Light the Hidden Things

by Don McQuinn

  She stopped to sip her wine and Crow asked her, "Richards pulled you back to Lupine to do advertising?"

  "You're being funny again. Pretty lame. No, Lupine came later. Long story short, I worked in advertising a few years. Moved to Atlanta. Mother never forgave me for taking off. I didn't find out Aunt Lila and Uncle Bake had passed away until Dad died - two years after them. I flew back to Seattle for the his funeral. My mother hardly spoke to me. More years passed. Then I got a phone call from the Pastor telling me she was gone."

  Crow watched reminiscence carry her elsewhere. He wanted her back. He said, "You can't stop there."

  Her smile was polite. "I hated my life. Losing my mother was awful, even if we weren't close anymore. I came back for the funeral. Being in Seattle again convinced me I had to do something different."

  "So the Pastor helped you?"

  "He saved me. How's that for melodrama? Truth, though. He told me I owned the store." She looked away.

  Can he see - can he imagine - how this conversation's gotten away from me? Yes, I wanted to talk, but I never meant to spin out my life story.

  What's he feeling? Interest? That lopsided grin; what's it mean?

  God, what if he's just bored?

  His eyes were endless. They spoke to her of too many hurts, too many wrecks. And unbreakable patience. When he spoke, his voice was soft, deeper. She heard a distant storm. "Richards told you?"

  She found resolve, continued. "My mother despised Aunt Lila's lifestyle. And Bake. They willed me their place, along with a small trust from their insurance. My mother never told me. Never left me anything, either. Funny, she thought I'd end up like Aunt Lila. And I will." She tossed her head. "Pastor Richards loaned me enough to start renovating. I've never gotten far enough ahead to pay back any. I can survive on the trust money, but that's it. He says because it's such a large loan we have to keep it a secret."

  Crow tried to ignore the weight of her emotion. "Even I can appreciate him helping someone like that. I think I could be a helper. I'd never be the one helped." He spread his hands. "No one knows where to find me."

  She leaned forward, fists on the edge of the table. “Why do you insist on being lonely?”

  “Lonely’s a foolish word.” The uninflected words still told Lila she’d over-stepped. As quickly as that, however, he was the one apologizing. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Lila stared past him, regretting taking their meeting in this unfortunate direction. Crow continued, “Look, we’ve had a pleasant evening. We shouldn’t wrangle over one word and spoil it.”

  She struggled to organize feelings. It didn’t seem to be happening, so she just blurted her thoughts. “You know, this evening’s been educational. I think I’m beginning to understand a bunch of things that I don’t even know what they are. And don’t tell me that’s the worst grammar or logic you ever heard, ‘cause I don’t care. What I’m trying to say is, you didn’t decide to be a loner. You are, for sure, and I’m sure you have your reasons. I’m not fooled, though. You’re a person who’ll help without being asked. A good person.”

  Settling back against his chair, Crow said, “I believe there was a compliment buried in there somewhere. I appreciate it.” The drawl turned the phrase into preciate it. He finished with, “What I can’t figure out is how you got so smart without getting old.”

  She sneered broadly. “I’m old enough to know bad flattery when I hear it.”

  “Well, I’m doing the best I can. I don’t get out much. No point practicing my smooth lines on Major. Dumb dog believes everything I tell him.”

  Lila seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Where’d you get that thing? He looks like he’d fight a crocodile.”

  “Major - His name’s Major. I guess you forgot. - would try to fight a river full of crocodiles if I told him to, or if he thought he needed to. He’d rather chase a ball. Or sleep. Folks get it all wrong. Ugly doesn’t make mean. Other way ‘round. Mean makes ugly.”

  “You didn’t say where you got him. Or when.”

  “Three years ago, up near Minneapolis. Man raised pit dogs.”

  Her full red lips compressed into the same hard line Crow remembered from earlier in the day. They hardly moved when she said, “I thought so.”

  “Whoa. Ease up. Major was just a pup. He wasn’t raised to fighting. The man who owned him came to understand he wasn’t, either.”

  “He sold you the dog? Major. Your dog named Major. Excuse me.”

