Almost Heaven

by Chris Fabry

  Clay crooked his arm around her chest and lifted her off the ground, and she struggled and her legs flailed. He was concentrating on her so much that he left the opportunity for me to move in. But as soon as I did, glass crunched underfoot and he stared at me. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  He was moving to his left, holding Natalie with his left arm, until he positioned himself in front of the window, the shade up. I heard a car pull up outside and tried to cover it with some words.

  “Natalie, just stay where you are. Clay and I are going to work this out.”

  “Where’s that wife of yours?” Clay said. “She has a way of disappearing on me. I hoped she would be here.”

  “She’s probably on her way home,” I said.

  “Can’t wait to see her face when she sees me. It would almost be worth it to keep you two around for that, but it probably wouldn’t be too smart.”

  The Lord says vengeance is his, but if I could have gotten my hands around his throat, I would have choked the living daylights out of him. Still, something inside told me there had to be some part of the man reachable with reason or compassion or something akin to it.

  “Clay, whatever you’ve done with your life, you don’t have to live in light of that. You can change. God has a way of turning the bad to good if you’ll let him.”

  “God?” Clay said. “You want to talk to me about God, preacher man?”

  “I’m not a preacher. Never have been. But I know he’s real and he can help you.”

  “Nobody can help me where I’m going. I just want to take as many with me as I can. Know what I mean?”

  He held Natalie up again with his left arm and tightened his grip on the knife. “Say good night, darlin’.”

  I knew this was the end and if I didn’t act, I’d be sorry. I reached for the shovel and while my head was turned heard what sounded like a tuft of air escape. I had the sick feeling that it was Natalie’s throat, but when I looked up, Clay had turned and was studying a hole in the window about the size of a peanut M&M. He’d let go of Natalie and she was bent over on the floor. Another hole appeared at about the same spot on the window, but this time Clay moved back and staggered a little, reaching up to his neck with his knife hand and almost cutting himself.

  Natalie ran to me, and I shoved her through the empty window and told her to get outside fast. I picked up the handle, but Clay was leaning back against the table, three more holes in the window and two more showing through his shirt. He dropped the knife and it hit the carpet with a thud. Blood spurted from the wound in his neck, and I moved toward him and kicked the knife away. I waved in front of the window and then looked out to see Callie holding Natalie in her arms, my .22 rifle on the ground. There was a siren in the distance.

  “Is that her?” Clay said, choking on something.

  “Lie down,” I said. “We’ll get you some help.”

  He slipped a bloody hand out to catch his fall, but he dropped to the floor and shook, blood bubbling from his wounds. With Natalie safe and him with no way to hurt anybody, I felt something strange. It was pity mixed with revulsion and compassion.

  “Clay, you don’t have to go into eternity with all this on your soul. Cry out to God now. He can help you.”

  He grabbed my shirt and held tight as he cursed. “I don’t want his help. Or yours.”

  His eyes rolled back and the blood that had freely pulsed from the wound in his neck lessened until it trickled down and dripped onto the carpet. I have looked into the face of death before in my life, but never has it seemed so bleak and dark as it did on the face of Clay Gilmore.

  The siren came close and a car door slammed. “Billy, you in there?” Sheriff Preston yelled.

  “Come on in, Sheriff. He’s dead.”

  Sheriff Preston came in and stepped through the broken window. I was still kneeling beside Clay, closing his eyes.

  Sheriff Preston shook his head. “I knew he didn’t jump in that river. And I knew he’d come back. I should have given you more protection.”

  “There wasn’t anything you could do,” I said. “A more tortured and twisted soul I don’t think I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is the girl okay? We got a call from Callie as soon as she heard it on the radio. Said she recognized his voice.”

  “They must be in the house,” I said. “He had a knife. I kicked it over there. He was going to kill her, Sheriff. And he would have if Callie hadn’t come home.”

  “Thank God she did.” He glanced back at the window and the holes in the glass. Then back down at Clay. “It’s a good thing you had that rifle.”

  I nodded. “I reckon it was.”

  The two of us stayed there a minute, taking it all in. The wind picked up outside and blew the trees on the hillside in a high-pitched sound.

  * * *

  Mae arrived, crying and shaking. She’d heard the broadcast begin but didn’t understand why Natalie didn’t talk anymore. Callie had called her and explained, and I drove her and Natalie over there to stay the night. Callie couldn’t take the lights and the yellow crime scene tape. It brought up the old wounds, I guess.

  Sheriff Preston got her statement at their house, and he assured her it was self-defense and that no charges would be filed. “That’s not an easy thing to do, Callie, pulling the trigger when it comes time. There’s not anything you have to blame yourself for. You did the right thing, and there’s a little girl alive because of it.”

  She took my hand and held it tight. When she looked up, there was something in her eyes.

  “What is it?” I said.

  Her mouth opened but no sound came out. It looked like she was trying to pull something from deep inside. “What if I hadn’t listened? What if I had just gone on to work like I planned?”

  “It’s okay, darlin’,” I said.

  Sheriff Preston leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “What are you saying, Callie?”

