He’d already gotten a taste of it—the boy at the construction site, Eve Brewster, and even her harried sister-in-law, the little woman with the blue eyes. It was a different world, which was what he needed for a while, and it felt good. In the phone book in the kitchen, he found the listing for Eve Brewster. Her address was the same as Barney’s General Store, on Main Street in Red Bone. She must have an apartment in the building. Charlie looked at his watch, hoping that ten-fifteen wasn’t too late to call.
After several rings she answered. “Hello, this is Eve.”
“Eve, this is Charlie Burden. I met you earlier tonight. I came into the—”
Eve Brewster chuckled as she cut him off. “Yes, Mr. Burden, I remember. It wasn’t that long ago. Are you all right? You didn’t drive off the mountain, did you?”
“No, I’m fine. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“No, it’s okay, Mr. Burden. I had to get up to answer the phone, anyway.”
Charlie smiled at the old joke. “Listen, Eve, that apartment you have up on the bulletin board. Is it still available?”
“What?” Eve sounded genuinely baffled.
“The apartment. The one on the fourth floor. It’s advertised on the board.”
“Oh, God, Mr. Burden. That apartment’s not for you. This is an old building. Plus it’s up on the fourth floor, and there’s no elevator.”
“That doesn’t matter. Is it still available?”
“Available? Hell, that place’ll be available ’til the building falls down. Ain’t but a handful of people in all of Red Bone could make it up them stairs without an oxygen bottle.”
“Could I take a look at it? Tomorrow morning?”
“What happened to that place in Bluefield?”
“It’s fine. It’s just not what I’m looking for.”
“Well, Mr. Burden, you can sure look at it if you want to.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll be here. I’m always here. Good night, Mr. Burden.”
CHAPTER 10
Buck Oakes’s twelve-year-old pickup always had a distinctive sound as it accelerated up the steep stone-covered road to Oakes Hollow. The engine would whine as Buck spun the tires through the well-worn ruts, sending stones flying off into the woods like machine-gun fire. Buck tended to drive too fast, even when he hadn’t been drinking.
The sound had become both a comforting and frightening signal to Natty. At first she would be relieved that he’d finally come home, then apprehensive about his condition. After he parked his truck, she’d listen for the telltale signs—how hard he slammed the truck’s door, the sound of his boots on the deck—to determine how drunk he might be and if he’d reached that critical stage at which it was best for Natty to hunker down under the blanket and feign deep sleep.
Tonight, Natty had woken up several times to find Buck’s side of the bed empty. It was almost morning when the sound of the truck accelerating up the hill, the beam of the headlights bouncing madly up and down on the window screen, awakened her once again. Damn you, Buck! Why are you doing this to us again?
Natty pulled up the sheet, debating, as she had so many times before, whether to say anything when her husband entered the room. Usually, silence ruled. She waited with her eyes open, thinking about what Deputy Sheriff Wayne Lester had said up at Birdie Merkely’s cabin about the woman in Northfork, an old high school girlfriend of Buck’s. The woman that Buck had gone to live with for six months, right after Cat was born.
She could hear Buck rooting around in the refrigerator, and then in the bathroom, taking a long pee, splashing water on his face, and finally shoving open the squeaky sliding door. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and sat heavily on the bed to take his boots off.
“So, where you been, Buck?” The sound of her own voice startled her, but her husband showed no reaction, tossing his second boot loudly to the floor. Buck stood and unzipped his blue jeans. He staggered slightly, reaching out for the corner of the dresser to steady himself. Natty could smell the mixture of sweat, liquor, and perfume coming off him. Suddenly a rush of anger enveloped her, and she sat up in the middle of the bed.
“Buck, where the fuck have you been all night?” she demanded loudly. “Tell me. I deserve an answer.”
Her husband had turned back toward the bed with one knee on the mattress as Natty sat up. In the darkness, she couldn’t see his large left hand as it snapped out and slashed across her face. The sting of Buck’s high school ring caught the corner of Natty’s mouth, causing her to see stars.
