Shadow Man

by Grant, Cynthia D.

  20

  David McCloud

  All hell’s broke loose. It turns out Jennie’s pregnant. Her father was over here, almost busted down the door. You’d think we had something to do with it.

  I said, “My father’s not here. You better come back later.”

  Mr. Harding’s face was red. “He’s probably down at the bar!”

  “You better quit yelling. My mother’s real upset.”

  “My daughter’s five months pregnant!” he shouted. “We’ve got to find her!”

  He thinks she’s going to kill herself because she’s pregnant. Turns out her mother went into her room, looking for a clue to where Jennie might be, found her diary and read it.

  I said, “It seems kind of funny you never noticed she was pregnant.”

  “Not with the clothes the kids wear today! Big baggy things! She didn’t want us to find out!”

  “You don’t need to get so mad about it.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do! I could sue you McClouds!”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Go on down to Morrison’s and sue my brother, for all the good it’ll do you.”

  I felt sorry for him, but it wasn’t my fault. I get tired of people yelling at me.

  He said, “In her diary she mentions some place she and Gabe always went, somewhere on the coast. Do you know where it is?”

  “No, he never said.”

  “Well, you better start looking!”

  “There’s a hundred miles of beach around here!”

  “I don’t care if it’s a million!” He was spitting, he was so mad. “We’ve got to find her!”

  “I’ve got to stay here with my mother.”

  “I should’ve known you people wouldn’t give a damn!” Mr. Harding tore up the driveway, pulling out.

  I thought Ma might come to see what was going on. But if she’d heard about the baby, she didn’t let on. The door to her room stayed closed.

  Gerald called a while ago to see how Ma was doing.

  “The same,” I said. “Why don’t you come home?” If he talked to her, she might say something.

  “No,” he said. “I’m looking for James.”

  “What for?” I said. “That won’t do any good.” But he hung up.

  I felt so bad I went out to pet Jack; then I remembered I’d let him off his rope.

  Frank came back to check on Ma. I told him about Jennie’s baby. “That stupid kid,” he said. Which one did he mean? Probably all of them. He went down the hall and opened my mother’s door and told her the situation.

  He said, “She and Gabe had some special place, on the coast somewhere. Do you know it?”

  I could hear her not answering. I could feel her staring at him.

  He said, “Damn it, Katherine, he was my son too!”

  He came back into the living room. I told him Morrison had called. He said to go down there and see what Morrison wanted. Money, probably, or maybe he needed to know some stuff, like how do we want the funeral. I told Frank he should go down there himself because Morrison sounded like he was in a hurry. That made Frank really mad.

  “What’s the rush?” he roared. “Gabe’s not going anywhere! You tell that bastard—” A bunch of stuff. Then he left. So I have to go down there. I don’t want to go. I’ve never been around a dead person before, especially my brother. I hope Morrison don’t ask me if I want to see him, ’cause I don’t. Anyway, that body ain’t really Gabe. It’s like the shell on something or the husk on corn, or like dropping your dirty clothes on the floor and stepping into something brand-new. I hope so. Or maybe it’s like nothing at all.

  I wish Uncle Tom would call so I could ask him to go with me. You’d think he would; we’re family. But he acts like we all died years ago and he don’t even see us. That’s not right. Ma loves him, but she’d never call him, not after the things he said. She knows he was right, at least about that car, but he shouldn’t have said all that other stuff. It just hurt everybody’s feelings.

  I better tell Ma I’m going, even though she don’t care. I hate going in there. She’s acting so spooky.

  “Ma?” She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, her feet on the floor, her eyes straight ahead, looking at me like I’m a stranger, like I’m selling something she don’t need.

  “Mama, I’m going down to the funeral parlor, to see about Gabe.”

  I hear what I’m saying. The words explode inside my head. I’m dying, my brain is bleeding.

