Unfolding

by Jonathan Friesen

  “Right.” I considered the alternatives. “Maybe I take a job at the DairyWhip?”

  “Think bigger, for us.”

  “Bigger. Like an I-could-do-anything type of bigger?” I stopped my swing and felt a swell. “If there was nothing in my way, I’d go to art school. It’d take forever, but I could maybe be a photographer, though that’s a tough way to earn money. For that, I’d be a pediatrician. There are enough idiots working with kids; there should be one decent one.”

  My, how Stormi beamed. “Yes. That will do. Dr. Everett, with photography as a side hobby.” She swung higher, repeating that name, and with each repeating the idea fixed itself firmer in my mind.

  Yeah, I’ll be a doctor. I could do that. I could do that well.

  Stormi scraped her feet against the pebbles, slowing her swing to a stop. “Lastly, religion. Do you have a feeling about that?”

  “I don’t think we need to nail that down yet. My folks still haven’t.”

  “We do, because I need to know what you believe, not your parents. I’m not going to get into arguments in front of the kids.”

  I let my mouth gape to remind her there were, as of this time, no kids.

  “Well, I think there is a God.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I think the Catholic versus Lutheran versus Baptist stuff is all kind of silly, though. I always wondered why Gullary divides three ways down the middle every Sunday morning. So I’m not sure about the denomination question.”

  “Good answer, so far we’re right on. What about the Jesus question?”

  “Jesus question.”

  “Yeah, do you believe in a God who floats around watching us like ants in an ant farm, or do you believe really personal? Do you believe in a Jesus who gets involved in the affairs of men?”

  Once again, I slowed to a stop. “If he’s watching us, it would be a pretty pathetic show. I hope he’s involved, somehow.”

  “He is.” Stormi loosened her shoe from her foot. “Totally, he is.” She started to swing, higher, higher, and on a forward thrust she kicked, sending the shoe flying at least thirty feet.

  “Beat that.”

  With pain, I bent over and untied my laces, but as I started swinging, my shoe was farthest from my mind. I was rehashing the Jesus question, and like my pediatrician dreams, the more I thought, the more fervent my opinion became. It was calcifying. By the time I reached full swing, I could have preached a sermon.

  I shook the shoe forward an inch, shifted in the seat, and swooped down to outdistance my bride. I kicked, only to find my leg was too long for the maneuver. It wedged in the pebbly ground and my body lurched forward toward a mighty face plant. I recall thinking how much it would hurt, and then thinking that Jesus might have mercy on me, as he most certainly was involved in this event. But in the second between my thoughts and impact, Jesus left, and Old Rickety showed up.

  I never felt the ground.

  I awoke, my face on fire.

  Stormi and I lay alone beneath a starry sky.

  On the left was a bowl filled with water, and a wet towel streaked crimson. Stormi sat up slowly, peering down at me.

  “Welcome back. I think I got the pebbles out. You ground them in there pretty deeply. There’s a kind man in that blue house right there. He gave me all this.” She glanced around the park. “Jonah, that was the strongest seizure I’ve seen. I was a little scared.” She rested her head on my chest.

  “I’m sorry for scaring you,” I whispered. “And right after we solved all our problems.”

  Stormi scooted down and placed both elbows where her head had been. She lay smack on top of me. At any other moment, a thrill unspeakable would have taken me over, but not right after. Right after, rest was all I wanted.

  “Well, I’m glad you came back to me. Though you did waste six hours of our day.”

  “Six hours?” I squeezed my eyes tight, and opened them slowly. The world still shifted slightly. “You wasted four hours shopping.”

  “Wasted? We need things, you know.”

  But the spell was broken. “Stormi, you don’t need to keep pretending. I think I pretty much ruined the moment. It was fun dreaming though.”

  “It wasn’t a dream. This day, this wasn’t a dream. Wait for me, you’ll see.”

  “Okay, Stormi.” I closed my eyes again. “I’ll wait.”

  When next I opened my eyes, strength had returned, and the morning sun splashed crimson across the horizon.

