Poison Town

by Creston Mapes

  “The girls are … amazing. So confident.”

  Pamela smiled.

  “I realize what I’m like.” Margaret looked down at her frail hands and rubbed in her lotion some more. “I don’t know how your father put up with me all those years.”

  “He knew that what happened to you in college changed your life,” Pamela said. “He understood.”

  Margaret nodded. “But how do you do it? How can you stay in this house after what happened?”

  Pamela took a deep breath. Walls were coming down. “We love this place, this neighborhood—”

  “No … I mean, you never seem worried. I don’t see you looking over your shoulder.”

  “I do look over my shoulder, Mom, but I don’t want to worry the girls—”

  “The way I worried you?”

  “I realize that what happened to you was terrifying. And you’ve not been able to let it go.”

  Margaret tapped her head. “His face is seared in here.”

  “Mom, Jack is going through the same thing you are, but with Granger.”

  Margaret squinted. “I don’t follow.”

  “He can’t forgive Granger.”

  “After what that maniac did? I don’t blame him.”

  “You asked me how I live in this house, in this town, with Granger free, after what he did. Do you want to hear my answer or not?”

  Margaret’s mouth sealed into a frown, and she crossed her arms.

  “It’s forgiveness, Mom.” Pamela spoke quietly. “It set me free. I had a lot of your tendencies, even before Granger came into our lives. It was paranoia.”

  Margaret jerked as if someone had poked her in the side with a stick.

  “Jesus set an example of forgiveness,” Pamela said. “We forgive like He did, and it sets us free.”

  Margaret examined Pamela as if looking into her soul.

  “Free, Mom,” Pamela whispered. “Those two words go together: forgiveness and freedom.”

  “You’re saying I should forgive the man who raped me …”

  “Yes, I am. Forgive him, and let it go. It will change your life.”

  “And just how would I do that even if I wanted to? He never said he was sorry. I don’t know where he is.”

  “You do it alone with God. And you mean it.”

  Margaret pursed her lips and eyed Pamela as if considering a business deal.

  Pamela knew her advice had sunk in. Having gotten that far, she sensed that her mother wouldn’t want to hear another word about it, so she changed the subject.

  “Hey, you want to see something?” She hopped up and held out her hand. “Come on, I’ve been waiting to do this forever, and I’m done waiting.”

  “Do what?” Margaret took her hand and followed Pamela down the hall to the bathroom.

  “This!” Pamela opened the cabinet, found the pregnancy kit, and presented it to her mom.

  Margaret’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes ballooned.

  Pamela nodded excitedly. “I think number three is on the way!”

  They hugged.

  And the embrace turned into rocking.

  And the rocking turned into tears.

  The tears of life.

  * * *

  After they’d exhausted all of their energy and brainpower, Jack and Derrick went their separate ways into the freezing night. On his drive home, Jack called Officer DeVry and told him everything he knew about Demler-Vargus and all the people involved with it.

  When he finally pulled into the driveway, he was spent. Pam greeted him with a smile and a peck on the cheek. Jack grabbed a slice of pizza from the fridge and filled her in on the night’s events as they stood at the kitchen counter. The house was quiet; Jack wondered if Margaret was actually asleep or tiptoeing around, eavesdropping.

  “I think Derrick’s scared,” Jack said.

  Pamela’s eyes got big.

  “What?” he said.

  “Aren’t you scared? I mean, are we safe—Mom and the girls and me?”

  Jack was so tired, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Whoever is behind all this obviously wants you and Derrick to quit digging around. I think they made that clear today, don’t you?”

  “I know, but I feel like if we don’t keep going, who’s gonna stop this? Not the police—”

  “You’ve got to think of your family first, Jack. Besides, Cecil told you you’re off it. The last thing you want to do is get yourself fired.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Jack, it’s not your call. He’s your boss. Maybe he knows something you don’t.”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin, not about to tell her he planned to go forward with the interview the next day with Bendickson and his son.

  “What about OSHA or the EPA?” Pam said. “Can’t you tell them what you know and just turn it over to them?”

  “That’s just it; we aren’t there yet. We don’t have enough solid evidence.”

  Pam turned away, crossed her arms, and put her head down.

  “We’re so close,” he said.

  It was quiet for a moment. Jack thought he heard a creak in the floor upstairs. Probably Margaret drifting about.

  “Why does this mean so much to you?” Pam eyed him.

  “Honey, I have no doubt in my mind, Demler-Vargus is killing people. They think they can trample on those families with no consequences. Now they’re trying to cover it up with scare tactics.”

  “More than scare tactics, Jack! Spivey Brinkman is more than scared, he’s missing. The Doyles aren’t scared, they’re dead!”

  He crossed to the sink and threw his napkin in the trash. “You know what?” he said. “Ever since Granger Meade came into our lives, you’ve been different. You’ve treated me differently.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You used to trust me. Anything I said or did, you got behind me. It’s not like that anymore.”

