ANNIE AND THE OUTLAW

by Sharon Sala

  Oh damn! She was in love with the guy, he thought.

  Davie recognized the signs. He should. He felt the same way about Charlotte. He looked at her, and then stared at the floor in front of his boots.

  Charlotte realized something was amiss and thought to give the two old friends some privacy.

  "I'll wait in the truck," she said. "Annie … it was great to be able to meet you. Come see me sometime."

  Annie nodded and waved, masking regret as the tiny blonde left. I would have liked her for a friend.

  Davie kept staring at Annie's sad expression. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what, or figure out a way to offer his help.

  "You sure you don't need anything else?" He walked across the room, closing the space between them in three easy steps and wrapped her into a warm, engulfing hug. "You better promise me that if you ever—and I mean ever—need anything, you'll let me know."

  Annie smiled past her tears. For a single moment she let herself imagine that it was Gabe who was holding her. That it was Gabe who was asking for promises. And then Davie turned her loose and stepped back as a cocky grin slid across his mouth. The feeling disappeared.

  "Oh, right! If I ever need baby-sitting, I'll call on you. I wasted half my sunny days keeping you out of mischief. I guess it's only fair that you have to reciprocate."

  A frown furrowed his forehead. "I'm not real sure what you just said I should do…" And then he grinned and poked her playfully on the shoulder. "But if it doesn't hurt my manhood—or my feelings—I'll do it."

  "'Reciprocate' means pay me back, you goof."

  He flushed. "Okay, just don't be using all those big fancy words on me. I never left Walnut Shade, you know."

  "But I would have sworn that before she died. Mother wrote and told me about you getting an athletic scholarship to Missouri State."

  "Well, I did, but it didn't work out," he muttered, then turned away.

  He stuffed his hand in his pocket as he searched for his truck keys, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. Annie couldn't imagine what she'd said that had made him so defensive.

  "I better be going," Davie said, yanking out the ring of keys he'd been looking for as he headed toward the door.

  A small white piece of folded paper fluttered to the floor behind him as he turned away. Annie bent down and picked it up. Tiny, unintelligible scribblings and a few, minute line drawings were written in neat, perpendicular order in three equally neat rows. She frowned. It looked like childish scribbles. It was probably nothing, but since he'd thought enough of it to keep it, the least she could do was return it.

  "Davie … you dropped this," she said, and held out the folded paper.

  He turned. "Oh, man, my list," he muttered. "If I'd lost that, Mom would have had a fit. I've got a good memory, but it's not that good." He grinned, took the paper from her outstretched hand and shoved it back inside the front pocket of his jeans.

  "Thanks, Annie. Be seeing you," he said, and missed the look of utter shock sweeping across her face.

  He climbed into his truck beside Charlotte and drove away, leaving Annie to stare in muddled confusion at his brake lights as he slowed to turn the corner.

  "List? There wasn't one single, legible word on that paper." But there was no one around to hear her, or argue with the truth of the statement

  She shrugged and walked back inside, certain that they'd just misunderstood each other. Davie hadn't looked, he'd just assumed that it was his list he'd dropped. The real list was probably safe, tucked away in another pocket. She smiled to herself, imagining him pulling out that paper and then trying to find a list of groceries amid that mess of hen scratching. He was going to be so mad at himself, she thought.

  She walked back toward the kitchen in search of something to still the grumbling reminder in her stomach that she hadn't eaten all day. Hunger was the least of her problems. But starving herself and adding another problem to the already insurmountable ones she was facing was out of the question.

  She opened the refrigerator and leaned down, saw a half-eaten meat loaf wrapped in plastic wrap, and caught her breath at the pain that knifed through her. It reminded her of the first meal she'd prepared for Gabriel.

  "Damn you, Gabe. Are memories of you going to haunt me for the rest of my life?"

  As soon as she said if she laughed. But it was a harsh, bitter laugh. The rest of her life. That was rich.

