Lightwood

by Steph Post

  Sherwood slammed his wide palm down on the table, rattling the silverware on his empty plate.

  “At some point, Judah, you gotta get your panties out of a wad and get over it. We all take our turn in the barrel. Levi did time twice before you. But you stood up, you took it like a man, and now you need to move on and get over it like a man. That’s what the Cannons do. And so that’s what you’re gonna do.”

  Judah grunted and lit his cigarette. He blew a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth and thought about it. Did he take it like a man? What did that even mean? If it meant keeping his mouth shut in front of the judge when she asked him who else had been involved in the stupid smash and grab, well, then yeah, Judah guessed he took it like man. He was the one who had gotten caught in the police headlights; he was the one who got thrown in the back of the cruiser. So he’d clenched his teeth, stood tall and refused to point the finger at anyone but himself. And he had wished to God that he’d never answered his phone that night and thought that working with his family again would be a good idea.

  The play had been simple enough, tantalizingly simple, and difficult to pass up. Especially since Cassie and Stella were living back at his place once again and he knew he needed the cash to keep them there. The pharmacy they planned to rob was in Colston, which made Judah uncomfortable, but it was exactly the reason, Levi had explained over the phone, that Judah had to drive. Not only could he out run any cop once he got going, he would know the best routes to take, the best way to navigate the back roads if needed and so on. The first part was true, the rest bullshit, but like Sherwood, Levi always felt the need to try and manipulate the situation even when there was no need for it.

  A clerk at the My Family Pharmacy on the corner of 5th and Wheeler, who owed Sherwood a loan debt, had come up with the plan. He agreed to make sure that the security cameras were switched off, the alarm system down and the back door unlocked in exchange for being cleared with the Cannon family. All Sherwood and Levi needed to do was stroll right in after closing and clear the shelves of bottles that would fetch three thousand dollars a pop on the street. The whole score could top a hundred thousand easy and the clerk wasn’t even taking a cut. Judah didn’t have to get out of the car, just drive Sherwood and Levi there, be on the lookout from the front seat of the Oldsmobile, and then drive away with enough dough to keep Cassie happy for a little while longer.

  It had been a sure thing, the type of robbery his family excelled at: using intimidation to coerce dumb people into helping them make an easy score. There seemed to be almost no risk or danger involved. Unfortunately, as also happened often with the Cannon family, luck was not dancing with them that night and the police had rolled up right after Levi and Sherwood had dropped a bag of pills in the back seat of Judah’s car and run back into the store for a last look around. Judah had managed to lay on the horn before being dragged out of the driver’s seat, and so Sherwood and Levi were able to take off through the woods behind the pharmacy without getting caught. That left a tight-lipped Judah with a car load of stolen prescription drugs. His only saving grace was that he hadn’t actually entered the store or touched any of the bottles. He was only the getaway driver, after all, and so the most the judge had been able to pin on him was grand larceny and obstruction of justice.

  A plate of bacon, toast and eggs slapped down in front of Judah, but the waitress stalked off before Judah could ask for more coffee. He started to call after her, but decided it wasn’t worth it. He didn’t plan on spending any more time at the Mr. Omelet than he had to. He began to shovel runny eggs into his mouth, sopping up the yellow goo with soggy toast, and hoped that Sherwood would hurry up and get to the point.

  “Guess you finally come to terms with the fact that the kid ain’t yours.”

  Judah felt a quick stab in his chest, but tried to ward it off by chewing faster. He answered with his mouth full.

  “Cassie says she ain’t.”

  Sherwood laughed and blew his nose into a paper napkin.

  “Hell, son. We all coulda told you that just from laying eyes on the girl.”

  Judah reached for the salt without taking his eyes off his food.

  “Shut up.”

  Sherwood crumpled the napkin and tossed it onto the pile of cigarette butts accumulating on the dirty plate in front of him.

