Potter Springs

by Britta Coleman

  Mark murmured his agreement, still stirring.

  Ben shuffled over to the garage refrigerator, a nonreturnable olive green that Katy had deemed “horrid” upon delivery, according to family lore. The door opened with a shlooping sound when the airtight seal popped, and refrigeration poured out like fairy frost. Bottles tinkled in a mismatched melody as Amanda’s dad dug for a specified brew.

  Back at the pot with two bottles, Ben used his key chain to pry off the lids then handed one to Mark. He paused to take a deep sip and Mark did the same.

  “How’s the job search?” The folding chair groaned under Ben’s weight.

  “I’ve got a few more interviews lined up next week. Katy’s been a big help,” Mark said.

  “I bet. Her web knits far and wide through the greater Houston area.” Ben gestured with his drink, arcing from corner to corner, invoking a horizon image.

  “I wouldn’t have these contacts without her. My résumé doesn’t exactly scream ad exec.”

  “You know”—Ben stared into the bubbling pot-“you don’t have to go where she tells you.”

  Mark bristled. “I’m not. I think the agencies would be a good start for me. And when Amanda gets well, maybe she can go back full-time.”

  “What about that job in the Panhandle? With Ervin whatshis-name?”

  “Plumley. Ervin Plumley. In Potter Springs.”

  “That’s the one. Ever call him?”

  “Just to check it out.”

  “Nice guy?”

  “Ervin? Yeah. Seems like it anyway. Retired coach, real enthusiastic. Said he needs somebody pretty soon. Before the board changes their mind about the position.”

  “How’s the pay?”

  “Okay. But they’d give us a house, and the cost of living’s low.”

  “Sounds like a pretty good deal.” Ben accentuated this observation with a hearty belch.

  “Maybe. But it’s too far. And Mandy…” Mark looked at the house, his wife hidden inside like some sort of a wounded Rapunzel. “Like I said, I’m making a change.”

  “I don’t know about you,” Ben said. “But me, I’d take my bride and get the heck out of Dodge. Make a real change. Start your own lives. Away from”—he stared at the screen door-“outside influences.”

  Mark thought of Amanda, ensconced inside her pink ruffled room, Katy running interference and keeping him at bay. He wondered when he’d get to bring his wife back home. The tiny apartment they could no longer afford as his severance dried up like rain in the Houston heat. “You trying to get rid of me?” Mark took another drink.

  “No, son. Trying to help you. Besides, aren’t you from the Panhandle? Lubbock, right?”

  Not technically the Panhandle, but close enough. “Yep.”

  “So, in a way, it’d be like going home.”

  Home. To windswept plains and broad fields of dancing yellow grass. Sky wrapped around the earth like a quilt, thin and high. Weather riding up like a herd of horses, clouds thundering in, seeing lightning from forty miles away. A land where sunsets were gifts brought from afar in colorful and glorious splendor.

  No city smog, no traffic, no mother-in-law or failed ministry. A new start.

  With no history. No credentials.

  Mark shook his head, the idea too overwhelming to be tempting. “I can’t think about moving right now. I’ve got enough on my plate getting Mandy better. Finding a job.”

  “In advertising.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sales and things.”

  “Along those lines.”

  “Sounds fulfilling.” Ben revealed no hint of sarcasm. “Really working with people.”

  Mark’s heart twitched. A whisper of the call tickled his spine. He felt no call at all to advertising amongst the slick and shiny. But maybe that’s what he’d been doing all along.

  He sighed. “Enough already. I’ll call Ervin, see if the job’s still open. But I’m not promising anything.”

  “I’m not the one you owe your promises.” Ben creaked out of the chair to check the simmering brew. “She’s inside. And she needs you now more than ever.”

  CHAPTER 9

  goliath

  Here, put this in on the side.” Ben Thompson grunted, sweat streaming from his forehead as he jostled the bed frame up the U-Haul’s ramp.

  “Don’t you think over there, where there’s more room?” Mark gripped the other end, the metal pinching his palm.

