Stones in the Road (10 page)

“Well, it’s true.”

“That’s why it’s funny… but can you imagine what people must think of you, people who don’t know you, don’t know when you’re exaggerating, when you’re telling the truth? You went out there and told it like it was, and it was funny and everything, but it makes people uncomfortable. If your future in-laws read that book… I can’t even begin to imagine what they must think of you. And what if the lady with the DHS read that book?”

“It wasn’t
that
bad,” I pointed out.

“Every time I go to the bathroom at the mall, I think about you now, Wiley. That’s how bad it was.”

I bit my lip. I probably should have thought twice about including that business of having sex in the bathroom at the mall.

“And then you talked about the time that guy gave you twenty dollars because he thought you were a hooker,” she added with a grin.

“Well, he did,” I said.

“That’s not something you want to be telling people,” she said.

“What difference does it make?” I asked. “People have sex. There’s probably people in the bathroom right here having sex while we’re eating. I mean, who cares?”

Tonya laughed.

“I’m taking them out to Mama’s house on Sunday,” I said. “Can you imagine? If you think Jack’s stuck up….”

“You’ll get through it,” she assured me. “Don’t tell me you done forgot about the shucking and jiving—it ain’t that hard to do. And if you won’t do it for yourself and Noah, then do it for that man of yours. It’s just a few weeks. How bad could it be?”

“Wait till you meet these people,” I said.

“Let me tell you something, Wiley, and I’m only telling you this because I’m your friend and I ain’t got time for sugar mouthing you. You love this man. I know you do. So you got to deal. It’ll mean a lot to him. And he puts up with your family, don’t he? Your mama? Your papaw? Your brother, Bill? Thing is, if you’re going to make this work, then you gotta do the work. Ain’t nobody said it was easy. If you want that man to put a ring on it, you gotta deal. You get me?”

I sighed rather heavily.

Keke glanced at me in that way kids do when they’re trying to get away with something. She was signing to Noah, caught me looking, quickly stopped. Whatever she said must have been funny, because Noah simultaneously snorted and sprayed the table with soda. They both collapsed into a fit of giggles and snorting.

“What the hell?” I said to Tonya.

“Kids will be kids,” she said. “Now, I want you to sit here and tell me what you’re going to do about the DHS.”

I sat back, frowned.

“Well?” she pressed.

But I had no idea.

D
ADDY
?

What?

Would you be mad if I told you something?

Of course not.

Are you sure?

Sure.

Promise?

Promise
.

He bit his lower lip.

I adjusted his blanket, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

Do you love me
? he signed.

You know I do, you little shit
.

He grinned.

You’d love me no matter what I told you?

Of course. What do you want to tell me?

Nothing.

Nothing
?

He shrugged, but I could see there was a secret hiding behind his eyes, something trying to get out. If I went after it, it would retreat like a turtle pulling its head inside its shell, so I feigned disinterest. I was not, however, disinterested. Not in the slightest.

Is Papa mad at you?

Probably
, I signed.

Are you fighting?

No.

He looked like he was mad.

He probably was.

But you’re not fighting?

Maybe a little bit. Don’t worry about it.

Does he love me?

Of course he does. He’s your papa.

I don’t think he likes me.

Why would you say that?

K said he only likes me because he wants to make you happy.

That’s not true
!

He shrugged.

Daddy?

What?

Why am I deaf
?

I gazed at him for long moments. What kind of question was
that
?

K said it’s because you and Mama did something bad
, he added.

I did not know how to answer this, so I said nothing. He peered at me intently with those blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.

Are you mad at me?
he signed when a long silence ensued and I did not answer.

I shook my head.

I didn’t mean to make you mad.

I’m not mad.

K told me not to ask you because you’d be mad.

I’m not mad. Why don’t you go to sleep?

Do you love me?

Of course.

How much?

A lot!

As big as my school?

Bigger.

As big as a school bus?

Bigger.

As big as Food World?

Bigger.

As big as a mountain?

Bigger!

As big as the M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i?

Bigger!

You sure?

Of course I am
, I said.
But the question is… do you love
me
?

Yes.

I don’t believe you
, I said
.

I do!

I think you’re lying.

I’m not lying!

I think you just live here to get free food.

I do not!

I’ll bet you can’t wait until you and K can run off and get married.

Yuck!

I’ll bet you only love me just a little bit.

That’s not true!

How much do you love me
? I asked.

He smiled. It was his turn to come up with adjectives.

Like the m-o-o-n
, he offered at last, showing off a new word he’d learned.

That’s all?

The m-o-o-n is huge! They walked on it!

You must love me a lot
, I signed.

He nodded.

Who’s my favorite son
? I asked.

I’m your
only
son!

Time to go to sleep
, I signed.

Daddy?

What?

Sleep with me?

You’re a big boy. You’ll be fine
.

His lips drew down into an unhappy frown.

If you get scared, you can come to my room
, I offered, as I always did.

K said there are people who hide in your closet and wait for you to sleep. Then they come out at night when it’s dark and watch you. If you wake up, they’ll eat you, starting with your feet, so you’re not supposed to open your eyes.

That’s not true!

K said!

