Keeper

by Michael Garrett

  “All right,” he said, “I’m leavin'.” He shrugged and headed for the door. “Bye, Sugar Babe.” James leaned against the door and blew her a sarcastic kiss before stepping outside.

  With her husband safely outside, Edith flipped through the yellow pages for a locksmith to come out and change the locks.

  Midway across the plains of western Texas, Wayne cringed at the sound of a blasting siren. In the rear view mirror, at fast approach, were the flashing red strobes of a police vehicle.

  Well, this is it, he thought, preparing himself for the worst. How would it feel to have a gun waved in his face, to be frisked and handcuffed like a common criminal—when he’d never been in trouble in his entire life? How would it feel to be thrown into a cold, damp cell, to be surrounded by the lowest of the criminal element? Wayne shuddered at the thought, his teeth clenching.

  But in a flash the police vehicle overtook Wayne’s Chevy and forged ahead into the approaching night. Wayne breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been mercifully spared.

  On this second evening of his flight from home, Wayne reflected on his long, lonely journey. The service stations. The fast-food restaurants. The agonizing hours behind the steering wheel, listening to songs that reminded him of happier times. And of course there were the people he’d met, friendly locals he tried to avoid, but whose persistence had forced at least half-hearted conversations.

  The story he’d invented was a relocation to Tucson, to live with a fictitious brother—a story he’d repeated so many times, he’d almost come to believe it. If only it were true …

  Wayne glanced at the rolling terrain gliding past the automobile on all sides, at the golden sunset, at the first tumbleweed that bounced across the pavement in front of him. The land was strange—dry and scrubby—unlike any he’d ever seen. He caught a quick glimpse of a coyote, and though fascinated by the mangy creature, realized for the first time how far away from home he was, and how much this alien countryside differed from Alabama. He missed the trees, the lakes, the streams, his friends, his loved ones.

  How would he, Wayne Alton Crocker, rate as a fugitive? Not very well, he supposed. Where would he end up? He had no specific destination in mind, and had chosen California only because it was in the opposite direction from what he’d mentioned to Nancy. But cops were smart. They’d find him soon.

  Under the cover of darkness, he found an unimproved road that cut a path through a cluster of dusty sagebrush. Wayne parked the car and stepped outside to stretch his legs and relieve himself. The air was brisk and cold, the sky perfectly clear. Little by little, stars appeared, more than any he’d ever seen. The moon rose from behind a distant mountain and his thoughts turned to Nancy. How was she doing? If she looked to the sky at this very moment, she’d see the same lunar glow, the same stars, the same heavenly view they’d both seen through the bedroom window. But what would she be thinking?

  Resigned to another sleepless night, Wayne slid back onto the front seat in desperate need of rest, however slight. The smell of blood had almost faded from the freshly scrubbed floormat. If only he could dream. Relax and revitalize himself. But Wayne knew that if by some chance he did fall asleep, there’d only be nightmares.

  Back home in Alabama, Wayne’s mother slept alone in her own bed. James Crocker was sleeping over at his brother’s house in Vincent, reluctantly departing only after Edith called the police when he refused to stop banging on the front door.

  At the wake of their departed son, Preacher and Maybelle Mason received their friends into their home. Young Nat comforted his bereaved parents and conducted himself in a manner mature beyond his years, reading scriptures to the mourners and leading prayer after prayer, to the amazement of all present.

  Sheriff Arnold planned an early retirement and held a lengthy discussion with his wife as to whether they’d stay in Shelby County or relocate.

  Nancy Barnett held a happy reunion with friends and relatives who drove great distances to sit by her side and wish her well. In the midst of the celebration, Liz Farrell and Jesse Granger slipped away for a quiet evening in a nearby restaurant.

  And at the end of a narrow drive off Selton Road in rural Alabama, a tiny mobile home stood dark and empty.

  18

  Thursday

  Day Seven

  Wayne sighed deeply and stared ahead through the filthy windshield. He’d hoped to reach California by nightfall, but instead, had been delayed by a broken fan belt outside Carlsbad, New Mexico. To his good fortune, a friendly Indian happened by and offered him a ride into town. There, after hours of waiting at a run-down service station, he found a mechanic who was willing to drive him back to his car in an ancient wrecker and install a new belt.

