by Amy Harmon
Johnny finished checking the oil and moved to the back of the jalopy, opening the trunk to remove the spare that the owner had said needed replacing. When Johnny pulled the tire free he uncovered something else. The nose of a gun peeked out from beneath an old blanket that had been partially caught beneath the spare. Johnny glanced around almost guiltily. It was as if his wish for a weapon had materialized into an actual gun. He leaned into the trunk and slid the revolver out, running his hand along the smooth barrel, wondering if it was loaded. It was small and light-weight. It would fit inside Momma’s purse just fine. He could teach her to use it. Then nobody would ever hit her again.
“Johnny?”
Johnny jerked, cracking his head on the trunk as he swept the blanket back over the little gun and stood at attention. Gene was walking toward him with Chief Bailey in tow. The morning just kept getting better and better.
“Hey, Johnny. Take five kid. The Chief here wants to chat with you a minute. You ain’t in trouble are ya?” Gene winked at Johnny and relieved him of the tire he’d removed from the jalopy. He rolled the wheel expertly across the floor and returned to visit with the mayor about the likely cost of repairs to his shiny automobile.
“What can I do for you, Chief?” Johnny asked, and his mind raced, wondering if he had done anything recently that might encourage a visit from Honeyville’s finest. Nope. He was clean, he decided. Maybe the chief had news about Maggie. Maybe he’d found her. Johnny’s eyes swept over the policeman’s face, and he felt a flash of fear at the grim look in the man’s eyes.
“I just need a minute, Johnny. Let’s get some sunshine while we talk,” Clark Bailey said mildly, and Johnny followed him out of the garage without a backward glance at the Carlton’s, all thoughts of the gun in the jalopy’s trunk completely replaced with thoughts of a girl he barely knew but couldn’t forget. Please, please let her be all right, he prayed silently as he settled himself down on the bench that Gene had placed in front of the shop.
“Is she okay?” Johnny blurted out without preamble, and Clark Bailey’s eyebrows lowered dramatically over his steel grey eyes. He leaned toward Johnny, anger flitting across his face before he schooled his features into a frown.
“Well, I don’t know, kid. She sure as hell didn’t look okay when I saw her about fifteen minutes ago.” Chief Bailey’s voice dripped sarcasm, and his hands curled at his sides as he glowered at Johnny.
“You saw her fifteen minutes ago?” Johnny’s heart galloped wildly, and he was back on his feet immediately. “Where is she? I want to see her.”
“Whaddaya mean where is she? She’s at work. Or didn’t you know she had to face the crowd at Val’s this morning with a black eye and a fat lip?”
“Huh?” Johnny stuttered, his face wrinkled in confusion. “The diner? Are you talking about...my mother?” His voice rose awkwardly, and his brain shifted gears from what he thought to what he now knew.
“Who did you think I was talking about?” Clark Bailey growled in disbelief.
“I thought you were here....to give me news about...about Maggie.” Johnny was tripping over his words, which rarely happened, and he collapsed back onto the bench, running his hands through his hair in both dejection and relief. No news wasn’t good news...but it wasn’t the worst news.
“Maggie? Oh! Oh..Maggie.” The chief was caught completely off guard, and it was his turn to play mental catch up. “No. I don’t have any information on the girl....”
Johnny sighed and dropped his hands into his lap. Then the conversation sunk in. Johnny scowled at the Chief of Police. “So you came here thinking that I what? Slapped my momma around last night? That’s real nice, Chief. Real nice opinion you have of me.” Johnny shook his head in disgust.
“So what did happen?” Chief Bailey ignored Johnny’s impudence; he figured he kinda deserved it.
“Momma drug in around 2 a.m. last night looking like she’d been through a battle with Custer and all the angry Indians at Little Bighorn. When I demanded she tell me who hit her, she just told me it was a misunderstanding and clammed up like she didn’t speak English.”
“You got any ideas?” Clark Bailey asked quietly.
“I got no proof....but I wouldn’t be surprised if the mayor knew something about it.”