  “I ain’t trying to rile you up. I ain’t. But we all knew that woman you wasted so much time on couldn’t keep her legs closed to save her life and that whole situation she had you spun up in was just a piece of work. I’m glad you wised up and decided to come home.”

  Judah gnawed on a piece of limp bacon.

  “I’m not sure there was any decision involved. I just didn’t have no place else to go.”

  Judah heard a phone vibrating and Sherwood began patting around in his pockets.

  “Well, you’re here now and I hope you’re ready to be back in the game.”

  Judah swallowed the last of his breakfast and eyed his father.

  “I’m not sure about that, either.”

  But Sherwood held up a finger to silence Judah as he flipped open his phone and answered it. He didn’t say hello, didn’t say anything, but only grunted and nodded to himself. Judah wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand and drained the last of the cold coffee. He shoved the plate to the center of the table and made to slide out of the booth. Sherwood caught his wrist and flipped the cellphone shut before Judah could stand up.

  “Sit down, boy.”

  He bristled and tried to wrench his wrist away, but Sherwood wasn’t letting go.

  “Now you listen to me, son. You think you’re so tough now? You think you’re so big and bad cause you survived a couple of years in the pen? Bullshit.”

  Sherwood released Judah and banged his fist down on the table again. Judah raised his chin defiantly.

  “I don’t think nothing. I just want to go my own way and live my own life.”

  Sherwood burst out laughing.

  “What life? What’ve you got? You got no money, you got no job, and in case you forgot, you’re a felon now. Jobs are scarce enough round here as it is and now you got a record. Who the hell is gonna hire you, huh?”

  Judah lowered his eyes.

  “I can manage.”

  “And where you gonna live? You gonna keep crashing with Leroy’s girl? Maybe sponge off her for a while?”

  Judah balled his hands into fists on the edge of the table, but kept his eyes down.

  “You leave her outta this.”

  Sherwood laughed again, enjoying himself.

  “And let me tell you, I know women and I don’t think that one’s looking for a man to support.”

  Judah looked up and met his father’s eyes.

  “I said to leave her outta this.”

  “Even if she did let your sorry ass stay with her, what’ve you got to offer? No job, no money, no skills, no way to make a future. In short, you got nothing. Without family, you got nothing. But with family, you got everything. You best remember that, son.”

  The grin on Sherwood’s face had been swept away by a dangerous scowl. Judah knew what that look meant and knew that he was slowly being backed into a familiar corner. His face was burning, from fury and from shame, but he couldn’t think of a rebuttal to his father’s assertions. They hit too close to the mark to be argued with. Sherwood reached for a manila envelope on the booth seat beside him and slapped it on the table. Judah eyed it like a snake.

  “What’s that?”

  The booth shook as Sherwood heaved himself up and stood in the aisle next to the table, brushing toast crumbs from the front of his shirt.

  “Phone, keys, cash. The car’s with Benji.”

  Sherwood peeled a twenty dollar bill from the money clip in his back pocket and tossed it onto the pile of shredded napkin and crushed cigarettes.

  “Keep that phone on you. I’ll call you when I need you. And don’t go getting no crazy ideas about not answering.”

  Sherwood gripp
ed Judah’s shoulder as he passed by him. Judah remained sitting in the booth alone, staring at the envelope, until the waitress finally came and cleared away the table.

  SISTER TULAH cocked one of her round hips out so that she could lean against the waist high marquee outside the church. The black plastic letters were warped and peeling, but the message was straight and clear:

  Last Steps of Deliverance Church of God

  Pastor Tulah Atwell

  “Stir the Fire!”

  After the final soul saving Tulah had retreated to the office to carefully re-pin her hair. She had made sure the lapels of her lacy collar were straight and even before walking out the back door and coming around the church to assume her place by the marquee. The blazing sunlight had finally abated, but some light still leaked its way out through the heavy, building cloud cover and the heat had become smothering. She rested her hand on the top of the marquee and nodded to Felton, waiting by the church doors.

