Just Another Maniac Monday

by Jennie Marts

  Her tone changed to one of snide condescension. “What could you possibly do to help me? You show up for two months in the summer and sashay around like you’re all Miss Downtown with your fancy polka-dotted two-piece swimsuit and blonde curls. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up here—to feel trapped by your own circumstances.”

  Edna knew all too well what that felt like. “I do understand. Donna, I want to be your friend.”

  “Why? You don’t even know me.” Donna brushed at the tears flowing freely down her face. “You’re leaving at the end of the summer and probably won’t ever look back. Just leave me alone.” She wrapped her arms around herself, a picture of despair as she sank into the corner of the restroom.

  Edna tried once more, reaching out, but the other girl batted her arm away. “I mean it. Just leave me alone.”

  “I’ll go get Weasel—I mean, Warren. I’ll be right back.” Edna backed out of the ladies’ room. She turned and scanned the crowd for the boy. Figuring he must still be outside, Edna ducked out the back door.

  She found herself in a dark alley between the buildings. Stepping over trash and cigarette butts, she called into the dark. “Weasel? Johnny?”

  The alley was quiet, and Edna took a tentative step forward. The silence was broken by the sharp crack of a wooden matchstick, and a round flame of light lit Weasel’s face as he held the match to a cigarette. “What are you doing back here? Come to see how the simple folk live?”

  Geez. Why did everyone seem to think she was better off than they were? If they only knew how many nights she had searched the kitchen for something to eat and found nothing but a half-empty jar of peanut butter and a stale loaf of bread.

  “I was looking for you. Donna’s not feeling well. I thought you might want to take her home.”

  “I’ll bet she’s not feeling well.” He took a step toward Edna and stumbled forward, reaching for her to steady himself. He looked down at Edna, and she could smell the liquor on his breath. “Did she tell you the happy news?”

  “Yes. Although you don’t seem particularly happy about it.”

  “What do I have to be happy about? I worked so hard to get into college. To have a chance to get out of this town. For what? To get my girl knocked up and move back here anyway.”

  “Maybe she could go with you, back to school. You can get your degree and move anywhere you like.”

  Weasel laughed, a hard, brittle sound. “The days of doing anything I like are over. You haven’t met Donna’s dad. I will be under his thumb for the rest of my life. I’m such an idiot.” His voice cracked, and he leaned into Edna, dropping his head to her shoulder.

  She folded him into her arms, half afraid he might start to cry. She could hear the desperation in his voice, and she rubbed a comforting hand over his back. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  Weasel’s hands encircled her back, drawing her close to him. Instead of breaking down, he nuzzled against her neck. “You smell so good. You always smell so good. Different from the girls around here. Why do you smell so nice, Edna?”

  “Must be my shampoo.” A tiny flicker of panic set off low in her gut, so she stepped back, trying to disentangle herself from his arms.

  He pulled her tighter, his words slurred from the alcohol. “You know, I saw you first. I rode here with you on the bus. You even smiled at me. Why couldn’t you have been my girl, Edna? Just for the summer.” He reached up and slid his hand across her bare shoulder and under the strap of her dress. “How ’bout you be my girl just for tonight?”

  A shiver ran through Edna as she tried to push him away. This wasn’t like him. It must be the stress of the baby combined with the alcohol. “Weasel, come on, stop it. You’re drunk. Let’s go back inside.”

  “I don’t want to go back inside.” His tone turned belligerent and whiny. He gripped her shoulder tighter, breaking the strap of her dress. “I wanna stay out here. With you. Stay with me for just a little bit. Come on, Edna.”

  He broke her dress. The stupid oaf! It didn’t matter how much he had to drink, she wasn’t putting up with this. She pushed hard against him, trying to break free of his grasp.

  “Don’t be like that, Edna. No one will know. It’s just us out here.” He turned her around, trapping her between his body and the brick wall of the building. Pressing against her, he leaned down to kiss her, his hands already pulling at her dress, lifting her skirt.