“Don’t give me any of that shit, Natty.” Buck’s voice had a cruel edge. “It’s Friday night. I been out. Pourin’ cement all day for forty fuckin’ dollars, I deserve some time away from this dump.” Buck rolled heavily onto his back as Natty got up from the bed. Tears ran down her cheeks to mix with the blood from her upper lip.
“Goddamn you, Buck, you prick. You swore you’d never do that again.” Natty made her way around the bed, stumbling on one of Buck’s boots. “I try so hard, Buck. I try so damn hard,” she said angrily as she fled the bedroom.
At first light, Natty went back into the bedroom and got her running shoes and shorts. She couldn’t wait to feel the cool air of the dawn and lose herself in a long, hard run. Later, she’d take the kids and Amos into town for some of Eve’s blueberry pancakes, then maybe to the mall in Bluefield. Anywhere to get away from the hollow for the day. She longed for the refuge of Redemption Mountain. But not this day. Not with a new red welt on her cheek and a cut on her lip. Natty couldn’t go home today. Her mother might finally persuade her to stay.
* * *
EVE SMILED AS she saw the blue Lexus pull up in front of the store. “Damn, he really is serious,” Eve said to herself.
The restaurant had a different feel in the morning, filled with people who’d known each other for years. Charlie could feel all their eyes on him as he walked in.
“Morning, Mr. Burden,” Eve said, as she came over with a mug in one hand and a pot of steaming coffee in the other.
“Good morning, Eve.”
“Still interested in the apartment, or did you come to your senses yet?” she asked quietly.
Charlie laughed. “I’d like to see it. And I want to look at some boots, too.”
“Well, the store don’t open ’til nine, so why don’t you have some breakfast first? Fourth floor, there’s two apartments. Mr. Hankinson’s on the right; the empty one’s to the left. Door’ll be open. If you want the place, we’ll find a key somewhere, though I don’t think Alva Paine ever locked the door in thirty-one years up there.”
Charlie’s eyebrows went up. “Thirty-one years he lived there?”
“Long time,” she said. “He was a wonderful man, Mr. Paine. Hank’s closest friend for a long, long time. Ain’t been the same since Alva died. Hank won’t admit it, but he’s been real lonely this past year.” She handed Charlie a menu. “Anyway, you go take a look at it if you want to, and no hard feelings if you decide not to take it, okay?”
“It’s a deal.” Charlie ordered the pancakes, then left a message on Terry Summers’s machine, telling him to meet him in front of Barney’s General Store at ten o’clock.
The hike up the four flights didn’t bother Charlie, although he had to concede that you wouldn’t want to be making too many unnecessary trips. At the top of the stairs to the right, the door held a small plastic sign that read: DR. P. J. HANKINSON. Under it was the word PRINCIPAL.
The apartment on the left opened into a wide living area dominated by three large windows that provided a spectacular view of West Virginia beyond. Toward the back of the apartment was a small dining area and a kitchenette. Big enough, thought Charlie, for cooking for one.
Through the kitchen, another door led out to a large covered porch, which ran the entire width of the building. The porch yielded another stunning view, westward. The sunsets beyond the seemingly endless stretch of mountains would indeed be spectacular. Looking straight down South County
Road, the porch also offered a bird’s-eye view of an athletic field at the bottom of the hill.
At the other end of the porch was a door from the adjoining apartment. Halfway between sat a small square table and two identical high-backed wooden chairs. The table held a wooden cribbage board, from which nearly all the surface paint had been worn. Next to it, a wooden cigar box held several well-used decks of cards and a black notebook.
Charlie slid out the notebook. It was an appointment book for the year 1979. For the first three quarters of the book, every page was covered with columns of minute numbers and dollar signs. At the top of each page were the names Alva and Hank. Under each name was a list of plus and minus amounts, followed by a horizontal line and what looked like a running total of the cumulative score. Charlie thumbed to the last page of entries. The last entry showed Hank +$1,192.
Through the living room was the bedroom, another oversize room with a high ceiling. Like the rest of the apartment, it was furnished with a mismatched variety of pieces, but it was clean and spacious. Charlie knew right away he’d take the apartment. It had beautiful views and a lot of personality. He was about to go down to find Eve when he heard something coming from a door in the bedroom.
