Deception Creek

by Persun, Terry

  Alice coughed and put her hand over her eyes. Then she turned and said, “Thank you,” very quietly and went back into her room.

  Billy put his dirty glass in the sink. He went back to bed as well. The few hours left before morning he spent alternately wide-eyed and dozing. When morning finally came, he dragged himself out of bed and got ready for work.

  * * *

  Young Alice believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-after. Her prince would come to save her. One kiss and she would awake to a new world.

  So far there had been only promises, not said necessarily, but implied. He was quiet, the shyness of a true prince. She knew they could face the world together. She recognized the brush of fairy wings over her neck and shoulders whenever they were together. “Their love was magical,” she had written in the old spiral notebook she used as a diary.

  The butternut tree shaded her eyes from much of the sun’s glare, so she could watch the rise leading to the road. Her heart raced and her face became hot.

  She began to hum a song she had been hearing a lot lately. What were the words? It was a love song. The last time she heard it was that morning, but her excitement had wiped the words clean, only the slow melody remained, the essence of the song. She tried to make words up, but nothing fit. She became frustrated and quit. She stuck with humming. She swayed with the tune, moving her hips and head. She even closed her eyes for a moment, the sound of water behind her.

  “Waiting, waiting, waiting,” she said aloud, as though that would shorten the time she had to wait. She hummed louder and danced a little, hoping he would come upon her and secretly watch her dance.

  Alice rolled up her shirt to let her midriff cool. She imagined him standing still behind a tree, getting excited about being with her, noticing her smooth skin and fluid movements. She exaggerated her dance. She rolled her hips seductively, and pulled her arms together to push her breasts up and out.

  She danced in ways that would be impossible for her to do if he had asked her to. She couldn’t do it if she knew he watched. Yet she suspected he watched now. Then the truth was she couldn’t dance so seductively if he knew that she knew he watched. A complexity of personality, she thought, was the downfall of most humans. Why, after all, should he or she care who watched and who knew, as long as they both enjoyed it?

  She had dressed that morning for him, primped, even wore her best bra and panties, knowing his eyes would hardly get to glance at them. He would look into her eyes the whole time they made love, penetrating her soul and her body simultaneously. She could feel it.

  Chapter 5

  For the rest of his first week on the job and part of the next week, Billy didn’t talk with Jack. As if in exchange for the lack of contact, his dream about Jack grew to larger proportions. Other incidents plagued him as well. Why did Alice insist that Harry keep Billy and Jack separated? What did the man and woman at the bakery know? He grew to doubt Scott as well. Like any other engineering problem, Billy imagined that if he worked on it, he could find the formula needed to solve the mystery. Even at that, the whole situation ate at him.

  “You been pretty quiet over there,” Mel said from his position several feet to Billy’s right. They were nearing the end of the first portion of their repair job.

  “I was thinking, again, about Mom. Trying to figure out how Jack fits into the picture.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Mel said, “if you keep on thinkin’ about the problem, the big mystery might just unravel and come rushin’ in on you faster ‘n you can handle it. What’s on your mind soon gets into your life.” Mel nodded his head, agreeing fervently with his own statement.

  “You’re something, Mel.”

  “Mark ‘em,” he said. “Do it. Mark ‘em down in your school notebook. Those is words to remember.”

  Billy raised his hand into the air. “I’m a believer. Maybe I should wait here with a big old catcher’s mitt.”

  Mel chuckled. “I can picture that.”

  The noon whistle at the fire station across town blew. Billy wiped his trowel across the flat and climbed down from the scaffolding. Mel followed.

  “Bring your lunch today?” Mel asked, his way of inviting Billy along.

  “Yeah. I’ve got to save up for school.” Billy said.

  “If you change your mind, we’ll be down the street eatin’.”

  “Thanks. At the diner, right?”

  Mel nodded and walked off.