  “Nah, this’ll work.” Ben gave a mighty shove and the bed frame tugged a tear in the corner of the couch. “What else we got?”

  “That’s about it.” Mark looked away from the fresh gash in the furniture. “One more lamp, I think. Honey, do you have anything left inside?” Mark called to Amanda, who sat with Dragonlady under the shade of a magnolia tree. He couldn’t hear their words, but the women’s postures crackled with tension.

  For all Mark knew, Katy was orchestrating a last-ditch effort to keep Amanda in Houston.

  Thankfully, it didn’t look like it was working.

  “No, just my purse. I’ll go get it.” Amanda stood with effort, looking none too steady.

  He hated they had to leave so soon, without the luxury of time that Amanda needed. But with the apartment lease up, and Ervin Plumley raring for their arrival, postponing the inevitable seemed foolish. They’d have to pay more to stay, and Mark figured he could take care of his wife just as well in Potter Springs as in Houston. Maybe better, without Dragonlady hovering, ready to strike.

  “No, let me.” He halted Amanda’s progress, squeezing her shoulders. “You say good-bye to your parents and we’ll head out.” He went inside and made a final check of the apartment, then locked the door behind him. Holding her purse in one hand, he balanced the lamp and a fake plant under his arm.

  In the parking lot, Ben embraced Amanda. Great tears rolled down his face as he hugged his daughter tight.

  She kissed his cheek, her own eyes dry, and whispered, “Bye, Daddy.”

  After closing the back of the rig, Mark started the U-Haul and blasted the air-conditioning. He retrieved Mr. Chesters’ carrier and shoved it in the small space behind the seat, and received a heated hiss in response.

  Clearing Amanda’s side, he set her new atlas on the console. He’d bought it at Wal-Mart for five dollars, a little treat for the road. He had wandered in the store-what do you give a woman who leaves hearth and home to follow you out west, to chase after your dream when hers died in a hospital in Houston?

  He sensed something had broken in her that day, had flowed out with all that blood. She couldn’t seem to shake her sorrow and Mark didn’t know what to do to help her. He forged this crazy plan and hoped a change would spark her spirit.

  Instead of flowers or candy, or even a piece of jewelry, he bought her a map. Something to look at, to navigate by. To see they had a future, and it was real.

  When Amanda parted from her father, Mark held the door open and ready. He helped her inside, lifting her tenderly onto the cushioned seat. He paid extra for the deluxe cab model, and when she sank into it, he sensed a gratefulness that he had done at least this one small thing right.

  Holding her close, he caught a scent of copper pennies. “You all set?” The tired in her eyes made his voice catch.

  “Ready.” She clicked her seat belt into place.

  Ben came up to the side of the truck and patted it as if it were a thoroughbred. “Got that Toyota latched tight. Shouldn’t give you any problems.”

  “Thank you. For everything.” Though Mark had refused financial help from Amanda’s parents, Ben’s simple advice had made the difference. A catalyst to snap him out of his fog and see the truth.

  She needs you now more than ever.

  They shook hands, and Mark took his place in the driver’s seat.

  Katy came around for her good-bye, poking her frosty blonde hair through Mark’s window.

  He braced the steering wheel. “Thanks for every-”

  “You take care of my daught
er, Mark.”

  Her voice was so low he barely caught it.

  “You hear me? Take good care of my daughter.”

  She didn’t smile when she said it.

  “I plan to,” Mark replied. He gunned the motor and, with his bride secure in the passenger seat, left imaginary skid marks on Houston.

  * * *

  TUMBLEWEEDS CHASED EACH other over the highway like long-legged spiders dancing in ghost ribbons of red dust. Under the wheels of the U-Haul, the lifeless branches fragmented, pieces spiraled behind them in a sharp-edged wake.

  For the greater part of the trip, Amanda sat silent, perched atop a mountain of maxi-pads. She shifted only to change the radio, and to alleviate pressure on her tender parts. Mostly she looked out the window and watched the trees thin as the landscape grew flatter and the sky grew larger as if it would swallow her whole.

