Stones in the Road (31 page)

“Is Uncle Wiley leaving?” Eli asked.

“You are so clueless!” Mary barked.

“What?” Eli said.

“I’m sure it’s nobody’s business but your Uncle Wiley’s, so leave him alone,” Bill ordered.

“I want to know what he’s doing in the bathroom,” Mary said.

I glanced at her, frowned.

“Well, you take forever!” she exclaimed. “I thought
I
was bad.”

“Ya’ll will have to learn to share,” Shelly said.

“I don’t want his gross hair in the shower drain. And then there’s all those poo particles on the toilet seat. Jeeze!”

“Knock it off, Mary,” Bill said.

“Poo particles?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

She grinned.

“How do you know those aren’t your Memaw’s poo particles?” I asked.

“They were definitely a man’s,” she said, a smile flashing in her eyes.

“You should get a little vacuum cleaner for the bathroom,” I said. “One of those mini ones. Then we can suck them all up.”

“Gross!” she said, making a face.

“You started it!”

“Just keep your poo particles to yourself,” she shot back.

“Would you listen to them?” Shelly said distractedly. “She’s bad enough without him around. Now she’s going to be impossible.”

“We’re Cantrells,” I said, “and a Cantrell’s got balls, ain’t he?”

“I don’t,” Mary said, offended.

Josh spit up a little sweet tea.

“Wiley, please don’t,” Bill said. “Not in my house.”

“Papaw always said that.”

“Uncle Wiley, watch this!” Eli exclaimed suddenly. He turned to Noah, signed rather hesitantly,
My name is E… l… i….

I love you
, Noah signed back to him, smiling and showing his crooked teeth.

I love you
, Eli signed in return.

“Did I do it right, Uncle Wiley?” he asked.

I nodded.

“What did you tell him?” Shelly asked.

“He taught me how to sign my name and how to say ‘I love you’ in sign language.” Eli beamed. “I’m learning the alphabet. Watch!”

Eli made us watch him as he tried to get through the alphabet, giving up in the vicinity of
M
,
N
,
Q
.

“You just need to practice,” Bill said in encouragement.

“I’m going to learn how to sign,” Eli said confidently. “That way I can talk to Roger.”

“Who’s Roger?” I asked.

“He’s a kid at my school. He’s got these hearing aids with a battery pack. Everybody makes fun of him, but I think he’s all right.”

“I’m sure he’d love for you to be his friend,” I said, feeling something catch in my throat. I lowered my eyes and stared at the pork chop that remained on my plate.

“Are you all right, Wiley?” Mama asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“You’re being really quiet.”

“It’s Billy’s house,” I said by way of explanation.

“What does that mean?” Bill asked.

“It means I’m trying to be polite and not be a jackass.”

“You’re a not a jackass,” Bill said. “You’re a trained professional. Just watch your mouth around my kids.”

“I’m going to the housing office tomorrow,” I said, changing gears.

“Wiley, no!” Shelly exclaimed.

“I can’t afford anything else,” I pointed out.

“Bill knows someone at his church who has a small house over in Sherman that I’m going to rent,” Mama said. “There would be room for you and Noah.”

“I’m not living with you, Mama.”

“But you can’t live in public housing again. I could watch Noah for you. You could find a better job. You wouldn’t have to worry about him. You could get better hours, make more money. Please. Think about it.”

I shook my head.

“Why?” Shelly asked.

“I was thinking about going to California, actually,” I said.

“Wiley!” Mama pronounced my name like it was a curse.

“You can’t be serious,” Bill said, appalled.

“I am serious,” I said.

“That would be so cool,” Mary said, her eyes flashing. “I could come to visit you!”

“You’re not going to California,” Bill said dismissively.

“Sometimes I get the feeling there’s more to life than Tupelo, Mississippi,” I said.

“You need money,” Mama said.

“I’ll rob a bank.”

“You can’t drag your child all over the country,” Mama said angrily. “You’re talking bullcrap!”

“Who says I’m taking my child?” I asked.

Silence fell on the table.

“What do you mean by that?” Mama demanded.

“Nothing,” I said.

“I just don’t understand you anymore,” Mama said, shaking her head. “You can’t take my grandson and go traipsing across the country like a gypsy!”

“Mama, leave it,” Bill said. “He’s just yanking your chain.”

“There you go again, Billy,” I said. “Every time I try to dream a little, you take your dick out and piss on it.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Maybe I’ve learned so much from my mistakes that I want to make a few more.”

“He’s just upset,” Mama said to Billy, trying to smooth things over.

I picked at my food, trying to manage with my left hand.

When the silence had grown long and uncomfortable, Mama told us that Father Ginderbach was organizing a fundraiser at Saint Francis for tornado victims. “It’s going to be next Saturday.”

“That’s awesome,” Mary said. “I could get my youth group to help out.”

“I’m sure Father Ginderbach would love all the help he can get,” Mama said.

“I could sing ‘Happy,’” Mary exclaimed.

“Oh, please!” Josh said.

“They’ll love it,” Mary said confidently.

“Did you see Wiley’s bill from the hospital?” Shelly said to no one in particular. “Almost twenty thousand dollars! That’s outrageous.”

“They’re going to have a band, some music, hay rides, food, a talent show, bake sale, all kinds of stuff,” Mama went on.

I lowered my gaze, bit at my lip.

“Wiley, what is wrong with you?” she demanded, mystified.

I said nothing.

