This seems similar to fishing. After a day of not catching a thing, I’d take the line out, put on some fresh bait, close my eyes, say a little prayer, and then cast away. Half the time, a nibble would come in less than thirty minutes.
Elle waits with arms folded across her chest. Diamond paws the ground with his foreleg.
“What do I get if I do it?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” she says.
This sounds promising.
“I’ll let you hold the reins.”
“Not good enough.”
“What do you want?”
“A kiss.”
Pause.
“Agreed.”
Off we go. Diamond walks along until Elle clicks him up to a light trot. It’s not so bad. The horse is solid beneath me, taking us where we need to go.
“Good job,” Elle says. “You look great up there.”
If she keeps it up, I’ll stand on the damn horse with my eyes closed.
“Just let him lead you, Zeke. He knows where to go. Now try to post with his trot. Up down up down up down. That’s it!”
The world narrows to Diamond’s smooth movements and the rich sound of Elle’s voice. The terror of hurtling out of control settles. A little. Diamond knows what he’s doing. Diamond’s a pro.
“Pull back on the reins a little,” she says. “Gently. Not too hard. He’s itching to canter.”
Her words don’t register until too late. Diamond is itching to canter and so he does. My eyes fly open and I jerk hard on the reins. Too hard. The horse stops instantly but I don’t. As much as I try to regain balance, the force of momentum sends me into a slow, gradual tumble that lands me in the dirt next to Diamond. He turns an elegant long nose toward me with a look that says, What are you doing down there, partner?
“Well, hell.”
Elle puts a hand over her mouth to disguise the grin spreading across her face. I get up, brushing the dirt off my pants, flexing my legs and arms to see if all parts are intact.
“Good thing you had those new boots on.”
The comment deserves ignoring.
“Didn’t you know that the first time you ride in a new pair of boots you’re supposed to fall? It’s practically guaranteed. I’ve told them to put it on the sales slips over at the Feed and Fuel, but they won’t do it.”
“Do you make fun of all your students when they fall?”
“Of course not,” she says. “It’s very unprofessional.”
It takes her a moment to compose herself. She walks over and brushes dirt from the back of my shirt. “Most falls only hurt your ego.”
I focus on getting Diamond’s saddle off. The buckle jams. I wrestle with it, muttering a few curse words.
“Haven’t you ever heard of getting right back up on a horse after you fall off?”
With a final wrench, the buckle comes free and I haul the saddle into the tack room.
“Don’t you think you should try? It’ll make it a lot harder the next time you get up on him if you don’t.”
“Seeing as I’m going to be on a plane back to Tennessee today, I’ll take a rain check.”
So, I’m going.
“You’re leaving?” She takes Diamond’s brush from my hand. “Why?”
At the western boundary of the Lacey property, the Blue Ridge foothills look as if they are aflame, so intense are the trees’ autumnal shades of orange and crimson. Before sunset, I will be up in the air over those hills. The vacation, it seems, is over.
“My mother is sick. Lung cancer. She’s having surgery tomorrow. Everybody’s pretty worried about her.”
“Oh. That’s terrible.” She frowns. “I’m sorry.”
She throws the brush into a bucket next to Diamond’s stall. “I’ll miss you.”
I walk over and pull her around to face me. “I earned this.”
The kiss lasts half a minute but contains a promise.
With my arms still wrapped around her, I say, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. But I’ll miss you, too. I don’t want you to forget the night we spent together.”
She smiles.
“Okay. Forget the part where I walk out, but remember everything up until then. Can you do that? I’m not sure where you and I are headed, but I’d like to see how it turns out. You won’t forget or disappear or something?”
The sound of desperation is beginning to creep in, so I stop.
“Diamond and I will be here, Zeke.”
“It’s not the horse I’m worried about.”
She pulls me into the shadows of the stable and we make out like seventeen-year-old virgins, leading me to believe that she may be the last thing I need to be worrying over.
Thirty-Five
1985
By three o’clock in the afternoon, the plane lifts off from Charlottesville headed for Memphis. Cousin Georgia makes all the arrangements, even books a rental car at the Memphis airport so I can drive to the Tolliver hospital. She says not to worry about Tucker or the truck. They will be waiting for me when I get back.
Get back. This does not have to be a repeat performance of leaving and not returning for twenty-five years. The dog is there. Barring everything else, I will have to come back for the dog.
Before the plane takes off, I call Daisy at home and tell her I’m on the way. The surgery is scheduled for ten o’clock tomorrow morning. The chances of survival are good; the chances of dying are good, too. Mother had looked so tired the day I left Clayton. And I ignored it. Ignored her.
It’s after seven before I am on the road in a white Ford Escort. Darkness has fallen, making it difficult to follow the road signs. Outside Memphis, Highway 64 beckons. The wind picks up, swaying the treetops and requiring two hands on the steering wheel.
In Somerville, Dairy Queen provides a burger to go. A Memphis country radio station keeps me company, the voices of Willie, Merle, and Reba filling the empty space in the car. The station starts breaking up when the highway heads south eleven miles outside of Tolliver.
