Dark River Road (43 page)

Mrs. Sheridan still stared down at him. He looked back at her, unflinching, figuring maybe he owed her that much. Then she turned to look at her daughter, tone icy.

“Cinda, be quiet. Philip, do what must be done to get this young man out of here tonight so we can go home.”

That was unexpected. He’d thought she’d demand he be locked in solitary for the rest of his life.

“Are you sure,” the mayor began, but she shot him a look that shut him up. It was plain to see who ran the show. And it wasn’t the mayor.

“Of course, I’m sure. Don’t be an ass, Philip. Chantry will go home, and we will handle everything. There will be no trouble. Unless, of course, he ever so much as comes within six feet of Cinda again. Then I’ll personally see to it that he spends a good long time in Parchman prison. I believe that this time he may have the good sense to listen to my advice. Am I right, Chantry?”

The taste of blood was in his mouth, but it was the blood in Mrs. Sheridan’s eyes that made him shudder. She’d do it, he didn’t doubt that for a moment.

“What do you mean,
this time
,” Cinda demanded. “Did you—oh, wait. Of course you did. You said something to him before, didn’t you?”

“Cinda, when you’re older you’ll understand that there are times parents do what they feel is right for their child. It may not always be perfect, but it’s done with love.”

“Screw you.”

Mrs. Sheridan’s mouth tightened. “Gutter language does not impress me.”

“And you don’t impress me. You can’t make me stop seeing him if I don’t want to.”

“Can’t I? Consider this. Chantry is still on probation, but even when he’s released, he’s living with the town drunk and a crippled child. Social services may well deem it better for them to be put into foster care, probably down in Jackson, as the courts here are overwhelmed. It would require no great feat to see it done promptly. Is that what you want for him?”

Cinda looked stricken. Chantry felt sick. She looked over at him, and for one horrible moment he thought she intended to tell her mother exactly what they’d done that day. He could see in her eyes that she wanted to, but after a moment she said only, “No. That’s not what I want for him. If I have to, I love him enough to let go. For now.”

For Chantry, her words echoed a familiar refrain, Mama’s rare assurance of I love you enough that meant so much more than just the words. He closed his eyes.

No one remembered his sixteenth birthday.
He hadn’t really expected anyone to, but still, he found himself remembering the year before, the cake with the sixteen candles, fifteen for him and one for Mikey, and Mama so happy and laughing. Sometimes he wondered what he would have done if he’d known it would be his last birthday with her. And sometimes he was too angry to think about it.

Late that afternoon, while Mikey was down at Dempsey’s with Shadow as he usually was on a Sunday afternoon, he found himself out by the garage. Heat shimmered, a wasp buzzed past his ear, and the ripe peachy smell of mimosa blossoms hung heavy in the air. Morning glories Mama had planted draped over a wire fence, purple blooms rich against glossy green leaves. He stepped inside the garage, into the cool shadows.

The box lay up on a shelf, collecting dust. He looked at it for a long time before he pulled it down. This time he read all the letters, every one, the ones she’d received from his father, and the ones she’d written him that had been returned after his death. He looked at the dogtags with his father’s real name pressed into metal. Clayton Allen Chantry. They had the same initials if not the same name. He supposed it was the best Mama could do under the circumstances.

Maybe he’d understand it better one day, but right now, all he could think was that he’d been deceived. He knew Mama hadn’t meant it that way, but that’s the way it felt. There were other letters in the box, too, a polite but indifferent letter from his father’s sister that said she saw no point in meeting since Clay was gone, and a letter from the Marines that said Lance Corporal Chantry had requested some of his personal effects be sent to Miss Carrie Callahan. It was brief and impersonal, like so much in Mama’s life.

After a while, he put the letters back in the box and returned it to the shelf. It was too sad to think of how she must have felt, alone and pregnant, with no one to turn to for help. Then he thought of Tansy, off somewhere in Chicago. Maybe she’d had the baby by now. He hoped she was okay.

Not long before dark, he walked down to Dempsey’s to bring Mikey home. He found him out back, just sitting on a stump, surrounded by all of Tansy’s cats. They rubbed against his legs, purring, tails flicking around metal and leather braces while he stroked their heads.

“Dangdest thing, ain’t it?” Dempsey said behind him. “Those cats are plumb wild, but he charms ’em right up to him.”

“Did he rub fish oil on his hands?”

Dempsey laughed softly. “Don’t have to. I think the cats know he won’t hurt ’em. They always come to him. Don’t even seem to mind when the dog’s with him, either.”

As Chantry watched, the yellow tom picked a graceful path across the top of the woodpile and jumped down to perch beside Mikey. Battle-scarred, with one ear torn, he sat regally and yet patiently while the child inspected him for new hurts, all the time murmuring soft words Chantry couldn’t hear, that no one could hear but the cat.

“Come on,” Dempsey said after a moment. “Mikey’ll come in when he’s ready.”

Chantry followed him inside, Shadow tagging along behind him. He didn’t come often anymore, too miserable to attempt small talk, too wary to answer questions. It was all he could do to get through the days. Nights were the worst, though. Long hours lying in the dark, not wanting to sleep because he might dream, not wanting to stay awake because he was so tired.

“Here,” Dempsey said, and held out a Mason jar of sweet tea, “you look thirsty.”

