Mississippi Nights

by D. M. Webb

  David sat with his father at the bar and accepted a cup of coffee from his mother. She bustled about, fixing a thick sandwich and a thick wedge of apple pie for each of her men.

  His dad picked up his cup. “Did the chief give you a hard time? I know he didn’t want you to leave.”

  David leaned back as his mother set a plate in front of him and kissed the side of his head. “No. He just said to let him know if I ever wanna come back.” David shoveled a forkful into his mouth. “Mmm . . . this pie is delicious, Mom.”

  His mom beamed and went about cleaning the countertops.

  “Would you want to go back?”

  “I don’t really know, Dad. When I got to St. Louis, I loved it. But the bustle of city life was wearing me thin. Got to where a man couldn’t hear himself think.” David paused and swallowed the last bit of his coffee. He set his cup down, and his mom whisked it away. “A man could lose himself, Dad.”

  His cup of coffee reappeared, and then his mom was gone, leaving the two men alone.

  “Were you afraid that was happening?” His dad pushed his half-eaten sandwich aside and leaned forward onto his elbows.

  “Sort of.” David took the last bite of his sandwich and talked around a mouthful. “I had everything I needed or wanted. Everything seemed right, but then it all got old. Bright lights. Steady hum of vehicles. I just got this gnawing in my gut.”

  His dad stood and put his dishes in the sink. “You needed home. No shame in that, David.”

  “I know, Dad. But I am a grown man. It feels weird to run home, tail between legs.”

  “Is that how you feel?”

  David shrugged and pushed aside his empty-again cup. “Not really. Just sometimes.”

  His dad leaned against the sink. “Son, sometimes a man just needs to be around family to remind him that there is still something solid out there.”

  “Ever the wise man.”

  “Only wise because of many mistakes.” His dad hesitated slightly. “Jeremy is still here, and you know you can’t avoid him. He’s your brother.”

  A wall slammed down around his heart. “Three years is a long time, but not long enough. I don’t know how I feel anymore. Hurt, angry, I don’t know.” He looked up. His father studied him. He looked away. “Empty, Dad. Mainly empty.”

  The front door slammed open, and a tall, ungainly body came hurtling through the doorway. All feet and legs, Marty Sanderson skidded to a stop.

  “Oof!” A woman maneuvered around the teenager. “Marty! You’re like a walking wall. One minute running, the next–wham! You stop.”

  David watched the small, lithe figure search for the cause of her son’s immobility. Her green eyes locked onto David. A dimpled smile spread across her face. Darlene Boyette Sanderson launched herself into his waiting arms, her red flannel shirt flying out behind her. Same Darlene.

  “David! Oh my goodness! You said next week. Oh my goodness! David!”

  David laughed over the repeat of words. Like mother, like daughter.

  “I couldn’t wait.”

  “I’d say not.” Darlene pulled back and looked him up and down. “You need to fatten up. You’re about as skinny as Marty.”

  David looked over at the bashful teen and pulled him into a hug. “Marty, you’ve grown.”

  Red-faced, Marty grinned. “Hi, Uncle David.”

  “Hi, yourself. What grade are you in now?”

  “Tenth.” Marty shuffled his feet, unaccustomed to the attention. “Mostly like it.”

  David sat back down at the bar. “Any girlfriends?”

  “David!”

  “What?” He cast an innocent look at his sister.

  “He’s only fifteen. Leave him be.” Darlene perched at the bar and stared at her brother. “Why so early?”

  David glanced at Marty as the teenager walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. The kid’s head disappeared within. “I was already packed and nothing to do except read old letters I had gotten in the mail.”

  At his statement, Marty peeked over the door and quickly ducked back. Marty grabbed some deli meat and constructed a sandwich, pointedly ignoring David.

  “Letters?” Darlene grabbed David’s cup and joined her mother at the counter. “I didn’t send any. Did you, Mom?”