  “Mandy?” Mark turned down the radio, speaking loudly over the U-Haul’s incessant roar. Wind whiffled through invisible spaces, making conversation difficult, if not impossible.

  “Hmmm?” Amanda didn’t look up from her new atlas. On the map, Potter Springs looked flat and ugly, with no green hatch signs for trees, no blurry browns for mountain ridges. Just thin black and blue lines, like varicose veins, weaving sparsely through a sea of white.

  “You getting hungry at all? There’s a town ahead, about forty more miles. We can get gas, take in the scenery.”

  Since leaving South Texas, the landscape had bleached to a burnt gold color, dotted with panting cows and divided by fencing. As if the poor beasts had strength enough to wander.

  Amanda knew Mark sought to coax her from herself, to fill the growing gap between them. She wanted to reach him too, but everything within her seemed to fold in on itself, curling up, trying to heal. She just didn’t have the energy to do more.

  “No, I’m not all that hungry.” The stale smoke smell in the rented truck made her nauseous, and the toast from this morning sat in her stomach like two slabs of cement. To be nice, she added, “But a break sounds good.”

  “Okay, then.” He smiled, as if pleased with her effort, and the sound of the road reigned again.

  In the flat expanse, the vegetation itself seemed to struggle for refreshment. For life. Each dot on the map proved to be a wasteland of peeling houses and junked-out farm equipment. Trees tilted sideways and old grocery stores boasted boards instead of windows.

  Amanda looked for mile signs like oasis markers, hoping they’d enter Mayberry country soon.

  They hadn’t spoken much since The Big Talk. The one where Mark laid out possibilities for their future, plans that included leaving Houston, her job and her family for a new position at a rinky-dink church in the middle of nowhere.

  Maybe it was the painkillers, but his vivid descriptions about the high plains and the wide, open spaces had worn her down. That old connection tugged at her. Her lover, her mate, imploring when reason argued otherwise. She’d never been reasonable when it came to Mark, just instinctual. Stepping in time to his music, naturally matching the rhythm of his heart.

  And now, when her own heart beat slower, duller, wrapped in a cloak of pain, she simply trusted him. To make the decisions when, for her, rising out of bed seemed a daunting task. They would go to Potter Springs, together.

  Just the two of them.

  Like it used to be.

  Somewhere south of nowhere, an eighteen-wheeler lay flat on its side like a vanquished Goliath, felled by the mighty invisible wind. Sparkly blue paint shot reflections as they passed. The trucker stood alongside the rig, scratching his head.

  “Should we pull over?” Amanda stared as they whizzed by.

  “No, a cop’ll be along any minute. He’s got a radio for help. And we’re supposed to be in Potter by dinner.”

  Sure enough, the next mile brought the flashing lights of a state trooper. Probably by now, Amanda thought, another trucker was already there. She hoped so anyway. The man looked so lost.

  “How much farther?” she asked, even though she could see for herself on the map.

  “Not too much,” Mark answered. “A few more hours, after we stop for gas.”

  She bent over to find her flip-flops, feeling a warm gush between her legs. She straightened and rubbed the small of her back, hoping with every hope in her body that Potter Springs would be the refuge she needed.

  A place to heal.

  POTTER SPRINGS, TEN MORE MILES, read the sign. Mark saw Amanda shift straighter in her seat. He snapped off the radio and rolled down the window, letting the town’s breath roll into the stagnant U-Haul.

  The minutes passed slowly, the landscape still yellow and flat. They rode in silence, with only the music of the rushing wind and the occasional roar of an oncoming car or truck. The road narrowed and dipped down, and the landscape turned greener on either side.

  He glanced at her to see if she noticed the green. Green, he knew, was important to her.

  WELCOME TO POTTER SPRINGS! announced a hand-painted placard with a cow on it. POPULATION 10,927. Tended shrubs grew at the base. No trash cluttered the embankments leading into town.

  They passed a few truck stops and twenty-four-hour coffee shops. In town, a sixties-inspired post office threatened to take off for outer space at any minute. Mark eased the U-Haul to a halt at a light in Potter Springs’ downtown square.

  Their new hometown.

