by Ann B. Ross
So on that drizzling, foggy Friday, Mr. Pickens came by to pick up Sam, not at the early hour planned, but closer to noon. I declare, the man had good intentions but not much of a sense of timing. He should’ve gotten the rental truck the day before instead of waiting until the morning they planned to leave.
“I expect we’ll be late getting back,” Sam told me as I walked out on the porch to see them off. “That truck probably won’t go over fifty. So don’t worry about us. I’ll call you when we’re heading back.”
“All right,” I said, “but don’t you be lifting or moving anything. You’re just going to keep him company, not to throw your back out again.”
He grinned and assured me that he’d be fine. “Just company,” he said. “Nothing else.”
And off they went.
Later that afternoon, I stood at the living-room window watching rainwater drip from the eaves, trying to determine if I should call Dr. Crawford for a refill of Sam’s prescription. Only as a precaution, you understand, because the weekend was upon us and I did not want to interfere with the doctor’s time off. I could safely get a refill of that powerful medication to have on hand in case Sam had a relapse, yet easily be rid of it by donating it to the mission field if he did not. Win, win, I thought. If Sam didn’t need it, it would go to someone far afield who did.
Turning away from the window, I wandered into the library, looked over the puzzle, then sat down to read the newspaper. That lasted just long enough to put me to sleep for a rainy afternoon nap. Finally waking, but still feeling groggy, I gravitated to the kitchen where Lillian sat at the table turning the pages of a movie magazine.
“You want some coffee?” she asked, preparing to rise.
“No, don’t get up. I just want somebody to talk to.” I sat at the table, too. “I’m glad you’re spending the night. I need the company. You’re sure Latisha is being picked up?”
“Yes’m, she going home with the choir director’s little girl. They say they gonna play Barbies all day an’ all night, an’ Miz Mabry say she bring her here after lunch tomorrow.”
“Well, good. I just wish that Sam wasn’t on the road in this weather, especially after getting such a late start. To say nothing,” I continued with a sigh, “of worrying about the one he’s going with.”
“Oh, Mr. Pickens, he’s all right. They be fine, Miss Julia, but I wouldn’t look for ’em to be back till real late. In fact, I jus’ been settin’ here thinkin’ ’bout what to fix for supper that’ll still be good at ’leven or twelve o’clock tonight.”
“Nothing, Lillian, don’t fix anything. Let’s just eat a sandwich or leftovers tonight. I’ll scramble some eggs for Sam if he gets in that late.”
When the phone rang, I motioned to Lillian to sit still. I was closer, so I answered it, listened, then pressed the phone closer to my ear. “What?” I said, responding to the voice whispering against a background of shouts and running feet. “Say that again.”
So he did.
Chapter 48
*
“School just got out,” Lloyd said, whispering hoarsely, “and I don’t want anybody to hear me. I need to talk to you. Will you be home? It’s important.”
“Why, yes, of course. You want me to come get you—it’s raining out there.”
“No’m, I rode my bike today. I’ll be there in a little while.” And he hung up. Or punched off.
“What in the world?” I asked the world in general, but only Lillian replied.
“Who you talkin’ to?” she asked, closing the magazine.
“That was Lloyd, calling to see if I’m home. He’s never done that before. He just comes by when he wants to.” I frowned, sat at the table again, and wondered what was so important that he had to whisper, then ride a bicycle in the rain to tell about it. “I hope he won’t catch cold,” I mumbled.
“He’ll be hungry,” Lillian said, getting to her feet to prepare an after-school snack.
* * *
—
“Thanks, Miss Lillian,” Lloyd said, looking at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut into little squares as Lillian always served it. “But I can’t eat anything right now.”
He sat at the table, after having shed his raincoat on the porch. His hair, still damp from the ride, glistened from the overhead lights.
“What’s going on, Lloyd?” I asked, sitting at the table and leaning toward him.
“Well-l,” he said and began contorting his face and canting his head toward Lillian. “Maybe . . . the library?”