  “He was sort of a gift.” A sudden smile spiked across Crow’s face. Lila’s wine stopped halfway to her mouth so abruptly she almost spilled. The suggestion of hidden danger about him was a warning jangle now. She told him, “The last time I saw anything like that smile it was ice forming. What happened in Minneapolis?”

  “You’d be bored. Tell me about Zasu. There’s a name that makes Major look way too everyday.”

  Frustration buzzed in her head like wasps. That wall again. Lila wanted to fight it and instinctively knew she couldn't. Part of her wished otherwise. She told him, “Zasu's a proud pound mutt. I went with a friend who wanted a kitten. The friend went home empty-handed but Zasu picked me.”

  “Good dog.” He grinned, then, “More flattery. But dogs know who needs them.”

  “People should be so lucky about needs.”

  It was an innocuous statement. The effect, though, was almost disastrous. The words fell to the table like a sputtering fuse.

  “How’s everything?” Martha’s words startled both of them so badly the older woman took a step backward. “What in the world did I interrupt?”

  Crow's look for her was flat, empty. Martha tried to erase her question from the air with a circular hand motion. “No. I didn’t say that. What I said was, ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’ There.”

  Lila answered. “We were both surprised, that’s all. We’re too stuffed with great food for good conversation. It’s your own fault.”

  Martha accepted that with a look that said she appreciated a gracious lie as well as anyone, then shifted her attention to Crow. His expression softened gradually. He was a different man when he said, “Nothing to interrupt, ma’am. We were just talking about dogs.”

  Martha said, “Mary Calhoun was telling me her boy leaned against your pickup and your dog sort of rose up out of nowhere and stared out the window at him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stared. Scared the boy spitless.”

  Crow protested. “You see a pickup with out of state plates and hear there’s a big dog in it and you decide it’s all mine.”

  “I deduce. Like Sherlock Holmes.” Martha struck a quick pose, then, “When Eddie - the Calhoun boy - said there was a Marine Corps decal in the window, I knew it had to be you. Neck as stiff as a railroad tie. You retired?”

  Another voice, familiar, said “Who’s retired?”

  Lila looked up to see Pastor Richards rejoining them.

  Martha said, “This gentleman, I believe. Marine Corps.”

  Before Crow could speak Lila interjected, “You were a Marine? You never said. I didn’t see any decal.”

  Crow told Lila, “It never came up. Decal’s on the rear window. Would have been hard for you to see.” Turning to Martha, he said, “Yes. Retired Marine.” Then it was the Pastor’s turn. Crow told him, “A few years ago.” Then he was back to Martha, “If there’s ever a Busybody Olympics, you’re a cinch for gold.”

  Martha said, “And put up with all that publicity? Pooh. For some of us, just knowing you’re the best is enough.”

  Pastor Richards said, “Sir, you don’t look old enough to be retired from anything, much less something as strenuous as military service.”

  “Lots of fresh air and exercise, Padre.”

  “I’m a pastor, sir, not a priest.”

  Crow said, “And I'm enlisted, not an officer. No sirs, please. Padre's an old habit. The men who taught me called our chaplains Padre. Sorry.”

  “You served your twenty?”

  “Pl
us two.”

  Lila said, “His name’s Carter Crow. He prefers to be called Crow.”

  Martha said, “Well, I’ve got to go scare more customers. I’m glad you enjoyed your dinner. Wasn’t it delicious? I don’t know how I do it, really.”

  The Pastor watched her go, chuckling, telling Crow, “The worst part of it is, she’s as good as she thinks she is. Hard to take sometimes.”

  Lila said, “And just when you think you can’t stand another minute of her, she does something so sweet you want to hug her to pieces.”

  Crow’s wince made it clear how he felt about that. Lila couldn’t resist grinning to make him know she’d caught him out.

  Pastor Richards spoke to Lila, serious now. “I ran into Van outside. That’s why I’m back. He said he dropped by Bake’s earlier. Told me you two talked. Lawton’s name came up. Van also said you’re still turning him down.” Richards shot a quick glance at Crow and added, “Van’s a contractor and developer. Wants Lila to sell him Bake’s old place.”

