Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  It was signed Your loving daughter, Carrie.

  Chantry just stared at the lines for a moment, so unlike Mama in a way, not contained and careful but emotional. The letter answered questions, but created so many more. Was Mama’s daddy named Callahan, too?

  He turned the packet of letters over and started from the beginning. This one was written when he was two years old.

  “Dear Daddy, I hope this finds you well. It’s been three years since we’ve spoken, and I’m not at all sure this letter will smooth things over between us, but I’ve got to try. When I left we both said some harsh things to one another. Perhaps time has softened my anger, but not my resolve. I’ll never be sorry I kept the baby. He’s so beautiful. He looks so much like Clayton, and yet he has your eyes. “Irish eyes” you always called them. I love him so much, and now at last I think I understand why you were so hurt and angry when we last spoke. You want the best for your children, and the thought of them being hurt can make you do and say things you never thought you would. That’s how I feel about Chantry. He’s smart, and such a happy little boy, though very intense. I know you’d love him as much I do. I have my teacher’s certificate now and have been offered several positions, but before I make a final decision, I’d like to come home again. To try and see if we can sort through our hurt feelings and forget the angry words. I want to reconcile with you and with the church. I want to start over, to see you and Mother and let you meet your grandson. I love and miss you both terribly.”

  Again, it was signed Your loving daughter, Carrie.

  Chantry realized he was sitting on the floor, the box beside him, the letters in his lap, but he didn’t remember moving there. Who was Clayton? What did she mean about keeping the baby? Had there been one before him? He scanned the letter again, then reached for another one. They were all similar, pleas for her father to understand, anger that he kept returning the letters. Some were addressed to the office in Memphis, some to the house on Peabody Avenue. One was sent to her mother, but it was returned unopened as well. He looked at the stack of letters between his mother and father, and slowly reached for them.

  The return address was to a Lance Corporal Clayton A. Chantry, U.S.M.C., along with a string of numbers and letters. Clayton Chantry. Not Callahan. His head and heart pounded hard.

  Maybe it was a violation of their privacy, but once he opened the letters he couldn’t stop reading. Some were letters from Mama to his father, sent back after his death, he guessed. Sweet intimacies were shared, memories only they would cherish, until the letter telling his father that she was pregnant. Her fear came through the scrawled words, not her usual careful speech he remembered, but disjointed sentences, hope and determination in phrases like “I want this baby no matter what, but want you to want it just as much.”

  There were a lot of letters, and it seemed he’d only just begun reading when he heard Rainey’s truck outside. He looked at the box, and quickly threw everything inside it and took it to his room. He hid it in the back of his closet. Secrets. Lies. Hidden away but even more powerful.

  All these years with Mama had been a lie. She’d never told him she wasn’t married to his father, but had lied to him. How could she? His entire life had been a lie and she’d never given him even a hint. He could accept the truth. It was the lie he couldn’t fathom.

  That night he lay in his bed while Mikey slept beside him, and stared at the closed door of his closet. It was as if a burning ember lay behind the door, waiting to ignite a fire that would burn out of control.

  The next morning before school, he got up and moved the box out to the garage. He didn’t read any more letters, didn’t look inside it again. Not now. Maybe never. But he knew, with awful clarity, just what Bert Quinton had used against his mother to keep her in Cane Creek. He just didn’t know why it had mattered so much to her.

  Cinda met him at the front door of school. It was a pretty day, with the sun already warm, promising a hot June. “Ready?” she said, and he just looked at her.

  “For what?”

  “It’s Sophomore Skip Day, remember? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

  He had. “Can’t go. I’m still on probation. And I’ve already missed too much school.”

  “Don’t be silly. Besides, I’ve got plans and if you don’t come, it’ll ruin everything.”

  “Look.” He shoved a hand through his hair, blew out a heavy breath and looked across the school yard. “I probably wouldn’t be very good company today, anyway.”