  “Weasel, don’t.” She twisted her face away from his, scraping her cheek against the rough brick wall. That small flicker of panic was turning into a full-blown flame as she realized how helpless she was against the much taller man. She pushed at his hands, fighting him, terror creeping into her. “Warren, stop it!”

  His one hand was on her leg and the other pressed against her breast, grasping and groping as he pushed her against the wall. He tried again to kiss her, his scotch-scented breath hot against her cheek as she turned her head.

  “Get off me!” she cried. Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she bucked against him, scratching at his face with her nails. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “Get the hell away from her.”

  A wave of relief hit her as she heard Johnny’s voice, and Weasel’s weight was lifted from her. Through her tears, she saw a flash of color as Johnny threw Weasel to the ground. In a rage, Johnny fell on him, swearing and throwing punches at his face.

  Edna cried out at the crack of Weasel’s nose breaking while a spray of blood landed across the rumpled skirt of her dress. “Johnny, stop.”

  The next few minutes happened in a blur of sound and colors. A rush of voices as men poured into the alley, shouting at Johnny and reaching to pull him off of Weasel. A burst of bright red blood on Johnny’s knuckles. A scream from Donna as she raced to Weasel’s side, falling on the ground and cradling his bleeding face against her green dress. The flicker of blue of Frank’s jacket as he was there, pulling Johnny away from Weasel and down the alley. Away from the dance and the eyes of the town.

  He yelled at Edna to follow them, his muscles bulging as he tried to restrain Johnny.

  “Don’t you ever touch her again!” Johnny yelled, his face flushed with rage. “If you so much as look at her again, I will kill you. You hear me, you little Weasel? I will kill you.”

  Frank wrestled Johnny to his car. He and Edna got him inside.

  Johnny shoved against Frank. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” His words were slurred, and Edna could smell the alcohol on him as he reached for her. “Are you okay? Look what he did to you.”

  Edna could feel the tremble in his hands as he picked up the broken strap of her dress and touched her scraped cheek. She saw the anger fade from his face, replaced with a terrible sadness and a look of defeat. “I’m okay,” she assured him. “You got there just in time.”

  “What the hell happened? Why would he do this to you?”

  Her teeth chattered, a sign the shock of the situation was setting in. The realization of how close she had come to being seriously hurt. “I don’t know. I went out there to find him for Donna. I thought you were all out back. Donna told me she’s pregnant, that they’re getting married next week. Weasel’s really drunk. He started talking nonsense about seeing me first and then he was trying to kiss me. I don’t know what happened. He ripped my dress and got me against the wall. I tried to fight him.” She broke down, crying, and Johnny pulled her against his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. No one gets to hurt you. Ever.” He took off his sports coat, a borrowed white jacket of Frank’s. Drops of blood and dirt smudges now covering the front lapel as he pulled it around Edna’s shoulders.

  “It’s not your job to protect me,” she said.

  “Yes, it is.” He tipped her face up to his, running his thumb across her trembling lip. “I love you, Eddy. I have never loved anyone or anything the way I love you. As long as I have breath in my body, I will do whatever it takes to protect you. To keep you from harm or any sort of pain.”
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br />   She took his hand, conscious of his swollen knuckles and held it to her cheek. “I know. I love you too, Johnny. Thanks for getting him off of me.”

  Johnny shook his head, releasing a heavy sigh. “You know I hate violence. That I’ve been the punching bag for my dad as long as I can remember. But, when I came out and saw you pinned against the wall and crying, a rage overtook me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I seriously think I could have killed that kid.”

  He turned to Frank. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I know I shouldn’t drink like that. It makes me do stupid things. Thanks for pulling me off of him, brother.”

  Frank nodded. “I think you and Weasel both had too much to drink tonight. But he pulled an idiot move and I don’t blame for you taking a swing at him. Why don’t I take you guys home? I’m ready to call it a night.”

