A few moments later, Doc and Eddie were hauling him up by his armpits, and half-leading, half-dragging him off the patio. He threw up in the bushes just on the other side of the stream, in the middle of the driveway right in front of the main house, then again in the dumpster near Eddie’s place. His head was spinning so badly, he couldn’t even tell if he was holding it upright or not.
Dropping him unceremoniously on the bottom step of Eddie’s stoop, Eddie and Doc muttered between themselves, and Donny let his head loll against the metal rail.
A few moments later, a police cruiser pulled up into the driveway and Eddie spoke briefly to the officer, then he and Doc helped maneuver Donny into the back of the car. Eddie disappeared, then returned with a trashcan and handed it to him. He also gave him a wet wad of paper towels.
“Here. Wash your face. I don’t want to give you any water ‘til you get to the station, just in case it makes you hurl again.”
Donny lifted his half-shut eyes to his brother’s tolerant face and smiled, several other instances of being in this exact position flashing through his mind.
“I love you, Bubby,” he muttered, reverting back to the childish name he’d used when he couldn’t pronounce ‘brother.’ Suddenly overwhelmed by emotions, Donny felt tears welling up in his eyes, and his stomach clenched simultaneously. Eddie stepped back and Donny dry-heaved over the bucket. There wasn’t much left in his stomach at this point.
The officer climbed in behind the wheel, turned to eye him over his shoulder, then waved at Doc and Eddie. They drove off, no flashing lights, no sirens, the darkness swallowing up The Coach House Trailer Park behind them. Donny pressed his cheek to the cool glass of his window, and knew nothing more.
~ ~ ~
A few days later, Edith sat across the table from Eddie, the growing pile of tissues in her lap a testament to how painful this whole situation was for her. She knew it was the right thing to do. She knew she couldn’t allow him back the way things were. She knew she had to stay firm; but Donny was her baby, and this whole terrible development was breaking her heart.
“Mom, he’s not a little boy anymore, but you treat him as though he still is.” Eddie’s voice was quiet, kind, and Edith nodded. She was glad he’d been there to handle everything for her.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. This isn’t your fault, him being in trouble like this.” Eddie reached across the table and patted her hand, awkward with his affection. “Willow isn’t pressing charges, and you aren’t involved either. As the park manager, it all falls on my shoulders, and Doc was a witness to it.”
“I’m so glad you made that last walk around the park, Eddie. I can’t—can’t imagine what might have happened if no one stopped him.” She gulped back a sob. “I didn’t know he’d gotten so bad. No wonder Sheena kicked him out; no wonder.” She shook her head at her own blindness. “But oh, Eddie, I hope they treat him well. I’ve heard such terrible things about those places.”
“It’s time, Mom. This is the best thing for him. Besides, he could probably use a little rough handling, anyway.”
“No!” Edith gasped, but Eddie laughed.
“You watch too much television, Mom. They’re not going to hurt him, or rough him up, or do anything else besides clean him up and give him the opportunity to make some different decisions.” Eddie stood and returned his Flying J cap to his head, curling the bill absentmindedly, a habit he’d had since he was a little boy. “When he comes out of this, he’ll either thank us, or go back to the way he was, but he won’t be able to blame it on anyone but himself.”
“Well, I’m praying for him every waking moment.” Edith blew her nose and took a deep breath. Then she smiled softly and looked up at Eddie. “You’ve turned into such a fine young man, and I think a certain fine young woman is noticing.”
“Mom. Willow’s—”
“I wasn’t talking about Willow Goodhope,” she interrupted. “Although she’s a fine young woman, too.”
“Oh.” This time, Eddie’s face lit up like a beacon, and Edith laughed out loud at his uncharacteristic embarrassment. Maybe there was hope for this little family of hers after all, just maybe.
AUGUST MEMORIES
Chapter 1
Al returned the phone to its cradle on the wall, his other hand clutching the worn fabric of his shirt over his heart. The organ thumped so hard against his ribcage he was sure it was making ready to beat its way out of his body.
But then, maybe that would be better.
We regret to inform you that your wife, Margaret Sue Tanner, passed away in her sleep….
Nothing else the man said—the details, the date, the time of death—none of it mattered anymore. All he needed to know was that Maggie was gone.
For twenty-six years, he’d lived here in this dive trailer, working his fingers to the bone at the Rest EZ factory, waiting for his wife to die. Twenty-six years.
It should have taken less than one.
And now, at sixty-nine, there wasn’t much living left in him, either. He’d spent it all on her: his money, his days, his years, his health, and whatever happiness he might have had in life.
A factory worker, that’s all he was. Unskilled, uneducated, and unappreciated by the company he’d given most of his life to. Granted, he hadn’t really given them anything at all. They’d paid him for his time, he made sure of it, and he didn’t come in early or stay late, but he showed up every weekday, barring illness or injury, and they knew they could count on him.
Unfortunately, over the years, he’d become ill more often, but with a factory job and his advancing age, coupled with his daily intake of alcohol and cigarettes, no insurance company would look at him, at least not for what he could afford. Like so many people he knew, he lived in a catch-22 world: if he worked, he made too much money for state-funded health care, but not enough to afford private insurance. If he didn’t work, he could qualify for government aid, but he couldn’t pay his—or Maggie’s—monthly bills. Well, he had to eat, and he needed gas and electricity, and there was always Maggie—always Maggie. So he chose to work, and hope he didn’t come down with anything too serious.
