Authors: Diane Munier
Leaping (10 page)
Chapter
15
Once
Cori left the Rosebud Jordan sat on the bed while the residue of everything
died in the room, even the fresh air that blew through when she'd held the door
open, even that
slowly succumbed to the staleness.
Somewhere in there he had laid back…and somewhere in there he'd fallen asleep.
It
was three o'clock when he awoke and remembered where he was. He took a shower
in the chipped bathroom. He shaved, he changed his shirt. He paid for another
night cause he'd slept through checkout, but he packed his shit in his car
because it felt right and better to have no ties to Whitney, none at all. Then
he drove toward Danville, through the bottoms that flooded in the spring until
the road was buried in the swollen creek, but not this evening, not now, but
what did happen here, what came of it…James Carson was from this neck of the
woods, this nothing place where human beings grew on the quiet, brewed and
stewed and came of age.
He
hadn't tried to set the blame…for James Carson's existence. He was a fallen
man. He had lent himself to evil…James had. He had opened his heart to the
devil.
It
was never spoken about…a person embracing the dark…wanting the dark…making
plans to kill the way others planned vacations or how to journey through school
and achieve a degree.
James
chose. He chose it. He wasn't forced. He wasn't encouraged. He took a hundred
small steps and he achieved his goal. That's it.
The
evil in James Carson was ancient. He wasn't a product of modern times or modern
life. He was a product of the original villain, the one whose aim it was to
take down mankind from the beginning.
James
Carson had committed. That fact remained in Jordan's mind…like a battle-cry.
He
stopped on the bridge, the cement stretch of road that went over the creek. He
stopped in the middle of it and left his car door open. He stood there and
looked at the water moving through, the cold sludge of it, not as magnificent
as the ocean, just a creek full of piss and dead things…and he spit in the
water. He watched it slog past, all brown, going under his feet, under the
road, moving past, moving on,
going
nowhere.
He
looked up and around. A buck was in the tree-line taking a drink. He'd lived
through hunting season, good for him. Not everything…everyone was so lucky.
The
sky…it held the color of sunset, had held it all-day, twilight blue and gray.
The trees were dark, the vegetation leather brown and blowing about. He could
hear another vehicle and he got back in his own and slowly pulled off the
bridge, but he did not stay the course to Danville, he turned off at the old
apple orchard and he took that road, that bent limb of a road and he followed
its winding path. A woman was at her mailbox and he stopped there and scared
her some probably, and she peered at him.
He
lowered his window. "
Carsons
still around
here?" he said.
She
was there, mouth hanging open on her box and she pushed that shut and held it,
mail in her other hand. He couldn't have told anyone how she was dressed, but
she had the look of hard work, hard times,
hard
luck.
"You a reporter?"
That
old suspicion.
He remembered how hard he'd worked to prove himself around here, how exhausting
it was. "Pastor," he said before he thought about it, before he
allowed it even. He knew it was the thing to always throw them off, to loosen
their tongues before they shut him down.
"Just
old Mrs. Carson.
That the one?"
"She'll
do fine," he said.
So
she told him how to go and he thanked her and took off slow and she stood there
looking after until he rounded a bend.
He
didn't have to knock, he told himself that. He wanted to see, like touching Boo
Radley's house, hell he didn't know.
The house was barely
visible from the road. It didn't set far back, but a thick line of scrub
shielded it from the road. He pulled in the yard and two speckled dogs rose off
the porch and came barking. He got out and told them no, and they backed off
quick. This was a broken place, that's what he thought, the white asbestos siding,
the high point of the white roof bowed, the shingles crumbled like stale bread,
disintegrating into the rusted gutters. The dogs circled and sniffed and wanted
close, and Jordan stood by his car, figuring she studied him from the window,
or someone did,
cause
that yellowed curtain moved. So he
waited there. Then the door opened a crack and he walked up, and that one dog
bumped the back of his leg and he said, no, again and they moved back, but they
barked again, and this time she came out and told them to shut up and they did.
She was older, maybe seventy or so.
Her
hair was snow-white, and she was small and a thick sweater, bright pink.
"What you want?" she said.
He
swallowed. What the hell was he
thinking.
"I'm…from the church…Pastor Bill…."
"I
told him I go to Glendale.
Gone there since I was a
girl."
"It's
okay. I didn't come about that. I came to tell you who I am."
She
smirked some. "I know who you are."
He
was shocked.
"How?"
"
I seen
it from my window. I will never forget that
face." She folded her arms.
"I
didn't know if you stayed around," he said.
"Where
am I
gonna
go? My family…they're dead…except for my
daughter…."
He
nodded.
"What
you come here for? What are you looking for?" she asked.
He
stared openly now. "I have no idea," he said honestly.
She
laughed some. "It ain't here…whatever it is."
"What
happened to his mother? Your daughter…."
"She
went back to Texas…years back.