  Brother Felton, bovine and complacent now that the service was over, yanked the heavy double doors open and took his place at the head of the line. He led the procession slowly, so the followers wouldn’t get the idea to bolt to their cars. One man gave the minivan keys to his daughter and pointed across the parking lot, but his wife quickly snatched them away. No matter how hot, how tired, how hungry, how desperate for air conditioning and a bathroom, the day wasn’t really over until one had said goodbye and thanked the preacher. That’s how things were done and everybody knew there were no exceptions at the Last Steps of Deliverance. Brother Felton took his place beside Sister Tulah and clasped his hands in front of him. The line moved slowly.

  “Thank you for coming, Brother Henry.”

  Sister Tulah shook hands.

  “Thank you for letting God into your heart today, Sister Regina. And for allowing His mercy to open your eyes to the light and guide you in your contribution. Bless you.”

  Sister Tulah made a point of touching and addressing every member of her congregation as they filed past her. A few stopped to exchange words with her, to remark on God’s glorious gifts or the power of the Holy Spirit, but most merely murmured an exhausted word of gratitude and slipped past her as quickly as they could. Brother Jacob and his wife kept their faces down and their eyes on the cement walkway as they hurried past, but Sister Tulah’s hand found Jacob’s wrist and held him fast. He had no choice but to stop.

  “Brother Jacob.”

  The man stood before her, his red-rimmed eyes still cast down at his scuffed, steel toed work boots. Tulah did not let go.

  “Brother Jacob, look at me.”

  The man raised his balding head and looked into Sister Tulah’s eyes. His hands were trembling.

  “Brother Jacob, I wanted to thank you for finally seeing the light of God and letting Jesus into your heart. I look around and I see the sweat, I see the tears drying on the small faces of the little children and I know that it was worth every merciful moment that it took to help you discover the error of your ways and open yourself to the true mission of God and His church.”

  Jacob parted his cracked lips and began to mumble.

  “My heart has always been with God…”

  Sister Tulah gripped him tighter.

  “Now, Brother Jacob. If you want to start with those false declarations again, we can go back inside.”

  She raised her voice and a few of the escaping families jerked their heads around.

  “We might need to go back inside the house of the Lord right now and revisit what I had previously believed to be your moment of grace. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps I have been deceived. Is this the case, Brother Jacob?”

  “No, Sister Tulah.”

  The receding families gratefully turned back toward the parking lot.

  “Very good, Brother Jacob. I will send one of the elders over to Landy Park to collect your donation this afternoon.”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Yes, Sister Tulah.”

  “Have a blessed day, Brother Jacob. And you, Sister Diane.”

  They both bowed their heads and quickly walked away. The rest of the followers trickled past and Sister Tulah made sure to lay her hand on every member. When the walkway had cleared and only a few cars remained in the lot, Sister Tulah finally turned to her nephew and pursed her lips.

  “You seem out of sorts this afternoon, Felton.”

  Brother Felton pulled his twisted handkerchief out of his pocket and snapped it back and forth between his hands.

  “It’s the heat.”

  Tulah pushed herself away from the marquee and began to walk back to the church. Felton followed at her side.

  “You’ve been saying that all day.”

  “Did I mention what the paper said about the heat index? Highest so far this year, or something like that.”

  Tulah was silent, slowly putting one foot in front of the other.

  “And, you’ve got to admit, it was a long one today. Who would have thought that it would have taken that long for everyone to find salvation? That Brother Jacob, whew, he really held out until the end. I mean, he must have some real troubles weighing on his mind for him to keep his heart so stubbornly closed like that.”

  Sister Tulah nodded.

  “I wonder if he is the only member of our flock who has such troubles weighing on his mind.”

  Sister Tulah stopped at the open doors of the church and looked into the stifling darkness of its interior. The smell of dried sweat and urine was overpowering. Felton waited on the steps beneath her while she reached for and pulled the heavy wooden doors closed. When she finally turned back around, her pale pink mouth was drawn in an ugly line. She stayed standing above him.