  “I had this terrible feeling. Something just came over me. And then . . .”

  “Then what?” the sheriff said.

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy. I heard a voice. Somebody whispered to me to go home. It said, ‘Billy needs you.’”

  The skin on my arms got goose bumps.

  “It was just as clear as day. And I couldn’t think of anything but coming back there. Then, when I heard his voice on the radio, I just knew it. I knew it was him and what I had to do.”

  I held her close and patted her arm and told her it was okay. It was all over. But of course, it wasn’t. Nothing that happens to us is all over when it can stick in your mind and keep spinning.

  “I wish there wasn’t so much meanness in the world,” Callie said.

  “You and me both,” Sheriff Preston said.

  32

  The next day the first person at our house was Becky Putnam from the local paper. Since I knew her, I talked with her outside but didn’t give her any details at that point. She had put the story together and figured out what had happened to Callie. Not long after that, news trucks showed up, and I let them take video of the scene, but I didn’t feel like it was my place to do any interviews. Callie didn’t want to talk, and I told her she had every right not to. I heard later on that the story Becky wrote got picked up by several newspapers in the state, and maybe that’s why not long after that she took a reporting job in Cincinnati.

  I drove Callie to her counselor on Friday, and she took some time off work. She slept in our bed and just shook. There was no way I could go to the first night of the reunion. I just held her until she fell asleep, and then she sat straight up and said she heard something outside. It was one of those kind of nights.

  Saturday night she said she was sorry but she couldn’t go to the reunion. I told her I understood but I wouldn’t leave her alone, so I called a friend from church and asked if she would come over and watch a movie or something, and the woman said she would love to.

  “You’re going to have an extra ticket to that dinner,” Callie
said.

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Why don’t you take Natalie? She might enjoy it.”

  “You think people will talk about me dragging a ten-year-old girl along?”

  “I wasn’t thinking of the other people. I was thinking of Natalie. She has no father or even a grandfather. I think it would be sweet.”

  I stopped by Mae’s house and found Natalie on the front porch playing with her little white dog, Roma.

  “Why are you all dressed up?” she said when I got out of the truck. She hadn’t seen me in anything but jeans and a T-shirt, so a dress shirt and khakis made me look like I was headed to church.

  “I’m going to my high school reunion dinner. Want to come with me?”

  Her face lit up, and she opened the front door and yelled for her grandmother. “Mr. Allman wants me to come to dinner with him; can I, Mamaw?”

  Mae came outside with her hands on her hips. “What kind of dinner?”

  I told her. “Callie doesn’t feel much like attending and I don’t blame her. I thought maybe Natalie might enjoy the evening.”

  “Those things have a lot of drinking at them, don’t they? You’re not supposed to take kids.”

  “I suppose there will be some who imbibe,” I said. “But I got two tickets here for a sit-down supper and only enough insulin for one meal. I think it’s a shame to waste good food, don’t you?”

  She frowned and looked at Natalie. “Well, you’ll need to get some nice clothes on. Get your red dress; I just washed it.”

  Natalie squealed. “That’s the one I wanted to wear!”

  The girl ran inside. It was amazing how such a little thing could make so much noise bounding down the hall. Mae just shook her head.

  “You two doing okay today?” I said.

  “Today,” Mae said. “Can’t say anything about tomorrow.”

  “One day is all we’re given. Does John know about what happened?”

  “He called. He was listening when the show started and knew something was amiss. Said he started praying for her.”

  “I know it helped. God was watching out for us, that’s for sure.”

  “The evil one is like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour,” Mae said. “And he seems to delight in devouring the most innocent.”

  Natalie came out of the house with her hair in a ponytail and a red velvetlike dress that was the prettiest thing. She had on black shoes that tapped the porch and a little white purse with frills. She ran ChapStick around her lips, hugged her grandmother, and patted Roma’s head. The whole thing took less than five minutes from the time I drove up.

  “You be good,” she said to the dog.

  “I’ll have her back at a respectable hour,” I said, winking at Mae.

  “Thank you, Billy. I know you will.”

  The dinner was held at a hotel on Route 60 in a sea of green and yellow trees that were just about ready to explode with color. The smell of sumac was sweet and followed us inside. The night before they’d had an informal meeting at a Methodist church. That was just for getting to know each other again, and tonight was for pictures and the program.

  Women scurried this way and that, getting things together and directing people where to go and what to do. At the front table was a woman who looked familiar, but all I could remember was her smile and her eyes. She’d been the student body president, valedictorian, and a cheerleader. She hadn’t been mean to me back then, just indifferent. As soon as I walked up, she said, “Billy Allman, I would recognize you anywhere.” Then she stood and hugged me and gave me my name tag.

  “This is not Callie, is it?” the woman said, looking at Natalie and then the list of names.

  “No, Callie couldn’t make it tonight. This is my friend Natalie. She’s going to be world famous someday, and I thought she’d enjoy the meal.”

  The woman turned Callie’s name tag over and wrote Natalie on the back and pinned it to her dress. “You have a good time tonight, Natalie. I’m sure glad you didn’t have to come alone, Billy.”