  Stormi sat on the base of the slide, staring up at that sky.

  “It’s time, Jonah.” She turned and forced a smile. “I wish you could have sat up with me last night, but it’s too late now.” She rose and walked over to where I sat and held out her hand. I took it, and we walked back to the truck.

  On the windshield, a white slip was tucked beneath the wipers.

  “Great,” I said. “When did the police come by? I’ll get our ticket.”

  Stormi nodded and started the engine. I snatched the citation, turned it over, reading the small letters scribbled in a writing that was faintly familiar.

  Time to go to work, Stormi. Grandpa.

  I stuffed it in my pocket, and joined Stormi in the truck.

  CHAPTER 17

  Less than a week.

  We’d been gone a matter of days, but as we pulled into Gullary, there was no feeling of coming home, or even returning to the familiar. The trailer homes hadn’t changed, SMX still stood, nestled in hills and fronted by enormous chat piles, and the Welcome to Gullary sign still boasted of the 1980 boys’ basketball trip to state. Visually, it hadn’t changed.

  But it was not the Gullary I knew.

  I grew angrier with each turn, a bubbly rage that felt like betrayal. There were secrets in Gullary. And I had spent all my time in the museum unwittingly guarding them, silencing a man who lost his daughter. Perpetuating a red door policy that killed my sister. I’d been used.

  “How do we do this?” I asked.

  “Tonight we’ll settle in, I suppose. Tell your parents you’re okay. Tomorrow, I start.”

  “You mean we.”

  Stormi slowed in front of my trailer, parking on the street. “No. I’m going to need you, but not to help me. I’m going to need you free to move. I think things will get quite restrictive for me soon.”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about. “So, what exactly are you going to do? Take out an ad in the Gazette? How do you bring up what’s been buried for so long?”

  “You’ll see in the morning.” She nodded toward the door. “You should get out.”

  Strange. Stormi spoke with certainty again; our run-in with Tres brought back the confidence that had always marked her. I, though, felt no need to obey. This journey ended where it began, but I wouldn’t.

  I slowly stepped onto the street. I turned to close the door, and then paused. “You know something more than I do. Did Tres tell you something when I was . . . out?”

  “Exodus 20:5. Jonah, I love you.”

  “I, uh, love you too.”

  Stormi pulled forward, taking the left toward Greasy Jake’s. I listened to the engine quiet in the distance, and set my face toward my old home.

  “Okay, Dad, here we go.”

  I strode to the door, threw it open, and stepped inside.

  The trailer was still, still and foul. Small details like dead sisters and dead seniors no longer hid. All was in the light, and the place felt evil.

  No one had waited up for my return. There was no candlelight vigil. What had I expected? Not sure, but the pit in my gut made clear that I did not receive it. And then I did.

  The world erupted with motherly affection. Hugs and kisses, punctuated by tears and how-dare-I’s, then more hugs and kisses. Half of her seemed thrilled to see me, while the other half was near ready to end my life for her worry.

  Finally, the tempest stopped, and Ma rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “So, aren’t you going speak? You could explain where you been.”
/>   “Of course he will.” Dad walked out from the back, a forced smile on his face. “Of course he will. I’m glad you’re safe, more than you know, but things are set in motion here. Things you do not know.”

  “Hmm. Things I don’t know.”

  I walked by him toward my bedroom. His fingers clamped around my forearm, but I yanked free.

  “Let go,” I said. Inside, the rage returned. I had no more filter. What rumbled fearsome inside spewed out. I hated him. For what he did to Tres. For what I did to Tres. I thought in that instant to tell him all I knew, but I kept silent, for Stormi. She had asked me too.

  Dad folded his arms. “It seems my concern was unfounded, Ma. Our son is all grown up. He feels no need to include us in his life. How wise he has become.” He walked slowly around me. “And to think I tried to protect him, defend him, but you already knew that, right?” He fisted the neckline of my shirt and drew me nearer.

  Ma took a step. “Our son is home—”

  Dad’s other hand shot up. “Our son left. Whether he returned, well, that’s yet to be seen.” He slowly released me. Strange, throughout the transformation of my father, I felt no fear. In fact, he struck me as small.