  “Nah, I think I’m gonna walk over to Weasel’s place and check on the guy. I think I might have broken his nose.” Johnny reached for the door handle of the car. “Why don’t you take Edna home so she can get cleaned up? The fresh air will help sober me up. I’ll come out to Janice’s later on the bike to check on you.”

  “Are you sure?” Edna asked. “Why don’t you wait? You can check in on him tomorrow. I’ll come with you.”

  Johnny wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. He laid a gentle kiss on her lips. “I love you for worrying about me. But, I’m okay now. It’ll be good for me to walk this off.”

  He was right. The fresh air might be good for him. Edna pulled the sports coat from her shoulders and pressed it into Johnny’s hand. “At least take your jacket.”

  He smiled down at her then opened the car door and got out. He leaned in, directing his words to his friend. “Thanks again, man. Take good care of my girl, Franky.”

  And then he was gone. Swallowed up by the darkness of the night. It was the last time Edna would see him.

  Frank drove her home, and in the morning, Weasel was dead and Johnny had disappeared.

  Within twenty-four hours, Weasel’s new car would be dragged out of the lake. Witnesses would claim they saw Johnny driving it as he sped out of town, and one old-timer would declare that he saw Johnny at the wheel minutes before he saw the car go over the bridge and plunge into the water.

  The afternoon of Johnny’s funeral, a package arrived at the farm for Edna. Inside, she would find a simple jewelry box. Lined with blue felt, the box contained the peacock brooch that belonged to Johnny’s mother and a short note.

  Her tears fell on the white page as she read his last words to her. Eddy, I will do whatever it takes to protect you. I will always love you. Yours forever, Johnny.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I wish I would have listened to you that night,” John said. “If I only would have let Frank drive me home, everything would have been different.”

  Edna looked at the old man sitting across from her at the table. His hair was white, but his blue eyes remained the same. She could see his pain, and her heart filled with a tenderness for him. But she was also hopping mad. How could he have left her without even saying goodbye?

  Just thinking about that night dredged up so many memories. So much pain at the loss of her first love and so many questions about what really happened that night.

  “So, I guess you didn’t actually drown in the lake,” Edna said.

  “No. I did not.” John looked down at his hands, folded on the table in front of them. “At the time, I felt I had no other choice but to disappear. By the time I came back, it was too late.”

  “You came back? Where the hell was I? I would have remembered you ringing my doorbell.”

  “Like I said, it was too late. By the time I made it back, it was years later. You were married. To Frank. You had a family. You seemed happy. You and Frank were the two people that I loved most in the world. I wasn’t going to ruin your happiness for my own selfish gain.”

  “We both loved you. We would rather have known you were alive.”

  John spoke to Edna as if they were the only two people in the room. “The last thing I asked of Frank was for him to take care of you. And it seems like he did. It just seemed easier for everyone if I stayed dead.”

  “Your death was not easier on anyone.” Edna’s voice rose to a shrill pitch, and Havoc raced to John’s side, as if to protect him.

  “It’s not your death that concerns me now, it’s your life,” Mac said, breaking the tenseness of the moment. “There’s no statute of limitations on murder. Even if it was sixty years ago, if you killed this guy, I’ve got to take you in.”

  Edna waved a hand at Mac. “Of course he didn’t kill anyone. Don’t be ridiculous.” She looked to John for confirmation. “You didn’t really kill Weasel, did you?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Do you know who did?” Mac asked.

  “Sure. I was there.”

  Mac held his empty cup out to Edna. “You got any more coffee?”

  “Darn tootin’ I do.” She grabbed the mug and filled it from the carafe on the table. “You can have all the coffee you want, just let the man talk. I’ve been waiting sixty years to hear what happened that night.”

  “I’ve only been waiting, like, sixty minutes, and I’m dying to know what happened,” Piper said.

  “Well, then,” Johnny said. “You better pour me another cup too. It’s not a very pretty tale.”

