by Amy Harmon
“The times you’ve seen me. Have you ever been wearing your glasses?”
Maggie thought back and shook her head slowly. “The first time I saw you I’d left my glasses in the dance room. They fell off the night I fell down the dumbwaiter shaft, and I didn’t wear them until you fixed them for me. Then today in the hallway they fell off and got stepped on. So…no. I’ve never had them on when I’ve seen you. It’s bizarre! I should be able to see you better! I can definitely see everything else a lot better.”
“That explains it then,” Johnny reasoned. “Maybe you don’t actually see me with your eyes.”
“How do I see you, then?”
“With a sixth sense, maybe? I don’t know. Maybe when your eyesight is limited your other senses are heightened.”
Maggie nodded her head, agreeing with him. “I remember my mom used to say she had eyes in the back of her head. Maybe it’s the same thing. I believed her forever. She always seemed to know where I was and what I was doing without even turning her head.”
Johnny reached out and took the glasses from her hand. He traced his middle finger back and forth over the crack – back and forth, back and forth, as if he was rubbing the crack away.
“My momma was like that, too. Billy and I didn’t get away with much. She could smell a lie from a mile away. She had her faults, but her mom instincts were tuned right in.”
Maggie remembered what she had wanted to tell him. She hoped she wasn’t going to embarrass herself all over again. She still felt flushed from the liberties she had taken moments before.
“Johnny...I don’t know if you know this, but your mom got married a few years after” - how did she put this – “after Billy died. She married the police chief. His name was Bailey, I think. They looked happy in their picture…”
Johnny shook his head slowly, digesting her words. He seemed shocked at the news, and Maggie cringed inwardly, wondering if she’d made a terrible blunder.
“Married? Married…that’s good, right?” He questioned feebly, and Maggie nodded her head eagerly, her eyes never leaving his face.
“Clark Bailey? Well I’ll be…. That’s good…Chief Bailey was a good guy...“
Johnny’s voice broke, and he walked several paces and then stopped. Leaning back against the wall at the end of the aisle, he sank down to the floor, as if his legs could no longer hold him. He dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair in vexation and finally fisting them there. Maggie was unsure of what to do. His posture screamed “leave me alone,” but he had been left alone for far too long. She moved to where he sat and sank down on the floor next to him. She waited quietly with him for some time, resting her hand on his knee, letting him know she was there. He didn’t lift his head, but when he finally spoke his voice was thick with emotion.
“I’ve always wondered what happened to her. How did you know she married Chief Bailey?”
“When you saved me from falling I thought it was you, but I just couldn’t believe it. I thought if I could find a picture of you I would know for sure, so I went to the city library. They have newspapers from the last 100 years, all catalogued on a computer. There were articles, dozens of them, from when the tragedy occurred. They told the story – at least as much of the story as anyone knew. That’s where I found your picture, and when I saw it…I recognized you. There were other pictures and more articles, some of them pretty wild. The wedding announcement came much later, but I was happy for your mom. I thought you should know that your mother had someone to love her and take care of her, after all.”
Johnny nodded his drooping head and then lifted it, regarding her soberly, his eyes bright with unexpressed grief.
“Thank you, Maggie.”
“You’re welcome,” Maggie whispered. The silence in the library was broken by a rattling at the library door. Maggie rose to her feet nervously, and Johnny perked up – listening intently. After a second, he sighed and met her gaze. He stood and tucked her glasses back into her front pocket.
“Gus is looking for you. He’s worried because he can’t find Shad, either.”
“You can tell what he’s thinking?” Maggie said, startled.
“No,” Johnny shook his head. “Strong emotion puts off a lot of energy, though, and some emotion is easy to interpret.”
“I better go.” Maggie turned to leave but hesitated briefly.
“Go on now; I’ll see you soon.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
9
“TO KNOW HIM IS TO LOVE HIM”
Teddy Bears - 1958
Friday morning, Maggie woke to an actual natural disaster, not one of the ghostly variety – though disaster might be too strong a word. Heavy winds had rocked Honeyville over night, knocking down a few trees and power lines and spreading branches, loose shingles and debris far and wide. To make matters worse, the rain hadn’t let up, and the streets were wet and treacherous.