Got a good job there.
He come up here…James…to do better is what we thought. He had trouble in Texas.
The teachers there…that's where it started.
He was a
good boy before that, no trouble at all.
Pretty quiet.
But he got in trouble and she brought him here and I had him here since sixth
grade. He went to Whitney school when it was open then they shipped him over to
Danville. He rode the bus, but…."
They
were quiet for a beat. "How…how are you doing?" Jordan asked.
"Oh…for
a spell…it was…folks round here know me for years so…my neighbors helped me.
They know I ain't hurt
nobody
in my life. And what
happened to James…well I don't know. Billy
come
over
from the church there. He
come
over more than any. He
did the funeral…well said words. I had him cremated."
Jordan
felt the first stab of love for Bill he'd been able to feel in some time. It
made his eyes burn. He shouldn't have come here. "He's…," he cleared
his throat,
"…Billy's…."
"You
best know it," she said, her chin lifting. "You know…last fall, that
youth group came here and raked my leaves."
Jordan
shook his head.
"You
ain't been back," she said.
"No."
"Well…some wanted
to blame me, I guess. Course he had guns. There
ain't
one around here wouldn't. He had his
granpa's
guns and he went shooting. And his mother…she
would send him things…money. I told Billy…well how could I know? He seemed
fine…just quiet. I told this over and over. I don't know what else to say. I
don't know what you're looking for."
"I
just…." He laughed a little. "I don't know either. Sorry to bother
you…bring it all up."
"It
ain't never down,"
she said back. "It
don't
go down. I just
wonder…maybe his grandpa…I don't know. For a longtime…I couldn't live here.
Once the police stopped combing through it, they closed it up, the neighbors. I
stayed up the road with
Luetta
. Billy would come. I
only come back here a couple of months now…in the fall…and they raked my
leaves…those kids.
Luetta
took sick and they put her
in the nursing home."
Jordan
nodded. "That's tough. I'm…I'm sorry."
"Well…it
went that way."
"I
know. But…I hope you can find some peace."
"I
can't," she said
quick
. "It
don't
go down." She turned then and went to her door.
Jordan
turned away. A terrible feeling of incompleteness was on him.
"Ma'am,"
he said, dogs sniffing his pant-legs now, them not afraid anymore.
She
turned to him, holding her door open.
"I
talked to him sometimes…your grandson…while he was working at the church. One
day he was sitting back in the lunchroom at a table there and he had a spread
laid out, and I said, 'Somebody is well taken care of,' and he normally didn't
say much, but that day I saw the first sign of a smile in him and he said, 'my
gran.'"
She
looked down, and then at Jordan. "He wasn't…when he was younger…he wasn't
a bad boy…I mean to say…he was a person…once he was."
Jordan
nodded. He went to his car.
She
was upset, and her movements were heavy as she went inside. He wished he could
do something for her. But all he'd done was stir her pain.
And
his own, not that it mattered.
He'd volunteered for it apparently.
He
took a last look at the house, the sagging, crumbling house, and slowly backed
out of the drive.
He
barely remembered the ride from Carson's to Danville. Once he got there he
drove to Cori's neighborhood. She lived in the old part of town. It wasn't all
that big. He didn't look at names, just drove around until he landed on her
street. He didn't look at addresses, just went slow until he spotted her car in
a shallow driveway. Her house was plain, two-storied, kept neat. A "Go
Falcons," sign was in the front window.
He
smiled to think she was close. But part of him wanted to keep driving.
He
sat there longer than he should. She opened her front-door and that snapped him
out of it. He got out and walked up the uneven cobblestones that dissected her
yard. She pulled the door wide. He let his eyes drag from her brown shoes up
her jean-clad legs and her round hips and small waist, a belt, a tucked white
blouse, her hair in a ponytail, just clean and beautiful.
"What?"
she said.
"What?"
he said back.
"You
were out there."
"Hi," he
said, touching her cheek, shoving his hand in the pocket of his jacket.
She
closed the door. It was bright and it smelled good. The entryway was open to
the living room and Seth was sprawled on the couch playing a video game.
"Hey,"
Cori said to that sprawl of boy.
Seth
sat up then, but didn't take his eyes off the screen.
"Hey,"
she said again, and Seth looked up briefly and said hi.
Jordan
looked at Cori, saw her displeasure. He went to sit beside Seth.
"Call
of Duty?" he said, really surprised watching the soldier take out two
enemies.
Seth
barely acknowledged
,
his elbows shifting as he fought
his silent war.
Cori
walked to the flat screen and turned it off.
Seth
let out a breath, but he didn't speak.
Cori
put on a fake smile. "Seth, this is Mr. Staley."
"Jordan,"
Jordan interjected.
Seth
looked at him and nodded. He surrendered his hold on the control long enough to
bump Jordan's fist. "Pleased to meet you," Seth said.