“Thanks.” He sat down at the kitchen table, watching Dempsey do familiar things like wipe down the stove, put away dishes from the drainer. To his relief, no questions were asked, no small talk expected. Music played on the radio, Dempsey’s favorite gospel station, and they sat in the dim light of a single lamp listening for a while as light dwindled outside.

When Mikey came in, Chantry stood up to ruffle his hair. “Ready to go home, sport?”

“Sure. I got you something, Chantry.”

“You do. What have you got for me, more fleas?”

“No, that was only one time. I got you a present.”

Chantry looked at him, and Mikey smiled. “I wouldn’t forget. Anyway, Cinda reminded me when I saw her at church this morning. She said I was to give this to you for your birthday dinner.”

The careful stillness inside him wavered, and for a moment he couldn’t say anything or move, even when Mikey held out a small wrapped box. His throat got tight and his lungs worked to drag in enough air.

“Don’t you want it, Chantry?”

“Sure. Sure, I want it, sport,” he got out finally, and took the slender box from him. It was light, wrapped in thick white paper and tied with a thin gold ribbon. He held it for a minute, then stuck it in his pocket, ignoring Mikey’s disappointed expression. “I’ll open it later.”

“Damn, son,” Dempsey said, “it’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“No big deal. Just one more year.”

“Sixteen is a pretty big year.”

“Yeah. Well, come on, Mikey. We gotta go. I have to be at the clinic early tomorrow.”

“I’m gettin’ tired of going to Mrs. Rowan’s all the time. Her mean ole daughter watches me during the first part of the day while her mama sleeps. She won’t let me watch cartoons. She watches people kissin’ on TV. That’s gross.”

“Oh yeah? You won’t always think so.”

As they walked out the front door, Chantry hefting Mikey onto his shoulder despite his protests that he could walk, Dempsey handed him a small square box.

“Got this a while back. Been meanin’ to give it to you; guess now’s as good a time as any, seein’ as how it’s your birthday anyway. Now go on, get on home. And take that mangy dog with you.”

“Thanks.”

“Ain’t much of nothin’. Happy birthday, son.”

He hadn’t forgotten either. Maybe it was stupid, but Chantry felt better knowing he’d not been totally forgotten.

Rainey still wasn’t home when they got back to the house. He set Mikey in a chair in the kitchen while Shadow curled up in a corner. These days there wasn’t much home cooking. About all he could manage was grilled cheese and soup, though in a pinch, he could do a pretty good hamburger. When Rainey brought home groceries, that is. Most of the time, he just brought home a hangover.

“Aren’t you going to open your presents?” Mikey asked when he’d eaten a grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of tomato soup. He slid a large envelope across the table and gave him a sly smile. “I’ve been workin’ on this one a while.”

Chantry pushed aside his soup bowl and reached for the envelope. “Don’t drop your g’s,” he said automatically, then froze, his hand still atop the blue envelope. He’d turned into Mama. If Mikey noticed, he didn’t say anything, just waited with growing impatience for Chantry to open his gift. He pulled it to him and opened it, pulling out a sheet of thick paper.

He’d painted a picture with water colors. Red, blue, yellow and white formed a rainbow, and under it stood a boy, a dog, and a girl. In the top corner, a sun with a face beamed down. Beneath that, Mikey had written a verse.

I don’t mind goodbyes as long as there’s a hello.

I don’t mind the rain as long as there’s a rainbow.

I don’t mind the darkness as long as there’s light.

But I’m glad I have sunshine and I’m glad I have you.

“Thanks, sport,” he managed to say after a minute, “this is really cool.”

Mikey looked pleased. “The picture’s you and Shadow. I worked all week on the poem. Mindy helped me, mostly with the spelling.” Mindy was Mrs. Rowan’s eldest daughter, who watched Mikey while Mrs. Rowan slept after her night shift at the diner.

“You did good, Mikey. But who’s the girl in the picture?”

Mikey smiled. “You’ll have to figure that one out.”

He stared at him, remembering what Mama had once said about wise old souls. There was a lot of wisdom in Mikey, far too much he thought sometimes, for a six year old.

Later, after Mikey was asleep, Chantry took out the two boxes he hadn’t yet opened. He saved Cinda’s for last. Dempsey had given him a thick leather leash and collar imprinted with Shadow’s name. It was fine leather, smooth and sturdy. He could almost see Dempsey carefully choosing it, having Shadow’s name put on, and he smiled.

When he held Cinda’s gift in his hand, he stared at it for a long time, uncertain if he wanted to open it just yet. He hadn’t even known she knew his birthday. That she’d remembered and made sure he had a gift from her, helped ease his sense of loss. After a few minutes, he pulled the gold ribbon, unwrapped the box, and lifted the lid. In a nest of cotton batting lay a silver ID bracelet. CAC had been engraved on the wide band. He lifted it out, watching the silver links catch the light from overhead. When he turned it over, he saw engraved in a fine script on the underneath,
Chantry &Cinda 4ever.

He hoped it wasn’t like Mama’s forever with his father. Sometimes forever could be far too short.

The next Sunday when he took Mikey to church, he waited outside. He leaned up against a light pole jutting up from the sidewalk, watching, but never saw Cinda go in. She could have gone in from the back way, where parking spaces were all marked out on new black pavement, he guessed. He might not get to see her at all. Maybe she hadn’t even come to church today.