School had been called off, and Maggie considered rolling over and grabbing a few extra Z’s. Unfortunately, Aunt Irene had other plans. The Cadillac was acting up, and she had some shopping to do. Maggie was informed she was coming along.
An hour later they were creeping down Main Street with a few other cars, the windshield wipers frantically sweeping rain from the Caddie’s broad window. The Cadillac chugged and lurched a little, and Irene moaned in response.
“Hang in there, Belle,” Aunt Irene worried, patting the dash.
“Belle?” Maggie tried not to laugh.
“That’s what I call her because she’s the ‘Belle’ of the ball. Always has been, always will be.” Irene patted the dash again, and the Cadillac sputtered sickly. “Not much further, Belle. Gene’s is right around the corner!” Irene urged the car down one more block and made a shaky right into the parking lot of an old red brick building with two grey service bays. A big sign featured a pretty blond hanging out the window of a classic car in aquamarine blue. Big bubble letters spelled out ‘Gene’s Auto Body’ across the bottom. A few cars waited patiently for their owners, and a Neon Chevrolet sign buzzed and flickered in the front window. The power must be back on. This had to be the same place Johnny had worked once upon a time, but surely Gene wasn’t still around.
“This is where Johnny worked?” Maggie asked out loud, and then wished she could take it back.
Aunt Irene looked at her blankly.
“Uh, didn’t Gus say that Johnny stole a gun out of a car when he was working at Gene’s?” Maggie couldn’t remember if he had, but she hoped Aunt Irene didn’t remember either.
“Johnny who, dear?” Irene was completely lost.
“Johnny Kinross. Remember?”
“Oh, my! Maggie… you’re not still thinking about that poor boy are you?”
Unfortunately, Maggie thought to herself, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him. She just shrugged her shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant.
Irene nodded her head replying, “It’s the same place, but Gene’s son is the owner now. His name is Gene too, but every one calls him Harvey.”
Maggie didn’t try to puzzle that one out. It was Texas. In Texas nicknames usually came with a story, and the stories were either long or long forgotten.
Gene, a.k.a Harvey, was a curly haired man with a bulging belly and a smiley face. His striped work shirt and navy blue Dickeys were grease stained, and his hands were completely black, but he greeted Aunt Irene with a gentlemanly nod and smiled politely as Irene introduced Maggie.
“I am completely backed up today, Mrs. Carlton. Can it hold over the weekend? I can have Rick follow you home to make sure you make it okay, and we’ll come pick it up on Monday,” Harvey volunteered pleasantly. “I’m guessing it’s the transmission, from what you’re telling me. I warned you it might go when I gave her a check up last month.”
Irene nodded forlornly. Maggie could only guess at what she was thinking, but it most likely had a big dollar sign attached to it. Irene had taken religious care
of her ‘Belle,’but parts wore out, and it cost money when they did. Money was something Aunt Irene didn’t have.
“That will be fine, Harvey. I have a convention in Galveston for the Ladies Historical Society this weekend. I’m the secretary of the North East region, you know,” Irene perked up as she talked, preening just a little. “The city has chartered us a van so I won’t be driving. Maggie and I will make do until Monday just fine.”
Maggie had forgotten about the convention. Aunt Irene would leave that afternoon and not be back until Sunday evening. Maggie was staying home all alone. Originally, the time alone had not appealed to her much at all. With Irene gone and Malia Jasper back in town, Gus and Shad wouldn’t even be coming for Sunday dinner, and she had dreaded the long weekend with nothing but bad television and homework to occupy her time. But that was before. An idea began to take shape, and Maggie tamped down on her rising excitement, careful not to alert Aunt Irene that she had a plan brewing.
The old pink car made it to the grocery and home again with a few hiccups and burps, and Irene swung the Cadillac into the attached garage with a heavy sigh.
