Stones in the Road (17 page)

“He would have been a lot better off,” Bill said flatly.

“Well, there you are,” I said.

“So it’s true, then?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked. “Kayla’s parents wanted you to give him up so they could take care of him?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why didn’t you?”

“He was my son!”

“But he might have had a much better life with a real family.”

“Mom!” Jackson exclaimed.

“Willis was in college,” she went on, ignoring her son, “and he was smoking crack and having sex with some girl and got her pregnant. Hardly an ideal father.”

“Thank you,” Bill said gratefully.

“Y’all, don’t fuss,” Mama said.

“That’s all they do around this whorehouse,” Papaw said. “Anyway, how hard could it be to take care of a deaf midget? The only thing you’ve got to worry about is losing him. Like your car keys. Let me see now. Where did I put that deaf midget? Oh, I must have left him in my pants pockets!”

“Daddy!” Mama said unhappily.

Noah, whose lip-reading skills were almost nonexistent, tucked into his Memaw’s fried chicken with what can only be described as a certain gusto.

“Instead of buying that boy all these hearing aids, Wiley, you ought to get him a pair of stilts so people could see him,” Papaw said. “It’s like walking around with the Invisible Man. There’s Wiley! Is that his son with him? I don’t know. I can’t see a thing!”

“Papaw, please,” I said despairingly.

“Is he here now?” Papaw asked, looking around dramatically, pretending he couldn’t see Noah sitting next to me.

Mrs. Ledbetter glanced at me, raised her eyebrows.

Papaw continued to look around, as if searching for Noah.

“Daddy, leave him alone,” Mama said.

“Where is that little deaf midget?” Papaw asked. “Probably fell in the toilet and drowned his damn self. I told Wiley to take him down to the government office to get a check for him, but make sure they have a magnifying glass on hand so they can see him or else you won’t get your check. The poor little thing is so small he could turn sideways and disappear.”

The boys laughed.

“Daddy, put that gun away,” Mama ordered. “Haven’t I told you a million times I don’t want anyone fooling around with their dad-gum guns inside this house? Especially when we have company? It ain’t polite-like and it’s time to eat.”

“Just cleaning it,” Papaw offered.

“Accidents happen.”

“I may be pissing the sheets and half out of my so-called mind, or whatever might be left of it, but I know my way around my own guns,” Papaw replied. “This was the pistol Hitler used to shoot his damn-fool self. Joe Bob brought it back from the war.”

“It was not,” I said.

“Damn sure was,” Papaw said. “That’s what Joe Bob told me, at any rate. Joe Bob had a dark sense of humor—it was so dark you could harvest your cotton with it.”

Mrs. Ledbetter laughed rather uncertainly.

I cringed with embarrassment.

“Daddy, please don’t talk like that,” Mama said.

“Who’s Joe Bob?” Bill said.

“That’s the pistol that Hitler used to commit suicide?” Mr. Ledbetter asked in a high-pitched voice.

“Don’t listen to him,” I said in warning.

“Who the hell is Joe Bob?” Bill asked.

“He lives in East, West Virginia,” Papaw said.

“East-west Virginia?” Bill said.

“Right,” Papaw said. “Anyway, Joe Bob’s father—”

“Where is east-west Virginia?” Bill pressed.

“I done told you!” Papaw snapped. “He lives in East, West Virginia.”

“We don’t know nobody who lives in Virginia,” Bill said.

“I do,” Papaw pointed out.

“What town does he live in?” Bill asked.

“I done told you, Billy. He lives in East. Got corncobs in your ears or something?”

“I thought you said he lived in the east-west of Virginia.”

“There is no east-west of Virginia, you damned fool,” Papaw offered.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Papaw,” Bill said.

“How do you live in the east-west of something?” Mr. Ledbetter asked.

“It’s a Southern thing, I’m sure,” Mrs. Ledbetter said.

“There is no east-west,” Papaw said grumpily. “The man lives in East, West Virginia. Are y’all deaf or just dumb, or maybe both? Christ, it’s like talking to the frikkin’ deaf midget over there.” He leered at Noah.

“Don’t call him that, Papaw,” I said.

“There’s a West Virginia,” Mr. Ledbetter decided, “but there’s no East Virginia.”

