by Matt Kilby
Of course, it took more than that to repair the distance ten years spread between them. She started the next morning by looking for work, passing up her dad’s promise of a neverending list of odd jobs around the sheriff’s department for the early bird shift at the Road King, serving bacon and eggs to red-eyed truckers passing through. That kind of work didn’t give life meaning but kept her busy and distracted from the memories that invaded her quiet moments. At night, with her father snoring in the next room, she couldn’t avoid the random thought slipping past her guard. Sitting on that old pillowy chair in South Carolina with a needle in her arm, Snead going on about something she couldn’t follow. John and Vick carrying a shrouded body out of Brandon’s attic to put in the Charger’s trunk. Every thought threatened to keep her awake, but she eventually slipped into the merciful nothing that brought her to morning.
She understood how that kind of monotony might drive a person insane, but she lived for it. Her life spread ahead in a list of tasks until she had nothing left but the need to collapse and wait for sleep to come. There were always tables to serve or bus clean. Coffee to brew and menus to wipe. Tills to count. She helped her mom clean the apartment and waited for Lita to come home from school. Then she sat at the kitchen table, listening to stories about her day and wondering how she got there from trying to kill herself so more creative men didn’t get the chance.
The answer was as hard as considering how she almost missed all her life left in Pine Haven. It was always John Valance, the cowboy striding among gunfire to carry her into the sunset. The more time passed from Creek Hollow, the harder it became to believe she was ever there. A world of immortal men and magic rocks didn’t fit her anymore, so she gave it less space in her mind. By the time the building crew showed up to tell them it was their turn to have their house rebuilt, the memories were relegated to the occasional nightmare, fading as her eyes drifted open. She planned for that day the past few months and announced to her family she wanted to stay in the apartment, taking over the rent. There was no surprise her mother protested, but the look Lud offered was one of pride.
She had plenty of time to save for her independence and did with a mind towards not needing her parents for anything beyond encouragement and family dinners. Her mom smiled brightest those nights the four of them sat together, and soon Lud joined her, allowing himself the hope that life was what he wanted it to be. Carly was his daughter in that way as much as any, holding her skepticism even longer. For her, the routine of a steady job or the way her father hugged her with a sentimental glimmer in his eye didn’t matter. The day she accepted her life was good, the new house passed inspection. Her mom wept, though it was hard to tell if that was out of relief or despair for the end of the short misplaced phase of their lives. Among it all, Lita stood in the middle of the room and announced she wanted to stay with her mom. Carly covered her mouth, less out of any damming of emotion but a lack of knowing what to say. Some part of her might have been afraid saying yes would lose the moment when Lud said she wasn’t ready, as if he could. She was Carly’s daughter no matter how long he raised her, and she got ready to say that, preparing for that first fight that would pop the bubble they’d built those short few months. In the end, he nodded.
“That sounds fine,” he said and excused himself to walk outside for reasons none of them would know because they didn’t follow.
Then the days passed at a blur, filled with work and driving Lita to pool parties in the summer and school in the fall. Dances and basketball games. Lock-ins at the church. Those nights, she lingered, staring across the parking lot at the sanctuary doors. She avoided that last step toward family unity, joining them for Sunday service or any of the social functions her mom promised had enough single men to take her pick. Every time they had that conversation, she remembered standing in Brandon Marshall’s hallway in her underwear, unsure if she preferred his shock or the other woman’s disgust as she stood on his front porch with a casserole. Her mind found its way back there often, thinking less about the surrounding horrors but holding on to the short time with the pastor in his kitchen. Returning home, she told herself to leave him alone and let him forget the three strangers who showed up at his house one night.
Every time she thought she had him out of her head, he somehow sneaked back in. She passed three churches on the way to the diner, but even when that became routine enough to ignore, Maribeth Vanger walked in one day with her baby. It was all she could do not to say something about Eric—a simple “I’m sorry for what happened”—but she doubted she knew. How could she unless John and Vick’s crazy train passed through Pine Haven again without a stop for a burger and a hello? But the clueless widow and fatherless child didn’t put a pang in her chest as much as the man who owned the attic where Eric died. She confided in her shift supervisor, a girl named Laura Chapman and her closest friend in town, leaving out the parts that might see her fired, committed, or locked in her father’s jail, and guessed the advice she would get. Just call him. The worst thing that could happen is he’ll say no. She didn’t even know the question so never took her up on it.
But one day, someone knocked on her apartment door, so light she almost thought she imagined it. She opened the door without checking the peephole though not long ago escaped prisoners went house to house setting fires and shooting anyone unlucky to be home. For all the years after, she couldn’t remember what she thought when she found him there, her most recent dreams made manifest.
“Your father told me where to find you,” Brandon said as if she would care how more than why.
“You came,” she said instead.
He nodded with a smile his nerves twitched away. “Creek Hollow is done with me, or maybe I’m done with it. Pine Haven seems like a better opportunity.”
“For what?”
“To forgive myself,” he looked into her eyes. “I’m not sure I can manage that alone.”
“You can.” She watched his attention fall and knew he thought about her as often as she had him. She imagined him in his pulpit, glancing down at the altar where she stood ready to protect him and up at the doors to the vestibule and beyond. He held her close out there, keeping her away from the warden and Vick. Maybe the stone noticed them that night. Maybe Brandon’s God or her universe. In the time ahead, she gave them all credit, but in that moment, she didn’t care. She took a step back and opened the door wider.
“Come in,” she said.
Thanks…
To Justin Doring for another amazing cover. I am forever grateful for your time and talent.
To Annette Kilby, Alvin Kilby, Jon Stephens, Kim Gilmore, and Leslie Whitehorne for being my guinea pig readers and telling me which hallways needed brighter bulbs.
To Olivia and Ashleigh for guiding me out of my head when I get lost.
As always, to any reader who offers me their time and attention.
About the Author
Matt Kilby was educated at North Carolina State University. He lives with his wife and daughter in North Carolina, where he continues to write.