“Well, hopefully it won’t take much to get her purring again.” Aunt Irene smiled at Maggie but the furrow between her blue eyes was more pronounced.
Irene had already packed her bags, and by two o’clock a passel of Honeyville’s most distinguished old ladies were outside the house tooting the horn and clucking like hens as Irene climbed in and blew a kiss to her niece. Maggie waved her off and watched the van lumber away. She had two whole days and no one to account to.
She paused to check her reflection in the mirror and considered changing, but her faded jeans and pink, long-sleeved, fitted T and sneakers were probably appropriate for the work ahead. Pulling her long hair to the side, she braided it over one shoulder and applied some cherry lip gloss. Her reflection looked pretty good, even blurry, and she considered leaving her glasses behind. When she had pulled them out of her pocket after leaving the library she had been stunned to see the crack was no longer there. Had it just been a scratch? Had Johnny simply rubbed it off? Maggie propped her glasses on her nose and sighed gustily. She could take them off when she got to the school, but vanity was dangerous, and she didn’t want to end up running over someone on the way because she was too proud to wear her glasses.
She threw her bike in the spacious trunk and swung the long car back out of the drive and headed for Honeyville High, crossing her fingers all the way, praying and begging the car to keep going. She found that if she stayed at twenty miles per hour exactly, Belle hummed along without a hitch. She circled the school until she spotted the rolling service door that served as a delivery port for the lunch room as well as a bay for the mechanics and woodshop classes. She didn’t have a key to those doors but thought maybe Johnny could help her with that part. The car lurched and stalled as she came to a stop in front of the door, and Maggie patted her gratefully.
“Good job, Belle.” Maggie laughed at herself. Irene was rubbing off on her. Running around to the side entrance, Maggie slid her key home and opened the door to the school. She started calling for Johnny as soon as the door clicked shut behind her.
***
“You want me to fix your car?” Johnny’s expression was incredulous.
“It’s something you’re good at, right? I mean, you worked for a mechanic. You know all those old cars. This one’s a beaut! She’s a pink Cadillac convertible and she’s in perfect condition.”
“Perfect condition… except she needs a new transmission?” Johnny laughed at her attempt at salesmanship, his dimples flashing and his eyes bright with mirth. Maggie forgot what she was saying for a moment and stared at him, awestruck.
“Um…yeah… well. Can you at least have a look?” She discovered her ability to speak was still intact.
“How am I going to do that?”
“I can pull it into the shop room. We’ll just clear stuff out a little, and I can drive it right through the door. I just need you to unlock it for me. You can unlock doors, right – with your Jedi mind tricks?”
“My…what?”
“Nothing. Sorry, it’s just something from an old movie.”
“I think I can handle the door. I’ll meet you down there.” If Maggie didn’t know better she would think he was a little excited about her proposition.
Maggie loped back around the school to the car and waited, wondering how it would feel to open a door and not see what was beyond it – to open a door and not be able to walk through it. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Johnny on the other side of the sliding metal door.
“It’s unlocked, Maggie. I can open the door, and you can drive it through. I can’t hear if you’re there or not, and I won’t be able to see you or the car until you cross the threshold –– so just wait until I’m outta the way. Running myself over is one thing I haven’t tried. It probably wouldn’t kill me the rest of the way, but for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to die today.” His tone light, but there was truth in his banter, and the truth hurt her.
The door swung up and revealed Johnny on the other side. The sun had made a late afternoon appearance, peering through the grey clouds and darting through the misty afternoon fog that lingered after the storm. Sunlight shone directly into the open shop room, yet Johnny was not limned in gold, nor did he squint at the light or even make a shadow on the concrete floor. The light just shot right through him like he wasn’t there at all. It was the strangest thing Maggie had ever seen, and she stared, mesmerized, until he moved to the left, into the shadows, clearing the way for her to pull the car forward.