  Clasping the Pastor’s hand, she said, “You’re a friend. Lawton’s a... unpleasant.” She explained to Crow, “Edward Lawton’s the local banker. He thinks me and my restoration project are losers. I’m going around him, going to a different bank in the city.” She shifted in her chair, took back her hand. She said, “Crow’s interested in fishing. Any suggestions?”

  Richards clearly disapproved of being shunted off the original subject. Nevertheless, hope crept into his question for Crow. “Fly fisherman?”

  “I try. Mostly I just enjoy the experience. The fish usually win.”

  The Pastor beamed. “That’s me; I try. ‘Let us search and try our ways, and turn again unto the Lord.’ Lamentations. Almost too appropriate.”

  Lila said, “Don’t let him kid you. He knows every fish in the Fortymile and Lake Connolly.”

  The Pastor laughed. “I get one once in a while. The power of prayer, you know..”

  Crow said, “Uh-huh. Occasionally. Prayer. I admire the way you use the language, Padre, but I don’t think I’ll play poker with you.”

  The Pastor faced Lila and burlesqued shock. “You heard that? Poker? The man’s psychic. Uncovered both my major vices.” Turning back to Crow, he said, “If you’re willing to tag along with an old man I can show you some interesting water tomorrow.”

  Lila braced for Crow’s refusal, hoping it wouldn’t be too curt. He said, “That’s generous, Padre. I’ll take you up on it.”

  Lila goggled at him.

  Richards said, “Good. But promise to at least try to quit calling me Padre. It makes me wonder if my collar got turned around.”

  Crow said, “I’ll agree to anything to make a man show me his best fishing hole.”

  The picture of ecclesiastic innocence, the Pastor said, “The word ‘best’ was never uttered, son. Now, if you’ll be here tomorrow morning - say six-thirty - we can be on the river an hour later. How’s that sound?” He rose, sure of the response.

  “Looking forward to it - Pastor.”

  Nodding, the Pastor faced Lila once again. “I’ll say good night, then. Don’t let men like Lawton and Vanderkirk stampede you. Do what’s best for you, all right?”

  “I will.” For one sinking moment, Lisa was sure the burning behind her eyes meant tears. She forced them back.

  With Pastor Richards gone, she looked at Crow apologetically. “We shouldn’t have been talking about things that didn’t include you.”

  He winked. “You know how it tears me up to be left out.”

  She felt comfortable enough with him now to laugh at that.

  Crow insisted on paying for both meals, arguing that it had been a long time since he had dinner with an attractive woman and it would spoil the effect if he didn’t get to treat it like a date. In the end she agreed, feeling more squeamish about it than she was willing to admit. Worse than that, she had to secretly acknowledge a guilty pleasure in saving what dinner cost. She tried telling herself it was for a good cause.

  Outside, they didn’t head directly to their vehicles. Without a word, they walked together across Main street and into Lupine’s riverbank park. It was the crown of what the locals called Old Lupine, differentiating the area from the more modern area settled by the later arrivals.

  Built to distance the original townsite from the Fortymile’s spring rise, the park was threaded by gravel paths spotted with benches. Clipped grass carpeted grounds between maples, cedars, firs, and oaks grown stately over the years. The river was a long arc. Boulders littered the near-bank shallows. Some hid, only the roiling water above them revealing their presence. Others jutted high, tearing the surface in swirling rents Deeper water beyond the action gleamed a mysterious black. The sound of the whole was a droned story of distant beginnings and an even more distant end.

  Still unspeaking, Crow and Lila settled on one of the benches. They remained quiet for so long Lila wondered if Crow was too uncomfortable to break it. The more she thought about it, though, the more she convinced herself he was simply enjoying himself.

  As she was. She found herself thinking how long it had been since she felt so at ease. Still, there was a disturbing puzzlement that his presence was part of the reason. Surreptitiously, she turned her head just enough to study his profile against the moonlight. At that angle, in that light, it was even more uncompromising than she remembered.

