by Dan Walsh
“Unfortunately, it wasn’t that hard for me to believe.”
“Why? Have you caught him being unfaithful with other women?”
“No, but you can tell when your husband has lost interest. He’d been coming home late from work almost every night for months. Even longer than that. And when he was home, he was constantly preoccupied with his job, always talking about work, never taking an interest in me . . . or the kids. Guess I know why now.”
“Did Scott admit to it, after you caught him?”
“No, he acted like nothing was happening between them, like what I saw was just some big misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“Yeah. Like it was just some Merry Christmas kiss between co-workers. It didn’t mean anything at all.”
“Is that possible? Maybe they had a little too much to drink?”
“Rose, what I saw wasn’t some Merry Christmas kiss. She had her arms around him, and he had his hands on her waist, and he was kissing back. Put that together with all the months of eating dinner by myself with the boys at home and the lack of romance in our relationship the last few years . . . that’s proof enough for me. Besides, the girl told me they were in a relationship and they were in love. She was sorry I had to find out that way.”
“When did she say that?”
“Right then, that night. With Scott standing right there. He acted shocked and totally denied it, said it wasn’t true. But of course he’d say that. What else could he say? I’d caught him with her.” Gina stood up. She didn’t know why, or where she was going.
“I’m sorry to get you talking about this. Look how upset you’re getting. That’s why I started talking about things like your cactus bush and—”
“No, it’s all right, Rose. We needed to talk about it. You needed to know. We’re sisters. There’s never gonna be a good time to have a conversation like this.”
“I guess, but still . . .”
“I just feel so bad for the boys,” Gina said. “They don’t understand what’s going on, and I can’t tell them. Listen to me . . . tell them. Oh Lord, where is Timmy?” She sat back in her chair, folded her knees up to her chin.
Rose got up and hugged her.
It was apparently time to cry again. Gina let it go as her little sister Rose rubbed her back softly.
After a few minutes, Gina regained her composure and Rose returned to her chair. “It must’ve been terrible keeping something this big a secret all that time. Not having anyone to confide in.”
“Don’t feel too bad for me about that. It was a stupid idea, and I wish I’d never agreed to it. To make it work not only did we have to lie to everyone, we made the boys do it too. Can you imagine such a thing? Parents forcing their kids to lie? What kind of Christians would do that? What kind of parents would? I’m sure that’s the reason Colt and Timmy ran away, or at least a big part of it.”
Rose sat back in her chair and made a face Gina couldn’t interpret. But it was obvious she agreed with what Gina had just said. “Just say what you’re thinking, Rose. It can’t be any worse than what I’m thinking about myself right now.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything bad. Just that what you said is true. The lying part, I mean. Colt did tell me on the telephone that was a big part of why they ran away. He didn’t want to have to keep lying about what was going on here.”
Gina sighed. For some reason, hearing Rose confirm it made it even worse. They really were to blame, her and Scott, for Timmy’s disappearance. They were the adults, the ones who were supposed to do the right thing and teach their kids the right thing. But instead, so they wouldn’t look bad and their reputation wouldn’t get soiled, they had broken one of the Ten Commandments. Not just once, but over and over again for months.
Was that why this happened? Was God punishing them for all the lies?
28
August didn’t like people as a rule. Had no use for them.
Couldn’t think of one who’d ever done him any good. Nothing but a bunch of users and takers. Couldn’t trust anyone to do what they said they’d do. Not a single one. People letting you down was like a scientific law, like the laws of motion or gravity.
Starting with his pa, a no-good drunk who beat him every chance he got, and his ma, who watched him do it. Then she up and died, leaving him alone with that man to take all he had to dish out until August could finally take no more. At sixteen, he hit his dad back, then got the better of him. Knocked him out cold then ran off to join the Army.
People in the Army treated him no better. Maybe even worse. Would have gotten out except that the Korean War started up, and there he was, stuck in the middle of it. Like a foretaste of hell, that place. The only upside was, he had to kill these Chinese and North Koreans for Uncle Sam. Finally found something he was pretty good at, and he had to admit, he took some pleasure in it.
None of his bosses since the war were any good. Every single one had treated him badly. Every co-worker too. Then finally came Bobby’s mom. Thought she might be the one person on earth to treat him different. Seemed that way for a while, a good while. Then she started drinking and going out. Said she’d made a mistake, wasn’t ready to be nobody’s wife or ma. It was a good day when she left for good, ’cause he’d have wound up in prison for killing her.
Bobby had been his only bright spot.
Like most kids, didn’t listen half the time. But at least it was only half. The rest of the time August liked having him around. A lot. Actually made him laugh, Bobby did, a good number of times, right out loud. All the things he came up with.
Then, for a little while, Bobby was gone. Those were the darkest days of August’s life.
But he was back now. His Bobby was back.
“Mister?”
August looked down. He’d been out on the porch, staring at the water.
“Excuse me, mister. I finished eating the cornflakes. Can I go home now?”
