by Helen Conrad
“They’re the same little green carbon-dioxide users,” Millie agreed with a laugh as she handed Carly a pony pack of colorful blossoms.
Carly nodded, digging her hand tool deep into the worked soil. “Weeding and digging and playing around in the dirt must be therapeutic,” she said, placing first one plant, then the next, in its small hole and then patting soil around the roots. “I’ve done some of the best thinking I’ve ever done while gardening this week.”
Sitting back, she put her head to the side and considered the aesthetics of her work. “Why have all you home gardeners kept this a secret for so long?” she teased Millie. “I’m going to have to tell my friends when I get home. Think of the money they’ll save in tranquilizers and sessions with their shrinks.”
Millie laughed again, fidgeting with the gloves in her hands. “Do you miss it?” she asked as Carly began to clean herself up as well.
“Miss what?”
“City life.”
Carly looked up quickly. Why was it that everyone knew without being told that she came from the city?
“I miss some things,” she said slowly. “I miss the busy streets and the restaurants.”
Did she miss Mark? There was no time to miss him. There was too much to do and learn. She had given him a call when she knew he would be out and left a message on his answering machine, just to say hi, then sent him an email, thereby avoiding his inevitable questions about where she was and when she was planning to come back. “I just wanted you to know that I’m okay,” she’d written. “The question you asked is a serious one and I want to give it serious consideration. Thanks for giving me this time to really get in touch with my own feelings. I miss you, but I’ll be back soon.”
She felt like a hypocrite saying those things, because the truth was, she wasn’t sure if she really meant them. Did she miss him? Being honest, she had to admit that she didn’t. But in some ways, she didn’t feel as if she ought to miss him. Carolyn Stevens, young political worker on the fast track, spending her days with people who ran things and made the big decisions, spending her evenings at fancy parties or four-star restaurants— that was the woman he said he loved.
Not Carly. Not the woman who was content to spend an evening helping Beth with homework or helping Joe fix a piece of farm equipment on the kitchen table. This was not the person Mark knew. So how could she miss him?
But she didn’t like to think that way, because all it did was confuse her. So she shoved Mark back into the shadows again, and lived for the moment. For now.
“I guess some people are just meant to live in the city,” Millie was going on. “Joe’s wife Ellen, she never did get used to living out here in the country. She was always missing things, yearning for things. I guess that’s why...”
Her voice faded and she looked away. Carly waited for more information about Ellen. This was the first time anyone had actually brought up that name in her presence. But Millie didn’t seem to want to talk about her any more than anyone else did.
“Better get some water on those new plants,” she said instead of finishing her thought. “If you want, I can bring by that rosebush this afternoon.”
Carly shook her head as she got to her feet and went for the hose. “Thanks, but I can’t do it today. I’m going into town.”
“Oh?” Millie seemed to freeze. “What are you planning to do there?”
“Ask around about my father.”
The silence from Millie seemed to last too long. Carly turned and found her friend staring off toward the highway, her face ashen, her fingers playing nervously with her hair. Glancing back at Carly, she gave her a tremulous smile that flickered and died.
“I... do you think that’s such a good idea? I mean, if you go digging around in the past, you might find out things you wish you didn’t know.”
“Wish I didn’t know?” Carly took a step closer to where Millie was standing, frowning. “What are you talking about, Millie? What is there about my father that I’m going to be that upset about?”
She shook her head quickly. “Oh no, I didn’t mean... I don’t know anything. It’s just that...” She gave a gesture of exasperation as tears began to fill her eyes. “Oh damn, now I’m crying. I’m sorry. I... It’s just... Trevor...”
She began to fight off the clumsy gloves and Carly stepped forward quickly with a handkerchief. She was pretty sure she knew what was wrong now. Millie was afraid her looking for her father would make Trevor start thinking too much about his own. Or maybe she was aware that it already had.
“I’m sorry, Millie,” she said quietly, offering comfort but no surrender. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But I have to do this.”
Millie nodded, wiping her eyes and calming herself. “Of course you do.” She managed a smile of sorts. “Listen, I’ll drive you into town. I’ll help you.”
That was certainly a turnaround. Carly hesitated, not sure she wanted Millie along. But when she came right down to it, she didn’t have much choice, unless she wanted to call a cab to come way out here in the country. Joe had never answered when she’d asked about borrowing his car. He’d left it when he’d taken off in the truck to visit a neighboring ranch, but the keys were nowhere to be found. So in the end, she took the ride Millie offered with gratitude, and they had a good talk going into town.
Her heart started to beat faster as they approached the area that had a few familiar landmarks. She was going to find something out today. She was sure of it.
The corner grocery store was indeed long gone, just as she’d thought, but Millie helped her find the little white church.
“It looks just like I remember it,” Carly breathed as they leaned against the parked car and stared at it. Paint peeled from its clapboard exterior. Someone had painted graffiti on the side. The rude markings had been whitewashed, but the dark paint underneath showed through like a blemish that wouldn’t be hidden by makeup. “Only it’s so much smaller.”