  “You want something a little stronger in your coffee?” Edna asked. “Maybe an ounce of liquid courage?”

  John shook his head. “I gave up drinking that night and I haven’t touched a drop since.”

  “Well,” Edna said as she got up to retrieve a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream from the refrigerator. “I’ll tell you, I do love Jesus, but on occasion, I still drink a little. And I think tonight is one of those occasions.”

  She poured a dab of Irish Cream into her coffee, looked up at John, then poured in another little dab. She swirled it twice, the clinking of the spoon on the edge of the mug the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

  She set the spoon on the table and gingerly took a sip. “Okay, go ahead. I’m ready.”

  Edna held up her hand. “Wait.” She narrowed her eyes at John. “Just remember, Johnny, that I am a very old woman, and I have a weak heart. You broke that heart once already. Try not to do it again.”

  Johnny nodded. “I never want to hurt you again, Eddy.”

  “That woman does not have a weak heart,” Maggie whispered to Cassie. “She’ll probably outlive us all.”

  John took a sip of coffee and cleared his throat. “I felt pretty bad as I walked away from Frank’s car that night. I was still a little drunk and pretty ashamed of myself. Ashamed that I’d let something happen to my girl and hadn’t protected her. Ashamed that I’d let the rage inside of me slip out and that she’d seen it. I hated violence of any kind, yet I had just beaten a kid to within an inch of his life. A kid I’d known my whole life.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were just a kid too,” Sunny said. She always had a soft spot for children from broken homes, which is what helped to make her such a great teacher. “And you got to Edna just in time, so you did protect her. Sounds to me like he deserved it.”

  John shook his head. “He might have deserved a punch in the nose, but he didn’t deserve to die. I may have been a kid as I walked away from the car, but by the end of that night, I’d become a man.”

  Chapter Twelve

  1955

  Coopersville, Kansas

  As Johnny walked up to the door, he felt a queasiness in his belly. The effects of the alcohol were wearing off and he was left with a swirling pit of nausea in his gut and a pounding headache.

  Weasel’s parents had remodeled the space above their garage into an apartment for their son. They were spending the month visiting his grandparents and had been out of town when the tornado hit. They were due back sometime next week.

  The new car sat in the driveway, and the apart
ment lights were on. Like he had done a hundred times before, Johnny knocked then pushed the door open.

  But the scene that met him inside the apartment was definitely not like anything he’d seen the hundred other times. Shopping bags and boxes of every color filled the sofa and floor. An expensive new television sat against the wall, the wooden console gleaming. New clothes lay across the end of the sofa, the price tags still attached and hanging from the sleeves.

  The apartment had an open layout with a sofa, bed, and small kitchenette. Weasel sat at the table and Donna stood above him, a wet cloth in her hand as she dabbed at his bloody face. She looked at Johnny with scorn and disdain. “What are you doing here? Come to get in another punch?”

  Weasel’s face was swollen, with a purple bruise blossoming under his left eye. He waved Donna’s hand away. “Hey, I’m sorry. I deserved this. I was drunk and don’t know what I was thinking.”

  On the table lay a canvas bag, a stack of hundred-dollar bills spilling from its mouth. The butt of a pistol stuck out the edge of the bag, like a very dangerous paperweight holding down the money.

  “What’s going on? Where’d all this stuff come from?” Johnny asked. “Why do you have all that money?”

  “Look, we can explain,” Weasel said. “It’s the money from the bank robbery. Remember the money that was taken from the bank during the tornado?”

  John nodded slowly, trying to process his friend’s words. His head was a little muddled still from the alcohol, but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Well, Donna’s the one who took it.”

  What? Donna robbed the bank? How could this be happening? Johnny shook his head. “Listen buddy, you have to give that money back. Maybe you can say you found it or something, but you can’t keep it. You’ll go to jail.”

  “We were gonna give it back. But then we decided to spend just a little. And then we got kind of carried away.”