by Diane Munier
It made his chest tight to be driving through here, the turn off with those hogs right on the road. It was strange country here, not quaint, not colloquial, just straight-up strange.
He hadn't tried to set the blame…for James Carson's existence. He was a fallen man. He had lent himself to evil…James had. He had opened his heart to the devil.
It was never spoken about…a person embracing the dark…wanting the dark…making plans to kill the way others planned vacations or how to journey through school and achieve a degree.
James chose. He chose it. He wasn't forced. He wasn't encouraged. He took a hundred small steps and he achieved his goal. That's it.
The evil in James Carson was ancient. He wasn't a product of modern times or modern life. He was a product of the original villain, the one whose aim it was to take down mankind from the beginning.
James Carson had committed. That fact remained in Jordan's mind…like a battle-cry.
He stopped on the bridge, the cement stretch of road that went over the creek. He stopped in the middle of it and left his car door open. He stood there and looked at the water moving through, the cold sludge of it, not as magnificent as the ocean, just a creek full of piss and dead things…and he spit in the water. He watched it slog past, all brown, going under his feet, under the road, moving past, moving on, going nowhere.
He looked up and around. A buck was in the tree-line taking a drink. He'd lived through hunting season, good for him. Not everything…everyone was so lucky.
The sky…it held the color of sunset, had held it all-day, twilight blue and gray. The trees were dark, the vegetation leather brown and blowing about. He could hear another vehicle and he got back in his own and slowly pulled off the bridge, but he did not stay the course to Danville, he turned off at the old apple orchard and he took that road, that bent limb of a road and he followed its winding path. A woman was at her mailbox and he stopped there and scared her some probably, and she peered at him.
He lowered his window. "Carsons still around here?" he said.
She was there, mouth hanging open on her box and she pushed that shut and held it, mail in her other hand. He couldn't have told anyone how she was dressed, but she had the look of hard work, hard times, hard luck. "You a reporter?"
That old suspicion. He remembered how hard he'd worked to prove himself around here, how exhausting it was. "Pastor," he said before he thought about it, before he allowed it even. He knew it was the thing to always throw them off, to loosen their tongues before they shut him down.
"Just old Mrs. Carson. That the one?"
"She'll do fine," he said.
So she told him how to go and he thanked her and took off slow and she stood there looking after until he rounded a bend.
He didn't have to knock, he told himself that. He wanted to see, like touching Boo Radley's house, hell he didn't know.
The house was barely visible from the road. It didn't set far back, but a thick line of scrub shielded it from the road. He pulled in the yard and two speckled dogs rose off the porch and came barking. He got out and told them no, and they backed off quick. This was a broken place, that's what he thought, the white asbestos siding, the high point of the white roof bowed, the shingles crumbled like stale bread, disintegrating into the rusted gutters. The dogs circled and sniffed and wanted close, and Jordan stood by his car, figuring she studied him from the window, or someone did, cause that yellowed curtain moved. So he waited there. Then the door opened a crack and he walked up, and that one dog bumped the back of his leg and he said, no, again and they moved back, but they barked again, and this time she came out and told them to shut up and they did. She was older, maybe seventy or so.
Her hair was snow-white, and she was small and a thick sweater, bright pink. "What you want?" she said.
He swallowed. What the hell was he thinking. "I'm…from the church…Pastor Bill…."
"I told him I go to Glendale. Gone there since I was a girl."
"It's okay. I didn't come about that. I came to tell you who I am."
She smirked some. "I know who you are."
He was shocked. "How?"
"I seen it from my window. I will never forget that face." She folded her arms.
"I didn't know if you stayed around," he said.
"Where am I gonna go? My family…they're dead…except for my daughter…."
He nodded.
"What you come here for? What are you looking for?" she asked.
He stared openly now. "I have no idea," he said honestly.
She laughed some. "It ain't here…whatever it is."
"What happened to his mother? Your daughter…."
"She went back to Texas…years back. Got a good job there. He come up here…James…to do better is what we thought. He had trouble in Texas. The teachers there…that's where it started. He was a good boy before that, no trouble at all. Pretty quiet. But he got in trouble and she brought him here and I had him here since sixth grade. He went to Whitney school when it was open then they shipped him over to Danville. He rode the bus, but…."
They were quiet for a beat. "How…how are you doing?" Jordan asked.
"Oh…for a spell…it was…folks round here know me for years so…my neighbors helped me. They know I ain't hurt nobody in my life. And what happened to James…well I don't know. Billy come over from the church there. He come over more than any. He did the funeral…well said words. I had him cremated."
Jordan felt the first stab of love for Bill he'd been able to feel in some time. It made his eyes burn. He shouldn't have come here. "He's…," he cleared his throat,
"…Billy's…."
"You best know it," she said, her chin lifting. "You know…last fall, that youth group came here and raked my leaves."
Jordan shook his head.
"You ain't been back," she said.
"No."
"Well…some wanted to blame me, I guess. Course he had guns. There ain't one around here wouldn't. He had his granpa's guns and he went shooting. And his mother…she would send him things…money. I told Billy…well how could I know? He seemed fine…just quiet. I told this over and over. I don't know what else to say. I don't know what you're looking for."