Charlie opened the door to find a large bathroom, brilliantly lit by a round skylight in the roof. In the center of the white-tiled floor sat an antique tub with brass fittings and ornate claw feet. Sitting in the tub, staring at him in wide-eyed surprise, was an elderly man with shoulder-length snow-white hair, a classic white handlebar mustache, and a matching goatee that reached the middle of his chest.
In an instant, the old man’s look of fright was replaced with an angry glare. He lifted a long, bony arm out of the bathwater and gestured a sarcastic welcome to Charlie. “Barge right in on an old man’s bath, why don’tcha? Don’t knock. Don’t announce yourself. Just come right on in.”
Charlie was taken by surprise. “Er, no. I’m sorry, I…” he stammered.
“So you’re the one Eve called me about this morning. Says you’re thinking about renting Alva’s place. From New York, the hot shit new boss of that silly power station.” He reached over the side of the tub and brought up a glass jelly jar half filled with a brown liquid. He spit a generous addition into the jar. Charlie winced involuntarily.
“Ain’t got a problem with chawin’ tobacco, do ya? Better get used to it down here, boy. West Virginia’s number-one state in the country for chawin’ tobacco.” After a pause, he added a little more softly, “Back when we had enough people livin’ around here to qualify for such things.” He returned the jar to the floor. “Can’t light up down in the mines, is why.”
“You were a coal miner?” Charlie took the opportunity to enter the conversation.
“Sure, I was a coal miner. For one goddamn month,” the old man nearly shouted. “Worst job ever was. Seventeen years old, and I cried like a baby every day, crawlin’ around in the dark, waiting to get buried alive or blown to little pieces. Hitchhiked off to Huntington and worked my way through Marshall University just to stay out of them damn holes. So, you writin’ my goddamn biography or lookin’ for an apartment?”
He suddenly rose out of the bathwater and climbed slowly out of the tub, dripping water across the tiled floor. His skin had a reddish hue, with many brown liver spots, and hung in loose folds where the flesh was losing the battle with gravity. He had narrow shoulders and a pear-shaped body, which was once probably around Charlie’s height but had lost a few inches to a hunched back. He covered himself with an old terry-cloth robe that hung on a rack on the opposite side of the bathroom.
Charlie offered his hand. “Charlie Burden,” he said.
The old man hesitated, as if he were sizing Charlie up, before finally taking his hand. “Pullman Hankinson,” he offered grudgingly. “But all anyone ever calls me now is Hank.” More to himself than to Charlie, he added in a low voice, “Alva Paine used to call me Doctor Hankinson, but, well, that was a different…” His voice trailed off.
Hankinson shuffled over to the door to his apartment. With his hand on the knob, he turned back toward Charlie. “So, you going to take the place or ain’t ya? Got to let Eve know if it’s okay, if you’re okay with me, ’cause now I’ll have to share the goddamn bathroom again.”
“I’d like to take it. If it’s okay with you.”
The old man sniffed and nodded. “Eve can use the rent money, for sure. No, I don’t mind.” He took his hand off the doorknob and pointed a bony finger at Charlie for emphasis. “But don’t you let her go jackin’ up the price ’cause you’re from New York. Next thing, she’ll be lookin’ to dicker with my rent.”
“No, I’ll bargain hard with her,” Charlie replied sincerely.
As Hankinson opened his door, Charlie stopped him. “Hey, Hank? How long have you lived here?”
Hankinson tilted his head back, as if the answer might be written on the ceiling. “Twenty-one years I been here. Six months after my wife died, I moved in. Twenty-one years,” he said, as if it were the first time he’d thought about it. He closed the door behind him, then opened it again. “Hey, Burden!” he called out.
“Yeah, Hank,” Charlie answered softly, still standing in the doorway.
“You play cribbage?”
“I play.”
“Maybe we’ll have a game, then. Play for a little something, just to keep it interesting.”
“That’d be good, Hank. We’ll play some cribbage.”
The old man nodded his head affirmatively as he closed the door once more.