  “I don’t know where this is coming from.” She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a lack of trust. You think that because I haven’t forgiven Granger, I’m somehow not right with God, or that God isn’t going to have favor on us anymore.”

  “Jack, I was not thinking that just now. It’s all in your head.”

  “But you have thought it. You said yourself I don’t read the Bible like I used to. Let’s get it out on the table.”

  “Okay, fine, let’s get it out. You know what upsets me?” Pam’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m shocked about your lack of concern for Mom and me today. That guy could’ve put us in the hospital!”

  “I came back to check on you. You both seemed fine. I didn’t think it was any big deal.”

  “I was trying to be strong for Mom so she wouldn’t freak out, but it scared me to death, Jack. And then you turn around and go back to work and don’t come home till now?” She threw her hands up. “You know how that makes me feel?”

  “I’m sorry, Pam. You just seemed to take it so well—”

  “This isn’t you, Jack. If that’d happened two years ago, you would not have left my side. Seriously. You have changed. You used to cherish me … so much.”

  He looked down.

  Staring at the counter.

  Silence.

  It was true. She was right. What had happened to him? To them?

  “And if you want my opinion, yes, I really believe your unwillingness to forgive Granger is causing collateral damage. You want more proof? I’ve been trying to get five minutes alone with you for days, to do a pregnancy test with me …”

  Pregnancy test?

  Jack instantly felt dizzy. His ears buzzed. “You think you’re pregnant?”

  Pam crossed her arms. Her bottom lip quivered, and the tears broke l
oose. She nodded. “We are pregnant.”

  He reached out for her, but she kept her arms folded and didn’t turn toward him.

  He was a stupid idiot! She was right.

  He put his hands atop her shoulders from behind. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  She dropped her head and cried.

  “That’s wonderful news,” he whispered.

  She flinched, as if it was too late for his attention.

  Jack cursed himself.

  He’d blown it again.

  Chapter 22

  The clock at Travis’s bedside read 4:48 a.m. He shoved the covers aside and rolled onto his back. He’d been half awake the whole night, listening for intruders, worrying about Daddy’s health, daydreaming about Claire, fretting about Demler-Vargus.

  If they could just fast-forward to Thursday afternoon, 2.5 million bucks would be theirs. He and LJ could give their father everything he needed, and they could live comfortably while keeping the shop going. Travis could even provide for Claire …

  Wait up.

  Who was he kidding?

  Did he really expect Claire Fontaine to fall in love with a middle-aged grease monkey like him? Lord, she was beautiful—way out of his league. Being with her was like being in the winner’s circle at Talladega. Nothing topped it.

  Claire was something special. She was always so interested in Travis, in everybody. Her life was like a bonfire. She wasn’t ashamed about how much she loved God, but wore it right on her sleeve. She brought God up in conversations naturally, the way Travis would mention Daddy or NASCAR.

  Travis smiled. He could see himself taking Claire to church every Sunday for the rest of their lives.

  Holy smokes … you’re getting way too far ahead of yourself.

  Claire had been upset with Travis after everyone left the night before. She was worried about his family’s safety and begged him to get the police more deeply involved. She didn’t think Demler-Vargus was going to pay them and simply walk away.

  It might seem weird to most folks, but Travis had a strange feeling Claire got insights directly from God. She had a wisdom about her that he trusted.

  That’s what was keeping him awake.

  Even if the payoff did happen as planned, Travis wrestled with accepting it, keeping mum, and letting his neighbors continue to suffer.

  He was counting heavily on the stories Jack and Derrick would write to expose Demler-Vargus for their wrongdoing—after his family got their payment, of course.

  He heard a noise.

  In the house?

  Yes.

  Travis got up and felt for the small flashlight by the clock. He turned it on and headed down the hall.

  Yes, it was coming from Daddy’s room.

  He went in, partially covering the flashlight, but his father wasn’t in his bed.

  The sound of coughing, bad coughing, more like heaving, came from the bathroom.

  Travis’s heart broke. He stood for a second, debating whether to go in. Daddy was proud. He wouldn’t want any help for a coughing spell.

  But this was more than a cough. Daddy was retching.

  Travis stood there a second longer, took a deep breath, and went in. The night-light revealed his father on his knees at the toilet in his flannel pj’s. He looked so fragile. One arm lay across the tank, and his head against that.

  “Daddy,” Travis whispered, not wanting to scare him. “You okay?”

  His father flushed the toilet.

  Something dark swirled in the bowl and disappeared.

  “Was that blood?” Travis said.

  “Hand me a towel.”

  Travis grabbed one and gave it to him, and his father wiped his mouth, his forehead.

  “You want some water?”

  “I’ll git it.” Daddy worked his way to his feet and crossed to the sink. He ran water, took a swig, swished, and spit. It wasn’t clear. And there was blood on the towel. “This happens.” He leaned on the sink with both hands. “I’m all right. Comes with the territory.”

