Nobody Knows Your Secret

by Green, Jeri

  Cleve hit the ground like a rock.

  He looked up at his grandson, nose pouring blood, and swore that if Kyle ever laid a hand on him again, he’d kill him.

  “Just try old man!” Kyle screamed. “I’ll put you under the ground so fast it will make your head swim!”

  “I’m gonna kill you, you snot-nose brat! Nobody talks to me that way! Nobody!”

  Virgie had helped Cleve up and dusted him off. Cleve hadn’t said a word for three days. He wore a dark scowl, and his black eyes had a crazy look in them.

  “The likker’s muddlin’ his brains,” Virgie said.

  She’d seen it before. Too many years of hard drinking turned a man’s mind to mush. That had to be what was wrong with Cleve. She wished Cleve and Kyle could get along. Was that so much to ask?

  They had always got along like oil and water. Virgie thought the two were so much alike they couldn’t stand each other. And now, their hatred had come to blows.

  Kyle’s two kids, Luke and Emily, were running around screaming like wild animals. Nothing unusual about that. Virgie had never seen two more irritable little sprats in all her life. Both tykes had the attention span of a dust mite. They tore up every toy they ever had within 10 minutes of getting it out of the box, and when one wasn’t screaming or hitting the other, both were crying for unknown reasons.

  Virgie blamed the drugs.

  She’d heard on television about how they messed up kids’ behavior. Kyle was always high. Dang drugs! Prescription or street variety, they were all evil. And what about birth defects! Kyle’s two rug rats had that webbed second and third toe on both feet just like their daddy.

  But still, if Virgie could have had her druthers, she’d have liked it if the kids hadn’t witnessed their daddy and grandpappy fighting like that. So much commotion! Between Cleve, Claire, Kyle, and those two kids of his, Virgie could never see a minute’s peace.

  She knew it was awful, but, sometimes, she wished Kyle had never met Candy. The instant he’d seen her he was besotted. Besotted was the only word Virgie could think of that came close to describing the obsessive feelings Kyle had for Candy.

  Maybe it was a foot fetish, Virgie mused.

  She’d seen Candy’s feet in sandals. They looked just like Kyle’s. Funny how things like that happened. But whatever drew Kyle to Candy, it overpowered him. The attraction was beyond explanation. Candy was flesh and blood like everybody else. It was real and powerful and pulsed on a vibe all its own. Intense. Atomic. Irresistible.

  Unnatural came to mine, too.

  But Virgie kept these thoughts to herself. Cleve would backhand her a good one if she’d breathed one word of how she felt. Virgie knew that she and Cleve were only going through the motions. The fires of their lust were quenched long ago.

  Virgie tolerated her husband’s loutish behavior and drinking because that was what a good wife did. She made excuses for Cleve’s laziness. She ignored his insults. There were only two loves in Cleve’s life: himself and booze.

  Cleve made love to his beer bottles every night, drinking himself into a stupor before going off to snore the night away. His slim waistline abandoned Cleve like a mariner deserting a sinking ship. He’d been a right smart handsome fellah when Virgie first saw him down at Cotton’s Mercantile so many years ago. Young and tall with a thick head of shiny, black hair, Cleve turned more than a few heads, then. Virgie wasn’t so bad herself back then, either. She had all her teeth and a luscious mane of auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders.

  Both Cleve and Virgie were from hard-scrabble, poor mountain stock. They married and set up housekeeping. Cleve had several jobs, but his main occupations, even then, was drinking moonshine or drinking beer. Cleve came from a long line of hard drinkers. He grew up thinking no man was worth his salt ‘if he couldn’t hold his likker.’

  Cleve was all man when judged by this measure.

  Virgie tried hard to do her duty. She became pregnant three times, but miscarried. On the fourth try, she carried the fetus to full term, delivering a lovely little girl that Cleve named Claire.

  Virgie was secretly hoping that Cleve would allow her to name the baby because he had told her the baby’s name would be Hortense Nelly, after his mother. After the baby was born, and the midwife said it was a girl, Cleve came into the bedroom.

  “I declare if she ain’t about the purtiest thang I ever laid eyes on.”

  From that moment on, she was Claire.