  She slammed the refrigerator door shut, her hunger forgotten in the loneliness that overwhelmed her. With a sigh, she retreated to the living room.

  She stood in the watching … listening. But there were no answers to her problems in there. Her gaze fell on the narrow bookcase, where she'd stacked her books from home. Without conscious thought, she walked over to it and then paused, looking at the second shelf from the top. Her fingers traced the spines, mentally cataloging the titles as she braced herself for what she was about to do. With a forefinger, she hooked the top of the book and pulled it toward her. It slid out of the tightly fitted stack like toast popping out of a toaster.

  "Okay," she muttered, as she headed for the sofa with it clutched against her chest. "If there are answers to be found, maybe you have one for me in here."

  In seconds she was stretched out on the couch, the book open before her at the place where she'd stopped last.

  Life After Death. She sighed, ignoring the burning sensation in the back of her throat where unshed tears hung at the ready, and began to read.

  Compulsion to understand the words made her grip the edge of the book so tightly that when it came time to turn the page, she couldn't. Her fingers were stuck to the paper.

  And as she read, she became lost in the images called up by the words swimming before her. Finally she slept, certain only that at some point and time in their lives, all mankind came to the same, inevitable end.

  * * *

  "Annie! I'm back!"

  She woke with a start. The book that she'd been reading slid off her stomach and onto the floor with a thump.

  "I'm in here," she called as Davie walked into the room alone.

  He walked to the couch and leaned over, dangling her prescription in front of her.

  Annie took the bag out of his hands. "Thank you."

  She tried unsuccessfully to sit up, and Davie held out a hand, pulling her to her feet in one smooth motion. As he did, his foot kicked the book that had fallen on the floor.

  He bent down and picked it up.

  Annie's stomach jerked, and a guarded expression crossed her face. She wasn't in the mood for explanations … or conversational detours. But she needn't have worried. Davie's actions were stiff and awkward as he slapped the book shut and held it out in front of him.

  "It won't bite," Annie muttered, and started toward the kitchen with her medicine. "Would you mind putting that book back on the shelf? Just poke it in anywhere you can find space." She waved her hand in the general direction of the book shelf, and didn't look back to see if he was following orders.

  Davie sighed as she walked out of the room, then looked long and hard at the book in his hand before heading toward the bookcase at the other end of the room.

  In less than a minute Annie was back. Her bare feet made little noise as she walked, and she entered the living room undetected. She opened her mouth and started to speak, but the words dangled unspoken on the tip of her tongue as she watched Davie's odd behavior.

  He was standing by the bookshelf. She couldn't see his face, but she saw what he was doing. And when she did, warning signals went off. She couldn't quite pinpoint the urgency of what she was feeling, but she watched, silently and intently, as Davie moved from book to book.

  Reverently he touched each book's spine with his forefinger, tracing the letters in the titles with the tip of his finger as a blind man read braille, as if trying to absorb what he read by touch alone.

  Annie shivered. Davie wasn't blind.

  She watched him studiously struggle with the
shape of each letter, tracing it over and over before going on to the next. It reminded her of something she'd seen before. Something in the classroom. Something one of her brighter students had done during her first year of teaching.

  What was it? Annie pondered. What am I trying to remember?

  And then Davie turned unexpectedly. The guilt—the shock … the overwhelming embarrassment on his face was the last clue to the memory she'd been trying to unearth. It was the same look of panic. The same guilt that her student, Varlie Hudson, had worn when Annie had realized what was wrong.

  Davie can't read!

  The knowledge came swiftly. She didn't even have to ask as she watched Davie turn away in sudden horror and quickly shove the book back on the shelf.

  "I'd better be getting home." he said. "Mom's ice cream will be starting to melt."

  "Davie…"

  Annie started toward him. He began backing to the front door, dodging chairs and grabbing at table lamps to keep them from tumbling to the floor as he tried to escape the certainty on her face.