  “Oh, Mama! Gabe’s dead! I’m sorry, Mama!” I’m down on my knees, my head in her lap. “Oh, Mama! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, Mama!” I can’t stop crying. I hurt so bad. “Why’s he dead? I’m sorry, Mama!”

  Her hand comes down and strokes my head.

  21

  Gabriel McCloud

  Dear Mrs. Sanders,

  I really didn’t like what you said in class that stuff about the trees and the loggers. You don’t know much about it just because your a teacher doesn’t give you the right to tell people what to think. That’s not fair.

  The problem is these damn stupid tree lovers who think trees and birds are more important than people. They’ve really screwed things up. What are the loggers suppose to do? That’s the only job they ever had. Now you say well that’s too bad they’ll have to do something else. Like what? Thats all they know. At the mill where I work if they don’t get the wood the people will be layed off and lots of them have familys. Its not like they can be brain surgens or something they work with there hands that’s what they do. Like my brother David he worked in the mill pulling green chain till he hurt his back. Then they let him go and didn’t give him nothing. They don’t care about us they just want the money and he can’t even get disability.

  Look in the woods there’s plenty of trees. You probly think I’m rude but it makes me mad. These people come up from the city and tell us what to do a bunch of hippys they don’t even work. Me and James got into it with some people in Ukiah last week. They were standing around with sines Save The Forest Stop The Logging stuff like that. This one guy had real long hair and James tore up his sine then the cops came but we didn’t get in trouble.

  We went over there to get the new Shadow Man. The liquer store here didn’t get thier shipment. So we went over there and go in this store and the guy acts like were going to rob the place. That allways happens to teenagers. The new issue is great Shadow Man wipes out this gang all by himself and everybodys glad because they were selling drugs to kids. Shadow Man helps kids he says the’re to little to help themselfs. To bad these people who want to save the trees don’t care about the kids instead.

  So anyway I hope you don’t think I’m ragging on you its just that if it wasn’t for the loggers you wouldn’t have a house or planter boxes or things like that. Yours Truely,

  SHADOW MAN

  Gabriel:

  I’m sorry you were offended by my remarks in class. But the trees have been cut down too fast for years. What will happen to the loggers when the trees are gone?

  We all need to plan ahead. Even you. Have you given any thought to the junior college?

  C.S.

  22

  Francis McCloud

  I figured I might as well look for Jennie. It was obvious Katherine didn’t want me around. Even with her door shut I could feel her staring at me. So I got in the truck and started driving.

  Katherine’s never going to smile at me again. There was always the chance things might change. Now they won’t. She’ll always be sad. Gabe will always be dead. This is just the kind of stupid world that would take him and leave David.

  I know it’s a sin to wish your own son dead, but when I see him around town, stumbling and mumbling, it makes me feel like a failure. Like God’s laughing at me, saying, See what you done? He should talk. He left his own son on the cross. Jesus died for our sins, but the world’s still a mess. He wrestled the devil and lost.

  I swear to God I’m losing my mind.

  I wish Jennie would turn up. Her f
olks are scared. A nice girl like her, she wouldn’t do nothing crazy. But kids are funny; they feel stuff so strong. She looks at Gabriel like he’s so great. That’s how Katherine used to look at me, before everything got screwed up. Now her eyes are like bullets. What does she want from me? Haven’t I supported her all these years, given her a home and a family? Why does she hate me?

  That’s what I was asking her two years ago, the night I finally gave up the bottle. The boys were out, and me and Kat were alone. I wanted to be close. I’d been drinking. So had she. We started yelling at each other and knocking stuff over. Then everything went topsy-turvy.

  Katherine got hurt. I’m not sure how. She was down on the floor and her nose was bleeding. Then Gabe was in the room. He threw me into the wall. “Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare hurt her!” he’s screaming. He didn’t even know what was going on, but I was too far gone to explain that Katherine was the one who had started it; when I tried to kiss her, she bit me.