  Flattening my shirt, Dad continued. “Three questions is all I have, and you will answer them. Where did you go? Who were you with? Why did you come back?”

  I glanced at Mom, who covered her mouth with a shaking hand. She shook her head, ever so slightly.

  “Well, Dad, the truth is I got married.”

  Mom gasped, but Dad latched on to the only piece of my announcement that interested him.

  “So you were with Stormi.”

  I shrugged. “It’s less romantic when your spouse doesn’t attend the ceremony. Yeah, I was with her. I reckon your invitation will arrive tomorrow.”

  “Anyone else?”

  My thoughts bounced off Arthur and Tres, Michael Queene and Winston. Maybe time would soften this moment. Maybe there would be a right time to share, but not yet.

  “Anyone else?” he thundered.

  “Nobody you care about.”

  I backed toward my room, feeling my way down the hall with both hands, freezing at the entryway to the kitchen. On the table sat Ma’s Bible.

  I quick-stepped over to it and dug through the table of contents. I fumbled through the pages, as Ma and Dad stepped into the room. There it was, what I was searching for: Exodus 20:5.

  “Please, Jonah. You can talk to us.” Ma stepped forward. “What’s gotten in to you?”

  I read the verse twice, and then lifted my head. I stared from Ma to Dad, before reaching for Ma’s marker and ringing the verse in crimson red:

  For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the parents.

  My eyes stopped there. “Guess that covers it,” I whispered.

  I spun and disappeared into my room, shutting the door behind me. I would spend the rest of the evening sitting on my bed, staring out my bedroom window, hoping to see some shadow of Stormi behind her shades. But I did not. It crossed my mind that perhaps she did run after all. Perhaps she dropped me off and fled. It would be the cruelest of moves, but I’d heard of wives doing worse.

  A tapping at my window.

  I couldn’t tell which side of consciousness called to me, though I guessed it to be the tail end of the strangest dream. In the darkness, Old Rickety had come to call, and I was in the thralls. Yet I was enjoying it, in the same way I imagined a kid loved a vomit-inducing roller coaster, though I’d never experienced one. Round and round spun the world, and I heaved and rocked.

  Faster. Faster.

  Somehow, I could speak. Somehow I wanted more. More intensity. More, just more.

  Is that all you’ve got, Ricky?

  Then I was taunting that seizure. Even laughing at him. He didn’t take kindly to my lack of respect, and he hurled me through my unconscious. But the tapping, distinct and clear, pierced the muddled voice of Old Rick, and I awoke sitting up, staring at that window.

  I rose without difficulty and walked toward the face that beckoned to me. Stormi.

  “Come,” she said.

  I followed, as if it were the most natural of things to squeeze out of my window at 4 a.m.

  Stormi spoke quickly, her breath heavy as we marched toward SMX.

  “What did you tell your dad?”

  “That we were married.”

  Stormi broke out laughing, loud enough and long enough that I felt a pang in my chest. Then she kissed my neck, and the pang vanished. “Brilliant. Mention Tres?”

  I was stuck on brilliant. It wasn’t a word I’d experienced before. “Who? Oh, Tres? No. I thought I was supposed to leave that to you. Wait, where were you last night? I looked.”

  “Where were you looking?”

  “Through your window.” She slowed and raised her eyebrows. “I mean, I glanced periodically in the general direction of your window, you know, to make sure you were fine. I wasn’t peeking or snooping or anything.”

  She sighed, and slowed further. “I was at the shop all night. Jake keeps all his old school stuff there. I needed this.”

  Stormi had been carrying an oversized book throughout our walk, but only here did I notice it. She handed the yearbook to me, opening to a dog-eared page. “I needed the names of those kids who died. Sure enough, according to the juniors listed the year before, there would have been eighteen in Gullary during Lanie’s senior year. Ten boys, eight girls. Here they are.”

  My eyes first fell on Lanie, raven black hair and a face a bit like Stormi’s. She was beautiful. “I’ve seen them, well, especially her. In the Hive. I told you, Saul was blood-letting in front of her. These photos are all in the Hive.”