  "You know how Mom is," he continued. "She likes crisp things crisp, and cold things cold. If I dawdle, she'll nag for a week."

  "Davie, don't," Annie said, and grabbed him just as he reached the screen door.

  He looked away, unable to face the question he knew she was going to ask.

  "You know that I'm your friend," she reminded him.

  He nodded, still unable to meet the look in her eyes.

  "You know that you can trust me."

  He sighed. "You don't let go, do you, Annie?"

  She didn't answer.

  He started to talk. It came out in bits and pieces, but she understood just the same.

  "I can remember anything," Davie said.

  Annie nodded and slipped her fingers across the massive muscle in his forearm. It jerked uncontrollably beneath her fingertips. She squeezed once for comfort as he continued.

  "I don't remember a time when I ever really understood them … the words, you know." He looked away in embarrassment as he explained. "And every time I asked a question, or stumbled over the sounds, the kids laughed and the teacher would get frustrated with me. I thought I was just stupid. I think so did my teacher."

  "Why did they keep promoting you to the next grade?" Annie asked.

  Davie smiled. But it wasn't a happy smile. It was full of pain and regret. "I don't know," he muttered. "Every year I was the biggest one in my class. It was hard being so damned big … and different I guess they just didn't want to fix someone else's mess and kept moving me up. But I got by."

  Tears puddled in Annie's eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? When we were kids together, why didn't you tell me, Davie? I would have helped."

  He shrugged. "By then it was too late."

  "How on earth have you managed? How did you get a job? How did you get a driver's license? Does anyone else know about…?"

  "Whoa," he said, and ran a hand through his curly blond hair in confusion. "First things first, teacher."

  Annie waited.

  "I can't get the good jobs," Davie admitted. "Luckily there's plenty of heavy-labor, part-time jobs around. Even some farming. You don't have to be able to read to plow or cut wood. And I can write my name real good."

  "Oh, Davie, I'm so sorry."

  He shrugged. "As for the driver's license…" He grinned, as if it were one of his more innovative stunts. "I walked into the office with a patch on my eye. Told them I'd hurt myself and needed an oral test. That I couldn't come back later because I was leaving town on a job. They read it to me. I only missed one question. After that, driving was easy. I know what the shapes of the traffic signs, mean. And I can drive as good as anyone. The rest was easy."

  Annie hugged him. Davie Henry had been running on guts for years. And then something occurred to her. Something so overwhelming she knew that the message had come from somewhere other than inside herself.

  "Davie … I could teach you to read."

  He stepped back, astounded by the thought.

  "I could," she persisted. And then she added, before he could object, "No one has to know a thing. We could do it here, in my house. Everyone would think you were just helping out with odd jobs."

  He swallowed harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times before he got out the words.

  "You would do that for me?"

  She nodded, her eyes filling with unexpected tears. "But I can't promise anything. All the work will have to come from you."

  "I'm a real hard worker," Davie said. "And I'm stubborn as hell."

  "I remember," she said.

  "I'll do it!" he cried, and hugged her, holding her in a near-frantic grip, as if he couldn't believe his luck or was afraid that she might disappear. "When can we start?"

  "Come back tomorrow," she said. "When I have time, I'll pick up some proper books, but for now, we'll start with what I learned on," she said, remembering the stacks of children's books that her mother had saved from her childhood.

  "What time?" Davie asked.

  "You decide," Annie answered. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." At least … I don't think so … not yet.

  "See you!" he shouted, and bounded out the door and off of the porch.

  Annie smiled and waved, then went back into the house. The weight in her heart was still there. After losing Gabe, that would never change. But a small part of the ache was gone, and she knew it was because now she had a purpose. She had a reason to get up each day. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she had a goal. Before it was too late … for herself and for Davie … she was going to teach him how to read.

  She headed toward the kitchen, yanked the half-eaten meat loaf out of the refrigerator and began slicing it to make a sandwich. Now she had a reason to keep up her strength.