What was he talking about, going home? He was home. “You put the bowl on the washboard like I told you?” The boy nodded. “You rinse it out first?” He nodded again. “That’s a good boy.” August patted him on the head. “Why’d you put on the same shirt you had on yesterday?”
The boy stepped back. “It’s the only shirt I got. All my other ones are in my dresser back home.”
“Why you keep saying ‘going home’ or ‘back home’? You are home, Bobby. And you got a whole dresser full of clean shirts to pick from back in your room. Now get on back there and put a clean shirt on. Don’t matter which one. Everything matches dungarees.”
The boy just stood there, a confused look on his face.
“Did you hear me? Go on, get!”
He ran off. August heard him crying as he made it to the bedroom. Had a mind to yell, “Stop that crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about.” But he didn’t. His pa wouldn’t have just said it; he’d have come after August with a switch. But August knew better. The boy needed at least a day or two to settle in.
But he’d have to mind. August couldn’t have a willful boy messing up his quiet home. He knew what to do with willful boys who wouldn’t mind their pa. You didn’t have to beat ’em. Not all the time. There were better ways of dealing with such things.
Then August got an idea. Wouldn’t do to bring the boy with him. He walked back into the house then over to the hallway, near the boy’s bedroom door. Peeking inside, he saw him buttoning up a blue flannel shirt. “You’re doing that wrong, Bobby. Got started on the wrong button.”
“Mister, my name isn’t Bobby. It’s—”
“What do you mean, it isn’t Bobby. ’Course it is. I don’t know what’s gotten into your head. Now unbutton those buttons and start over.”
“My mom sometimes has to help me with the first button.”
“Don’t even talk about that woman in this house, you hear?” The boy looked up, startled. Like he was about to cry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that. But I’m the one raised you all this t
ime, put food on the table every night. And if you need help with anything, I’m the one you come to. We clear on that?” The boy’s head nodded slowly up and down. “Here, let me get you started on the right one. Have a seat on the bed.”
The boy sat, and August reached over, buttoned the first button. “You can do the rest, right?”
“Yes.”
August stood, walked back through the doorway, and turned. “Listen, I need to get a few things down at the general store. I won’t be gone too long.”
“I’m going to be alone?”
“It’ll only be for a while. You’ll be fine. No one ever comes here. Folks around here keep to themselves. You just sit there on your bed and read your comic book till I get back.”
“But where are the other comic books? They were on the dresser last night, but when I woke up they were gone.”
“They were just for the bus ride. I’ll give them back to you, one at a time, but you have to earn them by being a good boy and doing what you’re told.”
The boy picked up the one comic book he’d brought with him. “But I’ve already read this one a hundred times.”
“Well, read it a hundred and one.” August began closing the door.
“Wait,” the boy said. “Can’t you leave that open?”
“No, I can’t. Can’t have you traipsin’ all around this house by yourself, getting into who knows what kinds of trouble. I don’t want to lose you again. You’ll be fine in here with the door closed. I’m locking it for your own good, so you’ll stay safe.”
Bobby was pouting as the door closed behind him. But it had to be done. “You don’t cry,” August yelled through the door, “and I’ll bring you home a Coca-Cola. You like Coca-Cola?”
“Yes,” Bobby yelled back.
“Okay, then. I’ll sit out here and listen a few moments. I hear any crying, and I’ll drink that Coca-Cola myself.”
“I’ll try real hard not to cry.”
August put his ear up to the door. Heard some whimpering, but that was all. A few moments later, he heard the bedsprings creaking. The boy was doing what he was told. August started walking down the hall toward the front door.
See, you didn’t have to always beat ’em to get ’em to mind. Sometimes you could just trick ’em into doing the right thing, and it would only cost you a nickel.
Beatings were only for the worst things. A distinction his pa knew nothing about.
29
It had taken August thirty more minutes to make his way home than he had planned. That stinkin’ rear tire went flat on him. He’d been eyeing both of them for the last month or so, hoping to squeeze a few thousand more miles before he had to fork over the money for a new pair. The spare he’d stuck on there wasn’t much better than the tire that had blown. But it would have to do for now.
The other thing that had slowed him down were all the people out shopping, on a Tuesday morning no less. It was the craziest thing. Worse than shopping on Saturdays. And this town didn’t have but a few hundred residents. Seemed like nearly all of them had picked that moment to replenish their cupboards. Only time he’d seen anything like this was two years ago when Hurricane Donna had come through.
He didn’t like chitchatting with people, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He was just about to break down and talk with someone when he overheard a small group of ladies by the produce tables all lathered up about something they heard the president say last night. He’d heard people buzzing on the bus ride yesterday about the president going on TV, but August made no plans to listen to him. Why should he? He’d voted for Nixon in the last election. Since then, he’d noticed how the whole country seemed to go ape over JFK, especially over his wife, Jackie. But August was no hypocrite. Figured he wouldn’t pay much attention to politics till ’64 when the whole thing started back up again.
But hearing these old ladies go on, you’d think JFK had announced the world was coming to an end. If that was true, he didn’t see much good in filling up your kitchen with a month’s worth of groceries.