“It’s all right,” I said, thinking that perhaps he’d heard some gossip at school about a certain married lady—a highly likely occurrence, given how fast rumors of misconduct flew around town. “Lillian knows.”
“Whew,” he said, “that’s good. I need all the help I can get. Listen, it’s like this. Word’s out all over school that there’s gonna be a party tonight—at the happy house. That’s what they call it—the happy house. And I know it’s the empty house we found, Miss Julia. It has to be.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, patting my chest. “Lloyd, are you sure? It could be anybody’s house, and a perfectly nice party.”
“No’m,” he said, shaking his head, “because I asked Leigh Swanson. She didn’t want to tell me, ’cause if you’re in, you just know. But I’m not, so I didn’t. She finally told me it’s off Staton Mill Road, out in the woods, and nobody lives there or anywhere around it. So, see, it has to be the one we found. She said it’s safe because nobody knows about it, and I could go with her if I want to, but I don’t. Except I don’t know what else to do.”
“Leigh Swanson,” I said, turning the name around in my mind. “Wasn’t she one of your dates to the dance?”
“Yes’m, and she’s a nice girl, but she likes to be in on everything just to, you know, have a good time. So I’m thinking I ought to go and be sure she stays out of trouble.”
“Uh-huh,” Lillian said, “an’ that’s a good way for both of you to get in trouble.”
“And anyway, Lloyd,” I said, “you can’t be sure it’s the same house. There must be an untold number of abandoned houses out that way. But even if it is, what makes a house happy, anyway? Music? Dancing? Some boys bringing beer? Surely there’ll be some adults there.”
“Miss Julia,” he said as if explaining to a child, “drugs. There’ll be drugs there.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, drawing back. “Are you sure? How do they get drugs? Where do they come from?”
“I told you, remember? I told you about all the prescription bottles strewn around. Like the one I gave you.”
“Yes, but where did they come from? How do they get there?”
“Well,” Lloyd said, “I guess some of ’em come from medicine cabinets at home, and—”
“The one you gave me came from a drugstore in South Carolina. How’d it get up here?”
“Probably,” he said, “because somebody had it to sell. I guess, ’cause I’ve never been to a party like that.”
“And I hope,” I said, “that you never go to one. The idea, selling drugs to children! Oh, I hope the sheriff’s planning to put a stop to it.”
“But, see, that’s why I’m worried about Leigh. She just likes to be a part of everything. Anything exciting, I mean. She doesn’t use drugs, but that won’t mean anything if there’s a raid. She’ll be rounded up with the rest of ’em. And if she is, she’ll never get in Chapel Hill.”
“And neither will you,” I said sharply, “if you’re rounded up with her. No, Lloyd, you should stay away from that party. Anyway, how’s Leigh going to get there? She’s not old enough to drive, is she?”
“A bunch of girls’re going together. Stacy O’Connor is a senior and she has a car. Leigh said if I had my license, I could drive ’em and be their security guard.” Lloyd drew in his breath. “She laughed about that, but I wis
h I could, ’cause then I would drive around and get lost and not find that house till the party was over.”
“Lloyd,” Lillian said, as she put her hand on his arm, “some people jus’ can’t be helped. They won’t let you.”
“I know,” he said miserably, “but Leigh’s a smart girl and a good girl. She just doesn’t have a lick of common sense.”
“Well,” I said, “this may help or it may not, but you know I turned that prescription bottle in at the sheriff’s office. Coleman is out of town, but the desk sergeant assured me that they would take care of it. I told him where we’d found it, so he knows about the house. Now, whether they’ll raid it tonight or not, I don’t know. But the very possibility of it might help to discourage Leigh from going.
“And here’s another thing. Everybody knows your father’s in law enforcement, so if you tell the girls you’ve heard there might be a raid, they’ll think you really know something. That may be enough to keep them away. Tell them they’d be better off going to a movie.”