Chief Bailey’s face got cold and blank in less than a heartbeat. “You mean to tell me that your momma has been hangin’ out with that sleazeball?”
Johnny didn’t reply; he wasn’t going to go saying ugly things about his mother, whether they were true or not. He just stared at the chief for several long seconds, letting the silence tell Clark Bailey all he needed to know.
“Why?” Clark Bailey’s tone was so incredulous and befuddled that Johnny almost forgot the seriousness of the situation and laughed right out loud. Suddenly, he really liked the Police Chief.
“Ah, hell, Chief. Do you really need me to explain it to you? I’m nineteen and you’re forty. You should be explaining it to me!”
Clark Bailey snorted and lightly cuffed Johnny on the back of the head. “You’re kind of a smart aleck, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Johnny agreed without rancor. “But if you talk to the mayor, tell him if he ever touches my mother again I’m gonna find him.”
“Don’t do that, kid. Let us handle it.” Clark Bailey stood as if to end the conversation, but his face was wrinkled in thought, and he scratched his clean-shaven jaw for a minute, looking off at nothing at all.
“Roger Carlton had the mayor’s car last night. I saw him after he met up with that fence post. So unless the good mayor and your momma were at his place--which I doubt Mrs. Carlton would have tolerated--it doesn’t seem likely that they were together. Your momma doesn’t have wheels, does she?”
“No sir, she doesn’t. When she needs something or to go somewhere, she uses mine.”
“Well, then. I guess your momma has some explaining to do, and the mayor looks like he’s in the clear. I’ll still have a word with him, though. You best be gettin’ back to work.”
***
It wasn’t until much later that Johnny remembered the gun in the back of the rusty grey jalopy. He waited until closing time, when it was time to sweep out the garage and put the place to bed. Gene was up front, running numbers and closing up the office. Johnny popped the trunk and felt around for the gun. It was gone. He pulled the blanket free and patted his hands all around the floor of the trunk. The spare had been changed out. He heaved it up and out. Still no gun. Maybe Gene had seen it and removed it until the owner could come back and claim his car. That was probably it. After all, you never knew who could get a crazy idea -- a crazy idea like stealing it. Johnny shook his head ruefully and silently thanked God for granting the tender mercy of a couple of hours and a cooler head. He would use his fists, thank you Lord. He didn’t need a gun to speak for him. Slamming the trunk, he finished up and headed out for the night.
~20~
A Time to Love
2011
A few nights later when Johnny dropped her off, Maggie asked if he would come inside, just for a minute. She had something she wanted to show him.
“Won’t...Irene...uh, your aunt mind if I’m in your room?”
“It’s just for a second. Don’t worry.”
Johnny looked unconvinced but followed behind her as she climbed the stairs to her room. She walked straight to her closet and pulled the red prom dress from its hanger and held it in front of her.
“Recognize this?” she said shyly.
Johnny reached out and fingered the tulle of the skirt. “Yeah.”
“And here’s your sports coat.” Maggie reached for the white sports coat and handed it to a stunned Johnny. “I didn’t mean to steal it. Hmm, I seem to be saying that a lot lately.”
Johnny shrugged the jacket on and looked at himself in the mirror. “Momma was so mad at me when I told her I’d lost this. She’d rented it for me, and we ended up having to pay for it. She asked me how I could lose a sports coat. I cou
ldn’t really explain.” His eyes met Maggie’s in the mirror. Maggie realized this was the first time she’d ever seen Johnny’s reflection.
“I couldn’t tell her a pretty car thief had disappeared with it.” Johnny shrugged out of the jacket and seemed uncertain what to do with it.
“Johnny? I know girls don’t usually ask guys...but Saturday night is the Prom. My prom. I would really like to go with you. I already have a dress.” She held up the fluffy red confection. “And you now have a sports coat.” She winked. “I’ll be driving a Cadillac this time.”
Johnny’s response was interrupted by Irene calling up the stairs.
“Maggie? Are you home dear?”
Johnny looked at the door, and Maggie opened it wide and called down to her aunt.
“I’m here, Aunt Irene. Johnny’s here with me. We’ll be down in a second.”