  Billy looked back at their work, which was coming along nicely. Mel had continued to teach Billy the right way to brick up the wall. Billy raised his eyes toward the sky and noticed Jack standing at the very edge of the second tier roof. The safety harness strap hung loosely along Jack’s leg. His head was turned toward the sky as though he were watching something. Clouds perhaps, because they moved and shifted quickly overhead. Strong winds, high in the atmosphere, pulled and pushed at the clouds, shaping and reshaping them. Billy wondered if Jack was making images out of the cloud formations. Then, slowly, Jack turned, looked down at Billy and waved.

  Billy returned the gesture, lowered his head, and began to walk back to his truck. When he arrived, Jack stood next to the cab. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk,” Billy said, wondering how Jack had gotten there so quickly.

  Jack cocked his head in confusion. “You want me to leave?”

  “No, but tell me something. How is it you speak so well? Not like these other guys.”

  “Pretty blunt question,” Jack said.

  “Sorry. But it just crossed my mind. It’s like you don’t quite fit.” Billy stepped closer to Jack and motioned toward the truck cab. “My lunch,” he said.

  Jack grabbed the handle and opened the door so Billy could reach in for his lunch.

  “Didn’t mean to insult you,” Billy said.

  Jack shook his head. “No. You didn’t. No need to be concerned.” He closed the door and followed Billy to the tailgate, where they sat together. “I finished college while in prison.” Jack said. “Answer your question?”

  “Sure.” Billy shrugged. “So why you working here?”

  Jack laughed. “I’m an ex-con with a Masters in Business. Don’t you think an employer would be afraid to hire me? I have the knowledge to rob him blind, and the inclination to do so. At least that’s what most might assume.”

  Billy shook his head. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Oh, I’m right,” Jack said.

  “What about your friend? At the bakery?” Billy suggested.

  “Todd can hardly keep his head above water. I feel guilty when he gives me free coffee. So I tip heavily.” Jack grew quiet and seemed uncomfortable. He took a long drink from his water jar. “I thought I had paid my debt and that things would be different when I got out. Instead I’m treated worse. No one really trusts me. So I question my own trustworthiness.”

  A while passed. Billy’s thoughts wandered until they stopped dead at his dream. “You knew my father.”

  “Yes, I did. If that was a question.” Jack finished his water and wrapped the jar in his bag.

  “Do you know about the car accident?” Billy asked.

  “Is that what Alice told you? A car accident?”

  “Ah, well, I don’t know what happened. Not really. She doesn’t like to think about it, so I don’t force the issue.”

  Jack shook his head. “No. I can’t discuss it then. Talk to Alice. She should be the one to explain things. But if she doesn’t choose to, it’s still not up to me. At least that’s how I feel right now.”

  Billy looked at his watch. “Lunch is almost over.”

  “Tell me,” Jack’s voice trembled, “how do your grandparents treat you?”

  “Fine,” Billy said. “Too well, sometimes.”

  “How do you mean that?”

  “Well, maybe they don’t treat me too well.” Billy paused. “Maybe Mom expects too much from them.” He thought again. “Come to think of it, Mom expects a lot, but they deliver, too.”

  “
Well,” Jack interrupted, “which is it? You’ve gone back and forth now several times.”

  “You see, Mom, in my opinion, takes advantage of them. Nobody knows this, but Grandpa Maynard pays her — well, our — mortgage. He sold me the truck, but only when I insisted on paying him. Even then, he sold the thing at half its worth. Mom was pissed that I paid for the truck at all.” Billy scratched his palm and then folded his hands. “There’s this tension between them. Mom takes advantage and they seem to hate her for it. Grandpa tries to hide his feelings by being grossly civil, but I can tell how he feels. He goes overboard to embarrass Mom, make her feel guilty — which works by the way. Every month when Mom pays the household bills, I notice she gets pensive, then she gets angry at Grandpa, and at herself I suppose.”

  Billy stared into the distance.

  “Grandma, on the other hand, cares less and less about me. She used to fawn all over me. The older I get, the less interest she shows. Her hatred toward Mom shows through like an open sore though. I think she’s transferred some of those feelings to me. Know what I mean?” Billy said, looking up.