Until now. With his wife no longer needing his money, Al no longer needed his job. He was old enough to retire, he could afford to cover his own measly expenses on his social security check, and then he could qualify for Medicare.
Unless he opted to finally do the right thing.
It had been too long since he had options.
Dropping onto his sagging sofa, he laid his head back and stared up at the cork board ceiling of his trailer. He felt a little sick to his stomach.
“I need a beer,” he muttered. The ceiling said nothing to change his mind, so he hauled himself up and headed for the kitchen.
The wood-paneled walls sometimes made him claustrophobic, but beer eased the mounting tension in the room. The television, his constant companion, sometimes rasped against his senses like a bickering woman, but beer took the edge off the voices. Silence, if he could no longer stand the television, made him antsy, and beer usually soothed his spirit. Loneliness, when it caught him unawares, made him feel hollow, and beer helped fill in those empty places.
He plucked a cold can off the shelf in the refrigerator, and hooked his thumb and middle finger into the plastic rings of a new six-pack he’d put to chilling in there when he first got home. He took them all back to the sofa.
Maggie was gone. No, Maggie was dead. She’d been gone a long time already, maybe even before she showed up.
Without warning, Al began to weep. Giant tears rolled down his cheeks in silence, and he swallowed hard to keep back the groan that pushed at the back of his throat. Why was he crying? Why now, after all these years?
Death. The finality of it all hit him like a bullet, leaving a gaping hole in his heart where his locked-away grief—and everything else tangled up with it—was suddenly let loose.
He sat that way for longer than he’d ever admit to an
yone, eyes pouring, nose running, cold drinks growing warm in his hands, as he let the years of sorrow empty out of him.
~ ~ ~
He first saw her sitting in the waiting area at the barbershop, her finely-shaped legs crossed, one foot swinging to the rhythm of some song she had playing in her head, turning the pages of a ladies magazine. Even as she read, she held her head high, her chin thrust forward, posing as though she knew she was being watched. And she was. Glancing around the shop, Al could see he wasn’t the only man appreciating the view and wondering what on earth the pretty little thing was doing at Ol’ Elmer’s.
Turns out she was expecting a ride, and the barbershop was where she’d been told to wait. And wait, she did. According to Elmer, she’d been there for an hour by the time Al showed up, and she was still there when Al was done, all trimmed and shaved. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and didn’t miss the subtle nervousness beneath her poise: stolen glances at her watch, her eyes darting over the top of the magazine to the large window that looked out into the parking lot, the way she bit her bottom lip.
Al paid for his haircut and went home, curiosity about the girl sitting like an uncomfortable weight on his chest. Who was she waiting for and why was her ride taking so long? She looked about in her mid-twenties, a good ten or more younger than Al, but something about her made her seem old beyond her years, something about her eyes. When he passed her on his way out, she’d looked right at him; bold, steady, but not outright challenging. He paused momentarily, thinking she might speak to him, but when she said nothing, he just nodded his head and left.
When Al returned for his Friday trim four weeks later, he pushed open the barbershop door and stopped dead in his tracks. There she sat, in the exact same chair, one leg crossed prettily over the other, reading her magazine. Their eyes met across the top of the pages in her hand. She acknowledged him, but didn’t smile.
“She’s been here every Friday for a month,” Elmer muttered by way of explanation. “She apologizes for tying up the seat in the waiting room, but I know a good thing when I see one, and she’s bringing in the business for me. I’ve been booked solid every Friday afternoon since she started showing up.”
“Anybody asked who she’s waiting for?” It was Jude Carson from the next chair over. Al was sure the girl could hear the old man’s gravelly voice, but she didn’t appear to be paying any attention to their talk.
“Of course I did,” Elmer grunted. He held up his left hand and pointed at the wide gold band on his ring finger.
“She’s got a husband? She’s not wearing a ring.” Al had made it a point to notice.
“Fiancé.” Elmer spoke the fancy word from the corner of his mouth. “Told her to wait for him here, on Friday afternoon.”
Jude chuckled, and flipped the crisp pages of his news-paper, making a racket. “Did he forget to mention which Friday?”
“Apparently.” Elmer’s bushy brows came together. “Al, you’re about her age. Maybe she needs someone to talk to.”
Al was taken aback. At thirty-seven, he was still hoping to find a woman to marry one day, but the more time passed, the more he wondered if maybe there wasn’t any woman out there hoping to find him for a husband. He didn’t understand the female mind, and the longer he stayed single, the more intimidating the prospect became. Oh, he liked women all right. He liked looking at them, he liked thinking about them; but talking to one? Especially a stranger, at that? No thank you.
Just as he pulled open his car door to get in, she spoke from right behind him, startling him. “You’re Al, right?”
“I am.” Reluctant to get involved, he knew he sounded wary, but she didn’t seem to notice. She wore a pretty blue dress with a red belt and matching red heels, and her hair was carefully styled in that puffy short hairdo all the girls were wearing those days. Every time Al thought about girls’ hair he was grateful to be a man.