“Ain’t that the truth, and thank the Crucified Christ for small favors,” Papaw replied. “But there’s an East, West Virginia, which is where Joe Bob’s people live. Joe Bob—”

“There is
no
east-west Virginia,” Mr. Ledbetter pointed out rather forcefully.

“Dad, forget it,” Jackson warned.

“I’m trying to understand what the man is saying,” Mr. Ledbetter snapped.

“Papaw likes to have his fun,” I said.

Mrs. Ledbetter looked at the gun and frowned her disapproval.

“Is it safe?” she asked in a crisp Yankee voice.

“T’aint loaded,” Papaw said, “if that’s what you mean. Least not as loaded as some of the folk sitting ’round this table, I reckon.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked. “Firearms make me nervous.”

Papaw grinned. He picked up the gun, sighted rather theatrically on a geranium sitting on the windowsill overlooking the back yard, then winked at Mrs. Ledbetter.

“Sure I’m sure,” he said. “Here. I’ll show you.”

He pulled the trigger.

Bam
!

The gun went off with an explosion of sound. The clay pot holding the geranium shattered in a shower of dirt and debris, and a sharp smell of gunpowder wafted through the air as the window behind the plant shattered and blew out.

Mrs. Ledbetter shrieked as she pushed her chair back from the table.

Mr. Ledbetter put a hand to his throat.

“Jesus!” Jackson muttered.

Noah glanced around, wondering what the fuss was about.

Papaw cackled rather madly as he put the gun back on the table.

“That was so cool!” Eli offered.

“Yeah, Papaw,” Josh said enthusiastically.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Mama exclaimed angrily. “I done told you I don’t want no one fooling with guns inside this house, and that includes you, Daddy. How many times I have to tell you?”

“He almost killed us,” Mrs. Ledbetter said in a breathless voice.

“T’weren’t nothing,” Papaw said dismissively. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be picking buckshot out of your pituitary gland, and make no mistake.”

“You can’t shoot guns inside a house!” she exclaimed angrily.

“This is the South, lady,” Papaw offered. “We can do as we please, and t’aint nothing you can say about it.”

“Who’s going to fix my window?” Mama demanded. “Would you look at that mess! Daddy! Dammit!”

Mama hurried over to the window, her face red with embarrassment.

“Hell of a kick on that bastard,” Bill offered approvingly.

“You got that right,” Papaw said.

“Mary, go help your Memaw,” Bill ordered.

His daughter expelled a huffy breath of air. “Just because I have tits doesn’t mean I have to clean everything up,” she muttered.

“If you don’t clean up that mouth of yours, I’ll wash it out with Lysol,” Bill said.

“Why can’t Josh help her?” she demanded, giving her brother an ugly look. “Oh. That’s right. He’s got a penis.”

“Mary, do what your daddy tells you!” Shelly snapped.

Josh gleefully stuck out his tongue.

Shelly also got up and went over to the exploded geranium extravaganza.

“Are you sure you want to marry into this family, Jackson?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked, glancing around and speaking very softly.

“Mom, please don’t,” Jackson whispered.

“They remind me of some of your father’s clients,” she offered.

“Insanity doesn’t run in our family,” I said. “It strolls along, takes its time and gets to know you personally. Papaw has his ways.”

“Obviously,” she said. “Are there no nursing homes?”

Papaw fixed his old, rheumy eyes on her as silence settled over the table.

“What did you say?” Papaw asked very quietly.

“I said, are there no nursing homes?” She spoke in a loud, aggressive voice, not at all embarrassed. “You’re a danger to yourself and everyone else. You almost killed us. This is not normal behavior. Something should be done.”

“Perhaps you could take me to the vet and have me put down,” Papaw suggested. “We could call the vet right now, if you’d like.”

“You sound surprised,” she countered. “Perhaps you like being a burden on other people.”

“Papaw’s not a burden,” I said. “Please, y’all, don’t fuss.”

“He’s right, Eunice,” Mr. Ledbetter—Stephen—said in my defense. “This is a family matter, dear. It’s none of our concern.”

“Our son is going to marry into this ‘family,’” she replied easily. “That makes it our concern. Do you want your grandchildren exposed to…
this
?” Her eyes drifted across the dining room to the kitchen, drawing our attention to the humbleness of Mama’s house.

I bit my tongue.

“Mom, you’re embarrassing me,” Jackson said.

“I just want you to be sure,” she replied.

Mama paused, dustpan in hand, wondering what we were talking about. Even Mary paused to turn and look at us.