  The courthouse, with red-brown brick and a towering steeple, dominated the four surrounding streets. Manicured trees and a statue of a man on a horse decorated the grassy area around the building.

  Slowly Mark circled the corners. An old movie marquee proclaimed two evening shows of last year’s blockbuster. In front of an ice-cream shop, customers lounged on wrought-iron chairs, visiting and swatting at flies. A mother shared a vanilla cone with her baby, pushing the stroller back and forth with her foot.

  An antique shop displayed a rusty tricycle and a wide-eyed doll in a wicker carriage. The banner overhead, DOWNTOWN MINI- ALL, had a faded place where the M for Mall must have been. As if the owner preferred the more inclusive title and left well enough alone.

  “Need anything?” Mark pointed to the eclectic store. “They’ve got it ‘all,’ ” he punned, hoping to cheer her with bad humor. Hoping she didn’t hate this small town on sight.

  This elicited a small smile from her. “No.”

  “Let’s do it then.” He turned down a long street, where they passed a Dairy Queen, a tire shop and an orange building with B-B-Q painted in bold black letters.

  They veered left again, to a neighborhood with pastel houses with large front porches. Decades-old columns strained against pitched roofs like strongman Samson from the Bible. Some yards had dogs tied on long metal chains, and too many cars parked out front. Windows looked like mismatched little girls in various shades of curtains. Not the elegant wood blinds of their Houston apartment, in muted tones of bone and alabaster.

  Katy Thompson, he knew, would hate this neighborhood.

  On their new street, Mesquite, they turned right. About halfway down, trucks, minivans and people crowded around a yellow house with green trim and a bright red door. The garage yawned open, empty save for folding chairs and coolers beside tables with checked cloths.

  Mark slowed even more and they pulled into the driveway, narrow and cracked as an old woman’s face. He killed the engine, wondering what his bride thought of this strange threshold. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked terrified.

  Katy Thompson would despise this house. Dragonlady, no doubt, would sneer at these people.

  But would her daughter?

  CHAPTER 10

  potter springs

  A manda had never seen a religious authority’s naked legs before. Not counting Mark’s anyway.

  Ervin Plumley’s legs looked like chicken limbs fresh out of the plastic bag. Pinkish white and plucked, with saggy skin around the joints.

  Over a barrel-shaped torso, he wore a m
onogrammed knit shirt tucked into coach’s shorts. The emblem on his shirt read LAKEVIEW COMMUNITY CHURCH. Sweat stains soaked through the underarms in spite of the Panhandle’s cooler temperature. What he lacked in appearances, he made up for in enthusiasm.

  “Howdy… howdy… hi!” he shouted up to the U-Haul. Pearly teeth shone through his beard as he waved a tanned forearm.

  Several women started up from folding lawn chairs in a circle on the driveway. A brunette smoothed her skirt over slender hips. An elderly grandmother type scuttled to a folding table and adjusted some serving pieces. One lady pulled a compact from her purse and checked her lipstick.

  Amanda realized they looked as nervous as she felt, and found strength enough to unbuckle her seat belt. She stepped down to the cracked driveway and leaned in to get Mr. Chesters in his traveling cage, covered with a towel to keep him from going ballistic. A bewildered mewl sounded from inside. The cat’s weight shifted, tilting the carrier in her hand.

  Mark came around the truck and took the box from her. “We can do this.”

  “I know. I’m okay.” She wasn’t okay, but he tried so hard. He’d handled everything from the planning to the packing, taking care of her along the way. Pulled all this together, not just for himself, but for her too. They both wanted this move to work, and she would do her best to see that it did. After all, she’d signed on for the long haul. For better or for worse.

  Looking at her new life, at a group of complete strangers, she couldn’t tell which end of that spectrum she faced.

  “You’ll see,” Mark whispered. “It’ll be fine. Hang in there.” His lips came soft against her hair. He faced the small gathering. “Well, we made it!” After setting the case down, he threw his arms wide. The triumphant traveler.

  A spattering of applause ran through the group, a few men in cutoffs and Wranglers came up and clapped Mark on the back.