  Claire was a beautiful name, and Virgie decided she’d bring the couple luck. She was a happy child. Virgie had two more stillborn babies after Claire. All those little ones, she often brooded, looking out at the little rocks marking each grave in her backyard, and one living. A dark cloud would come over Virgie as she wondered when she would be looking out her window at the rock that marked Claire’s plot of ground.

  But unlike so many children from the backwoods, Claire made it through those first few years. Virgie did not have much education, but she knew enough to know that fevers and maladies stalked the smallest and weakest.

  She made sure Claire was kept warm, and she fed her the best of whatever scarce food was in the house. Cleve’s erratic work habits meant that he was often fired. Even in the hardest times, Virgie made sure the milk cow was fed and kept in the ragged shed Cleve called a barn. Claire needed milk. Virgie’s had dried up shortly after Claire was born.

  And now, Virgie’s beloved daughter was 15. Hard to believe so much living had been compressed in such a short time. It seemed like only yesterday that her little girl was knee high to a grasshopper. She remembered that graceful tyke scampering about the yard chasing lightening bugs or making flower petal necklaces. Virgie had spent many an hour, her cracked calloused hands fashioning corn husks into dolls for her beautiful baby girl. Virgie secretly savored the sound of her little baby’s sparkling laugh that brightened her otherwise dull, work-filled days.

  Not only was her girl pretty, she was smart, too. Claire was doing well in school. There was talk of a scholarship. Maybe even a year or two at college. Her daughter’s future looked bright. Virgie was so proud.

  Then, Cleve got it in his head that the best birthday present of all would be a family day at that amusement park. Virgie thought the idea was ridiculous. She and Claire had planned to bake a special cake for Claire’s birthday. Three layers with pecans and icing.

  But Cleve insisted Claire’s birthday would be spent riding rides and eating cotton candy. Claire would rather have stayed home and baked that cake. She had no interest in Ferris wheels. She was afraid of heights. She didn’t want to ride the swings. Going round and round in circles would probably make her sick. And the thought of rocketing up and down on that roller coaster, being slung first one direction and then the other, filled her with dread.

  Virgie had bought three yards of material and sewn Claire a new dress. Claire wanted to wear that dress to the Bluegrass Festival the following week, but Cleve insisted she wear it to the amusement park. As Cleve sucked on his beer, Claire wanted to tell her father that she’d rather do anything than accompany a half-drunk redneck to an amusement park, but like her mother, Claire decided to go along with her father’s plans and not cause a fuss. It was her birthday, after all, and it would wonderful if she could just get through the day without hearing arguments and having a bottle thrown across the room in anger. Maybe her mother and father could manage to get along this one special day.

  Cleve was working at the coal mine then. It meant a 40 mile drive one way, and the work was dangerous and dirty, but he was making more money than he’d ever made in his life, and he was proud of that fact.

  Virgie held her breath that the call-in sick day would not prove to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, as far as Cleve’s job was concerned. She kept telling her husband that if he kept lying out of work at the drop of a hat, all he’d end up with his empty hat stuck out for folks to throw a pauper’s penny into. Begging would be the only option Cleve had left. He’d worked in ever
y mill around. He had a reputation as a hot head, and what his temper didn’t do to get him into hot water with his superiors, shooting off his mouth did.

  Cleve was always in trouble one way or the other.

  But he turned a deaf ear to Virgie’s protests. His little girl was fast growing up. Cleve felt the hands of Time running out. Soon, Claire would marry and leave the nest. It was now or never, he determined. And he made up his mind that Claire’s birthday would be spent making memories at the amusement park.

  Virgie would forever regret going along with Cleve’s harebrain idea of going to that amusement park to celebrate Claire’s birthday. She had kept silent, just to keep peace. But after what had happened, she decided peace wasn’t worth the high price they had all paid.

  * * *

  Hardison Branwell hawked and spit. He was about as disgusted as a man could get. Candy was going out with that no good clod of mountain gulley dirt called Kyle Winthrop.

  Again.

  It was the third time this week. Sixteen, going on 30, Hardy noted. He hoped she didn’t turn up pregnant. That would be just his luck.