  The night sounds around her home were becoming familiar. Annie had gone to bed just after sunset, weary beyond words at the emotional upheaval she'd been forced to face today.

  Losing Gabe had nearly killed her. Then she thought of Davie and his revelation and knew that it had come at just the right time to save her sanity. All she had to do was focus on Davie's problem, instead of the huge, aching hole Gabe's exodus had caused. Surely she could do that.

  But the tension of the day had been too much; Three hours into her sleep, she bolted awake. Heart pounding, sweat seeping from her body, hands shaking with dread at the onslaught of what was coming. And it was coming. She'd learned to recognize the signs.

  "My pills," she muttered, and stumbled as she rolled out of bed. The small table lamp clattered to the floor as she reached to turn on the light. A loud thud and then the tinkle of glass were enough to tell her that she would have to navigate the darkened room by. Instinct until she got to the light switch at the edge of the doorway.

  But on the second step, she fell, going down to the floor in unexpected pain as a shard of glass from the broken lamp pierced her foot.

  "Oh, no," she muttered, as the throbbing at the back of her head increased to blinding proportions.

  Carelessly brushing her hand over the bottom of her foot, she swiped at the area that was causing her pain. And as she did, she broke the glass off in her foot. Ignoring the pain and the trail of blood she was leaving behind her, she staggered toward the kitchen with single-minded intent. She had to get to her pills. She had to stop the pain before it stopped her—permanently.

  She didn't remember turning on the light in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water or holding the open cabinet door to steady herself before reaching inside to grasp the new bottle of pills that she'd placed there earlier in the day.

  The cap wouldn't budge. In that moment she hated the invention of the childproof cap with a vengeance. But she continued to struggle, convinced that unless she got the bottle open, this would be the end of her.

  Without warning, the cap came away in her hand, scattering tiny pills all over the countertop and at the floor near her feet. Without looking to see where th
e others had rolled, she grabbed the nearest pill, stuffing it shakily into her mouth. Excess water cascaded onto the front of her gown as she tilted the glass to wash the pill down..

  "Now … now…" she groaned as she clutched her head and staggered, swaying drunkenly as she tried to see through the pain-induced haze. Somewhere in front of her, she knew there was a doorway that would take her back to her bed.

  But she'd left it too late to move any farther. She went down in a heap near the table in the center of the room, her resting place the floor on which she'd left an assortment of pain pills, water and blood. For Annie, it was far enough. She rolled into a ball, closed her eyes and waited for the medicine to take effect, longing for the blessed relief she knew would come.

  * * *

  Gabe hurt. He ached from the inside out. Anger at fate and himself kept his foot heavy on the pedal while the Harley ate up the miles, widening the gap between himself and Annie.

  The sun beamed down on him in relentless persecution. The blowing dirt and wind stung his bare neck and chest as he rode. Once he thought about stopping and putting on a shirt beneath that black leather vest, and then he instantly nixed the idea. He deserved misery. He'd certainly left plenty behind.

  There was a crossroad ahead. He stopped to look both ways and flipped up the visor of his helmet, inhaling the hot, dry wind, relishing it over the stuffy air that he breathed behind the helmet. He frowned as a memory tried to surface. Something about this day was so familiar, and yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

  And then he grinned wryly to himself. It reminded him a little of that hot, dry day so long ago in the Kansas Territory when this had all begun—or ended, depending on the way one chose to view it.

  A girl drove by and waved, her smile and her wink nothing more than a reminder to Gabe of what he'd left behind. With an angry curse, he nipped the visor back down and accelerated across the intersection.

  Miles and hours passed. And with them came the growing certainty that leaving Annie had been the wrong thing to do.

  He knew the unspoken rules governing his time here on earth. He knew that to undo the wrongs of his past, he had to keep on the move. Personal happiness had to be of lesser importance in his life. Personal involvement had no part in what he had to do. And still his gut instinct told him to turn around.