Something was going on with Cuba and the Russians; he didn’t know exactly what. August didn’t pay for the newspaper to be delivered every day. The routes didn’t come out this far from town anyway. So he’d picked up a paper at the store and put it in the grocery bag to read when he got home.
He was just turning onto his street now, a shady dirt road. Plenty of quiet, few people. Houses spread far apart, just the way he liked it. The neighbor on one side lived up north most of the year. The neighbor on the other side had tried to make friends when she first moved in a few years ago. But there were ways to discourage things like that. People generally got the message you wanted to be left alone if you kept sending it loud and clear.
He started things off right by not even answering the door that first time when she’d brought over some homemade blueberry pie. He made sure she knew he was home too. She had kept knocking a good while, then finally gave up. August had let the pie sit there a couple of hours, occasionally peeking out the window until he was sure she was looking. Then he walked out, picked up the pie, and carried it over to the trash can. He had tossed it inside, making as much noise as he could.
It was quite a sacrifice, especially when he’d realized it was blueberry. But it had to be done. She’d left him alone pretty much all the time after that.
As he drove down his long, bumpy dirt driveway toward the house, he knew right off the bat something was wrong. Couldn’t quite place what it was, so he slowed to a crawl.
Then he saw it. The bedroom window. Bobby’s window. It was open, the thin green curtains blowing in and out. He knew for certain that window was closed when he’d left for the store. He accelerated the car to the end of the driveway and slammed on the brakes. He got out and ran toward the house, leaving the food, even left his car door open.
There was no way he’d let this happen again.
“Bobby!” he shouted as he ran to the right side of the house. “Bobby, you in there?” There was no answer. He leaned inside the boy’s bedroom. No one there. But he knew that already. That was why the window was open. The boy had gotten out! August had been gone so long, Bobby could be anywhere by now. How could August have been so stupid and not checked to make sure the window was locked?
The water.
Boys loved water. Attracted them like bees to pollen. Instantly, he set out running. “Bobby!” he screamed over and over, eyes looking all around. He couldn’t lose him. Not again. “Bobby! Where are you, boy?”
When he got to the water’s edge, he almost jumped right in. Horrible memories flashed through his brain. But he quickly realized Bobby wasn’t there. It was just a memory, a dark, terrifying memory.
Then where was he? He turned and began to scan the property all around the house, but there was no sign of him. He ran toward the neighbor’s house on the right side, calling out his name. Maybe Bobby had gone there. This was the neighbor who lived up north. If Bobby tried them, no one would answer the bell.
August ran all around the property but saw no sign of him.
He took off toward the neighbor’s house on the other side, which was a good distance away. For a moment, he thought about stopping at his house for his gun. If Bobby had gone to that neighbor, there might be some trouble. But when August reached the clearing, he happened to look down by the water.
That was when he saw him.
A little boy, walking along the water’s edge, about halfway around on the south side. Had to be him, had to be Bobby. August hadn’t seen him before; that big cluster of bushes must’ve blocked his view. August moved toward him, but this time he didn’t call out the boy’s name. Didn’t want to take the chance he’d scare him, cause the boy to set off running. He did that, Bobby might fall right into that water and drown.
Besides, he didn’t know the people over that way and how’d they feel about him trespassing on their land. So he decided just to run quiet like, a little ways off the waterline. As he ran, he came
up with his plan.
He’d come at Bobby from behind, hide a moment in some palmetto bushes, make sure nobody saw him run up, and snatch Bobby. He’d probably have to cover up the boy’s mouth to keep him from screaming his head off on the way back to the house. He didn’t want to, but it had to be done.
Of course, if anyone did see him, he could just tell them he was running after his boy and had to carry him like this, because the boy knew the spanking he’d get when they got home. For running off and for playing near the water. Everyone spanked their kids when they misbehaved.
And he had one more thing in his favor . . . none of his neighbors would have any reason to question him about bringing his boy back to the house, since none of them knew what happened the last time.
August kept his eye on Bobby as he rounded the first curve. Bobby was still walking away, in the wrong direction. And he was way too close to the water’s edge. August would have to teach him a lesson, one he wouldn’t soon forget.
Bad little boys that didn’t mind had to be punished.
Bobby would have to spend some time in the dark place. And he’d better get used to it too, because that’s where he’d have to stay from now on, whenever August left the house.
30
About three o’clock that afternoon, Gina and Rose left for the grocery store to pick up some food for the next few days. Gina was a little annoyed that the FBI hadn’t called back yet. Colt had just left to play with his best friend Murph, who lived across the street.
Scott had initially told him not to talk about the situation with Murph, until Colt explained that Murph already knew the first part, about them running away, and had done his best to talk Colt out of it. He might as well know the rest of the story, Scott decided. Maybe Murph could be some comfort to Colt. Before his son had run out the door, Scott said, “Make sure Murph knows he can talk to his folks about this and that they can call me if they need to.”
“I will.”