  “Not much different than other days lately. And don’t look at me like that. I understand. Or I’m trying to. But you can’t just forget you’re alive, Chantry. You can’t forget that I’m alive.”

  He looked at her, at the way the sunlight gleamed on her hair and face, all pink and blonde and pretty green eyes, and thought how nice it’d be to just forget everything for a little while. He didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want any expectations or disappointments. He just wanted to be with Cinda and not think about anything.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and she grabbed his hand.

  Cinda had her own car now, not a brand new one but a nice Firebird she’d bought over in Clarksdale. Chantry guessed the Sheridan feud with Dale Ledbetter had never been resolved, but he admired the sleek white coupe with T-top roof. It’d been a fifteenth birthday present even though her birthday wasn’t until September. This way, she’d said, she’d have it for the entire summer.

  He called Doc to tell him he’d be late but he told him to take the day off, then they headed for the lake, the time-honored destination for sophomores skipping class the last week of school. It was a lot easier not to think about anything but the moment with the wind and sunshine coming through the open T-tops and Cinda turning up the radio. A cooler of beer sat in the back, along with some blankets, towels, and her suntan lotion. Yeah, the day might turn out okay.

  A sandy beach edged water that gleamed blue under the sun, but washed up with bits of grass and leaves over rocks put down by the Mississippi Corps of Engineers. Gazebos had been erected in some of the parks, and concrete picnic tables and benches were bolted to slabs. Tall pine trees lined the roads that wound through the park and along the top of the Sardis dam. In the middle of the week, very few people were there.

  They went down on the sand with other sophomores from Cane Creek, spread blankets out and hid their beer since Tate County was dry. Chantry took off his shirt and lay down beside Cinda, squinting against the sunlight while he sipped beer from a plastic cup.

  Mariah Sewell came over after a few minutes, and knelt down on the edge of the blanket close to Cinda. She had dark brown hair and blue eyes, and always seemed too cheerful. Except for right now, when she looked puzzled.

  “Hey, Cinda. What’s up with your cousin?”

  Cinda shrugged. “I don’t talk much to Chris these days. Why?”

  “He’s gotten really weird these past few months. I dunno. All—angry.”

  “Maybe that has something to do with the fact you’ve been hanging out with Justin a lot lately.”

  “Well, I’d like to think that, but Chris doesn’t seem that interested. I asked him to come with us today, but I don’t think he’s going to show up.”

  “It’s still early. He might.”

  Mariah brightened and looked all happy again. “Yeah. He might.”

  Chantry would just as soon he didn’t, but he didn’t say anything. Mariah gave him a look that said she suspected how he felt, but after a few more minutes of saying nothing much except that Treena Thompson looked fat in her bathing suit, she got up and wandered back to her blanket spread close to where the water made brown and white lace against the dun-colored sand.

  He kinda wished Donny were here, but since he’d been held back a year, he was still at school with the other freshmen. Most of the other kids still steered clear of Chantry, like he had some kind of contagious disease. If it wasn’t for Cinda, probably none of them would talk to him.

  “Here,” Cind
a said, and handed him a plastic squeeze bottle of sun lotion, “put this on my back for me.”

  It smelled like summer when he opened the sun lotion, that distinct scent that always meant hot summer sun. Cinda had worn her bathing suit under her clothes, a pretty black and white striped bikini that left a lot of skin bare. Chantry felt awkward smoothing the lotion over her back out here in front of everyone. He knew they were watching and wondering just why Cinda was with him when she could have her pick of almost any boy at school. He wondered that, too.

  She was so pale under his fingers, skin so soft and creamy it was like touching silk. He got through spreading the lotion on her without making a complete ass of himself, even though he got all tight in his pants like it did when he thought about her too much. He hoped no one noticed.

  “All done.” He handed her back the bottle, and she smiled when she took it from him.

  “You look hot. Take off your pants, too.”