Maggie eased the car into the garage and came to a stop. She stepped out as Johnny let out a long, low whistle. He walked around the car, his eyes and hands roving over the long, pink Cadillac. A confused look flickered across his face. Johnny ran one finger along the high, thin, tail fin and looked at Maggie, a question in his eyes.
“I know this car. It’s not as shiny, and it’s a little worn around the edges, but I definitely know this car.”
“It has belonged to my Aunt Irene since she was seventeen years old. She said it was brand new, right off the show-room floor. I think you knew her…once.”
“Irene…Honeycutt?”
Maggie nodded.
“Irene Honeycutt is your aunt?” Johnny’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
“My great aunt,” Maggie responded hesitantly, gauging the effect her words had on her new friend. “My grandmother was her little sister.”
“Your grandmother…” Johnny repeated, stunned. He shook his head in wonder and turned his back to her, pulling the garage door down, but Maggie heard his low curse despite his attempts to cover it.
Maggie fiddled with the latch holding the trunk down. She popped it and lifted her bike out, wondering how in the world they were supposed to have a conversation if everything she said had the potential to upset him, if everything was a painful reminder of lost time.
“Irene Honeycutt,” Johnny sighed deeply. “I’ll be damned. I guess that’s why you reminded me of her the first time I saw you. You have her coloring – same dark hair and blue eyes.” Johnny reached out and tweaked her braid, shaking off the gloom that had temporarily gripped him.
“So tell me. How did you get your little hands on Irene’s car?”
“Well – I live with her. She and I are all the family each of us has left. She left for the weekend, and I thought maybe I could do something for her. You know, to thank her for taking me in and all. Gene, I mean Harvey, said it was probably the transmission, and that sounds expensive. I just hoped you could fix it….for free.” Maggie wrinkled her nose at him doubtfully. “I guess it’s a long shot, but if we can do it, it would be huge.”
“Little Harvey? Gene’s boy?” Johnny was once again caught off guard.
“Yes…he’s Gene’s son. He’s not so little anymore though. He’s kind of old… and fat,” Maggie said matter-of-factly.
Johnny
burst out in an incredulous chortle. “Little Harv. You know, he got that name toddling around the shop. He couldn’t have been more than two. He had these little toy cars that he pushed everywhere. It was the sound he made for the engines revving – HARV, HARV!” Johnny laughed again. “We started calling him Little Harv, and then it became Harvey. I guess it stuck, huh?”
Maggie grinned, relieved that the memory seemed to please Johnny. “I guess so.”
Johnny leaned into the car, smoothing his hand over the padded dash and the huge steering wheel. He ran a thumb over the little brass plate on the dashboard that was engraved with Irene’s name. “This thing was top of the line. It had the dual four-barrel carburetors – 270 horses. She could move, baby - 115 miles per hour at top speed. I remember wishing I could take it for a spin. It had the flashy Sabre-spoke wheels, chrome around the license plate, shark fins in back, bullets in front. Beautiful.” Johnny slid behind the wheel and, gripping it with both hands, marveled that it was “two toned with a horn rim.” Maggie tried not to laugh. Johnny just sat, admiring the car he had coveted so long ago.
“Would you like to take a look under the hood?” Maggie said suggestively, trying to urge him toward the problem areas.
Johnny laughed again and proceeded to do as she instructed.
Propping up the hood, he whistled once more. “Harvey’s been taking good care of the old girl. Look at that! It’s got the 331 bent eight and the dual four-barrel set up right there. It’s even got the original Cadillac valve covers.” Maggie nodded politely, completely clueless.
“Fire it up, Maggie. The engine’s still pretty warm, but I want to make sure it’s nice and hot before I go in and check your transmission fluid.”
Maggie did as he asked and climbed out again, watching him as he stared at the whirring engine in obvious pleasure. He was absolutely transfixed. After several minutes staring down at his own personal paradise, he spoke again.
“The tranny is a four speed Hydra-Matic. I gotta get underneath to check it out, but let’s hope I can fix this one, because replacing it will cost time and money, and I’ve got time but no money, and from what I’m guessing, you don’t have either. When do we have to have this little project completed?”