  “I am not so worried about the troubles of the congregation right now, as I am worried about the troubles of my own blood.”

  Felton looked up.

  “Pardon?”

  “Is there something you would like to share with me, Brother Felton?”

  Judah pressed the sweating can of Budweiser to his forehead and listened to the rattle of Ramey’s refrigerator. Since Judah had deposited a twelve pack on its bottom shelf, the fridge now contained just slightly more than nothing. He sat at the cramped table wedged into the tiny kitchen and watched the afternoon light slowly change from day to dusk through the square window over the kitchen sink. The window faced west and as Judah sat at the table and nursed his beers, the room became filled with a ghostly orange light that reflected off the dark wood cabinets and peeling linoleum floor. It was a lonely place and even though there was evidence that Ramey lived there - a photograph of her and her sister on the refrigerator, a free calendar from the Humane Society pinned open to the month before, cardboard salt and pepper shakers on the counter - a transitory feel pervaded the place. It didn’t feel like a home. And, Judah supposed, it wasn’t meant to be one. In a way, Ramey was even more lost than he was.

  He had been in prison only three months when he heard the news of the wreck down in Silas. A red Jeep, doing sixty in the rain along Blind Pass had flipped, rolled and smashed into a telephone pole, killing the driver instantly. Judah had heard the story from an inmate whose wife had known the passenger in the Jeep and kept harping on the fact that the girl had been pregnant and lost the baby and wasn’t that just the worst thing in the world anybody could imagine? The inmate had rolled his eyes when he related the story and Judah had agreed that there were a lot worse things in the world than never being born. He hadn’t thought too much of the story until a week later when he received a newspaper clipping in the mail from his Aunt Imogene, Sherwood’s sister. It retold the story of the crash in all its dramatic and gory detail, and also the tragic tale of the young, unmarried couple who had been in love and expecting their first child. There was no note to accompany the clipping, but his aunt had circle the last paragraph of the article several times in red pen. It assured the reader that though the woman had lost the child, her own life had been spared. There were two photographs set into the article.
One of them was Ramey’s senior picture from high school.

  Judah stood up and retrieved another can of beer from the refrigerator. It wasn’t very cold and he pressed his hand to the side of the fridge to feel the tepid temperature. Maybe there was a reason it was empty. He leaned over the sink and cracked the beer, watching a feral cat stalk its way across the overgrown lot next door. Its bony shoulders hunched up through its matted gray coat with every step and its scabby tail flickered up though the weeds. Judah drained the beer and pitched the can into the sink. He slumped down at the table and picked up the prepaid cellphone Sherwood had given him. He flipped it open and closed a few times and then set it back down next to the Bronco key. Judah picked up the key and smiled to himself as he twisted it back and forth between his fingers.

  “Goddamn Benji.”

  He tossed the key on the table and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and then raked his fingers back through his hair. He was still as uncertain about where to go from here as he had been when Sherwood left him at the Mr. Omelet.

  Judah had walked across town from the diner to Cannon Salvage on the outskirts of Silas, just at the point where the speed limit changed from 30 to 55. Though he and his brothers had grown up outside the town limits, they had still caused plenty of havoc on Central Avenue whenever they could hitch a ride. Judah had walked past the drugstore they had shoplifted Icy Pops from every summer and the 7-Eleven that had been the staging ground for many a parking lot fight. The owner of the convenience store had been standing outside the glass front doors, smoking a cigarette as Judah cut between the gas pumps and scowled at him. It had been more than a decade since Judah had duked it out with anyone in the glow from the orange street light on the corner, but Mr. Winston still remembered him. And most likely still remembered the twelve-person brawl Judah had started his senior year of high school with the sore losers of the homecoming game. The owner had eyeballed Judah and then shaken his head in disgust. The Cannon boys, no matter how old, or how much time had passed since they had ground an adversary’s face into the broken asphalt, were still bad news. Judah hadn’t been able to keep the grin to himself as he lifted his arm in a wave.