It was locked up tight. They peered in through the dusty windows but there wasn’t much to see.
“I guess no one uses it anymore,” Millie said, looking up and down the street rather furtively. “We might as well go home.”
Carly shook her head slowly, turning to look at the neighborhood as well, taking it all in like a drink of sweet water. It was hard to bring back the particulars of houses or trees, as they had all changed so much during the years. But the feeling—there was something in the air she recognized.
“Let’s take a walk,” she said impulsively. “Some of the old houses are still standing on the south side of the street. Maybe I’ll see someone I remember.”
She started walking briskly up the sidewalk, hardly noticing that Millie was coming along only reluctantly. Her mind was filled with a recollection that had come on her suddenly from out of the blue.
She’d been young, maybe five or six. She’d been out on the street with coins held tightly in her sweaty little hand, waiting for the ice-cream man. She didn’t often get to buy from the ice-cream man. Her mother said it was a waste of money when there were so many children starving in Africa. Besides, she could get ice cream for free from her father’s store.
But buying from the ice-cream man, with his jangly music and his crazy colors, was something special. And today she was going to get to do it.
She was so wrapped up in happy anticipation that she didn’t notice the clump of prepubescent boys coming toward her until it was too late to run.
“Hey, she’s got money in her hand,” the one in the Black Death T-shirt said to the others. “Hey kid, give us that money,” the fat one in the jeans jacket demanded. “We need it more than you.”
They crowded around her. She went cold with fear. They seemed to tower over her. But her fingers tightened on the coins.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s mine.”
“Come on, kid.” Dirty hands began grabbing at her, trying to force her fingers open. “Give it up.”
She began to thrash out blindly, whimp
ering, but locked into a stubborn defense she maintained by instinct rather than design. “It’s mine, it’s mine!” Something, probably a hand, came in contact with her mouth, and she bit down, hard. A cry of pain, and she was off and running, running harder than she had ever run before, running with tears flowing from her eyes, running up and down streets she’d never seen before. She tripped and scuffed her knee, but she was up again and running before the pain could register. She could hear them running behind her and she dodged between two houses, ran through a backyard, into an alleyway, out into a vacant lot. They were gaining on her. In a minute they would catch her and she knew they would hurt her. But she wouldn’t let go. Never! She sobbed as she ran. There was no way to avoid what was sure to happen next.
And then it was over. Hands grabbed her, arms took her up into the air, and she cried out, “It’s mine!” before she realized the arms were protecting, not threatening.
“Carly, baby, what is it?”
She blinked past her tears and saw her father’s face just inches from hers. A sob of relief shook her and she buried her face in his shoulder and cried and cried. She was with her daddy. She was safe.
Safe. She shuddered a little now, thinking of that little girl. Had she ever felt that safe again?
She and Millie walked for blocks, and here and there she thought she recognized houses she might have visited in her childhood. But there wasn’t a familiar face, nor a familiar name on a mailbox. As they came back down the opposite side half an hour later, she was feeling discouraged. Was it really possible that there was no one left who had lived here all those years ago?
“Got any ideas for my next move?” she asked Millie. “I’ve already searched the telephone directory for his name and called the city office of records to see if he had taken out a license or bought any property lately.”
“They lost all the old records in a fire at city hall ten years ago,” Millie said quickly. “You won’t find anything there.”
“So they told me.” Carly sighed. They were almost back in front of the church. She hated to see hope die this way. She glanced at the little white structure, and suddenly realized something. The double front doors were standing open.
“Look!” she cried. “Someone is here.” She almost ran to the doorway and looked inside. An old, bent woman was polishing the burnished brown wood of the altar. Rows of well-worn pews lined the room. A huge cross hung from the wall. It was obvious, now that she was inside, that the church was still very much in use.
“Excuse me,” she called to the woman as she approached. “Hello. My name is Carly Stevens.”
The woman stopped her polishing and turned to watch Carly, but she didn’t smile. Carly came to a stop a few feet away and did enough smiling for two. “My father was the preacher here about seventeen, eighteen years ago,” she said. “Did you work here then?”
The woman didn’t speak for a long moment. Her watery blue eyes took in Carly and then went to where Millie was hovering in the background.
“I’ve only worked here for the last ten years,” she said in a whispery voice.
“Oh.” Carly was deflated again. “Well, maybe you know something about him. Howard Stevens? Have you ever heard of him?”
The watery eyes looked puzzled, confused, and kept wavering away to glance at Millie. “I’ve heard of him,” she said reluctantly.
“Really?” Carly’s hope rose again. “What do you know about him? Do you have any idea where he is now?”
She shook her head. “He left town. That’s all I know. He left town.”
Hope left Carly like air from a spent balloon. “Oh. Well, is there someone else I could talk to?”
The woman went back to polishing. “Nope. There been six different preachers in the last few years. Ain’t no one left who was around in those days.”