  The same thing had happened to Hardy Branwell when he’d met Candy’s mother, Willie Mae. Hardy had done the honorable thing and married the woman he had gotten pregnant. Some men just fathered children and left the mother to raise them on her own. Nowadays, folks didn’t bat an eye at such. But Hardy detested the thought of his flesh and blood being branded illegitimate.

  Claire Winthrop had gotten pregnant and bore her son, Kyle. She didn’t marry his father. He bore the surname Winthrop, like his mother, Claire, and his grandparents, Cleve and Virgie. Kyle had no idea who his father was, just like about everyone else in Hope Rock County.

  But Hardy had married Willie Mae just to give Candy his name and a decent home. Not that he regretted having his little girl, one bit. But it was a bitter pill to swallow when you were a father at 17. He was still a kid, but he had buckled down, done the right thing, and tried to be the best father he could be.

  Willie Mae had never taken to the responsibilities of motherhood and family. When Candy was eight, Willie Mae skipped town with a truck driver she had met at the truck stop at the county line. Hardy never heard from Willie Mae again. That meant Hardy was a single parent with a young daughter when single fathers were not all that common.

  Good thing Hardy’s mama lived so close by. She’d been a godsend, helping raise Candy while Hardy made a living. Hardy had kept his nose to the grindstone, paid for their trailer, and managed to save a little for a rainy day.

  Then, overnight puberty struck. Candy changed in an instant, and all Hardy’s plans and dreams went swirling down the drain. The boys liked his little Candy. And Candy returned their favors. Hardy was mortified. The more he tried to keep his daughter on a short leash, the harder Candy pulled away. Hardy had that sick,sinking feeling that he was in the middle of a no-win situation.

  It was bad enough when Candy was dating the whole football team. Then, she met Kyle Winthrop. What a plug nickel that boy was. Illegitimate. Not worth the cost of the bullet to put him out of his misery.

  Hardy knew Claire, Kyle’s mother, from way back. Claire was pretty enough before the accident, but afterwards, she was lost to depression and prescription pain medicine. The pills kept her high, so Claire was fun to be with at parties. The drugs tore down any inhibitions Claire did about anything, so she was a blast in the sack, and popular despite her handicap.

  Everyone looked liked a movie star when the lights were off. And Claire had a real nice voice. Her laugh was silky and fluid like mercury. She had the cutest little mole just below her left breast, and a ladybug tattoo on her right buttocks. She could have made some guy a nice, sweet wife – if drugs hadn’t messed her up so badly.

  Such a waste.

  Then Claire had turned up pregnant. She delivered a baby boy and decided she was going to keep him and raise him on her own. Claire had let Kyle run loose. It was easy when you were lost in the haze of synthetic opioids. Kyle ran with the wrong crowd early on. He’d gotten into trouble at an early age and just seemed to stay there, like a cow mired stomach deep in mud.

  Not that Hardy didn’t feel sorry for Claire. She had really been dealt a bad hand. But this was Candy that Kyle had his eye on. Hardy’s little girl!

  When Candy told Hardy she feared she was pregnant, Hardy lost his head.

  “He’s gone over to Claire’s to beat Kyle up,” Hardy’s mama told Candy.

  Candy got in her car and spun gravels.

  The two were in the yard going at each other like two tom cats.

  “You nearly killed my son,” Claire screamed.

  “He deserves it. My little girl’s got a bun in the oven!” Hardy yelled.

  Candy had driven up about that time. She’d followed Hardy, who had stormed out after the news, but her car had run out of gas. She flagged down a friend in an old pickup truck who loaned her a couple of gallons of gas.

  Hardy had gotten in a few good licks before Candy had driven up and screamed for Hardy to leave Kyle alone. That she took up for the little pip-squeak over her own father had broken Hardy’s heart.

  He knew by the look in Candy’s eyes that her loyalty lay with Kyle. Once Claire saw that Hardy’s anger was spent, she slinked back into her trailer.

  Must be time for another pill, thought Hardy, getting into his truck and driving away.

  “She’s yours now, Kyle,” Hardy had yelled. “You better treat her right. If you don’t, you have me to answer to.”