  Jack appeared to focus on Billy’s movements, his facial expressions.

  “I feel like I have to keep the truck because Grandpa was so generous, yet I’d love to trade it in for a car. I never haul anything but my friends anyhow. There’s not much room in the cab for a bunch of guys. As far as Grandma goes, I always feel like I did something wrong to her without knowing it.”

  “Sounds pretty rough growing up like that.” Jack put his hand on Billy’s shoulder.

  Billy jerked in surprise, but let Jack’s hand rest there. “I don’t know who to side with sometimes.”

  “Then don’t. Side with yourself.”

  “I wish we’d all get along like when I was little. Me and Grandpa were a lot closer then. I wonder sometimes if I’m not just a sad reminder of my dad. When I passed the age when he died, they lost touch with me a little, especially Grandma.” Billy scratched his head and fell quiet.

  Jack squeezed Billy’s shoulder. “I’d like to help. If you need someone to talk with, that is.”

  Billy felt uncomfortable under Jack’s grip, so he shifted and shrugged the hand off. “I’ve probably talked too much. I shouldn’t have.” He jumped down from the tailgate. “Just forget I said anything. I was just going off. Things aren’t that bad. I was just in the wrong mood.” Billy turned and hurried off, practically running toward the back of the church.

  That evening, Billy stopped at London’s Store on his way home. He and Vicki had been sparring off and on for several weeks, and he had decided to ask her out. Not on a real date though, only as a friend. There was a lot on his mind and he needed someone to talk with. He pulled the truck up to the pumps to fill up, giving himself a reason to be there. When he walked inside to pay, the only person who seemed to be working was Mrs. London. She was much younger looking than Billy remembered, which drove home how young Vicki was. He felt a little guilty all of a sudden. Still, he asked, “Where’s Vicki?”

  “Well, I don’t think I’m who you were hoping to see,” said Mrs. London. “You probably weren’t interested in gas either,” she added, noticing how little he had pumped.

  Billy walked to the counter slowly. “I just thought, well –”

  “No need to explain,” she said smiling. “Vicki hasn’t stopped talking about you since you got back into town.”

  “She hasn’t?”

  “No. So don’t feel bad. She’ll be glad to hear there’s at least some mutual interest.”

  “I wasn’t sure… I mean… I’m in college, and –”

  “Your age. Goodness, what are you, all of twenty, twenty-one? Vicki’ll be eighteen. I think a difference of three or four years in age is pretty harmless.” She smiled again and patted the counter. “Four-fifty.”

  Billy pulled out his wallet and handed her a five.

  She rang up and gave him change. “Vicki won’t be back until Monday. She and some friends are camping this weekend. If I hear from her, I’ll let her know you asked about her.”

  “Thanks,” Billy said. “And thank you for talking with me.” He smiled. “You’re great.”

  Outside, Billy contemplated going back to ask where Vicki and her friends were camping, then reconsidered.

  He drove home in frustration, jumped from the truck, and walked into the house announcing that he wasn’t staying. He didn’t know where he was going but the way he felt he couldn’t stay home.

  Alice had nothing cooking. She sat in the kitchen staring toward the sink. Her shoulders were rounded and her head down. She acted as though she hadn’t heard him come in.

  “What’s up?” Billy asked, pausing in the doorway.

  “You were talking with Jack,” Alice said to the sink.

  “So what?” Billy said, sick of her.

  “What did he tell you? Lies, I’m sure.” She turned around. “Nothing he tells you is the truth. Do you hear me?”

  “He didn’t say anything. You’re the one making a big deal out of this.”

  “Liar!” she screamed. “You talked all through lunch. And he said nothing?”

  Billy felt his chest get thick. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose. Calmly, he said, “Don’t call me a liar. Of all things, that is not what I am.”

  “But he must have said something.” Alice broke down, crying into her hands.

