“It was plum pie,” I said, “And I’ll bring some over real soon.”
She made the baby wave to me as they walked into the shop.
Alone again, I scanned for Ben.
Everyone usually met up at the firehouse for a picnic. I saw Ben sitting with Jackson at a picnic table, laughing and talking with the Old-timers. He waved at me, letting me know I should just go about my business.
Jackson was, of course, holding high court. Being the mayor, and … well, just being Jackson, he had the prized seat at a picnic table beneath the shade of an enormous silver elm, its scales mimicking those of an alligator. He was already drinking and smoking a cigar. No food necessary for Jackson.
“But you have to do somethin’ about it, Jackson!” a man dressed soup to nuts in white linen yelled. A bunch of disgruntled people stood around him, nodding their heads in agreement.
“Bronwyn! The prodigal. Come on over here, sweet sugar, and meet the town board. You musta known ’em when you were little, but you’re all grown up. So come say hey, okay?”
I walked over to stand by my father. And, to be honest, felt a little protective of him. “What’s all this arguing about?”
Jackson laughed, but the men looked nervous.
“Seems like things are goin’ missin’ all over town. Pieces of sheds, animals, tin roofs, garbage cans. I’ll tell you what, it’s strange. But nothing we can’t figure out,” he said.
“You got the sheriff on it, it’s true,” said the man in white. “But we only got one sheriff round here, Jackson. Maybe we need more?”
“Fellas, what I need more of is this here bourbon. Follow me over to the bar with your complaints. Ain’t it hot, though?”
Typical Jackson. He’d probably take care of the issue, and it was strange for there to be any crime at all here, but he wasn’t going to ruin his Fourth of July worrying about it. I felt sort of proud watching him walk off with all those squawking chickens behind him. Ben followed, too, giving me a wink and a kiss on the check as he walked by.
* * *
The picnic was nothing much, just hamburgers, hot dogs, and some salads made by some of the older women in town. I got myself a plate and sat under an old oak. Byrd came to sit with me. She eyed the plate with dismay.
“Ain’t nothing interestin’ on that plate, Aunt Wyn.”
I laughed. “Sure ain’t.”
“You know what? Sam Crocker went out fishin’ at four o’clock this mornin’ and caught himself a whole bunch of white trout. He’s fryin’ it up right now at his bar. Wanna go?”
Sam’s Place. The local watering hole. Best part about Sam’s was the sign outside: COLD BEER: FREE ADVICE. My mouth watered at the mention of white trout. You can’t get saltwater trout up north. And you can’t freeze it or store it. You have to catch it and cook it. And when you do, there isn’t another fish like it.
“Let’s do it,” I said to my niece. She took my hand and we walked down Main Street.
“Where ya’ll goin’?” Jackson called.
“Byrd says there ain’t nothin’ interesting about this food, so we’re heading to Sam’s.”
“Suit yourselves!” he shouted, “But your Ben is stayin’ with me. I quite like him!” Jackson was now clearly drunk. “I approve of this young man, and there, see? I’ve done saved the South with that one statement, now haven’t I?” Everyone started to laugh. Charming Jackson Whalen. Ben was getting to experience him for the first time.
That spiteful, snarky little feeling I had at the beginning of the day was suddenly gone. I was proud of my father. He’d done well.
I looked over at Ben and motioned for him to come with us. He shook his head. Smiled. He wanted to be there, and I knew why. Caretaker or not, Ben was a writer. And he was doing some serious research. My people sure as hell are some characters.
Byrd skipped ahead of me into Sam’s, the bells on the door announcing our arrival. The air-conditioning was a relief, but the smell of frying fish permeated everything.
Four or five Towners were seated at the dark bar. It’s a small place. A few tables, one long bar, and a jukebox. The Towners turned around, smiled, and nodded. A few got up to hug me hello. Byrd went straight to the cash register and hit the bell that was next to it a few times. A few times too many, you might say.
Sam came out of the kitchen and then stopped short.
When we were kids, I always thought Sam looked like Santa Claus. He hadn’t changed much. Santa Claus with a “Roll Tide” hat on his head. Got to love Alabama football.
“Why, BitsyWyn, that you?”
“Sure is, Sam. How you been?”
“Same ol’, same ol’. What can I get for y’all?”
Byrd answered, “Two orders of your fried white trout, baked beans, and potato salad.”
Sam winked at her. “You bet, Lady Byrd. Comin’ right up.”
“Don’t forget the bread like you did last time!” she shouted after him.
We sat at the bar, Byrd spinning on the bar stool while I waited for the next song on the jukebox.
You fill up my senses … John Denver.
“Oh, hell no,” I said, sliding off the stool with a dollar in my hand.
Byrd came up next to me.
“Let it play, Aunt Wyn. Let it play and dance with me.”
“Well, it’s hard to turn down an offer like that.” I picked her up and she wrapped her skinny legs around my middle. We rocked back and forth and I sang the words into her ears.
Like a sleepy blue ocean …
She tightened her arms around my neck. Then she whispered in my ear, “Sometimes we think we hate somethin’, only we don’t. We’re just scared of it. You like this song because it reminds you of the laughing days. But it scares you ’cause it makes you sad. Let it make you sad, so it can make you happy again.”