“I guess,” Lloyd said, but he wasn’t convinced. “I just wish I had my license. I wouldn’t drive them, but I’d go out there and park somewhere out of sight. Then if there’s trouble, I could get them out.”
“You’re a good friend, Lloyd,” I said, appreciating his concern, “but if those girls won’t listen to reason, there’s not much you can do. Just be available, I guess, in case they come to their senses. They might still decide to go to a movie.”
He gave me a smile, but it was a little wobbly. “Yes’m, maybe so. Anyway, Leigh said she’d call me if she needs anything. I think she thinks I’d get J.D. to help her out, and I would.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “not tonight, you wouldn’t. He and Sam went to Charlotte and probably won’t be back till midnight or later.”
* * *
—
As it turned out, it was later. Sam called as Lillian and I finished a supper of pancakes and sausage—the perfect meal for a damp, chilly evening, although a little of that goes a long way. Especially when your stomach is already roiling with worry.
“Julia, honey,” Sam had said, “looks like we’re stuck here for the night. That truck Pickens rented blew a gasket on our way out of town. To make it worse, it’s loaded to the gills with appliances, bathroom fixtures, and I-don’t-know-what-all, so we have to wait till morning to get another truck. And to get some help moving everything from one to the other.”
“You’re not sleeping in the truck, are you?”
He laughed. “Not quite that bad. We were able to limp into a Quality Inn and have a place to park. I’ll call you in the morning when we get moving again.”
Briefly considering telling him my concern for Lloyd’s friends, I decided that it would only make me feel better while distressing him. Time enough to lay it all out when he returned.
So I commiserated with him for having truck trouble, told him to be careful, and to hurry home because I missed him.
Chapter 49
*
Just saying that I missed him was an understatement of the first order. After hearing about Leigh Swanson and a number of other young girls—all from good families and friends of Lloyd—blithely putting themselves in harm’s way, I longed for Sam’s farsighted wisdom.
“I won’t sleep a wink tonight,” I told Lillian. “I can’t get over the thought of those foolish girls, thinking that going to a drug party will be exciting and fun—when it’s more likely to be their ruination.”
“Maybe,” she said, “it’ll keep on rainin’ an’ they get stuck somewhere, an’ won’t none of ’em get to go.”
“I’d call that a divine intervention, but I can’t count on it. I’m just hoping that they’ll heed Lloyd’s warning of a possible raid. The thing about it, though, is that I don’t know whether I should hope there will be a raid or that there won’t. I certainly don’t want any of Lloyd’s friends to get arrested, but then again, I do want whoever’s selling drugs not just to get arrested, but to be put away somewhere for good.
“And I’ll tell you this, Lillian,” I went on, “I don’t know why in the world the sheriff hasn’t cleared that place out already. I told them exactly what was going on and gave them explicit directions. They should’ve done something by now.”
“If I had to guess,” Lillian said solemnly, “I’d guess there won’t be no raid tonight. Policemans don’t like to get soaked to the skin any more than anybody else. I bet they’ll wait for better weather.”
“You may be right. And, meanwhile, kids—practically babies where good sense is concerned—will be taking that noxious stuff and getting addicted and ruining their lives. I’d like to get my hands on whoever’s doing the selling.”
“Miss Julia,” Lillian said, “can’t nobody sell ’less somebody wantin’ to buy.”
“Well, that’s certainly the truth, so I guess I’d like to get my hands on those silly kids and shake some sense into them. In the meantime”—I stopped as a yawn overtook me—“we might as well go to bed. I’m just glad that Lloyd can’t drive at night. We don’t have to worry about him at least.”
* * *
—
My eyes popped open, and I lay there not knowing what had wakened me—until the phone rang again. Reaching for it in the dark, my mind darted from Sam to Lloyd to Mildred to who knows who else. As my hand scrambled for the phone, the bedside clock registered 1:33, and I thought, “A.M.? Who’s calling in the middle of the night?”
“Miss Julia!” Lloyd whispered before I got hello out of my mouth. “Come let me in. I’m downstairs.”