  “I asked him.” Billy stepped forward. “But, like everyone else, he refused to talk about what happened back then. He told me to ask you. Well, here I am. What’s the big fucking secret?” Even before the word left his mouth he felt sorry. He had never sworn in front of her, seldom in front of friends. But the word came out on its own.

  Alice jumped up from her seat. The chair tipped back onto the floor making a loud crack against the tile. “Don’t you swear at me. I’ve given my life to you. My whole life. And you swear at me? How dare you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Billy said. “I didn’t mean it.” She appeared taller once she saw him backing off. He had put her in control once again.

  In a moment of clarity, Billy’s consciousness pulled outside himself to watch his interplay with Alice. The change in focus calmed him. “It’s not that easy this time, Mom.”

  She stared, eyes wide, teeth set.

  “I want to know what’s going on.”

  “No.” A smirk came over her lips. “It’s none of your business.”

  “He was my father. I have a right to know.”

  “Your father,” she scoffed. “It has nothing to do with him.” She looked away. “He didn’t raise you. He didn’t give up everything.”

  “His life,” Billy said. Then, knowing he would never get through to Alice, Billy turned and headed for the front door. The living room looked darker, dingier, than ever. The house was unkempt, uncared for.

  “You come back here.” Alice yelled, but he was out the door and in the truck.

  He didn’t know where to go, so he headed toward Scott’s house. After a while, the sign for Shannon appeared. Fifty-two miles. Through the mountains, it would take nearly two hours. How long would the library be open, he wondered? He forced his foot on the gas pedal. He could make it in an hour and a half. There was a good chance the Shannon Library would be open until nine in the summer.

  At the top of the ridge he pulled over to take a quick look into the valley. He took off again, driving faster. He made Shannon in an hour and forty minutes.

  The library was located on Fourth Street. Billy went straight to periodicals and asked for three years of back editions to the local papers, all three pivoting on a time twenty-two years previous. By the time the attendant located the microfiche, only fifteen minutes remained before closing. The young man — probably of high-school age — apologized for having difficulty locating the material.

  Billy focused on frontpage news only, trying to rush through the weeks as quickly as possible. The boy told him it was time to close up just as Billy read “Football st
ar killed near Pine Creek.”

  “I need to stay,” Billy said. The date on the paper was eight and a half months before his birth.

  “I’m sorry,” the boy said shyly.

  An older woman stepped up behind the boy. Her arms were crossed. “We’re closing.”

  “Can I get a copy of this to read?” Billy asked.

  “Not tonight,” the woman said.

  Billy wasn’t about to argue. He didn’t want to wait until later to read the paper. Before removing the film from the machine, Billy scanned the article quickly, but saw little he could make out under such conditions. “I’ll be back after work tomorrow,” he said. “We close at four on Saturdays,” the woman said. “Nine on Thursday and Friday.”

  Outside the old stone building, the wind had picked up. Clouds filled the sky. Leaves and paper, street garbage, shuffled noisily along the sidewalk. The leaves on the trees were turning up before rain.

  Billy walked to his truck in the side lot. He sat quietly and watched about seven other library customers exit the parking lot. A young couple left the library hand in hand. What a date, Billy thought. How utterly adult and real. He was touched. Had he ever gone to the library for a date? He couldn’t remember doing so.

  After the lot emptied, the employees came out in one group. There were only the three of them. The older woman stared at Billy as she passed. He started the truck and pulled out of the lot. What did she think he was going to do? Break in and steal a look at a twenty-some-year-old newspaper?

  He rolled down the window and let in the crisp air. He drove around town, trying to decide where to go next. He had no clothes with him, but he’d rather wear what he had on a second day than go home. Eventually, he stopped at an all-night diner for coffee-to-go, surprised at the number of people there. Back in his truck, he headed towards Wyoming, this time driving more slowly through the sharp turns of the mountain road.

  When rain began to fall soon after he entered the darkness of the forest, Billy was forced to roll up his window and turn the fan on to keep airflow inside the cab. Still, the humidity rose and he began to sweat. Then the rain fell harder, thunder roared and shook the truck, lightning struck all around him. He had to pull over.