Only a handful of cars, mainly the nightshift workers, occupy the hospital parking lot. The last time I was here was to watch Louisa be born. Jackie’s pregnancy was much easier the second time, and labor took four hours from start to finish. We’d been eating lunch over at the Country Kitchen in Mabry when her water broke. By dinnertime, we had another daughter. The maternity ward is on the second floor. Several windows glow with light. Babies are probably being born right this second. Moses Washington always says people love the beginning parts of life; it’s the middle and end parts that end up being more work than we bargain for.
The strong antiseptic smell of the place hits me as soon as the automatic entrance doors close shut. It is hard to imagine anyone getting well in a place that smells this bad. At the information desk an older woman with hair somewhere between lilac and orange is packing up a crossword-puzzle magazine into a purse shaped like a dog. A round button on the lapel of her sweater reads “Ask me! I care about Tolliver Hospital.”
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Lillian Parker’s room.”
She glares at me over reading glasses before consulting papers on the desk. “Third floor. Room three ten. Visiting hours end in half an hour.”
I thank her and stand by the elevator, waiting for it to come down. When the up arrow lights and the doors open, Rosie steps out. She throws herself at me, hanging on tight like she always does. Her hair is cut short and spiky, like the “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” singer. Of the five of us, Rosie got the looks. Mother called her “my little ugly duckling” when she was little and all legs and huge brown eyes. Wait and see, Mother would say, she’ll be a swan soon enough. By the time she was fifteen, every boy for two counties was knocking on our door.
“You look good, Rosie.”
She hits my shoulder. “Do not. Drove down from Nashville today and I look like hell. At least I got some work done on the way listening to band tapes. I’ve listened to enough bad music for a year. Might’ve been one good one in the bunch. Maybe. How’s Virginia?”
I can feel her peering at me. We haven’t seen each other since Pigeon Forge. Someday I will tell her about the final-exit attempt. But not now.
“You’re staying with Cousin Georgia out there?”
I nod. “Where are you headed? Mother all right?”
“I need some air. You just missed Violet and Daisy. They went home for the night.”
“And Mother?”
Rosie pulls a cigarette from the pocket of her jeans. “Go find out for yourself. I’ll be on the walking track. Come see me afterward. And you should probably call Daisy and Vi to let them know you made it.”
The elevator dings open again. Above the front desk, the clock reads 8:35. The pay phones are next to the bathrooms, both of which have yellow “closed for cleaning” cones blocking the doorway. The janitor and I are the only ones around. I step over a mop bucket and call Vi’s house first. She’s not home yet but Louis takes the message.
Daisy answers on the first ring. “Thank God,” she says, “I’ve been praying all day you’d make it.”
The fact that she admits to praying says how bad things must be. Daisy thinks praying is for folks who don’t have the guts to take matters into their own hands.
“Have you seen Mother?”
“Headed up there now.”
“Good. You and Rosie stay at my house, okay? Violet will want you over at hers, but you all don’t need to be driving any more tonight. I’ve got to get Dave’s dinner going here before he heads in for the late shift. Then I’ll be over to the hospital to pick you up.”
Noise comes from the front entrance. A very pregnant woman and a man barrel through the doors. The woman clutches her belly and stops walking for a moment, taking deep breaths. The man puts his hand on her back, speaking to her softly. We all get into the elevator together. Between the first and second floor the man asks if she’s okay five times.
“I am not okay,” she says through gritted teeth as they get off.
“Good luck!” I call. He gives me a nod before the doors close.
On the third floor, TVs hum out from open doors. Two small children sit on a bed with an older woman in one of the rooms. The girl sees me pass by and offers a wave. The door to room 310 is shut. No sound can be heard from inside. Maybe she’s sleeping. I’m still trying to grasp that she has a life-threatening illness. Both she and Daddy were healthy their whole lives. I don’t even remember my father being sick. Mother caught the occasional cold but not him. He was under the hood of his truck when the heart attack hit. Landed facedown in the engine he’d been trying to fix for the better part of a decade. Carter seemed to get sick a lot—bronchitis, ear and sinus infections. Stuck in bed, he’d want me to stay and dote on him. Zeke, come on over and tell me a story, will you? Go on out and get me some ice cream, Brother, I’m feeling poorly.
A nurse who looks younger than Honora asks if I need help.
“I’m here to see my mother.”
“You must be Ezekiel. She’s been talking about you today. Your brother, too. What’s his name? Carson?”
“Carter.”
“That’s it. You go on in. I believe she’s just resting.” She returns to writing on a patient chart.
The metal door handle gives way with a solid click. The ceiling-mounted TV casts the only light in the room, bathing it in a flickering blueness. The volume is turned off. Mother rests in bed with her head turned toward the wall. She stirs at the sound of my footsteps.
It has only been a month since I last saw her but she is transformed. The extra weight gained over the years since Daddy’s death has been shed, leaving only the angular lines of her body. The skin around her cheeks and mouth is slack. But mostly it is her eyes. There is a filmy softness in them I don’t recall seeing before. When our eyes meet, I realize it is not softness but resignation.