“Oh, Byrd. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to watch you grow up, I wish I’d known you from the beginning.”
She pulled away so she could look me in the face. “You want to?”
“Want to what?”
“Get to know me from the beginnin’?”
“I wish I could.”
“You can,” she said, “But you have to pay attention, because I’ve learned through experience I can only do this once, okay?”
“Sounds good,” I said.
Then she pressed her cheek against mine.
All at once a thousand memories, like still frames came shooting across my mind. Byrd as a baby. Byrd and Jamie. Byrd sitting on Jackson’s knee getting told all the stories of the Big House. Byrd and Paddy. Bedtime stories, baths, bike rides. Byrd’s fourth Christmas where she got books about magic. Byrd swimming with alligators.
The images ended when the song was over, I let her down. There were tears in her eyes and mine, too. “Thank you, Byrd,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome.” She sniffled.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
She didn’t say anything. She took my hands and placed one on each side of her face. Then she took them off, kissed each finger, and pressed my hands into fists. When she opened them she blew lightly on my upturned palms and the scent of fresh roses filled that stinky bar, and a feeling of love so big washed over me that I got light-headed.
Sam came out of the kitchen with two to-go containers that he put into a paper bag.
“What on earth?” he said, sniffing at the air. “Smells like a goddamned department store in here. Byrd? How many times do I gotta ask you not to do magic in my bar?”
Byrd grabbed the bag and ran out the front door, “If there’s one place that needs magic, it’s your nasty ol’ bar, Sam Crocker!” The scent of roses streamed out after her.
“I’d say I’m sorry, Sam. But that was pure wonderful. What do I owe you?”
“Nothin’. Call it a welcome home gift.”
I nodded and began to leave. Byrd was probably already halfway down to the benches by the beach.
“Sam?” I asked, leaning on the door, lett
ing the hot air outside mingle in.
“Yeah?”
“Do you people love my niece, or are you all afraid of her?”
The other patrons all stared down at their drinks. Sam took a moment before he answered.
“Both,” he said. “She’s the best and worst of everything, Wyn. And mostly we don’t understand her. But if you’re askin’ me if we wish any harm on her … the answer is no. This town needs her like we need air. Only, remember, sometimes the air can carry things on it that are poison. You still have to breathe, though. It’s the truth. Plain ol’ truth. Careful with her, Wyn. Love can conceal a lot of things.”
Cold Beer: Free Advice.
“Well, thank you for that, Sam. But I think I can see things a lot more clear than all of you. Perspective and all that,” I said, and left. Let the bells slam hard behind me. I ran a little to catch up with my niece. My magical, misunderstood, lost soul of a niece.
* * *
Perspective … I’d forgotten about the trees lining the street that ran parallel to the beach. Each one creating a perfect postcard image of the water and shore houses beyond. And I don’t know how I could have forgotten that, because noticing it was what changed my future. Naomi didn’t like being at the Big House or the property. The mist made her sick. But back before the drugs took over, she had two exceptions. The apothecary for prescription opiates, when Jackson couldn’t get his hands on opium, and the sea.
Once, when I must have been very small—because Jackson was proudly pushing Paddy in our old-fashioned pram—we went walking by the beach under those very same trees, as Naomi held my hand.
I loved holding her hands. They always felt so soft, like silk.
I must have noticed the way the trees made frames around the still pictures beyond. Perspective.
Naomi never rushed. So she leaned down to see what I saw.
“Ah, yes! Very good, Bronwyn! You have the eyes of an artist. A photographer even. Doesn’t she, Jackson?”
He must have agreed because the very next day I woke up to a Polaroid camera next to my bed. It was my prized possession for years until I moved on to more expensive cameras.
And now Byrd has it, a voice sounded in my head.
Mama, is that you? I thought as I stood there, holding Byrd’s hand tight. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten so many important things. I’d stolen away my own past.
It made me feel like a coward.
“You’re no kind of coward, Aunt Wyn. You’re pretty brave, I’d say,” Byrd piped up.
“I thought you couldn’t read my mind anymore.”
“I can’t. You don’t need no fancy ESP when someone’s hurtin’. You can guess.”
“Well, you seem to know more about me and my past than I do, Ms. Byrd. Anything else you want to show me before we go back home?”
“Nah, let’s eat. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!” She rubbed her belly. “Hey, Aunt Wyn?”
“Hmm?”
“Your hands are like silk, just like hers, right?”
“Yes. I was just thinking about that. See, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget her.”
“Someday you’re gonna have to be brave enough to remember. I think people don’t really forget. I think they simply don’t want to face things. Face your past, Aunt Wyn.”
“Seems to me, young Byrd, you might want to take some of your own advice.”
She glared at me, digging into her fish. “I’m too young to have a past.”
“Oh, now you’re young.” I laughed opening my own carton, picking up a long strip of the whitefish and biting into it. It melted on my tongue like butter. There was some barbecue on the plate, too. A gift to us from Sam. Pulled pork, beans, and slaw. And a nice thick slice of white bread to even it out. I bit easily into the tender pork.