* * *
CHARLIE FOUND EVE Brewster behind the counter of the store. She was hanging up the phone as Charlie entered. She smiled and looked up, indicating that she’d been talking to Mr. Hankinson. “Forgot to tell you about sharing the bathroom.”
“That’s all right,” Charlie replied. “He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”
“Hank? He can be a pain in the ass, but he’s about the smartest man in McDowell County. Anything you need to know about history or anything else around here, Hank will know it. Taught school at Red Bone High for forty-four years. Even after he was the principal, he kept teaching. Still goes in and teaches a history lesson now and then, though they can’t pay him, ’cause he’s retired.” She turned her eyes back down to Charlie. “So’d Hank scare you off, or you going to move in with us, Mr. Burden?”
“No, he’s fine. I like Hank. We’re going to play some cribbage together. But I told him I’d bargain hard on the rent, so you wouldn’t be raising his.”
Eve laughed. “Up until about three years ago, Mr. Paine was paying two hundred sixty dollars a month, which was the deal he and my late husband Barney made a long time ago. Told him I had to get more, so we settled on two seventy-five. That’s what Hank pays. Think you can afford that?”
Charlie pursed his lips, pretending to struggle with the figure. He was shocked at the ridiculously low rent. He paid his landscaper in Mamaroneck more than $275 a month. “It’s worth more than that, Eve,” Charlie answered.
“I guess. But old schoolteachers around here,” she glanced upward again, “they don’t get the greatest pension. So, we all try to get by with what we need. You understand, Mr. Burden?”
“Yes, Eve. I think I do.”
Over Eve’s protestations, Charlie wrote out a check, paying a year’s rent in advance. “If I leave before then, just keep the balance, and don’t tell Hank.” Charlie had his bags in his car, and they agreed he’d move in that day. He said that if Alva Paine didn’t need a key, neither did he.
When they’d concluded their business, Charlie browsed through the store, slowly making his way to the shoe section. A shelf in the rear was crammed with a dust-covered selection of black leather boots with steel toes. Some looked as if they’d been there for years. Above them were the knee-high rubber boots Charlie was looking for. He sat on a low stool to try on a pair in his size.
As he pulled on one of the boots, Charlie realized someone was standing direct
ly in front of him. He recognized the black high-top sneakers and the baggy shorts. The boy was wearing the same outfit he’d had on the previous day.
Charlie looked up to see the scrunched up look of laughter on the face of his new pal. The boy’s eyes were narrowed to slits by the tightness of his round cheeks. The point of his tongue protruded from the tiny mouth. His short, stocky arms hung straight down as he leaned forward toward Charlie in an expression of surprise. He was obviously overjoyed to see his new friend. “Hello, Charlie. I am the Pie Man!” He held up his open palm for a high-five.
“You sure are,” Charlie laughed, as he slapped his palm firmly against the boy’s small hand. “How are you, pal? What are you doing here?”
“We have breakfast. Me and Mama and Cat and Grandpa Amos. Very delicious pancakes.” Charlie noticed a maple-syrup stain on the boy’s shirt. Suddenly the boy turned and darted back around the corner of the shoe aisle. He called out excitedly, “Mama, Mama, my friend Charlie is here!”
Charlie pulled on the second boot and looked up to see a small girl with long blond hair peeking around the corner. She stared at him with intense curiosity. As she pulled her head back, Charlie heard footsteps coming toward him.
“Mama, my friend Charlie is over here.”
Charlie readied himself to do some explaining as to how Pie and he had met. Then he heard a voice from the next aisle that sounded familiar. “Whoever he is, Pie, you can’t be bothering him.” With a look of excitement on his face, the boy reappeared around the end of the aisle, his chubby fingers wrapped firmly around the slight wrist of Eve Brewster’s sister-in-law. Charlie rose to his feet, concealing his surprise at seeing the petite woman with the blue eyes from the night before. She was not what he had been expecting.
“Oh, God, it’s you,” Natty blurted, with an expression of embarrassment that Charlie didn’t understand. Maybe it was her outfit. She was wearing baggy jeans, loosely tucked into a pair of well-worn construction boots, a man’s white dress shirt, and a blue baseball cap with a red Spider-Man figure on the front.
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