  Throughout the wait, Wayne worried that a passing policeman might notice the abandoned vehicle with an Alabama tag, and call for a license check. Even as he returned to the car with the sullen mechanic, he feared that federal agents might be hidden, ready to spring into action at his appearance. But the repair went smoothly, costing only a few dollars, so he continued ahead.

  It was at the end of this long, weary day that Wayne found himself at the Cactus Motel in Arizona, where he listened to the sounds of lovemaking in the next room and longed for a way out of this ugly mess. And as he tossed and turned through still another sleepless night, Wayne realized it was the lack of knowing that haunted him so. Finally, he resolved to call home in the morning. The voice of his mother would be comforting, and he would try his best to explain.

  Still, he feared that her phone might be tapped, that he might give away his location.

  But, then again—what did it matter?

  19

  Friday

  Day Eight

  Despite both physical and mental exhaustion, Wayne awakened early, determined to call his mother. In the bathroom mirror, he saw a lonely, weary man unfit for life on the road. For a brief instant he again considered going to the police, but finally decided his mother’s words might bring him renewed strength. And hope.

  She would understand.

  Mothers always understand.

  Outside the motel office stood a telephone booth. With a pocketful of loose change, he walked across the dusty parking lot, the arid desert wind whipping clouds of sand and dust from the shoulder of the nearby highway. He felt a tingle of nerves return to his skin, the familiar swelling of his tongue and tightening of his chest. But he would go through with it this time.

  As he waited for the connection, Wayne checked his watch. 7:15 A.M. Was the local time in Alabama one, or two, hours later? He couldn’t remember, but regardless, Mom would be in bed, awaiting his call.

  The seconds dragged by. Again he felt an urge to surrender. It would be so easy to hang up. But just as he was about to drop the receiver, the ring on the other end of the line buzzed into his ear. It rang only twice, then stopped with the sleepy but anticipatory sound of his mother’s voice.

  “Hello?”

  “M-M-Mom?” he forced the word—the single most difficult word he’d uttered in his entire life.

  “Wayne!” she answered excitedly. “Where are you?”

  “Mom, I-”

  “I’ve been looking all over for you. I had no idea where you might be!”

  Wayne listened intently to the tone of her voice. He could detect no shame. No guilt or embarrassment or regret. Just happiness upon hearing from her son.

  “Why did you leave?” she continued. “You scared me to death! If you had problems, you could’ve talked to me.”

  Her voice droned on and on, but Wayne focused on those all-important words. She had specifically asked—why did you leave? And that meant she didn’t know! Her tone, her words—everything indicated that she didn’t know!

  But could it be a trick? A plan devised by the police to lure him home? It was possible, of course. But his mother would never willingly participate in such a scheme. She would never set a trap for her own son.

  And if his mother didn’t know, could it be that t
he police didn’t know, either?

  “Mom,” he interrupted. “Is everything … all right … at home?”

  “Well,” she answered with a brief pause. Here it comes, Wayne thought. He braced himself, clutching the receiver tightly as she continued, “You know that your father was hurt, but don’t worry, he’s all right and, well—I probably shouldn’t tell you something like this over the phone—but, Wayne, I’ve left your father.”

  Wayne hesitated, and swallowed hard.

  “Wayne,” she started again. “I hope you’ll understand. It’s something I should have done years ago and—well, we’ll talk about it later.” She sniffled once, twice, then continued, “But look at me, rambling on at a time like this. Son, I’ve been worried sick about you. Where have you been? Where are you?”

  He couldn’t speak. He honestly couldn’t utter a sound. Nancy, he thought, you brave, beautiful lady. You believed in me. I blew it, and in the end, you still protected me.

  Tears poured from Wayne’s eyes as he broke into uncontrollable laughter. The relief was sudden and immense, a happiness he hadn’t experienced since childhood when he awakened on Christmas Day to a fresh supply of toys. But this was the greatest gift of all—the gift of freedom, from a wonderful and courageous young woman who, in the end, cared enough to dodge countless questions and embarrassment on his behalf.

  Finally Wayne calmed himself enough to speak. “Mom,” he said with a deep breath and a joyful, cheek-stretching smile. “I can’t wait to see you. We’ll straighten Dad out—don’t you worry. I’m comin’ home.”

