by Jackie Lynn
“Okay, right,” Rip said, holding his wife by the arm as she bent over him.
Rose quickly turned away. “Stay on the path,” she said to Victoria, who peered up at her with a perplexed look. “Snakes,” she added, knowing it was way too soon in the season for the copperheads or even the harmless black or garden variety to be out around the riverbanks. “They’re mean when you step on them this early.” She meant to frighten the young woman, and it did just that.
Victoria quickly jumped to the gravel road. She glanced around nervously and then started walking toward the river.
Rip watched his wife; then he faced Rose. “There are no snakes,” he said, recognizing what she was doing. He smiled at her.
“From what I see, a few just crawled out from under some rock.” She surprised herself with her sarcasm. It wasn’t like her to be so confrontational.
Rip understood her sentiment. It startled him, too. He chose not to respond to her statement.
“So, how are you, Rose?” he asked, trying to sound as sincere as possible.
“I’m doing just fine,” she replied. “You’re obviously doing well.” She was staring at the Cadillac still parked in front of the office. She glimpsed over to her friend’s cabin and saw the older woman watching from the bedroom window. She was still using her opera glasses and the dog was beside her. Ms. Lou Ellen waved in Rose’s direction.
“Oh, the car.” He swung around to look at his most recent purchase, then turned back to face Rose. “The business had a good quarter.”
Rose nodded without a reply. She sighed, waiting for her ex-husband to explain why he had suddenly arrived in West Memphis, Arkansas, from Rocky Mount, North Carolina.
“I came here because I needed to talk to you,” he said, realizing there wasn’t going to be any more small talk and that she was waiting for the reason for his surprise visit. He hesitated, took a breath, placed both of his hands on the table between them.
Rose studied her ex-husband. She thought he was smaller somehow than she remembered. And Ms. Lou Ellen was right: He was balding. Both the sides and the top of his head showed signs of thinning hair. She considered briefly the other part of her friend’s observation but decided to let that thought go. She softened.
“What is it, Rip?” she asked.
“It’s your father, the captain,” he said quietly.
Rose waited for more.
“He’s gotten a lot worse.” Rip seemed genuinely concerned.
Rose didn’t reply. She knew when she left North Carolina several months earlier that she was leaving a man in his last season of life. She knew from her work as a nurse, from reading the nursing home reports, from his appearance the week she left, that he would not last much longer.
She had known that not being present at his time of death was certainly a possibility when she chose to move out of her hometown. The news was not a shock to her, but that fact that her ex-husband was the one bringing it to her was a surprise.
“Why didn’t Dennis call?” she asked, referring to her brother, knowing that his relationship with their father was no better than hers.
Capt. Morris Burns had been abusive to his children, a mean and nasty drunk. Neither Rose nor Dennis felt as if they owed their father anything.
“He said that you made the right decision to leave and that he wasn’t going to bring you back for the old man.” Rip appeared embarrassed to be speaking so intimately of a family to which he was no longer connected.
Rose nodded. Her brother had a good heart and they loved each other as well as they were able, having survived the childhoods that they’d had. They had managed a relationship as adults in spite of the fact that he had left home at an early age and she had had to fend for herself. She had been angry with him for years and he had felt guilty about it for just as many. They did not speak for a long time, but when she married and by the time his children were born, Rose and Dennis had become brother and sister again.
The sun was lowering as the afternoon was quickly fading. Although it had warmed up a few hours prior to the visit of her ex-husband, the temperature had dropped again and Rose was now chilled without her jacket. She had left it at Ms. Lou Ellen’s. She ran her hands up and down her arms.
“Here,” Rip said, yanking off his sweatshirt and handing it to his ex-wife. “I don’t need it.”
Rose took the shirt and wrapped it around her arms. “Thank you,” she said softly.
They sat in silence for a while. They both stared across the campground out to the river. Two ducks flew over their heads and landed in the small pond beside them. Rose watched as the two of them settled on the water, the surface rippling and then growing still.
“So, why did you come here to tell me this?” Rose asked. “Why didn’t you just call or write a letter?”
Rip didn’t answer at first; then he shrugged his shoulders. “I told you I always wanted to drive across the country. It’s kind of a late honeymoon for us,” he said, referring to himself and Victoria.
Rose turned away. She did not appreciate hearing that she was just a stop on his vacation, especially since it was a vacation with his new wife.
“And because I wanted to see you, find out how you are.” He waited. “Make sure you’re okay,” he added.
She nodded. “I’m good,” she said, this time more honestly.
Since he seemed sincere, she decided to share more of her new life. “I like it here,” she said as she glanced around, taking in the sights of her campground home. “I made some really good friends.” She thought of telling him about Tom Sawyer, her new lover, but then refrained. “I work in the office. I walk a lot around the river and out past the new historical site.” She pointed over to the memorial grounds with her chin, the grounds that she had helped make happen after she took part in solving the murder of Lawrence Franklin.
Rip looked in the direction she was indicating and nodded.