“The smell of this fried chicken is making me…
so
hungry,” Mrs. Ledbetter said expansively. “I feel like I’m on the set of a Paula Deen show. Martha, you really must give me the recipe. When my son comes to visit—if he ever comes to visit again—I’ll be sure to make it for him.”

“I’d be happy to give you the recipe,” Mama said. “Fried chicken just makes you feel good about things, doesn’t it?”

“There’s nothing like fried foods,” Mrs. Ledbetter agreed.

“We’ve tried to cut back,” Mama said. “It’s not that healthy, I know.”

Jackson, sitting next to me, was so angry he could not speak. I put my hand on his, fingered the engagement ring on his finger, that heavy gold band that meant the whole world to me. He turned to me, his face tight.

“Please excuse me,” he said, getting suddenly to his feet and marching off.

“Oh, I see we’ve lost another one,” Mrs. Ledbetter said with a smile. “Doesn’t take much with these faggots, does it?”

Bill, bless his heart, audibly gasped.

“Anyway,” Mr. Ledbetter said. “I’m still trying to figure out where East Virginia is.”

Papaw had settled back in his chair, a very unhappy look on his face.

“Mr. Cantrell?” Mr. Ledbetter prompted. “Are you quite all right?”

Papaw was glaring at Mrs. Ledbetter, his lips quivering ever so slightly, as if there were a million words wanting to come out of his mouth and he wasn’t sure which ones he wanted to hurl at her.

“Maybe you’d like to go lie down,” I suggested.

“Maybe,” he muttered.

“Come on, Papaw,” I said, urging him to get to his feet.

He did not resist my efforts, leaned on me for support as I led him away from the dining room. Most times, Papaw was strong, still kicking, as he put it, still not dead, but other times, when he didn’t feel good, he had little strength in his legs and bones and was like an old, washed-out man ready to die.

“It’s all right, Papaw,” I whispered. “You should hear some of the shit she said to me.”

“I’ll be goddamned, Wiley, if some cunt of a woman is going to come into my house….” His voice trailed off. Then, “I’ll be goddamned, Wiley! I’ll be double goddamned! In my own fucking house! I will not have some fucking cunt talking to me like that in my own fucking house, you understand me?”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

I led him to his bedroom, got him to the bed. I pulled off his slippers, his pants, covered him with a sheet. He was so angry, he was trembling.

“You gon’ be all right, Papaw?” I asked, sitting on the bed next to him, taking his old, leathery hand into mine.

He refused to speak.

“I’ll turn on the radio,” I said quietly. I went to the dresser. Papaw had my old boom box set on KUDZU. “Heaven’s Just A Sin Away” drifted from the 1980s speakers.

“Call me if you need anything,” I said.

He did not answer.

“Forget about it, Papaw,” I suggested. “You know what they say. Family. Can’t live with them. Can’t kill them, if only because it dulls the ax blade.”

He turned his face away and closed his eyes.

That was one of last things I ever said to Papaw.

J
ACKSON
STOOD
on the porch, looking off into the distance at the long line of dark clouds. Rain was on the way. The smell of crepe jasmine was in the air, and the heat of the day was up. A gust of wind made the trees moan.

“Hey,” I said softly, taking his hand into mine.

“I’m sorry, Wiley,” he muttered, turning to look at me. His eyes were red from crying. “My mom is such a—”

“She is what she is,” I said.

“For once in my life, I wanted her to approve of something I’d done. Is that too much to ask?”

“It’s all good,” I said.

He turned to face me, as if he meant to say something. Instead, he burst into embarrassed tears and pressed himself against me.

“I want you to know something,” he said at last, pulling away. “I don’t care what she says or what she thinks. I love you, Wiley. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I can’t believe I asked her to come here….”

“Don’t worry about it,” I offered.

“It’s true,” he said.

“What’s true?” I asked.

“I love you.”

“I know that,” I said, mystified.

“No, I don’t think you do,” he said. “I love you so much it hurts me to think about… when I think… oh God, I’m blubbing like some cheerleader when the home team loses. I’m a fucking mess.”

“No, you’re not,” I said.

“Why the fuck I asked her to come here…,” he said.

“I’m glad you did,” I said. “You don’t need to cuss.”

“She makes me so mad. What she said about your grandfather….”

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Why can’t she shut her goddamn mouth and not be such a—”