  His mom smiled and refilled the cups. “Of course I did. I hate e-mails.” She ambled over to Marty and started putting the sandwich fixings back into the refrigerator. Marty grabbed his sandwich. David made room for him at the bar.

  A pickle hung over the edge of Marty’s sandwich. David plucked it out and popped it in his mouth. “Your grandmamma’s letters weren’t the only ones. Were they?”

  Marty buried his face into his sandwich.

  Darlene laughed. “I sent you a couple of cards.”

  “I read those too. And Sarah’s.” David nudged Marty. “And yours.”

  “So, David, tell me about the big city life of St. Louis.” Darlene sidled up close to him. “What was it like?”

  David smiled. “Busy. Very, very busy.”

  Chapter 2

  DAVID STOOD AT THE kitchen window, empty cup in hand, and gazed out. Thoughts rambled through his head, not allowing him to focus. An old, restless feeling decided to revisit, and he would need to find something to do soon.

  He dropped his cup into the sink on his way to the back door. Just past the hedgerow in his parents’ backyard stood the small pond. If his dad held true to form, then the old fishing rods would still be in the back of the storage building.

  Outside, the faint morning sun washed everything in its soft light. Soon his parents would rise and start their day, but David did not welcome the day of restarting his life–not yet anyway.

  Fat Tom left his place on the back porch step and followed him to the building at the back corner of the yard. The door stuck slightly as David pushed it open and felt for the light switch.

  The bare bulb flickered and lit the small area in a harsh light. David pushed aside a chair that was apparently in the process of being reupholstered. There on the back wall stood his catfish pole next to a crafting table full of his mom’s scrapbooking items.

  He reached for the fishing pole and knocked it over. The rod crashed into a small box and scattered its contents. He bit back a curse and squatted to pick up the photographs that littered the concrete floor. He paused over one picture.

  His nostrils flared at the sight of the photo. He and his brother, arm in arm, smiled as they posed in their tuxedos. He fought the urge to crumple the photo. Instead, David replaced it inside the box and noticed there were no pictures of Rebecca. His mom must have them stuffed in a separate container.

  David snatched up his pole and the nearby tackle box. He nudged Fat Tom outside with his foot and made his way to the pond. A glorious morning of silence awaited. His steps slowed. He underestimated his father.

  His dad sat on the wooden bench, leg crossed over knee and arms stretched along the back. He smiled at David as he made his way down to the bank.

  “Morning, son. You sleep well?”

  David ruffled his dad’s hair as he passed by. “Morning, Dad. I slept all right.”

  A few mockingbirds were up and about. One perched on a hedge and watched the men at the water’s edge. David picked up a pebble and chucked it at the bird. It flew off the twigs and landed nearby on the ground. It casually started pecking at the dirt. Pesky birds. He chucked another pebble at it. Didn’t need them to hamper his fishing.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “Um-hmm.” David cut the old hook off the line and opened his tackle box. He pushed aside some lures and flies and found his bag of catfish hooks. As he tied one onto the line, his Dad spoke again.

  “You going to church?” His dad shifted on the bench. “You know the rules of the house.”

  David threaded the plastic worm onto the hook. “I know. So, why even bother asking if you know the answer?” With a flick of his wrist, the line flew out into the air, arced with perfect
grace, and plopped into the water.

  “I just want to make sure. It’ll be good for you. But . . .”

  David slowly reeled the line in a bit and then let it rest. “But what?”

  “Jeremy is still attending. He and Sarah returned last year. He teaches Sunday School for the teen boys.”

  David felt his dad’s eyes on him and refused to look over. He reeled in his line and cast it out again. His throat burned. His knuckles turned white as he held the rod in a death grip.

  “David?”

  “What, Dad?” He yanked the fishing rod, bringing in the line before turning to his father. “What do you want me to say? How about, how could Sarah still stand to be with the coward? How can I forgive the–”

  “Enough!” His dad bellowed. He uncrossed his legs and stood.

  David held back a snarl and recast the line. A few heavy moments hung between them. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, and David felt some of his anger abate. How did his father do that?