  I walked into the dining room, my heart pounding, not knowing who or what I’d encounter. When you’ve been working at a job in your own house for so long, it’s easy to get in a rut. Some would call it agoraphobic, but I tend not to make it so clinical. And maybe that was why I asked Natalie to come. I needed the comfort of something I knew to lessen the pain of being in a foreign place with people I didn’t trust. I was like a fish out of water.

  Others were polite and said it was good to see me, but I could tell there were more important people in the room. When anyone came up to me to talk, I would immediately tell Natalie what I remembered about them. Even the people who had been mean, like Paul Davidson, I found nice words for. Of course, that was the Lord helping me and nothing of myself.

  The dinner began, and the very first thing to happen was the prayer before the meal, and who was to stand up and say it but Earl Caldwell. As I found out later, he had become a pastor. I just looked at him with my mouth open, and I wondered if he remembered taking my mandolin. He was the most unlikely candidate for Christian service I knew, but there he was, praying for the meal, and I thanked God that he worked on the likely and the unlikely.

  The food came and Natalie’s eyes widened at the full plate. She had a Dr Pepper to drink and just took in the whole room with wonder. I was doing the same thing, looking at people who’d had success written all over them during high school. Others had seemed destined for welfare. It was interesting that some of the second group were now in business or law enforcement. Some of the first had fallen into the bottle. Of course on the outside everybody looked good, but I could tell from the snippets of conversation that there was a lot of pain in that room. Broken relationships. Kids who’d gone astray. Hopes and dreams faded like wildflowers. People who had come to the end of themselves at the top or the bottom of the ladder like we all do.

  I kept looking for Heather because that was who I really wanted to see. Not that I hoped for a spark between us, but after all the praying I had done for her and her husband through the years, I wanted to see if God had held up his end of the bargain.

  Just as dessert was being served (Natalie chose the cherry pie), there was a commotion in the back, and several of the women flew like caged canaries. There was squealing and laughter, and most of the rest of us looked around at each other, bewildered.

  When she entered the room, every eye was on her. Just as pretty as I remembered and still with blonde hair that cascaded across her shoulders and framed her face. Men and women came up to her and gave her a hug as she made her way to the front. They had kept her meal warm, but as it turned out, she didn’t eat any of it.

  Before she was seated, she looked around the room and spotted me in the back. It took her a while to get there because of all the people who stopped her to say hello.

  “Who is she?” Natalie said.

  “Just one of our classmates,” I said.

  “She’s really pretty.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “We were friends. Good friends.”

  Heather finally made it to the table and gave me a hug. “Billy, it’s so good to see you. I’m glad you were able to make it.”

  “It’s not as far a trip as you had to make,” I said. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. Natalie Edwards. She’s my date tonight.”

  Heather hugged Natalie and doted on her dress. Then she said, “Where’s your wife? I was so hoping I could meet her.”

  “She didn’t feel well. Maybe next time.”

  Heather leaned down to Natalie again. “So you’re the girl I hear on the radio, right? June Bug?”

  Natalie nodded. “You listen?”

  “Someone sent an e-mail about your station, Billy, and I’ve listened ever since. I’m so proud of you.”

  I felt the red coming into my face and thanked her.

  The class president tapped the microphone and called everyone to their seats. “We’ll
talk later,” Heather said.

  The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and reminiscing. Someone had put together a slide show with pictures culled from old yearbooks set to the tunes that had played on the radio at that time. There must have been five hundred pictures that flashed on the screen, and I saw myself twice. There weren’t many photos taken at the back of the library during lunch hour, I guess.

  “Before we get started with the dance,” the cheerleader/president/valedictorian said, “we have a special guest with us tonight, all the way from Washington, D.C. You all remember Heather Blanch Hargrove from her years at Dogwood High, but you may not know what has happened in her life since our years growing up. I’d like her to come up now.”

  Everyone clapped as Heather stepped to the microphone. A hush fell over the room.

  “I was asked to speak tonight and put in context what we’re attempting at this reunion. A gathering like this can turn into a lot of different things. We could rehearse all of the old stories, the victories in sports, the romances, the defeats at both, and how the clothing and hairstyles have changed.”

  A photo flashed behind her. It was Paul Davidson and her, who had been voted “best dressed.” The crowd hooted and laughed. She made a few more jokes about the lists of “best” or “most-likely” and showed some of the same photos we’d already seen, but it made us laugh again.

  “I want to talk about success tonight. Some of you know that I have become successful at speaking and at business and making money, and that I’ve been able to use that success for what I believe in. Mainly, in fashioning a movement to help young women who are in the early stages of pregnancy decide not to end the lives of their unborn children. And that has led to a work against human trafficking in Africa and the Far East that my husband has spearheaded. And an orphanage in Haiti that we were able to move to this country.”

  There was applause throughout the room, louder in some spots than others. Natalie was enraptured. There was no question that Heather had control of the room, and I marveled at that because this was not the same girl I had known. Something had happened. She had a confidence and a presence I’d never seen.