The silence that answered her was telling, and Maggie wondered how Irene and Johnny would ever be comfortable in each other’s presence.
Maggie shut the door and turned back to Johnny. He stood with his hands shoved in his back pockets, his head tipped to the side. He looked quite delicious standing in her room, and she had to swallow her heart once, then twice, as it threatened to tumble from her chest. He was here. And she was here. Finally together - no Purgatory, no anger, and at this moment, no regrets. Once he had told her that every moment with her had made the fifty years in Purgatory worth it. Now she had reason to hope that he would feel that way again. The intense gratitude that suddenly consumed her rose up and spilled onto her cheeks.
“Hey? Are you okay?” Johnny asked softly, taking a slow step toward her, his head tilted to one side.
“I’m better than okay,” Maggie whispered, and her chin wobbled the slightest bit. She yanked off her glasses and cleaned them on the bottom of her T-shirt to create a diversion from the sudden weight of her emotions.
“Maggie?” He took her glasses from her hand and set them on her nightstand.
“Hmmm?”
“Look at me, Maggie.”
Maggie felt him close the final steps, but she didn’t dare look up. “Don’t cry, baby. I’ll go to the prom with you,” he teased quietly.
Maggie giggled, but the giggle broke into a sob and she stepped into him, holding onto his shirt and rubbing her face across the familiar planes of his chest, breathing him in and letting him comfort her like he had many times before.
“Shhhh,” Johnny soothed, sliding his hands up and down her back, nuzzling her hair. “Car thieves don’t cry, baby. You gotta toughen up if you’re gonna have a future with good old Clyde here.”
“I like it when you do that.”
“What?”
“Call me baby,” Maggie whispered.
“You liked it when I called you Bonnie too,” he replied with a smile in his voice. “Why?”
“You used to call me baby all the time. It makes me believe you can love me again.”
Johnny wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and lifted her to him, kissing her tear-streaked cheeks before he touched his lips to hers.
“I’m already there Maggie. I fell in love when you begged me to help you escape the cops. I fell in love when we danced to Nat King Cole singing ‘Stardust’ on a moonlit beach. Hell, I fell in love when you told me how blondes spell farm.”
“E-I-E-I-O,” Maggie quipped wetly.
Johnny laughed and held her tightly.
“There’s something I want to give you,” Johnny whispered into her hair. “It used to be the thing to do--though I never did, ‘cause I didn’t ever have anyone I cared about in that way.”
Maggie pulled back so she could look into Johnny’s face.
Johnny reached into his front pocket and pulled out a silver pendant hanging from a long chain.
“When I was in high school, guys would give these to their girls. I’ve been thinking about it since Gus told us about his grandma and the Saint Christopher medal she always wore. I want you to wear it. Maybe it will help keep you safe.” Johnny held the pendant in his palm. It was silver and dainty, a weary traveler with a walking stick and a child on his back engraved in fine detail on the surface. Circling the edge were the words ‘Saint Christopher Protect Us.’
“Does this mean I’m finally your girl?” Maggie tried to be glib, but her voice was reverent as she fingered the pretty little pendant.
Johnny laughed and gently fastened the long chain around Maggie’s neck. Smoothing her hair back over her shoulders, he touched his lips to hers again.
“Thank you, Johnny.” Maggie cradled his face in her hands and brushed her lips up and then down, answering his questioning kisses with her own. Then she touched her tongue lightly to his fuller bottom lip. He stilled, and her breath caught. He returned the caress lightly, tasting the salt of her tears and the warmth and silkiness of her mouth. And then the restraint was gone. Her hands slid into his hair as he wrapped hers around his fists, pulling her head back to give him a better angle on her lips. The door met her back as he pushed her against it, using it as leverage to bring her closer. She rained kisses along his jaw until he growled and pulled her mouth back to his. One hand flexed at her waist while the other palm flattened on the door above her. And then the other hand joined it as he tried to push himself from her while still keeping his lips locked on hers. She moved to follow, but his hands slid to her shoulders and gently kept her pressed against the door. He kissed her once more, and then again, as if he couldn’t pull himself from her. With a groan, he broke away, his hands holding her still, his eyes locked on hers, as he tried to master his desire.