  It was a vague threat, but Hardy’s anger was so white, he couldn’t think of a better one. And bless Pat, if Candy didn’t move in with that no-good slug within a week. She got a job at a burger joint 10 miles away. She refused to have anything to do with Hardy, who, after he’d calmed down, offered to help Candy any way he could.

  “Keep your money,” Candy had told him. “Kyle and I are fine. We’re renting a trailer. It’s just him and me and our baby,” as she patted her flat belly. “That’s the way I want it, Daddy. Leave us alone. Kyle wants nothing to do with you. Neither do I.”

  Candy had Kyle’s kid seven months later and another followed soon after. A girl and a boy. From what Hardy heard, the kids were wild as bucks. How could they be anything but? Candy worked all the time, and that worthless Kyle laid around doing dope. Hardy spit on the ground in disgust.

  Hardy was a grandfather, but you’d never know by how often he’d seen his grandkids. And Kyle didn’t seem to care that Candy was working herself ragged trying to support them all. All that Kyle did was find more trouble and do more drugs.

  Hardy didn’t know who he hated more: Kyle or Candy. Kyle had stolen the only person besides Hardy’s mama that Hardy had ever loved. And Candy had turned her back on the only man who had ever treated her decently.

  “Ain’t like you didn’t raise her like a princess,” Hardy’s mama said. “A lotta thanks you got fer all yer trouble, son.”

  Mama was right, Hardy thought. No thanks and only heartaches. If he lived to be a hundred, Hardy decided, he would never understand women.

  But, on the other hand, if he lived to be a hundred, he’d see to it that that dopehead who ruined his little girl’s life would pay. If it was the last thing he ever did.

  Yes, sir. Hardy swore an oath that he wouldn’t rest until he made Kyle pay.

  An eye for an eye.

  It was biblical justice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Onus was fed. Check. Baloney sandwiches and sodas and bottled water. Pecan pound cake. Check. Gloves. Check. Eustian’s keys. Check. Time to tackle more junk at Eustian’s empire of trash and rubbish. Hadley drove to Beanie’s modest house and tooted the horn. He came shuffling out of the door and got into the car.

  “Good morning, Beanie. Ready to hit the trail?”

  “We goin’ hikin’?” asked Beanie.

  “Naw,” said Hadley.

  “Figger ‘a speech,” said Beanie.

  “You got it, Bean. �
�At least, it isn’t too warm this morning. That fog and those low clouds are going to keep the temperature down today.”

  “Yeah, I hope that’s baloney in that big grocery bag. I can haul that entire house and put in the dumpster if there’s baloney waiting for me when I finished. I think you got the best baloney I ever ate in my whole life.”

  “Well, thanks. And my baloney thanks you, too,” said Hadley.

  They drove in comfortable silence.

  “Road’s better today,” Beanie said.

  “A couple of days without rain allows some of that mud to dry up,” Hadley said.

  Eustian’s house loomed up ahead.

  “Hadley.”

  “Yeah, Bean.”

  “That house don’t look no nicer, does it?”

  “We’ll put on our nicest faces. Maybe the old place will warm up to us.”

  Parking her car under a huge old oak tree, Hadley got out. Beanie sat in the car.

  “What is it, Bean?”

  “Nuthin,’ I guess. It’s gonna be a sad day when we finish up here.”

  “What do you mean? You just said this house wasn’t nice.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean about that. Baloney.”

  “What’s the matter? You hit your leg getting out of the car?”

  “No,” Beanie said. “I was just thinkin’ how much I’m gonna miss your baloney.”

  “Oh, Bean. Don’t you worry about that. You’ll always have my baloney. Even if I have to hunt you down by a graveside to kingdom come to give it to you.”

  “Harvey don’t like us eatin’ while we work, Hadley,” Beanie said.

  “I’ll leave it with Harvey, then. And he can give it to you later.”

  “Okay, Hadley,” Beanie said. “You know, the clouds are sleepin’ on the ground over yonder.”

  Hadley looked across the meadow to the decaying remains of the amusement park. Gray tendrils of wispy fog swirled around the clown’s head, shrouding it like a veil. It twisted and moved, diving into the opened mouth of the clown and back out again.

  “Looks like the clown is hungry,” said Beanie. “I’m glad we are a far piece away. Ain’t you?”