“I really do love the camper,” she said, remembering how it was between them when they purchased it several years before the divorce.
“Yeah, I always knew you did,” he replied.
Rose nodded. There was another pause.
“I just came because I know you, Rose. And as bad as your dad treated you, and I remember some of how bad it was…” He paused, looked down at the table, and then started again. “I stopped by to visit him one day. Victoria’s grandmother is in the same place,” he explained. “And I just went by his room. He was crying.” Rip turned away. “I know it sounds crazy but it just seemed to me like he was trying to say he was sorry.”
Rose felt her chest tighten even though she wasn’t sure exactly which part of what her ex-husband was saying was the most disturbing. She couldn’t tell if she was more bothered hearing of her father’s behavior or the fact she was hearing it from Rip.
“I just thought you should see him again before…” Rip hesitated. “I just thought you might need to hear what he was saying more than I did, that he needs to say it to you, to you and Dennis.”
“I’d agree with you on that,” she replied, and then asked, “Did he say he was sorry?”
Rip shook his head, signaling no.
Rose nodded. “So, you just assumed that his tears were evidence of his remorse?” she asked, feeling the defensive tone of her words.
She was angry that her father had only shown such emotion to him, her ex-husband, and not to her brother, not to her.
“There was just something about the way he looked at me,” Rip said as a means of explaining how he’d come to his conclusion.
“A way he looked at you,” Rose repeated.
She stared out across the Mississippi River and thought of the years that she had longed for such a look, any semblance, any possibility that he was really sorry for how he had treated her, all the times he had humiliated her in front of her friends, the blows across the face, the violent way he could explode over small things.
“It was no look,” Rose said to Rip. “He’s sick. He’s
got liver damage and Alzheimer’s. That was no look,” she said again. “That was just an old man whose body is shutting down.”
Rip shrugged his shoulders, not sure of what else to say. “I guess you’re right,” he said.
They both heard a car approaching the office. They turned, to see a family emerge from a camper. A boy and girl took off running toward the river while the man and the woman walked onto the porch and into the office. It appeared that they were checking into Shady Grove.
“Well, I just felt like I should let you know,” he responded.
“And I thank you for it,” she said a little too quickly. Then she noticed the hurt in his eyes, the embarrassed way he suddenly held himself. She let down her guard.
“Look, Rip, I said my good-bye to my father when I left North Carolina. I don’t hate him or despise him anymore. I’m done with all that. I made my peace,” she acknowledged.
He didn’t say anything at first, just recognized the truthfulness in his ex-wife’s explanation. He watched the children run back to the camper and then inside the office to join their parents. He was hesitant to say anything else.
Finally, he replied, “I know, Rose, but he hasn’t made his.”
She glanced away from him, turning again to the Cadillac, the new arrivals, the four eyes still watching from the cabin.
She was going to say more to him, when suddenly there was a scream from the edge of the water at the far left end of the campground. Both Rose and Rip quickly stood up from their seats at the table, and when they did, they saw Victoria cleaving to the arm of one of the campers, Mr. Hinshaw.
Rose smiled when she realized he was holding up a rope, as if proving something to the younger woman. She was yelling and throwing her hands around wildly.
Rip rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll need to go and rescue her from the snakes.” He shook his head. “Thank you, Rose, for traumatizing my wife.”
Rose decided it was a good time to halt the conversation. She was glad for the distraction, even if it did come from a younger, prettier, slimmer, tanner Mrs. Griffith.
“It was my pleasure” was her response.
He stepped from behind the seat at the picnic table and walked around to his ex-wife. They stood facing each other for a moment until he stuck out his hand. Rose remembered the earlier greeting, the awkwardness behind it. And in a moment of tenderness, she pulled him into her.
They stood in an embrace until the screaming from down along the river had stopped.
TEN
“Why he come here now?” Mary asked Rose as the Cadillac pulled out of the campground. “He want you back?”
“Did you see the woman sitting next to him?” Rose replied.
“Ah, she be gone soon. She no woman to keep. She woman to show.” Mary blew a loud breath through her lips.
“Maybe,” Rose said softly, sorting through feelings of sadness and relief. Seeing Rip had brought up so many unexpected emotions for her.
She was nervous about seeing him, disappointed that he was still with the woman he had left the marriage for, a little angry that he had driven there to tell her about her father’s condition, and lots of other things that she couldn’t even articulate. But as she watched them driving away from Shady Grove, she was mostly just glad that he and his new wife were now gone.
There was a small cloud of dust that rose and fell as the car sped down the driveway and finally disappeared onto the road leading to the interstate.
The two women stood staring in that direction until the dirt settled and the long entryway into the campground was empty and undisturbed. They both then glanced up at the sky. The afternoon light was fading and dusk was fast approaching. Rose suddenly realized that she was hungry and tired.
“Another strange day at Shady Grove,” she said with a sigh, recalling the murder, the incident at the library, the bracelet she still had to return, the arrival of her ex-husband.
She saw a few lights on a long barge skimming across the river water. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”
“More trouble,” Mary replied, “if that dog stay here.” She was peering at the cabin across from the office.