“I know you and Elmer and the others were talking about me in there.” She said it like she was going to make some kind of a point, so Al didn’t try to deny it, but waited for her to continue. “Just so you know, I’m waiting for my fiancé. His name is Billy Raven. You heard of him?”
Al didn’t voice the thought that Mr. Raven appeared to have flown the coop without his little dove, but shook his head and said, “No, sorry.” Then before he could change his mind, he did voice the second thought that came to him. “You need a lift somewhere?”
The girl stood there, looking at him in that forward way. Finally, she said, “I could really use a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. Would you like to take me to dinner?”
He should have known she’d be trouble. He should have seen it coming a mile away.
Chapter 2
They were married six weeks later in a chapel in Vegas; no family, because she had none, and his sister wasn’t able to fly out from Colorado in the middle of a March blizzard. It was probably the most impulsive thing Al had ever done in his entire life, but Maggie made him feel daring; dangerous. And feeling dangerous did something to a man’s insides.
One month later, Maggie lost the baby Al didn’t know she had. She also lost any reason to pretend she loved him, and before he had the chance to settle into married life and all that he’d dreamed it would be, he was clambering to get out so he could crawl into a hole and lick his near-fatal wounds.
But Al was raised up to stick to his promises. Maggie was now his wife, and he’d promised to care for her in sickness and in health, so that’s what he intended to do. Once he got over the impact of the cannon ball she aimed at his chest, he realized she was ill; no one in their right mind would behave the way she did without being some kind of sick.
For the next year or more, he put up with her self-pity, her anger and derision toward him. She called him foul names and told him he wasn’t a real man; no real man would have stuck around after he found out she’d only married him because she was having Billy Raven’s baby. And somewhere in his gut, he thought she might be right…except for those rare moments when she’d come to him, usually in the dead of night, great, gasping sobs tearing out of her, and beg him to hold her.
“I’m so sorry, Al. I’m so sorry. You’re too good for me.” She never said the words he wanted to hear from her, but he’d shush her, and tell her things would get better, that he’d see her through this, that he’d always be there for her.
Things didn’t get better. On the eve of their second anniversary, he found her sitting on the edge of the bathtub, a dazed look in her eyes. One hand rested in her lap, the disposable blade from his razor clamped between her bloodied fingers. Her other arm hung at her side, dripping into a growing pool of blood on the bathmat.
Al reached for her just as she began to topple backwards into the tub, and lowered her to the floor. Raising her arm so the cut wrist was above her heart, he wrapped a hand towel around the wound as tight as he could make it.
“Stay with me, Maggie Sue,” he ground out as he worked. “Don’t you die on me. Neither one of us deserves this.”
She began to moan, then cry softly, but when he told her he needed to take her to the hospital, she clutched at the hem of his shirt. “No, no! Please don’t take me there. They’ll put me away, Al. They’ll take me away from you.”
He peeled her fingers from his clothes, a terrible sadness seeping through him at the sight of the bloody prints she left behind. “They’ll help you, Maggie. They’ll help us. They’re not going to take you away.”
But she begged him, her sobs turning to wails. “No, Al! You don’t know what they do to people like me! They’ll take me away and drug me and do terrible things. I know it’s true. Please don’t make me go.”
When he’d freed his shirt from her, he’d felt the hard ridge running from the heel of her palm almost four inches up the inside of her forearm, and something in the way she spoke made him believe there was at least an element of truth in her fears about the hospital.
He wasn’t about to let them take her away from h
im.
Instead of seeking professional help, Al gave in and took care of her himself. He stayed by her side for the next two weeks, missing work for the first time in longer than he could remember. He cleaned her wound, he helped her bathe, he even washed her hair for her. When it dried all soft and natural around her pale features, her big eyes following his every move like he was her hero, he thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
For a while, there was stillness in their home, if not peace. For a while, Al thought there might be hope for them, that maybe she’d bled out her despair on the bathroom floor.
Sure enough, something did bleed out of Maggie, but it wasn’t her despair. She was no longer angry or aggressive, but became fidgety, weepy; easily fixated on minor problems while ignoring things that needed her attention. He’d come home to find her down on all fours, scrubbing the grooves in the kitchen linoleum, her knees raw from kneeling in scouring powder, while the dishes piled high in the sink. And she wouldn’t let him help. The one time he’d washed up after supper while she bathed, she’d been inconsolable, weeping bitterly about not being a good wife, promising to try harder.
She’d go through every item of clothing they owned between them, a pair of tiny scissors in hand, snipping out tags and loose threads, while dirty laundry filled the hamper to overflowing. She’d spend hours organizing their closet, one day by color, the next by the length of each item on its hanger, sometime even by outfit.
Over time, her fixation turned to him. She’d be up at the crack of dawn cooking breakfast, putting together a healthy lunch for him to take to work, making certain he was dressed neatly, every hair in place, his face clean. She’d be waiting for him on the front porch when he got home, a tall glass of lemonade or iced tea in her hand, or coffee on a cold day.
Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection Page 22