“He’s thinking about California,” Bill said. “You know. Where people
really
care about him.”

“No one’s going to California,” Mama said hotly. “We’re a family, and we’re not going anywhere.”

And that, I thought, was precisely the problem.

T
HAT
S
UNDAY
,
Mama carried us to mass in New Albany since my car was running on fumes. She had a Ford F150. Doesn’t everyone? Mama always went an hour early so she could help out in the parish hall. There were last minute preparations, whether for mass or the potluck and coffee afterward. All kinds of cooking, cleaning, and tending to went on as children attended catechism classes and some of the men met for Bible study. No one would have blamed her had she stayed away for a while, but Mama’s response to Papaw’s death had been to throw herself ever more vigorously into life.

Needing to be alone, I went to the church and sat on a pew in the back. Mrs. Rivers was arranging flowers in the sanctuary as her daughter, a mousy soul named Janice, straightened up the missals and hymnals in the pews and dusted.

I was sitting there, my eyes closed, thinking about Papaw and Jackson when I felt someone sit next to me.

It was Father Ginderbach.

“How are you, Wiley?” he asked.

I shrugged, shook my head.

“Your mother is worried about you. She told me what happened.”

I looked down at my lap.

“She said you won’t even talk to him,” he added.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Are you sure?”

I wasn’t sure of anything.

“He’s your family now,” Ginderbach said. “You can’t just walk away.”

“He lied to me.”

“He let you down.”

“You could say that.”

“He has a problem.”

“You could say that too, and you would not be wrong.”

“And now he’s got an even bigger problem because he doesn’t have you to help him when he really needs it. That’s what family does, you know.”

“Is this the part where you give me a lecture on forgiveness?”

“Perhaps. Do you need one?”

I offered as much of a smile as I could muster.

“You’re not big on forgiveness,” he observed.

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ve said some things here and there. I know you had trouble with your dad. And then there was the whole thing with Father Michael. I get the feeling it’s not easy for you to forgive.”

“Maybe,” I admitted.

“You’re still hurting.”

“Maybe.”

“You might feel better if you could forgive them and let it go.”

I said nothing.

“On the other hand, you could hold on to those hurts and keep being mad and upset and let it poison your future.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t mention it. And perhaps you could forgive God too, while you’re at it.”

“Sorry?”

“You know what I mean. Of course, you’re going to have to start by forgiving yourself.”

“Where are we now, Father?”

“You think about it for a while, Wiley. You’re a smart guy.”

“So you’re saying I should forgive him?”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t be so surprised when people let you down. We’re all human, full of faults and failings, and we all screw up from time to time. Even married couples screw things up, and it takes a lot of work to fix those mistakes. But I think it’s worth it.”

“He’s a drug addict,” I pointed out.

“Help him get treatment.”

“I can’t trust him.”

“I was wondering when you were going to get around to the real problem.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t really trust people.”

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Talk to him,” Ginderbach suggested. “Give him a chance.”

He said nothing further, merely sat there in silence.

“I miss him,” I admitted at last.
That
was an understatement. I felt like the life had been crushed right out of me.

“You don’t have to come to the fundraiser next Saturday, but I hope you do,” Ginderbach said. “I think you’ll be surprised at how much support you have in this community. I hope we can raise enough to pay off your hospital bill, or at least make a good start.”

“I want to tell you something, since you’re here.”

“Oh?”

“I’m thinking about giving up custody of Noah.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

I lowered my gaze, felt embarrassed.

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m not a good father,” I said.

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“Seems to be the general consensus about me.”

“I doubt that.”

“You should talk to my brother sometime. He’ll fill you in.”

“What do you care what Bill or anyone else thinks?”

“I’m tired of fighting everyone. Is that so wrong? Besides, I thought you’d be happy. The church says I’m wrong—that it’s wrong to do what I’m doing. Or was doing. It’s wrong for two guys to… you know. Maybe the church is right. Maybe I really am being punished.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

He sat in silence for long moments, regarding me rather skeptically.

“If you’re waiting for me to tell you that giving up custody of your child is a good idea, you’ll be waiting a very long time. I find it hard to believe you would even suggest it.”

“I’m tired.”

“Parents get tired. It’s not all that unusual.”

“No, Father. I’m
tired
.”

He fell silent once more.

W
HEN
I
saw Jackson’s name flash across the screen of my phone, my first impulse was to not answer it. Noah and I were in the guest room, changing into tanks and shorts after church and wondering what to do with the rest of our Sunday.

“What do you want?” I barked.

“Well, at least you’re answering me now.”

“Don’t push it, Ledbetter.”

“Sorry.” He sounded nervous. “We’re going to have a picnic at Ballard Park, and I wanted to see Noah. I thought maybe we could pick him up. My mom and dad want to see him too.”

I said nothing.

“Well?” he prompted. “I really want to see him, Wiley.”

I remained silent, not knowing what to say. Well, that wasn’t quite true. I had all kinds of things to say, but none seemed appropriate or wise.

“Wiley?”

“What?”

“Can I come by and pick him up?”

“No.”

“Why not? Please, Wiley. I miss him. I don’t want him to suffer just because—”

“I’ll take him. Y’all can spend some time together.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for you to just pick him up and take him places without me.”

“Sure,” he said. “My mom and dad would love to see you.”

“I’m not going to crash your party.”

“It’s hardly a party. We’re going to the park at two. See you there?”

“All right.”

I hung up the phone, looked at Noah.

Who was that, Daddy?