Want me to check the closet?

That’s where the blue man hides.

Who is the blue man
?

He shrugged, as if this were of no importance.

He’d mentioned the blue man before. I hadn’t paid much attention because he often uses words or phrases he doesn’t understand properly. The “blue man” probably referred to those people who hide in closets waiting for you to wake up so they can eat you up. Yet the way he said it, as if he meant an actual “blue man,” made me pause.

Who is the blue man
?

He shrugged, his way of saying he couldn’t really explain.

Want me to check the closet
?

He nodded.

I got up from his bed, went to the closet, opened the door.
No ghosts in here
the expression on my face said.
No blue man either.

Leave it open
, he signed.

Only if you promise to go to sleep
, I countered.

Okay
.

I returned to his bedside, kissed him good night.

Daddy?

Yes?

I’m scared.

Scared of what
?

He shrugged, made a face to suggest he didn’t know how to answer this question.

You don’t have to be afraid of anything
, I said.
Do you believe me
?

He nodded, but there was a small doubt lurking in the back of his eyes.

Are you afraid of the blue man
?

He nodded.

Who is he?

I don’t know. He never says anything. He just looks at me.

He’s a person?

I don’t know.

Does he want to hurt you?

No. He just looks at me. He looks sad.

So he’s an actual person?

No. I don’t know. Maybe.

There’s a man who comes into your room and looks at you?

No. He’s not a man. Not like J. Not like that. He’s a ghost.

A ghost
?

He nodded, did not seem overly troubled by this.

Did my son have an imaginary friend?

If I get scared, can I sleep with you?

Of course you can. Go to sleep, sweetie.

Good night, Daddy
.

I
N
MY
bedroom, I turned on the radio, shrugged off my clothes, climbed into Jackson Ledbetter’s bed.

One of my all-time favorites, Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight,” floated out of the speakers of Jackson’s spiffy stereo.

His bed was comfy. Telling, but that’s how I thought of it:
Jackson Ledbetter’s bed
. It wasn’t my bed. He’d purchased it when he first moved here, along with a sofa, recliner, a kitchen table and chairs, a microwave, pots and pans, the whole kit and kaboodle. He’d come to Mississippi to start over, make a new life, “Try something new.”

Most everything in the apartment was his because, let’s face it, as a pediatric nurse with a real job, he had a real salary. Now, apparently, he had an inheritance to look forward to.

One of the uses to which he had put his charmed life was to develop a drug addiction. Started with painkillers, easily available to nurses, as I had learned. He would prescribe them for patients but put them in his pocket or up his nose or in a vein. Progressed to more exotic substances. Nothing lowbrow like meth or a good bag of grass. Not for Jackson Ledbetter! He had conveniently forgotten to mention that little fact of life when I fell for him like a wet mule.

Like Jackson Ledbetter, I had a few secrets of my own, “had” being the operative word. Now that
Crack Baby
had been published, the whole world knew my secrets.

Unable to sleep, I got up and strode to the window overlooking the street. We lived in one of the nicer parts of Tupelo now. Streets were clean and orderly, lawns carefully trimmed and tended. Although we’d lived here with Jackson for about a year and a half now, I did not feel like Noah and I belonged in this clean, antiseptic, carefully controlled environment with its neighborhood watch and neighborhood association meetings and fourteen-page leases.

I heard Jackson’s footsteps in the hall and took a deep breath, preparing myself for… I did not know. For something. The door to the bedroom opened, and I turned to look at him.

“What if somebody sees you standing there naked?” he asked, exasperation in his voice.

Since the window was at waist level, they weren’t going to see much.

“What if your son walks in on you?” he asked next.

“That’s what you get for marrying into a family of nudists. Besides, you work out in the nude.”

“No one can see me but you!” he countered.

“Whatever, big guy. If you want to be ashamed of your body, you go right ahead.”

“Why can’t you try to get along once in a while? Obey the rules? Pretend like you care about things?”

“You mean the straightjacket that society wants us to wear? My son can watch people get their heads blown off on television, but the sight of a man’s bare ass is going to send him over the edge?”

“Honest to God,” he exclaimed wearily.

“I was just standing here and minding my own business and not hurting anybody, Ledbetter. What the hell is your problem?”

“You,
Cantrell
!”

“I’m flattered.”

“There are rules!” He said this with a great deal of vehemence.

I went to the bed, sat, used the sheet to cover myself so he wouldn’t have to look at my penis, that great eye in the thigh, the one-eyed monster, the—

“I don’t know what to do to make you see,” he said. “There are rules, Wiley! You can’t break the rules all the time and not pay a price. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Take it like a man. Obey the niceties. Work with the system. The system is there to protect you. The system helps everybody get what they want.”

“Where are we now?” I asked, bewildered.

“You!” he exclaimed again, his voice full of anger.

“So I walked out of a restaurant,” I said.

“You embarrassed me!”

“I stood up for myself. That embarrasses you?”

“You walked out on my parents! At Frenelli’s! You made me look like a fool!”

“Just because your mom’s rich doesn’t mean I have to kiss her wrinkly butt cheeks.”

“Easy for you to say, Wiley, but I don’t have a choice.”