  Part of me had been holding out, casting a hopeful line back to Granddad, wondering if in the crazy world of killers and prophets, somehow my innocent family was sucked in by mistake. But the yearbook sealed it, and I kicked at the stupid ground with my stupid Everett foot.

  “I was named after a murderer.”

  “A lot of people are.” Stormi closed the book and we turned the last corner to SMX. “Jonah, I brought you here because I want you to see what I did. I want you to see exactly what I did. Because I don’t think they’ll be here long, and then rumors will start and I, I want you to know I did it.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  My gaze followed Stormi’s outstretched arm. Up, up, to the top of the two chat piles. In the light of the SMX yard bulb, eighteen crosses shone white against the lightening sky. Eight on one pile. Ten on the other.

  “Tres said that’s where they buried them. Quick. Beneath a mound nobody would ever move. I put their names on each one. I marked them all. I did it.”

  “You did.” I wrapped my arm around her and we stood in silence, staring up at our undoing, at the act that would indeed set things in motion.

  “We never said our vows,” Stormi said softly.

  “No, we didn’t. But if we had, I would’ve meant them, and I would have kept them.”

  She pressed into my side and wrapped her arms around my middle. “I, Stormi, do solemnly swear to . . . Aw, forget that. Jonah Everett III.” She turned to me and took hold of my hands. “You have me. All of me now. No matter what happens. You have me now. The only me that’s worth having. The me that nobody else has ever had.”

  I knew it to be fact, and I didn’t reckon she could promise me anything more. A life together? That wouldn’t be more. Growing old together? She couldn’t give me that either. But she could give me her now. Standing in front of two chat piles and before the remains of eighteen witnesses. She could give me that.

  I took a deep breath. She was waiting for words, hoping, it was clear.

  “Stormi, I’ll wait for you.”

  I hoped it was enough. In truth, the sentence confused me each time I’d said it. Outside of her request, why would I need to wait? But she said I should, and I reckoned I should firm it in a vow.

  Stormi leaped into my ar
ms, and though my back screamed, my heart soared.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” she whispered.

  Slowly, she released me, and she pulled me away from the mounds.

  “What now?” I asked.

  Stormi shrugged. “Now’s the big pause. We alone in this world know what I did. It’s peaceful, isn’t it?”

  It was. Words amplified. Every moment was clearer, more distinct. Every second mattered.

  “But what if nobody bothers to look up there?”

  “Oh, they will.” Stormi leaned into me and took my hand. “Can I stay with you the rest of the morning? I don’t really want to bump into Connor just yet.”

  I didn’t answer. Of course she could, though the where of it was unclear. Eventually, I led her silently back to my door. My room would be safe for our final hours. We quietly entered.

  Dad stood in the foyer, coffee mug in hand, tongue planted firmly in cheek. “Been out all night.” He took a sip. “Good to see you, Stormi.”

  Stormi squeezed my hand. “Mr. Everett.”

  “You’ve been gone for a time. How was your trip?”

  “Informative.”

  Dad’s hard face softened. There was a part of him that loved the competition, reveled in the talk. You don’t rise to power without deriving a bit of twisted joy in crushing a worthy opponent. He never found his equal in this home, but Stormi was a handful, and he knew it.

  “Informative,” Dad repeated, gesturing us toward the kitchen table, where the Bible no longer rested. “Inform me.”

  Stormi didn’t follow, and Dad turned, the hard returning to his face. Yeah, he loved the game, but he hated when he couldn’t set the rules.

  “I’m going to spend my last morning with Jonah. We’re married, you know.”

  “So I’ve been told, though I admit the news takes on a little more gravity coming from you.”

  Stormi released my hand. “You don’t know who you have in Jonah. But that’s okay, because I do.”

  He set down his mug. “I know my boy inside and out.”

  It felt like there might be a fistfight, and I pulled her quickly into my room. “What are you doing? Are you trying to make him blow? Wait, you are, aren’t you?”