  I went into the bedroom and got my rifle and went back into the kitchen. Gabe was bending over his ma. She screamed when she saw me. He didn’t look scared. He said, “Go ahead and shoot me, you crazy old fart! You’ve already killed everybody in this house!”

  I almost pulled the trigger. But suddenly I saw him; I saw that I was going to shoot my own son. I ran outside and threw the gun in the pond. I haven’t touched a drop since that night, not even a single shot. Because I’d rather be dead than hurt my own children. Katherine thinks it’s my fault Timmy died, but it’s not. I was just playing cards. He climbed out of his crib. I would’ve cut off my arm if it would’ve brought him back, but wishing and crying don’t change a damn thing.

  This driving around is getting me no place. Jennie won’t be found till she wants to be found. That’s the thing about kids; they’re so selfish. They don’t think about other people’s feelings.

  I’ve got a bottle with me now, in the glove compartment. Picked it up this morning, just in case. In case the pain gets too bad. Like in the Civil War. Somebody got hurt, they’d give him whiskey, if they had it, and operate on him right there in the field. Cut off the hurt part, an arm or a leg. Most of them didn’t make it.

  I vowed on my son’s life that I wasn’t going to drink. But it didn’t do no good. He’s just as dead now as if I’d shot him.

  23

  Jennie Harding

  We’d done a lot of things, we’d kissed and touched, but we hadn’t made love, not all the way. Gabe wanted to. “Why not?” he’d say. “Don’t you really love me?”

  He knew I did. But no matter how much love I gave him, he was starving. He never understood why people loved him. He thought it was some kind of trick.

  I was afraid to make love. I didn’t want to take chances. “It’s not like I’m going to get you pregnant,” he said. We argued about that. We argued a lot. He absolutely didn’t want me to go away to college.

  We had an awful fight about that, one night, here on the beach. We’d been wrapped in blankets, looking at the stars, just talking. Then I told him about this brochure I’d received, from a college back east. Gabe went crazy. He was screaming that it was Mrs. Sanders’s fault; that she thought I was too good for him. “Oh, you’re such a brain,” he sneered. “Much too good for Willow Creek.”

  He kept ranting and raving. He wouldn’t listen to me. This time I didn’t feel like apologizing. I felt cold and hard inside. I got up and started walking.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he called.

  “Back to town,” I said. “I’ve had it.”

  He came after me. He tried to make me stop walking.

  “Jennie, I’m sorry. Honey girl, please listen—”

  “I’m not listening to you anymore!” I said. “You say you love me, then you treat me like this! You say you won’t drink—I smell beer on your breath! Mrs. Sanders doesn’t hate you; you hate yourself! If you want to wreck your life, go ahead! But leave me alone!”

  I hadn’t talked like that to Gabriel before. He looked shocked. He burst into tears. He was like a little boy, clinging to me, pleading. “Please don’t go!” he sobbed. “Please don’t leave me!”

  I had never seen Gabe cry. He’d rather shed blood than tears. I was crying too. We sat down on the sand. We kissed and hugged. I wanted to be inside him, to fill up all the places that were sad and empty.

  It was just that once. It only happened one time. When my period was late, I could not believe it. It took me months to accept that the baby was real and not a figment of my guilty imagination.

  Sometimes I’ve wondered if Gabe wanted to make me pregnant, so I couldn’t escape, so I wouldn’t leave him.

  I don’t believe that abortion is a sin and that people who do it will go to hell. Gabriel thinks people should have to have kids, even when they don’t want them. He doesn’t like women having so much power, or that a decision like that could be up to me.

  We were here, on the rock, when I told him I was pregnant. Things had gotten bad; we were always fighting. I had made up my mind to tell him we were through. He’d gotten so strange. He was drinking all the time. When I asked him about it, he’d deny it. He couldn’t have fun unless he was high. Those were the only times he told me he loved me.