  “David, son, Sarah doesn’t see him as a coward. Neither do we. I know it still hurts, but you will be around your brother more often than not.”

  “I know that.” David nudged the tackle box over with his foot and shifted his stance. His father’s hand fell away. He turned to go back to the house, but David stopped him.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  David let the fishing rod droop. “I don’t think I am ready to forgive him yet. How can I forgive him, knowing that he could’ve saved Rebecca?”

  His father took a few steps toward him and gripped his shoulders. He squeezed them. “You forgive as Christ forgave. It will come, David. Open your heart.”

  David watched as his dad walked away and disappeared beyond the hedgerow. He heaved a deep sigh and turned back to his fruitless fishing. Repetition calmed him, so David cast out the line again.

  Maybe later he could finish the chair in the storage building or maybe get that old Harley going again. Anything to stay busy.

  Anything to keep the craving at bay.

  : : : : :

  Jeremy Boyette leaned against the hood of his Jasper City squad car. He cupped his hand around the Zippo lighter, careful that the flame didn’t touch his gloves, and lit his second cigarette in a row. This stress was going to kill him. He shoved the lighter back into his cargo pocket and inhaled the tobacco smoke. Nicotine raced throughout his body. Jeremy raised his face to the setting sun that glinted behind the old downtown buildings.

  He had an hour left to his shift, and he felt dog-tired. This morning did him in, but it was worth it. Now they had an informant. Jeremy inhaled another long drag. This one had better work out. That drug ring would go down this time, and he’d make those Memphis gangster wannabes think twice about entering his town.

  Another draw on the cigarette, but no closer to relaxation.

  “Jer!” Baers’ voice yelled from the back door of the police station. “Captain wants ya.”

  Couldn’t the guy ever just come and get him like a normal person? Jeremy inhaled one last time and crushed the cigarette under his heel.

  Baers, the tallest, biggest, and darkest officer on the force, stood at the door when Jeremy entered. “How many does that make today?”

  “What?” Jeremy grimaced and pushed past the giant.

  “Thought you told Sarah you were trying to quit.”

  “I did. Down to a pack a week.”

  “You just smoked a pack out there.”

  Jeremy ignored him and continued down the gray hall. Why did they always use gray? He felt antsy tonight. And in a foul mood. He turned the corner and entered the police captain’s office on the right. Captain Conners’ lanky build was hunched over his desk with a cell phone plastered to his ear. He motioned for Jeremy to sit and then rubbed at his head. If he rubbed too hard, he would rub away what was left of his hair.

  “I’m right on it. We should have information by the end of the weekend. Yes, I understand. Goodbye.” He all but chucked the phone down and rubbed at his eyes.

  Jeremy sat patiently in the chair and waited until his boss turned his gaze to him before asking, “Wanted to see me, Captain?”

  “What’s the situation on the drug ring? That was the Chief. Mayor wants an update by the end of the weekend. The bubble head doesn’t realize that’s tomorrow.”

  “We got a pretty good source this time.” Jeremy crossed his ankle over a knee. “This one is more reliable. Not affiliated with the gang, but he’s in the area where they meet.”

  “We know that location yet?”

  “No. Not yet.” He shrugged. “I’ll give it until next week at least.”

  “Good. Next week then.” Conners shuffled some papers around, lifted a few, and then pulled a sheet from under his blotter. “Dang mess in here.”

  Jeremy accepted the print-out Conners handed him. “Oh, you got to be joking!”

  “Sorry. Budget came in, and we got slashed. As of now, I’m pulling you off the morning shift and back onto mid shift. And that’s where you need to be. Chief’s orders.”

  “Do you know how long it has taken me to get to morning shift? Three long years! And now because of some pencil head, d–” He stopped and stared at the ceiling a moment. He was too tired to argue, as if it would’ve done any good, anyway. “So, start tomorrow?”