“What?”
“I’m at the back door. Come let me in.”
Half befuddled, I threw off the covers, grabbed my robe, and ran barefooted out the door and down the stairs. Images of Hazel Marie and her babies in various states of mishap ran through my mind.
As soon as I released both locks on the door, Lloyd rushed in, shedding water as he came. “Leigh’s in trouble, Miss Julia. She just called me. Can we go get her? I mean, I’d ask Mama, but we’d have to take my sisters and that wouldn’t be good. Do you mind? Can we go get her?”
“Well, wait. Wait now, where is she?”
“She’s at that house, and she doesn’t have a way home. The girl who drove them is out like a light, and she said everybody’s acting crazy, and she’s scared. She really is, Miss Julia, she started crying, and said she’d try to walk out but she’s scared to do that, too. Please, can we go get her?”
Lloyd was shaking nervously so that the full raincoat he was wearing dribbled water on the floor. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s not raining bad. I just ran into a soaked boxwood in the dark.”
Before I could answer, Lillian, wearing what looked like a flannel tent, burst in, asking, “What happened? Anybody hurt? Lloyd, you all right?”
So he started through it again, but, trying to decide what to do, I interrupted. “Was there a raid?”
“No’m. Leigh said she almost wished there was one. It’d be a good way to get home.”
“I guess so,” I said, right smartly, “with a stop at the jail on the way. But we have to go get her, I guess, unless . . . let me think. Deputies could get out there quicker than we can. If she’s in real trouble, we ought to call them.”
“No, Miss Julia, don’t do that. She could’ve called them or her parents if she’d wanted to. She doesn’t want anybody to know—she said her parents’ll kill her. Let’s us just go, okay? Can we?”
I looked at Lillian. “Lillian?”
“If it was Latisha,” she said, “I’d want somebody to go.”
“Let’s get some clothes on, then.” Halfway out of the room, I turned back. “What about your mother, Lloyd? Does she know what you’re doing?”
“Ah, well, no’m. But I left a note on my pillow.” He swallowed hard, then said, “We’ll be back before she wake
s up. I hope.” Then holding up his phone, he went on. “Hurry, Miss Julia. I’m talking to Leigh, trying to keep her calm, but she’s afraid somebody’ll hear her. She’s hiding in the bathroom now.”
That filthy bathroom?
“Tell her,” I said, “that we’re on the way. And tell her to get out of there and start walking toward the highway—in the trees alongside the dirt lane.”
By the time I got upstairs, I was shaking with nerves as badly as Lloyd had been. I couldn’t decide how to dress—everything appropriate would take too long to put on—so I stuck my feet in a pair of rubber boots, slung Sam’s long, heavy raincoat over my gown, and called to Lillian that I was ready to go.
She clattered down the stairs behind me, half dressed with a jacket over her gown. “Law,” she said, “I hope don’t nobody see us lookin’ like this.”
Snatching up my pocketbook from the counter, I rushed out behind Lloyd and Lillian to the car, where the two of them had a Keystone Kop moment about who would sit in the front seat. She insisted that he should and finally settled it by getting in the backseat and refusing to budge.
As soon as I cranked the car, Lloyd put his phone on speaker and, if I’d not been anxious before, I would’ve been then. Leigh’s whispered voice came through, though almost drowned out by thumping music. “Hurry, Lloyd, please hurry. I don’t know if I can get out without somebody seeing me, and from the way they’re acting, I don’t know what they’ll do.”
“Listen, Leigh,” Lloyd said as calmly as a 911 operator, although I could see his hand shaking, “just walk out the back door like you know what you’re doing. If anybody stops you, tell ’em you can’t use that bathroom and you’re going outside. Tell ’em you’ll be back in a minute. Tell ’em anything, but get out. Then run to the trees and start walking. Just don’t walk out in the open. You want to stay hidden in case somebody besides us comes driving in.”
“But, Lloyd,” she said, “how will I know if it’s you? Are you in your car?”