  “Daddy, we need to take you to the hospital.” Travis began readjusting his day, thinking which cars could wait a day, which ones he could give to Bo …

  His father shook his head and leaned over the sink on his forearms. He coughed violently, his old frame teetering, his pajamas looking three sizes too large.

  Travis noticed a smattering of blood in the sink, just before his father turned on the water and splashed it away.

  “I’m okay. Give me a minute.”

  “I’m afraid you might have what Momma had,” Travis whispered. “You need to get looked at.”

  “They would’ve spotted it when I was just in,” Daddy said. “I know something’s wrong. Heck, nobody lives forever—not down here, at least.”

  The thing was, his father despised hospitals. He was afraid that once he went in he’d never come out. He was old-fashioned to the core—a typical codger who’d rather live richly on his own land for a day and die with his greasy coveralls on than live for a month trapped in some hospital, being kept alive by medicine and machines.

  He turned on the water again, leaned over the sink, and splashed water on his face, then patted it with the towel.

  “I know you don’t want to go,” Travis said. “But I want you to. Will you let me take you if I promise not to let them keep you?”

  Daddy looked Travis in the eye and put a hand on his shoulder. “Have I ever told you what a fine son you’ve been, Travis?”

  It hit him like a two-by-four. Travis’s nose tingled, and tears filled his eyes. It was one of those talks that could only happen in the dreamy predawn hours. “Thank you.” He dropped his head, not wanting his father to see his tears.

  “It’s okay, son.” Daddy patted his shoulder. “We’ve had a darn good life, haven’t we?”

  Travis nodded, still looking down.

  “God’s been good, all these years.”

  Travis looked up at him. “We still got time.”

  Daddy nodded. “Sure we do. And when my time runs out, that’s just down here. I’ll be alive and well, just somewhere else, on another shore …”

  “Somewhere good.”

  “That’s right.” Daddy patted him again. “Somewhere far better than here.”

  “Will you let me take you in?”

  “I like Claire. She reminds me a’ yer momma.”

  Travis laughed, and a few more tears snuck out.

  Daddy chuckled. “I’ll go, under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You won’t let them keep me overnight.”

  “Only if it’s an absolute emergency.”

  Daddy stared at him. “All right.”

  “How ’bout you get dressed. We’ll get in there early. In and out.”

  “Now you’re talkin’.”

  “Good.” Travis started to leave. “Then you can buy me a biscuit and gravy.”

  “Travis.”

  Travis stopped and turned around.

  Daddy extended his arms. “I love you, son.”

  His father felt so light and slender in Travis’s arms. And he never talked like this.

  Did he know his time was coming?

  Travis held the embrace, even after his father relaxed.

  “I couldn’t have a better father,” Travis said. “I love you too, Daddy.”

  [line space]

  It was barely starting to get light outside when Claire showed up at the hospital with three cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and a bag of plain and powdered doughnuts. They’d put Daddy in a room on the fourth floor, and he’d been in and out for tests since Travis got him there.

  He was gone for more tests now, and Travis and Claire stood at the window in his room, watching a light snow fall on the silhouetted landscape below.
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  “You’re quiet,” she said.

  “He’s getting weak.” Travis shook his head. “It hurts. I know it must bother him to feel so frail.”

  Claire covered one of Travis’s hands with hers. “He still seems strong. And he gets around really well for his age.”

  “Nothin’s ever gotten him down. He’s like an old Ford. Low maintenance. Just keeps truckin’. You just expect him to start up every mornin’.”

  There was a soft knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Travis said.

  “Good morning.” A short, thin doctor in a white lab coat walked in, clutching a clipboard. He introduced himself as Dr. Richard Beezenhour.

  Of course Claire offered him a doughnut, which he kindly refused.

  “I just wanted to give you an update on your father’s condition,” the doctor said. “And I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure, fire away,” Travis said.

  “I see from his records he’s been in and out quite a bit lately.”

  Travis explained the background, which Beezenhour cut short.

  “How long has he been coughing up blood?”

  Travis looked at Claire and back at the doctor. “Golly, I’ve only known him to do it a couple times. ’Course, he might be keepin’ it from us. He told me this morning it does happen from time to time.”

  “Well, the good news is, I think the blood your father brought up this morning was simply an irritation of the throat, caused by the violent coughing.”

  “Thank God for that,” Travis said.

  “What concerns me, however, is what’s causing that cough.” Beezenhour adjusted his stethoscope.

  “He’s been coughing more lately,” Travis said.

  “That was my next question. His recent CAT scan was clear. He’s got some minor blockage in his arteries, but his blood flow is adequate, and, at his age, it’s nothing I would be concerned with.”

  “That’s all good,” Travis said.

  “Now, I saw in the records from his initial visit that your family was concerned about the effects of living near the Demler-Vargus plant.”

  Travis and Claire nodded, and Travis told the doctor about his mother’s symptoms and passing. He started off on a rabbit trail, but Dr. Beezenhour corralled him.