  “Right. That won’t be happening.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Fully-feathered, like I intend to stay.” He let her run her hand over his bare chest down to his stomach, sucking in a sharp breath when she reached the waist of his Levi’s. She tugged at the button until he put his hand over hers to hold it. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Um hm. And I know you have too many clothes on. Just looking at you makes me feel all hot.” She dragged her tongue over her lips, gave him an arch smile. “Really hot.”

  It made him think of Cathy Chandler and he didn’t like that, didn’t like her acting that way when he knew she wasn’t. He scowled.

  “Stop it.”

  She blinked at him with a surprised expression. “Stop? I thought—well, it looks like you aren’t interested after all.” Yanking her hand away, she grabbed for her plastic cup of beer but knocked it over. It spilled atop the blanket and she said, “Shit.”

  Chantry caught her arm. “You’re wrong. I’m interested, all right. Just not interested in letting everyone here see how much.” When she looked back at him, he said in a low voice, “And I don’t intend to let anyone say things about you, either. So stop touching me like that in front of everyone or I’ll end up in a fight.”

  After a couple of seconds went by, she nodded. “Okay. You’re right. It’s just hard for me to know what you’re thinking sometimes. Maybe I just wanted . . . wanted to see how you really feel about me.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You’re all I’ve thought about for longer than I can remember. I don’t remember ever not thinking about you.”

  “Good. That’s all I wanted to know.” She smiled.

  He flopped back on the blanket and closed his eyes. “Jesus. I’ll never understand girls.”

  “Probably not. But that’s okay. Just understand that this one girl is happy to be with you and I’ll be satisfied.”

  “Got it.” And he thought maybe he did. Maybe girls weren’t so different in that way, just needing to know someone liked them best.

  They lay out on the warm sand for hours, until the noon sun turned Cinda’s skin pink and his darker brown. “Let’s drive around for a little while,” she said, and he agreed. He’d had enough of lying in the hot sun. Getting sweaty in the sun was too much like work.

  The walk across the sand was quick since they didn’t put their shoes back on, and by the time they reached Cinda’s Firebird, they were hopping and laughing. She’d parked in the shade, but it had moved with the arc of the sun so that the leather seats were scorching hot to the touch. Chantry put a towel over her seat since she wore her bathing suit, and he put his shirt back on.

  Away from the glare of the sunlight on water, it got cooler, especially up under the pines on a road that looked out over the reservoir. Cinda stopped the car in the shade on a high bluff built of red earth and white rock, and they sat for a minute just staring at the expanse of water and blue sky. It was quiet. A few birds made singing sounds in the trees, and in the distance the muted drone of a boat motor drifted back across the lake, but that was all. The heat, beer, and silence made him drowsy, and when Cinda reached for his hand he curved his fingers through hers and held her, thumb rubbing idly across her palm.

  He must have slept. He woke suddenly and she was gone. It was still quiet, but shadows had lengthened across the lake and hills. Crickets and katydids hummed loudly. He sat up, looked around but didn’t see Cinda anywhere. She’d left the keys, so probably wasn’t far.

  Reaching over, he pulled the keys from the ignition and stuck them in his pocket, then went to find her. A narrow path led across the top of the bluff, back into the pines and downward. He found Cinda’s blanket and beach bag near a small cove banked with pines and white stones. At first he didn’t see her, then he heard splashing and turned to find her smiling at him from the water.

  “Come on in, sleepyhead,” she said, laughing. “It’s a little cold yet but you get used to it.”

  Instead, he walked over to kneel close, watching her, thinking how beautiful she was with her blonde hair all dark and wet, slicked back from her face. The sun had turned her face pink and made her eyes glow like jewels.

  It was shadowed here, and isolated, like they were the only people around, tucked back into a corner and forgotten. Cinda splashed a little, then turned to float on her back, staring up at the sky with a dreamy expression.