“Irene is downstairs. Or upstairs...or...right outside...who knows. I have to go right now or I’ll end up dragging you out the door and having my way with you in the Bel Air, which isn’t what good guys do, and though I’ve never pretended to be one of the good guys, I want to be one with you.”
Maggie didn’t respond. She wished he weren’t such a good guy at the moment. She wished that she wasn’t tempted to run to the Bel Air like the bad girl she had never been. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and she pushed against the hands still keeping her from him.
“Maggie...” he groaned again, and her eyes snapped back to his.
“You better go,” she giggled, biting her lip. “I can’t promise that Bonnie won’t attack Clyde.”
He laughed but grabbed at the doorknob desperately, releasing her as he did. She let him go but followed close behind him as he walked down the stairs. He reached back and grabbed her hand, and the gesture almost had her in tears again. Life had suddenly become so impossibly sweet she couldn’t keep the joy from overflowing.
At the door he didn’t kiss her again, which was probably wise, but he did press his lips to her hand. “In case you missed it before, I’d love to go to the prom with you, although I don’t think I can dance to your music.” He grimaced.
“We’ll think of something.” Maggie smiled. “After all, you had to teach me to dance to your music.”
“‘Night, my Bonnie,” he murmured and let himself out the door.
“Goodnight, Johnny,” she sighed, and watched him leave.
When Maggie shut the front door, Irene was nowhere in sight. Maggie hoped she wouldn’t find her in the attic, madly trying to recapture her lost youth. Instead, Maggie found her in her little yellow sitting room, Lizzie’s old bedroom, holding a book as if she were reading, but staring off as if her mind were full of other things.
“Irene?”
“Is Johnny gone?” Irene looked almost fearful.
“Yes.” Maggie sat down on the little sofa next to her aunt, and reached out to touch her papery soft cheek.
“I love you, Irene. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”
Irene’s book fell to her lap, and her hand reached up to cover Maggie’s.
“I love you too, sweetest girl,” Irene murmured, patting the hand that Johnny had recently kissed. She looked away almost immediately, as if something troubled her but she didn�
��t want to unburden herself.
The joy that had been flooding Maggie only minutes before receded dramatically as she observed her aunt’s obvious distress.
“I love him too, Irene,” Maggie rarely called her aunt by her name but felt compelled to do so now, to drive home the importance of her words.
“Yes....yes...I know,” Irene stammered. “I know Maggie. It’s not that....”
“What then?”
“I had a dream. I thought it was a dream...” Irene’s voice tapered off, and Maggie felt a cold dread seep through her.
“When I saw you in that dress the other morning, I was almost too stunned to speak....but, I’ve been thinking about it since then.”
“About the dream?” Maggie whispered.
“It wasn’t a dream!” Irene lashed out, dropping Maggie’s hand and covering her face with her own. Maggie trembled at the sudden change in her aunt and was afraid to touch her again -- afraid her touch might be rebuffed.
Irene was breathing heavily behind her hands, the harsh sounds making Maggie’s hair stand up on her neck.
“It was you!” Irene cried in a horrified whisper. “You were the girl at the dance with Johnny, the girl who told me to get rid of Roger.” She moaned into her hands. “I don’t know how it was you. But it was! I saw your face in my dream. You were wearing my dress! How did you get my dress? I remember it now, so clearly -- as if it just happened today and not fifty three years ago.”
Maggie couldn’t breath. Her heart was a pounding, and she wanted to wail like a wrongly imprisoned man who knew he was a dead man walking.
“Roger was so angry!” Irene rushed on. “He ranted and raged about you for weeks, saying you’d insulted and embarrassed him. Like a fool, I thought I needed to prove my loyalty all the more. I gave him my virginity that night, thinking it was the only thing I could do to show him I wasn’t going anywhere. I told Nana I was staying at the Russell’s again, and Cathy and Shirley covered for me....but I was with Roger.”