  Only pain did that to people.

  What had hurt him so much he was required to deny it every waking minute?

  The little she'd said about herself relieved her. Not that she felt better, exactly. Lighter? That wasn't it.

  It was close.

  Close.

  The word carried shock. She felt close to him, as if he'd taken on some of her burden. He wasn't simply beside her on a park bench. He was at her side.

  Same words. Totally different meaning.

  He got to his feet so quickly she made a small involuntary sound of surprise. He was brusque. “I have to go. Major’s been cooped up a long time. He needs walked.” He hesitated. Lila waited, tensing. Finally, he resumed. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate you and your friends. You all are kind. You think I’m probably dealing with that post-traumatic stress business. I’m not. I have my dreams, sure. Like anyone. Anyone who lives with enough stress, it'll leave its mark, but you live through it. I’m exactly the way I want to be. Don't be thinking you’ve been sitting here next to a bomb, okay?”

  She put out a hand to shake his. He barely touched it. She said, “That makes us even. I was worried you were thinking you were sitting next to a basket case. I don’t understand you, but I was never afraid of that. I’ve got enough trouble trying to understand me.”

  He said, “We're ok then. Thanks for a fine evening. Things will work out for you. Keep fighting, hear? And tell Zasu there’s no hard feelings.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it was time for her to go, too. She wanted to stretch the moment, walk beside him to the other side of the street. She gestured toward the water, willing him to linger. She said, “I used to listen to this old river and imagine the bad things in my life falling in. The water’s so cold it made them too weak to escape. The current would carry them far, far away.”

  Crow didn’t move. Her voice took on a child’s wistfulness. “It used to work. Not so much anymore. Once you grow up, troubles always find their way back.” Embarrassment made her suddenly hearty. She reached for his hand again for a confiding squeeze. “Goodbye, Crow, you rambling man. You’re a better friend than you know.”

  * * * * *

  At his pickup, Crow looked at his hand before opening the door. For a ridiculous moment he wondered - if he tried hard enough - if he could feel a lingering trace of her warmth. His mind cast back over the day and he was staggered by how easily the old memories rushed in to blast away the small, new, pleasure of it.

  He pressed a fist against the window glass. Aloud, he said, “I’m not lonely. And what if I am, sometimes? It doesn’t bother
me.”

  He thought of Lila’s fantasy river that captured trouble and his smile was gentle.

  Major was having no gentle smiles or troubled minds. In a whirl of excitement, he was barking both welcome and indignation at being left for so long. Crow climbed behind the steering wheel, fending off enthusiasm. Rolling down the street, he massaged the dog’s thick neck, saying, “I almost messed up, buddy. You’ve got to do better at reminding me; today’s all that counts. No yesterdays, no tomorrows, remember? You and me, we live in an everlasting present. Never forget. Never let me forget.”

  Chapter 5

  Lila purposely didn’t watch Crow leave.

  She didn’t know why. Still, it took even more will to avoid turning when she heard the drum of his pickup's engine fill Front Street’s silence.

  He was merely an interlude, she told herself, a dinner partner by coincidence. There was companionship, though. Almost wary at times, it was oddly fulfilling. The fulfilling part made her uneasy. That was quickly banished by the awareness of two people finding tendrils of understanding, learning it was safe to sympathize, safe to laugh at foibles as well as jokes.

  Memory had almost lost the times she’d experienced something like that.

  Memory could be perverse, could forget good things and hoard pain.

  Closing her eyes, accepting the comfortable curve of the bench, she thought back to Aunt Lila. “We’ll always be here,” Aunt Lila had said, “because Bake and I love you.” The words were burned in Lila’s memory. So was the sadness in the older woman when she realized that always was another of the well-meant fantasies we impose on children. In the pinched silence that followed the impossible promise Lila grasped mortality for the first time. The only thing that kept her from crying was Aunt Lila’s consoling caress and still another wishful assurance. “Any time you want to come here we want you.”

  All these years later, Lila deplored the unaware child who’d missed the greater truth. Why hadn’t she had the wit to intuit the cancer already coursing through the older woman?