"I just…." He laughed a little. "I don't know either. Sorry to bother you…bring it all up."
"It ain't never down," she said back. "It don't go down. I just wonder…maybe his grandpa…I don't know. For a longtime…I couldn't live here. Once the police stopped combing through it, they closed it up, the neighbors. I stayed up the road with Luetta. Billy would come. I only come back here a couple of months now…in the fall…and they raked my leaves…those kids. Luetta took sick and they put her in the nursing home."
Jordan nodded. "That's tough. I'm…I'm sorry."
"Well…it went that way."
"I know. But…I hope you can find some peace."
"I can't," she said quick. "It don't go down." She turned then and went to her door.
Jordan turned away. A terrible feeling of incompleteness was on him.
"Ma'am," he said, dogs sniffing his pant-legs now, them not afraid anymore.
She turned to him, holding her door open.
"I talked to him sometimes…your grandson…while he was working at the church. One day he was sitting back in the lunchroom at a table there and he had a spread laid out, and I said, 'Somebody is well taken care of,' and he normally didn't say much, but that day I saw the first sign of a smile in him and he said, 'my gran.'"
She looked down, and then at Jordan. "He wasn't…when he was younger…he wasn't a bad boy…I mean to say…he was a person…once he was."
Jordan nodded. He went to his car.
She was upset, and her movements were heavy as she went inside. He wished he could do something for her. But all he'd done was stir her pain. And his own, not that it mattered. He'd volunteered for it apparently.
He took a last look at the house, the sagging, crumbling house, and slowly backed out of the drive.
He barely remembered the ride from Carson's to Danville. Once he got there he drove to Cori's neighborhood. She lived in the old part of town. It wasn't all that big. He didn't look at names, just drove around until he landed on her street. He didn't look at addresses, just went slow until he spotted her car in a shallow driveway. Her house was plain, two-storied, kept neat. A "Go Falcons," sign was in the front window.
He smiled to think she was close. But part of him wanted to keep driving.
He sat there longer than he should. She opened her front-door and that snapped him out of it. He got out and walked up the uneven cobblestones that dissected her yard. She pulled the door wide. He let his eyes drag from her brown shoes up her jean-clad legs and her round hips and small waist, a belt, a tucked white blouse, her hair in a ponytail, just clean and beautiful.
"What?" she said.
"What?" he said back.
"You were out there."
"Hi," he said, touching her cheek, shoving his hand in the pocket of his jacket.
She closed the door. It was bright and it smelled good. The entryway was open to the living room and Seth was sprawled on the couch playing a video game.
"Hey," Cori said to that sprawl of boy.
Seth sat up then, but didn't take his eyes off the screen.
"Hey," she said again, and Seth looked up briefly and said hi.
Jordan looked at Cori, saw her displeasure. He went to sit beside Seth.
"Call of Duty?" he said, really surprised watching the soldier take out two enemies.
Seth barely acknowledged, his elbows shifting as he fought his silent war.
Cori walked to the flat screen and turned it off.
Seth let out a breath, but he didn't speak.
Cori put on a fake smile. "Seth, this is Mr. Staley."
"Jordan," Jordan interjected.
Seth looked at him and nodded. He surrendered his hold on the control long enough to bump Jordan's fist. "Pleased to meet you," Seth said.
He had Cori's eyes. He was small like her. He had her brown hair but he was freckled.
Seth looked to his mother and raised his brows. "Oh…sorry…about the," he held up the controller to the Xbox. He set that on the coffee table.
Cori shifted her feet and kicked off her shoes. "You want…some coffee or tea?" she said to Jordan.
"I'm fine," he said, sitting back on the couch, extending his arm along its back.
"Fire up the game. Let's play."
Cori smirked at him and left the room.
"Need some help?" Jordan called after. The house had a couple of walls removed so it was open to the kitchen if he looked over his shoulder. She was already at the counter working.
"No. Almost done," she said.
So he tore his eyes from her and turned back to Call of Duty. They played for a while. Seth was good, and Jordan was rusty. This was a newer version than he'd played back in the day, more graphic than ever. He wondered why she allowed this.
Especially after…he didn't know.
After they played a couple of rounds Cori called Seth to help set the table.
Jordan followed along. "Can I help?" he asked again.
Seth laid out the plates and Cori carried the food to the table that set up a few feet behind the couch and across from the island that divided the cooking area from the eating area.
"No," she said. "You are our guest."
He remembered not to ogle her in front of her son. He'd been pretty spoiled when he'd had her to himself, letting himself look his fill, not that he could get enough when it came to her. He had such a different sense of her being in her environment.
He'd always liked to visit the homes of their church people…when he'd been a pastor. Being in someone's home gave such a sense of whom they were.
Like with Carson. He hadn't gone in, hadn't asked to carry his interruption that far, but standing in his yard, even driving on his road had given another few inches of perspective, one he had not consciously known he'd wanted.