  “I love it here,” she said softly. “It has hills and isn’t all flat like around Cane Creek. Sometimes I think I’d like to live in the mountains. Maybe I just want to live anywhere but Cane Creek.”

  Because he felt the same way, he just listened, let her talk about her dreams of travel, of going to faraway places with names he didn’t recognize but she said as if she knew them well. She hadn’t been yet, but she’d go one day. Maybe before she went to college.

  He looked down at the sandy ground studded with clumps of grass. He thought of Mama, and how she’d wanted him to go to college, then thought of how she’d lied to him all his life. It’d all been a lie, everything he knew, everything he’d thought was right. He didn’t know what to think anymore, didn’t want to be mad at Mama but couldn’t help it. He’d never understand why she hadn’t trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t care that she hadn’t married his father. Why she’d let him believe a lie. Why she’d rather live a lie indebted to Quinton than let the truth set them all free to live without Rainey.

  And then, because the hurt he kept at bay started to worm its way back, he stood up and looked at Cinda floating on her back in the water, and unsnapped his jeans. He stripped off all his clothes and waded into the water, just looking at her when she put her feet down on the sandy bottom and stood up.

  A smile curved her mouth. “About time you got rid of all those feathers.”

  CHAPTER 21

  It probably wasn’t right but it felt so right. Cinda put her arms around his neck and let the water lift her to wrap her legs around his waist. He held her, his hands cupping her bottom, and kissed her. Cool water lapped around them. He spread his legs for balance, held tight to her and kissed her mouth, her throat, then lower, finding the swells above the top of her bikini. Then the top was gone somehow, whether he unfastened it or she did. She moaned softly, arching her back into his tongue. It was a wonder the water didn’t start to boil from the heat generated.

  For a while, nothing else mattered, just the feel and taste of her, the way she moved against him and whispered things in his ear, but slowly rational thought began to seep through the brain haze. He was too near the point of no return and had to step back before it was too late.

  He tried to set her down but her arms tightened around his neck. She clung to him, wet and hot and yielding.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Cinda—” He barely got that out, had to take a deep breath and try again. “Cinda, you don’t know what you’re doing to me. I have to stop now or . . . or I might go too far.”

  “Then go too far. Now. Today. Here, where it’s private and beautiful and there’s n
o one but us.” She drew back a little to look at him, lashes beaded with water, her eyes hazy. “I want to, Chantry. I told you I waited. Now I know it was for you.”

  He groaned. It wouldn’t take much to push him beyond restraint. He started to shake his head, to tell her that he didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t right for her, but she kissed him so quick he couldn’t get it out in time. Then her hand slid downward, finding him beneath the water, guiding him between her legs. She still wore her bikini bottoms, so for a moment he didn’t resist, just pressed against her because it felt so good, because he didn’t want to stop even though he knew he should.

  “We won’t go too far,” she whispered against his mouth when he finally tried to pull away from her, “just far enough.”

  It was too easy to believe. He let her coax him from the water onto the blanket, sunlight warming them where it came through the pine branches overhead, gilding her hair and eyes as she drew him down with her. He kept kissing her, until soon he forgot everything but what felt good, the damp heat of her, the urgency that drove him. If Cinda meant to stop before it was too late, she didn’t. All his good intentions burned quickly to ash.

  Only afterward, when he lay atop her still breathing too fast, did he realize just what he’d done. No protection. Oh God. He lifted to his elbows and looked into her face. She had her eyes closed, her mouth drawn tight. He’d hurt her, he remembered, and she’d whimpered when he had so that he’d muttered that it’d be okay. He’d lied.

  “God . . . Cinda . . . I didn’t . . . we . . . oh, damn.”

  She slid her arms around his neck again and pulled his head down to kiss him lightly on the lips. “It’s okay. Really. I knew it’d hurt the first time. It won’t the next.”

  “I should have stopped.” He rolled to one side, pulled her against him with his arm over her to hold her tightly. “I’m sorry. I just . . . didn’t.”