  I didn’t love Gabriel any less. It was just that I’d realized that he wasn’t going to change. He wasn’t going to stop drinking, or fighting, or sneaking around seeing other girls. He thought I didn’t know about that. As if you could keep a secret in Willow Creek.

  When I told him about the baby, he looked both scared and pleased. His eyes flashed more thoughts than I could read. Then his face hardened, shutting me out.

  “What’re you going to do about it?” he asked, as if the whole thing was my responsibility.

  “Get an abortion,” I said. “It’s already scheduled.” I was afraid to make the appointment, but I’d done it, feeling like I was someone else, like I didn’t know myself anymore.

  I told him I thought we should break up, or at least stop seeing each other for a while.

  Gabe looked stunned. He almost hit me. He stood above me, blocking the sun. The shadow of his hand landed on my face. When I didn’t flinch, he broke down.

  He said, “I promise I’ll change! This time I mean it! Things are going to be different! Just wait and see. Give me one more chance. Don’t kill the baby! I’ll be good to you, honey! Jennie, please don’t leave me!”

  His sadness overwhelmed me. I loved him so much. I thought the power of my love could overcome all our problems.

  I was so stupid.

  I haven’t told my parents about the baby. Whenever I try, the words dry up in my throat. I keep picturing how those words will change my mother’s face. So I’ve waited and waited, as if the baby might disappear.… Now it’s too late to undo what’s been done. I’m caught in the present and Gabe has escaped. He didn’t want the baby; he wanted me.

  My belly is swelling, even my face is changing. My parents would’ve found out soon, when they finally saw what they didn’t want to see. They would’ve been mortified, angry, hurt. How could you do this to us? they would say, as if I were only a mirror for their dreams.

  It would hurt them most to know that this had nothing to do with them. That night on the beach they didn’t even exist. The whole world was Gabe and me.

  24

  Donald Morrison

  The oldest brother, David, came down here to settle some business for his father. I asked him if he wanted to look at Gabe.

  He shook his head no. His hands were trembling.

  “I’ll go in there with you, if you want me to,” I said. His eyes are as big as Gabe’s, but dark.

  He glanced toward the parking lot, then back at the door to the room that holds Gabe’s body.

  “All right,” he said. He stayed close by me. He smelled of booze and cigarettes.

  Five feet from the worktable, David stopped walking. “I can’t,” he said.

  “He looks okay,” I said. “It just l
ooks like he’s sleeping.”

  “But he’s not.” David reached for a cigarette, then put the pack back in his pocket. He heaved a long, shuddery breath. “I feel like I can’t, but I have to,” he said. “He’s my brother.”

  We walked up to the table. David didn’t say a thing. Big tears like raindrops splashed on his hands and one fell on Gabriel’s cheek.

  “Dad’s not done with him yet,” I said, to say something, to try to make him feel better. Luckily he didn’t hear me.

  David didn’t stay long. He came back into the office, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He said he didn’t know how they wanted the service, that things were still up in the air.

  “My mother—,” he began, then left it there.

  “No problem,” I said. “Take all the time you need.” I told him we’d be in touch.

  My father and Clyde Bridges came into the office shortly after David left.

  “My God, what stinks?” My father opened a window.

  “David McCloud was just here. He said—”

  “No sense talking to him. He’s a drunk.”

  My father sat down and offered Clyde a cigar from the silver box on his desk. Clyde’s in real estate. When an old person dies, Clyde’s usually the one who puts the house on the market. He hears about it first. He and my father are friends.

  “I’m going out for a while,” I said. “I want to help look for Jennie.”

  My father waved the words away. “There’s no sense in the whole town getting hysterical, just because some teenager wants attention.”

  “You know how this town is,” Clyde said, chuckling.

  I said, “Mrs. Harding called. They’re afraid Jennie might kill herself, because she loved Gabe so much, and it turns out she’s pregnant.”

  My father almost smiled. He said, “That figures.”