Seth kept looking at Jordan. Jordan stood there, leaning on the counter, near to Cori, but not too near. He figured he'd let Seth look all he wanted. He'd probably wondered about Jordan time to time. Well, he owed him this at least. Plus, he'd been with his mother. And Cori was Seth's world. Maybe…no…but maybe…she was his, Jordan's, too.
"How you been feeling?" Jordan asked him.
Seth shrugged. "I'm okay." He was laying out silverware now, careful about getting it straight.
"How'd you meet Mom?" Seth asked, casually.
Jordan straightened. He looked to Cori, and she looked back, whisking away to grab a bowl for the table. She wasn't going to help him?
"At…the beach," he answered. "We met there."
"Kind of odd," Seth said, pulling his chair and sitting hard.
Surely Cori had already answered this. Jordan kept staring at him. Seth was at that gangly stage. His wrists were bony and his hands looked too large for his body.
Jordan swallowed, feeling something move in himself. This kid…this part of Cori's...heart…this life so reflective of his mother…his grandfather…this kid…was alive. This was the kid that fell…with the flag. This kid….
Jordan turned away. He kept his eyes on the refrigerator, its bright busy mess attesting to their lives, pictures, recipes and bright colors and school papers and notes. Their lives.
James' grandmother. The silent crumbling house. That house and the rooms in the shadows and…he was a person…once. His grandmother had said that. But he had to die…so this kid could live. This kid…had lived.
"Jordan?" Cori was saying. He looked up, and there she was…there she was.
He smiled and took her hand, pressed her hand.
"Let's eat," she said softly.
He followed her to the table, Seth looking at him and away, to Call of Duty frozen on the flat screen.
"You…you want to pray?" she asked Jordan. Cori asked him that. They said a meal prayer. Seth….
Jordan shook his head.
"I will," Seth said.
So they bowed, Cori and Seth, and Jordan watched Seth, this kid, this great kid.
"Thanks for this food, Amen," Seth said.
Jordan laughed a little. It was such a typical teenager's prayer. He loved it. Best prayer he'd ever heard in his life.
Cori had tsked. Of course she wanted more. Maybe some long speech about the blessings of Jordan being under their roof.
"You're smiling," Cori said. Her foot was against his. He felt her sock covered toes under his pant-leg creeping to pull down his sock.
"What are you doing," Seth said bending to look under the table. "Mom." He laughed to see what she was up to. "She always does that."
They all laughed.
Guess she wasn't going to tip-toe around the kid. Jordan wondered again how she explained him.
"Where did you go?" Seth asked as he scattered salad on his plate. Then he handed the bowl to Jordan. Jordan had to remember to move his hands.
He was rusty around kids, forgot how they blurted things, and then this kid, these things.
Cori smiled at him and he eased some. "He means…what do you mean?" Cori asked Seth.
"Where'd you go after Grampa was killed?" Seth repeated, putting a large heap of spaghetti on his plate this time.
Jordan was still holding the salad and Cori took it and served him. He looked from her to Seth and Cori held up a bottle of salad dressing and raised her brows.
When he didn't respond she went ahead and put it on his lettuce.
Seth served Jordan's spaghetti. It was such a friendly gesture Jordan felt tears in his eyes.
He picked up his fork. His hand was shaking. He abandoned the utensil rubbed his hands on his thighs and went for the fork again.
"I…this looks good," he said to Cori.
She motioned he should eat.
He remembered Seth's question.
"Do you not talk about it or something?" Seth said before taking a hug
e bite of his pasta.
"Seth, for heaven sakes," Cori said.
Seth laughed as he tried to suck up the noodles and sauce slapped on his chin. He worked the napkin then.
"I left after," Jordan said so suddenly Seth stopped wiping and looked at Cori.
"O-Kay," he dragged out, watching Jordan.
"Yeah…I was thinking about a change anyway…before it happened," Jordan said.
"The shootings…or killings, take your pick," Seth said before chugging a big glass of milk.
Cori's foot was hooked around Jordan's leg. He didn't want her to let go.
"You're very open about it," Jordan said.
"Yeah. Well...why wouldn't I be?" Seth said. "Aren't you open about it? You killed him."
Cori's foot jerked against Jordan's leg. He thought she'd withdraw.
"We're just open," she said to Jordan. "Borderline rude," she said to Seth.
"It's not our fault. Why should we…." Seth said, too flippantly. He surely wasn't this casual. Jordan could hear the anger. "Do I have to finish this?" Seth said, meaning his food.
"Yes," she answered. "Unless…well you've been sick."
Seth got up so fast he jarred the table. Cori said his name and he apologized to Jordan.
"It's okay dude," Jordan said. "But hang on a minute. You asked how I met your mom."
Seth lowered. "At the beach," he said.
"Yeah. I didn't know her before that."
"So it was like…coincidence? Bull…," he breathed.
"I don't know what your mom said," Jordan said, glancing at Cori.
"I said I met you there and I didn't know you before," Cori said.
"That's true," Jordan agreed.
"So…why'd you bring her home?"
"She was worried about you and I thought it would be faster. And…I wasn't ready to say good-bye. I happen to like your mom." Damn. It. Well, he did like her. That didn't even cover it. He wasn't going to be intimidated by this kid. That wouldn't help anybody.