  EPILOGUE

  January 1972

  Six Years Later

  Delivering mail could be a bitch sometimes, but at least it paid the bills and helped keep him in shape. And though he knew he’d never be rich, Wayne Crocker realized that a government job was secure and could finance a comfortable standard of living for himself and his family.

  He scrubbed his feet on the front porch welcome mat and stepped inside his Pell City home. “Daddy’s home!” he yelled. As usual, little Andy came screaming from the den, arms open wide, awaiting a hug from his dad.

  “How’s it goin', scout?” Wayne asked as he scooped the four-year-old up into his arms.

  “Mommy made a mess!” Andy proclaimed, an innocent look of urgency in his eyes. “She’s trying to clean it up in the kitchen before you get home.”

  Wayne laughed. “Well, she’s a little too late, don’t you think? Since I’m already home?” He planted a wet smack on the child’s cheek. “Uh-oh,” Wayne said. “Bet she’s in a bad mood.”

  “Yeah!” Andy grinned.

  “I’ll tell you what, son. I guess we should dodge her awhile till she cools down.”

  Wayne walked into the livingroom where flames were crackling in the fireplace. She had obviously been busy, Wayne thought, setting himself on the sofa, if she’s already straightened up and built a fire.

  “Daddy?” Andy said, waving a thin book in his Dad’s face. “Will you read this to me? P-L-E-A-S-E?”

  Wayne pulled away. “Why, sure I will—if you’ll get it out of my nose!”

  Andy giggled again and scooted closer to see the pages between his Daddy’s hands. “Read the train story, read the train story!”

  Glancing past the illustration of a colorful engine, Wayne saw the day’s mail scattered over the coffee table. There was a MasterCharge bill, a Sears catalog—and a letter.

  “Daddy? Read now”! the child nagged impatiently.

  Wayne reached for the envelope and turned it over in his hands. It was postmarked Columbus, Georgia and the return address read “Mrs. Nancy Stipley".

  Wayne raised his head, focusing his attention on the fireplace. A fever had settled over his skin unlike any he’d experienced since that fateful November and despite the warmth, he shuddered from the memory. How often he’d wondered what happened to her. She had been included in his prayers for months, even years, and he had come to perceive his brief time with her as a major turning point in his life. So she had remarried—that much he could tell from the envelope alone. And she probably had kids by now, too.

  She was a fine woman, and had made some Georgia Cracker a very lucky man.

  “Wayne? Why didn’t you tell me you were home?” Elaine said as she bent down to kiss her husband; her shoulder length brown hair hung in her face as their lips met. Her recently confirmed pregnancy was just beginning to show.

  “Oh, hi, honey,” Wayne drawled, tasting gingerbread on her lips.

  “And before you have any dinner, Mr. Crocker,” she said in a playful tone, “I want to know who Nancy Stipley is.”

  Wayne tapped the envelope against his leg and smiled.

  “An old girlfriend?” Elaine asked.

  “Daddy? Read!” Andy urged.

  “In a minute, son,” Wayne answered. He motioned for Elaine to sit at his left and he held her tightly. “Not an old girlfriend,” he said. “Just a friend.”

  Elaine smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

  He was thinking about the kind of person it would take to survive the ordeal that Nancy went through, about the strength she showed in covering up for him. And he remembered the urges he’d fought to try to contact her later, even once going so far as to drive to Columbus just to see her home and possibly catch a glimpse of her from a distance.

  And after all the times he’d wondered about her over the years, it seemed strange now to hold all the answers inside a sealed envelope and yet feel a reluctance to learn the truth. How would life be if all the secrets of the universe were suddenly known? Wayne’s world was small, but he and Nancy shared a secret no one else would ever know, and though he wished her well and would love more than anything to see her again to discuss their haunting relationship of only a few days, it seemed foolish now to reopen the past.

  A tear dropped from Wayne’s cheek as he examined the envelope’s Selton address. The letter had been forwarded to him by his mother. He wondered if his Dad had ever told her anything before he died. James must have dismissed his suspicions, because he’d never confronted his son, even with his dying breath.

  “Well?” Elaine nagged. “Are you going to open it?”

  Wayne cleared his throat and stood, leaning forward to toss the letter into the fireplace. “No,” he answered, watching flames lick the paper. “It’s time to read the train book.”