Real barbecue is hard, if not impossible to find up north. I wish Ben had come, just to taste. That plate of food was all he needed to know about Alabama.
We made our way slowly back home, walking up Main Street as the sun set. Warmth spread though me like a drug. Byrd, dirty again, and beautiful, kept on talking about Jamie, bending down every so often to pick up abandoned strands of shiny plastic beads.
We caught up with Jackson leaning on Ben for support. And we all went back to the Big House’s front porch, where Minerva and Carter were waiting. They took Jackson inside, and the three of us went back to the cottage where I gave Byrd a proper bath, not minding her protests, and tucked her into my bed.
“You’ve made it real nice here for me, Byrd. Thank you for that.”
But she was already fast asleep.
You make her feel safe.
There was that voice again.
“Mama?” I asked. This time, out loud.
No answer.
I went out into the living room where Ben had made iced tea, took a glass, and stretched out on the couch under the ceiling fan. Heaven equals moving air sometimes. He came over to the couch and tried lifting up my legs so he could sit near me, but I said, “You sit across from me so I can see your eyes when you speak, Mr. Caretaker. I need the truth like I’ve never needed it before. It’s time.”
“Here’s the thing,” he began after sitting where I told him. “You have to know this. I knew who you were, who I was … when I met you, it’s true. But it isn’t why I love you. Caretakers don’t have to love the person they’re paired with. I mean, Naomi and Minerva weren’t lovers.”
“A truer statement there never was. Go on,” I said.
He sat back, took a breath, and continued. “I’m from a place, one you already know about, one that has its own peculiar ways. And when I met you that day in New York, I knew. I just knew. And I spent the whole day trying to decide if I was drawn to you because of my job or because you were just a hell of a woman.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“It was when we were listening to that jazz, and you took out your cards. Do you remember the spread?”
I remembered his hands more than the cards.
“It told me our future, even if you didn’t know it yourself. And it told me you were lost. That I needed to stay near you, and to be honest, just being your friend wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t have been able to not touch you. I can’t even stand being across the room from you now.”
I stayed quiet.
“I don’t know what else to tell you.” He sighed.
“Why didn’t you just tell me? Right then?”
“Because I knew you were running. I knew that if I made any sort of connection between me and the life you left behind, that you’d push me away. You’re good at that.”
He was right.
“Why didn’t we ever talk about where we were from?”
“Because I always changed the subject, and we made a pact.”
“Why would you do that? Why would you misdirect me?”
“Because somewhere along the way I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.”
“And what, exactly, were you supposed to be doing?”
“Helping you get home.”
We’d been together seven years and he hadn’t once urged me to go home. If anything, he’d closed that option right out of my mind. Things he’d said were coming back to me.
When Stella died, I’d thought about coming back.
“I should go,” I said.
“Don’t you think it would make matters worse? I mean, complicate things for them at a complicated time?”
“You didn’t do that … you kept me away. On purpose. Damn, Ben, all those things you used to say … they’re blossoming in my head like an oleander.”
He got up and started pacing.
“Well, I started to think that maybe this wasn’t your home. You know? Maybe you were supposed to live with me. That I was your home.”
“So, you fell in love with me. I fell in love with you, and then you spent the next seven years … blocking me? Keeping me blind?”
“It doesn’t sound good when you put it that way,�
�� he said, sitting back down. Deflated.
There is nothing worse than an awkward silence between two people who’ve never experienced it before.
So he did what most people would do. He changed the subject.
“Do you think he did it?” he asked.
“Who did what?”
“Do you think Patrick killed them?”
“No,” I said.
“Peel back the layers, Wyn. Peel them back. He confessed. What do you really think?”
“Why don’t you read my mind?”
“I’ve been trying. All that’s in there is confusion. I can’t get your real opinion.”
“My opinion. Fancy that. Here’s what I think. I think that I don’t really care if he did do it. I’m going to get him out of prison and back home where he belongs if it’s the last thing I do.” I said. And saying it that way made me feel strong. Resolved.
Right.
Ben laughed. It rolled out from deep within his chest. Then he came over to me on the couch and held me close.
“You are becoming more like your own people every day, the Fairview ones,” he said.
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“We don’t ever judge the evil that people do. Bad things are measured the same way we measure good things. Individually. It’s a gift, but most people don’t understand it. Too much work, I guess, to figure out each person as a whole instead of parts of this and parts of that.”
He kept talking, but I was already falling asleep and had already heard everything I needed to hear.
I woke up a few hours later to the sounds of a drunken Jackson banging on my door. Ben had put me in bed next to Byrd. I hastily ran out into the living room, where Ben was sleeping soundly on the couch. He never did wake up for much.
“Shh!” I scolded Jackson, going out on the porch and quietly shutting the door behind me. “They’re sleeping. And I don’t feel like having it out with Ben again tonight.”
He was already getting himself comfortable, lighting a cigar.
“What’s this? You and your beau have a fight?”
“No. Just too much truth all at once.”
“I hear you. But I came over here to tell you what I should have yesterday. I sure am glad you decided to come home, sugar. And I know it can’t be easy.”
The Witch of Belladonna Bay Page 16