Ms. Lou Ellen was outside with her new pet. She and the dog were standing next to a small grove of trees. She turned and waved her handkerchief at her two friends.
“Oh Mary,” Rose said as they waved in return and then walked up the steps. “He’s harmless, and now he doesn’t have a place to stay.” She held open the door. “And he seems to make Ms. Lou Ellen happy. Besides we could use a mascot here at Shady Grove,” she added.
“Phsst,” Mary replied. “Three-legged dog from dead man’s camper is no good mascot.”
She walked through the door and stood behind the counter. She began to sort through some papers on her desk.
“I think he’s sad and needs us,” Rose replied, following Mary around to the desk.
“Maybe we should change our name,” the office manager responded. “No more Shady Grove, now Misfit Grove.”
Rose smiled and considered her idea. “That may not be such a bad thought,” she said.
The office manager seemed to be planning something else to say to her friend, but the phone suddenly began to ring. She shook her head, losing her train of thought, and then reached over and picked it up.
Rose sat down at the desk, watching her friend. She was warmer now than she had been earlier when she was sitting outside with Rip, because once the two of them were preparing to leave, she had gone to Ms. Lou Ellen’s cabin and retrieved her jacket.
As Mary was talking on the phone, Rose felt inside the pocket to make sure the bracelet was secure. It was right where she had put it.
“Shady Grove,” Mary said as a greeting.
“Ya, ya,” she said while she nodded her head. She reached across the desk for a pad of paper and began writing something down, a message that the caller was giving. “Jacob Sunspeaker,” she was repeating. “Okay,” she said. “Tomorrow morning, okay.” Then she placed the receiver in the cradle and wrote another note. Rose waited for her to explain.
“Man from FBI,” she reported, telling her friend who it was on the phone. “Agent Loohan or Loowhan,” she added. “I couldn’t hear. He say dead man is from New Mexico, name Jacob Sunspeaker.”
Rose nodded. She knew where he was from because of the license plate.
“They come first thing in the morning from somewhere to search the truck and camper.”
Mary returned the pen to the cup beside the pad of paper.
“Oh,” Rose said. Then she added, “That’s odd. I thought Sheriff Montgomery was going to come tomorrow and examine everything again. Did this guy say he was with the FBI?”
Mary studied her message. “He say he was an agent.” She reflected on the conversation. “He sound like FBI.” She sat down at her desk, seeming very confident of her assessment.
“How does the FBI sound?” Rose asked, uncertain of what her friend was implying.
“Short words, no small talk,” she replied.
Then Rose asked the other question that had come to her mind after Mary’s comment. “How do you know what they sound like?” she asked.
“My husband was not a very smart criminal,” Mary replied, referring to Roger, the man who had brought her to Shady Grove. “For many years while he was in trouble, I learn how all lawmen sound.”
Rose waited to hear more.
“Highway Patrol very courteous, call me Mrs. Mary Phillips. Deputies not too bright, talk too much about themselves. FBI always suspicious, say very little,” she explained.
Rose nodded. She continued to be amazed at how much she was learning at the campground. Having been the daughter of a career police officer, she thought she knew everything about people working in the criminal justice system.
As she was pondering this information, both of the women heard motorcycles coming up the driveway, heading in the direction of the office. They smiled at each other and Rose said out loud what they both kne
w: “Rhonda and Lucas are back.”
There were at least twelve or fifteen other bikers riding into the park with the couple. Mary and Rose watched as they pulled in, circled the campground, and then returned to the office. It was a kind of ritual with the Boyds. They always met up with their biker friends in town when they returned to West Memphis after one of their trips. After a brief reunion, the group always followed them into Shady Grove. It was a kind of Welcome Wagon greeting, a means of saying, We’re home and we’re making a lot of noise!
After a few minutes, Lucas and his wife, the owners of Shady Grove, entered the office. This time they had been gone for about three weeks, sailing near the Gulf of Mexico. They went there every year to help in a village somewhere on the east coast of Mexico. They built houses and did work on the school and the church. They also collected clothes and money for months and then took a boatload of supplies to the people at least twice a year.
“Well, little sisters,” Lucas said as he greeted his two friends, giving each a kiss on the cheek.
Rhonda walked in behind her husband and hugged Mary and Rose. They had both removed their helmets and appeared tired from their journey from where they sometimes docked their boat, down at the Arkansas-Louisiana state border. It was about a three-hour ride.
“I thought you wouldn’t be back until the end of the month,” Rose said, helping Rhonda take off her thick leather jacket. Rhonda’s long red hair cascaded down along her shoulders. Rose had always thought the campground owner was beautiful, even though she was somewhat rough around the edges.
“Ah, little sister,” Lucas replied, “the sheriff ended our mission work once again.” Lucas took his wife’s jacket and placed it on the coat tree by the table and then removed his and placed it there, as well.
“I tell him you are not to be disturbed,” Mary said, sounding a bit irritated. She always tried hard to protect her employers and friends.
