a suspiciously moist laugh. Looking down, he discovered that there were tears dripping off the end of her nose. Something inside him did a slow and painful flip-flop, and he finally did what he’d been wanting to do, unable to do for so long. He stopped and turned her toward him and folded her into his arms. “Be happy for them,” he said huskily into her hair.

  “I am. I am…I was just thinking, you know…about Cutter. I wonder if he calls her Mom.”

  “You heard him-he calls her Dobie.” His voice was rusty as
old nails. “That boy knows who his mama is.”

  Suddenly becoming aware of something wedged between his body and hers, he raised his head and held her a little ways from him. “That book,” he said, tipping his head toward the leather-bound volume she still held, cradled with her purse against her breasts. “Dobrina said she wanted you to give it to Cutter. What is it, a Bible? Some kind of family thing?”

  She looked down with a faint air of surprise, as if she’d forgotten the book was there. He heard a sharp catch in her breathing.

  “It’s my diary,” she said softly.

  Charly said, “I can’t imagine I was ever this young.”

  She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, in a motel room that reeked of fried chicken and biscuits and mashed potatoes with gravy, Troy having decided it wasn’t the best time to be nagging somebody about their eating habits.

  “Listen to this.

  ‘Dear Diary.

  I’m not going to write very much tonight, because Welcome Back, Kotter is on, and I have to finish my homework. I just think John Travolta is so-o bitchin’, don’t you? I wonder if he’s married, and if he’s not, if he’d ever consider being interested in a skinny girl from Mourning Spring Alabama with no boobs and a great personality.’

  ‘Thought for the Day-’

  “I was supposed to think up something profound, you understand-

  ‘I’m thinking of getting a padded bra.’

  “Can you believe it?”

  “Hard to,” said Troy, eyeing what he could see of her breasts underneath the portrait of Sylvester the cat that adorned the T-shirt she was wearing. He’d just come out of the bathroom, where he’d indulged himself in a longer than usual shower, complete with shampoo and shave, and all the other miscellaneous activities men do in private, seldom admit to, and would never, ever call primping. He’d done all that mainly to give Charly some time alone to look over that old diary of hers, in case she needed the privacy. But as a result he was feeling fresh, clean and sexy as hell, and maybe it was just the frame of mind he was in, but as far as he was concerned, neither her breasts nor any other part of her looked like it was in any need of improvement whatsoever.