  “Yup. Go home, and I’ll see you here tomorrow evening. You could do with a good night’s sleep. Oh, and send in Baers.”

  Jeremy shook his head and walked to the door. “He ain’t gonna take it quietly.”

  Conners picked up a set of ear plugs and smiled. “Oh, I came prepared.”

  Jeremy found Baers in the breakroom, filling in paperwork. “Captain wants you.”

  Jeremy felt his gaze as he removed his tactical vest and hung it in his locker. He slammed the locker door and turned to Baers. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get there. Where you heading to?”

  Jeremy let out a heavy sigh. “I’m back on mid shift starting tomorrow, so I get to go home.”

  “That sucks.” Baers’ hands paused and dropped the pen. “Ah, man. You mean to tell me–”

  “Yup.” Jeremy clapped Baers on the back as he walked by. “See ya tomorrow night, big fella.” He hurried down the hall to the door. True to form, Baers barreled out of the breakroom, bellowing a string of oaths, and disappeared down the hall to the captain’s office. The door slam echoed down the hall. He swore Baers made the cinder blocks shake.

  Jeremy slipped outside. He reached for his pack and shook out a cigarette. The lighter made its customary scratch as he opened it and lit the tobacco. He needed the reinforcement before he told Sarah the news. Just when he thought things were going to be better, enter the politicians. Barely enough brain cells among the lot to create an amoeba.

  Jeremy puffed on his cigarette as his walked to his Ford F-250. He climbed in and sat back, intent on finishing at least one cigarette before heading home. He gazed out at the lights of downtown. Such a small town and yet so close to the big city that they were beginning to see their share of urban crime. Jeremy snarled and took another drag on his cigarette. He needed to stop thinking about work.

  A few cars zipped by. Teenagers joyriding the downtown lanes on a balmy March night. Jeremy smiled as he watched them. He remembered doing that with Sarah. Once he graduated school and the police academy, he found himself the one chasing after those teenagers.

  His brother was one of them. Seventeen and a license to drive, especially a Mustang Fastback, was a bad combination. David always upped the ante on everything.

  He took the last drag from his cigarette and snuffed the butt out in the ashtray. Boy, was Sarah going to be surprised . . . or angered . . . or both. Chief Johnson had better stay out of her hair for the next few days. Or better yet, that pansy mayor of theirs.

  The phone beside him belted out Styx’s Babe.

  “Hey, babe. I was just thinking about you.” Jeremy pulled his truck ont
o the street.

  “Really? About what?”

  “About who you would like to roast over a pit. The chief or the mayor?” He flipped his blinker on and took the left turn onto the main strip of town.

  “Bad news?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I’ve got news for you too. But you first.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Nah. Better to tell you in person.”

  “I see.”

  Pots rattled and clanged. She was preparing supper, and he was hungry. “Look. I’m actually on my way home. I got the rest of the night off.”

  “How’d you get that?”

  “Chief decided I needed to work tomorrow instead.” He stopped at the red light and waited. “I’ll be there in about five.”

  “Okay. See ya when you get here. Love you.”

  “Love you too, babe.” Jeremy closed his phone. No sooner had he set it down than it played Mozart’s Fifth. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Nothing really. We’re having Sunday dinner tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”

  Jeremy groaned. The light turned green, and he drove straight. “I didn’t forget. But I’ve been moved back to mid shift. Starting tomorrow night.”

  “Oh.” He pictured his mom slumped in disappointment. “I was so hoping you could come.”

  “Look, if I got the time, I’ll swing by. But I probably won’t be able to stay long.”

  Her voice was chipper when she spoke. “Wonderful. There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  Jeremy pulled into his subdivision. “What’s that?”

  “David’s home.”

  He swerved to miss the neighbor’s mailbox. “Home? I didn’t think he was coming until next week.”

  “He came early.”

  “Why?” Jeremy pulled into his drive and stopped in front of the garage. His small brick home that sat farther back from the street than the others loomed before him.

  “Why? Because he did.” He could hear muffled laughter in the background.