“You came.”
She motions to the one chair in the room. “Tired? Virginia is a long way away, isn’t it?”
The TV above flashes images of two guys in Easter egg–colored jackets chasing crooks in Miami. We both watch for a moment, transfixed.
“You’d look good in a turquoise jacket, Ezekiel. Match the color of your eyes. My eyes, you know. You and me have the same eyes.”
She looks down at the bed, smoothing the sheets with her hands. “I need to say a few things, son. And I know you’re not much for listening to me, but this is probably the last time you’ll have to, okay?”
“It’s not going to be the last time, Mother.”
The comment makes her laugh—a brittle, nervous sound. “And how do you know? If anyone knows, it’s me. I’ve got a feeling about this surgery tomorrow and it’s the kind of feeling I’ve never had before, so I’m taking it as the Lord letting me know I need to get ready.” She glances at the TV. “Those boys are too pretty for their own good. Where’s the thing to turn it off? I can’t concentrate with them staring at me.”
The remote control is buried beneath the covers. The effort of digging it out leaves her breathless, and she lies back on the pillows.
“Turn it off. Please.”
The remote control also has a button for a light. She squints as the fluorescent bulb sputters to life behind the bed. What if she’s right? What if tonight is the last time I will see her? It is an impossible thought.
“How’s our Honora?” Her eyes don’t meet mine; she runs a hand along the top of the bed’s rails. “Have you seen her yet?”
I fold my arms across my chest, an itchy feeling crawling across my skin. “I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“Good thing. It’s her first love, son. She doesn’t know up from down. The whole thing takes you by surprise. The force of it. You remember, don’t you?”
The notion of my eldest being in love has never occurred to me. Not really. She’s never had a boyfriend before. How did you go from hating boys to being in love with one?
“She told you she was in love with this boy?”
Mother looks at me with something approaching pity. “Honey, she’s over-the-moon in love. Now, I told her not do anything crazy, okay? She’s a smart girl. I don’t think she’ll get in trouble like I did. Like your sister did. Like Jackie.” She shakes her head, remembering. “Even if Honora does, things are different now. A girl has options we didn’t have all those years ago. Not that I would’ve changed anything. Except maybe being older than fifteen.”
My expression must have changed to one of complete shock, because she holds up a hand. “Now, wait a minute. Before you go thinking this and that, the last time I spoke to Honora they hadn’t gone beyond heavy petting.”
If this is supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. I turn away from the bed and walk to the window, trying to gather myself to finish this conversation when what I want to do is tear out of the room and find my daughter. The wind parts the clouds, exposing a round, almost full moon. Is Honora with the boy right now, looking at the moon from the backseat of his car?
“Now I’ve gone and made you worried. I’m sorry. Come here.” Mother pats the bed. “Where I can see you. There. That’s better.”
She reaches a hand out shyly and puts it to my face, curving her fingers along the jawline.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Letting me touch you. It’s been a long time.”
In the first year after Carter was attacked, her touch filled me with rage. Any attempt to hug or kiss was rebuffed. Eventually the anger faded from all-consuming to an afterthought, but avoiding her became a habit.
“Son, I love you. I need you to hear that. Do
you? I’m sorry for all that’s gone wrong between us, Ezekiel. I’ve loved you every day of your life, loved you more than I probably should, I know. But you are right here.” She pointed to her heart. “Right here always. I was never happier than the night you and your brother were born. You were gifts from God.”
Regret mixed with the small embers of anger, glowing still, surfaces inside of me. I try to look away, but she brings up both hands to hold my face.
“Can you forgive me? Can you? Please?”
The metallic clanging sound of a cart being rolled down the hallway comes through the door, accompanied by a loud laugh from the nurse’s station. A phone jangles in the next room. I think of the couple from the elevator. Is the baby born yet?
“It’s all right, Mother. It’s all going to be okay.”
Her hands drop to her lap. “Don’t bullshit me, Ezekiel Cooper. I am too old and too near dead. Forgive me or don’t. Whatever you say, mean it.”
Talking is not easy; her breath comes in short, raspy bits.
“I’m sorry, too,” I say.
A knock comes at the door. Visiting hours are over.
Mother’s gaze exposes more raw love than anyone else has ever offered me. I remember seeing that same look when Carter and I were six. We were sitting on stools at a pharmacy in Memphis eating the best burgers of our lives. It had been a reward for enduring the doctor’s appointment where they performed tests on Carter and told Mother he would never learn to read and never be able to take care of himself. Ketchup slid off a French fry and spilled onto my new shirt. I looked up at Mother, waiting for her inevitable scolding. Instead, she leaned over and wiped the ketchup away with a napkin. What am I going to do with you? Come here and give me a messy hug and see if I don’t forgive you right quick. I put my arms around her, and my brother threw his arms around me, and we were all hanging on to each other.
The Lost Saints of Tennessee Page 21