Carly turned and looked at Millie, who shrugged and turned to go back outside. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be the end of the line, could it? “Uh... thanks,” she said to the woman. “Sorry we bothered you.”
But now that Millie had left the church, the woman was coming toward her quickly. Carly stood where she was as the woman approached, watching the doorway as though to guard against Millie’s return. The woman’s bony hand clutched at her arm.
“Ask Phyllis Carrington,” she whispered hoarsely. “She knows a thing or two, that’s for sure.” She started to retreat once again.
Carly reached out to stop her. “What? Phyllis Carrington? What does she have to do with this?”
The woman shook her gray head and backed away. “Ask her,” was all she said before she ducked back down the aisle.
Carly stared after her. Phyllis. Of course. She’d sensed from the beginning that Joe’s mother knew more than she was letting on. She turned back toward the car with determination.
“Let’s go home, Millie,” she said as she slid into the seat. Some instinct held her back from telling her friend what the woman had just advised her. “I don’t think we’re going to get anything else here.”
Millie’s smile looked relieved. Or was that just her imagination? Lord, she was getting paranoid. Still, the woman in the church had definitely wanted to tell her about asking Phyllis out of Millie’s earshot. Carly sat back in the seat and watched the town flash by as Millie drove them back out into the country. She was beginning to realize she was doing more here than merely conducting an innocent search for information about her father. Looking into her own past was opening up things in the pasts of others, things they didn’t want brought out into the light of day. She was going to have to be a little craftier from now on if she was going to get anywhere.
She thought of Joe. How much did he know that he wasn’t telling her? That thought tore at her in a painful way, and she wasn’t sure why.
CHAPTER NINE
FIGHTING OFF THOSE TENDER FEELINGS
She knocked on the green door with a sharp, forceful rap.
“Phyllis?” she called out. “May I come in?”
There was a sort of scuttling sound and then the plaintive voice called out. “All right, Carly. Come on in.”
Carly pushed open the door and entered. Phyllis lay back on her pillows, a handkerchief to her face, but Carly had no doubt she had just been up and about.
“How are you, Phyllis?” she asked, standing beside the bed.
The woman’s eyes were clear, but her voice was faint. “Not very well, I’m afraid. I think I’m coming down with something.”
Like a bad case of falsehood perhaps? Carly took a deep breath and tried to smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t take up much of your time. But I do need to talk to you.”
“Well...” She sniffed into her handkerchief. “What is it, dear?”
“I’ve just come back from town. I’ve been talking to people about my father. And I’ve learned some interesting things.”
Phyllis went very still, her dark eyes wide and apprehensive. “You know, Carly, I’m really not very well-“
Carly didn’t let her finish. “You knew my father, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“You knew him.” She had to force herself to remain calm. “Why didn’t you tell me from the first?”
Phyllis shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I knew of Howard Stevens. I never knew the man, not as one would know someone...”
She wasn’t going to let her get away with this. “Then how did you know him?” she insisted.
Phyllis blinked and avoided her eyes. “Well, we went to his church occasionally. We shopped at his little store now and then. That was all. I’d hardly call that close knowledge, would you?”
Carly had a sinking feeling. Phyllis was determined not to tell her anything. Controlling herself with effort, she kept her voice soft. “Please, Phyllis. Tell me anything you know.”
The woman shrugged, and before she could make another disclaimer Carly added quickly, “Do you have any idea where he’s gone
? Do you have any idea why my mother left him? Can’t you see how important it is to me to find out what happened?”
Their eyes met and the small space between them seemed about to burst with possibility. Carly held her breath, willing the woman to talk. Phyllis stared into her eyes for a long time.
Oh please, Carly begged silently. Please, please...
And then Phyllis was coughing, avoiding her eyes again. “Could you please get me a drink of water?” she asked hoarsely. “My throat is so dry.”
Carly hesitated, then went to the sink and poured a glass of water, coming to the other side of the bed to give it to the woman. Phyllis sipped slowly, staring down at the pattern in her sheet. Carly stood where she was and waited for her to speak.
“About my father,” she said at last when it looked as though Phyllis might have forgotten she was there.
Phyllis looked up quickly and shook her head pathetically. “I’m feeling so weak, my dear,” she whispered. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to call the doctor. I can’t really talk any more.”
Carly went cold with disappointed anger. She wanted to yell at her, wanted to force her to speak. But what could she do? Turning without saying another word, she left. Phyllis knew something all right. Carly was just going to have to find another way of getting to the information.
There was something about giving a car a good wax job that was soothing to the male soul, Joe decided. Maybe it was the sight of the shine coming through the layers of filmy paste, or the fine detail work, or the mindlessness of rubbing for hours. Or maybe it was all of those things combined. Whatever. He liked it.
He tipped the can and put another blob of thick blue liquid on his cloth and began to wipe it onto the silver-blue surface of the hood of his year-old Camaro. Yeah, this was good. This was making him feel better. Given a little time, this might even blot out the puzzle that was making him crazy—the puzzle of why he had let himself get roped into keeping Carly Stevens at his place.
