John had known Callie Bolden for one week, but it seemed like all his life. Callie felt much the same, although while Callie reminded John of someone specific, Callie couldn’t place John within previous situations. He’d talked about it with Susie, and some with Walt. Walt thought it must be from Callie’s army days, to which Callie had outwardly agreed. But it wasn’t merely from his tour in Korea, although Callie couldn’t figure from where else memories of this odd man might have originated.
For Walt, the past week had felt much longer, but not all due to John Doe. While Dora was still pregnant, she was also very upset about what had happened in Dallas. The couple didn’t speak about that subject, but when they had a few moments alone, they talked about the baby. Dora was almost nine weeks along; if they could get through Christmas, then New Year’s…. Callie and Susie knew, although Callie hadn’t brought it up with Walt. But Walt was glad for their knowledge; they stopped by when time allowed, giving Dora a break from John’s care. Now that man was like any other wounded fellow Walt had encountered, although the mystery of how his arm and shoulder had reformed continued to puzzle Walt. And it puzzled Luke too.
Luke had managed to keep the secret, Tilda as well. But it was hardest on Luke, for Hiram pestered him to return to the lake. Other boys had heard about their adventure, but Hiram seemed to understand why Luke was avoiding him, for now Hiram treated Luke the way he did other kids, with a cruel eye seeking an advantage. Fortunately Hiram lived on the other side of Karnack. The Richardson youngsters walked home surrounded by their neighbors until they reached their driveway, where Luke would then break into a dead run, Tilda lagging behind.
While Mr. Bolden sometimes stopped by in the mornings, after school John’s care was solely in Luke’s hands. Luke made sure Mr. Doe had a fresh glass of water, that his pee jug was emptied, and that he was on his feet at least twice before Luke’s daddy got home. Mr. Doe still couldn’t remember who he was, although he had a few ideas about those Luke knew well. Mr. Bolden, for example, was like Mr. Doe’s best friend, in part that both men had lost most of their hair. Luke had laughed at that, but something in Mr. Doe’s voice had sounded sad. Luke assumed it was that no matter how hard Mr. Doe tried, he couldn’t recall details that would help them find his family. But sometimes Luke wondered if he reminded Mr. Doe of somebody, for he would stare at Luke with the nicest smile, yet it was like when Luke’s mother had been expecting Gail, something so good you just didn’t know if it would last.
A few nights back Luke had almost asked his father if another baby was coming, but then Tilda had interrupted them. Luke’s mother was still sick in the mornings, but she seemed better later in the day. Luke remembered that from when she’d been carrying Gail, so maybe all would be fine. Then Luke wondered if Mr. Doe knew, not that he’d said anything, but now Mr. Doe could walk around the yard if someone stood right beside him, usually Mr. Bolden when he visited or Luke’s father around suppertime. Mr. Doe was still very thin, and he couldn’t be on his feet for long. And of course he had amnesia. Luke wanted to tell his teacher that he could spell that word, but if he did, Mrs. Thompson might ask how he knew it. Mr. Doe was helping Luke and Tilda with spelling; for all Mr. Doe didn’t know, he was certainly a smart man.
Mr. Doe knew plenty about baseball, the Boston Red Sox especially. He remembered the Cuban Missile Crisis, which Luke had overheard his parents talk about last year, one of the few times his father spoke about President Kennedy. Mr. Doe felt very bad that the president had died, but he thought President Johnson would do a good job. Luke liked speaking to Mr. Doe, for he explained what Luke didn’t understand, whether it was ideas or new words. Then Luke would scratch his head; how in the world did Mr. Doe know all these things, but not his own name?
They didn’t talk about that, for the few times Luke had mentioned it, Mr. Doe became very quiet. Then he would stare at Luke as if Luke had the answer, but of course he didn’t. Once he told Luke there was something familiar about his eyes, but he wasn’t sure if it was the color or…. As Luke walked beside Tilda, he wondered about that. They were almost to their road, other kids behind them. Luke couldn’t wait to see Mr. Doe and he waved goodbye, then ran toward his house. That day Tilda didn’t try to race and Luke was in the shed speaking to Mr. Doe by the time Tilda reached the front porch.
But Luke didn’t ask a question that made his friend uncomfortable. He was starting to think of Mr. Doe as his friend, and friends, or good friends, tried to make each other feel better. “So Mr. Doe, what can I get for you?”
Seated on his bed, the man smiled. “I think I need a haircut. Gonna leave this alone,” Mr. Doe patted his left cheek, now covered by a thin beard, then he ran his left hand through his hair. “But all this could use a trim.”
Luke laughed, then heard Tilda clearing her throat outside the shed. “Well, that’s a job for somebody else.” Luke pondered who might do it; his mother used to cut his hair, but now he sat in the tallest seat at the barber. But they couldn’t take Mr. Doe there. “I’ll ask Mama, see what she thinks.” Luke looked around the shed; the water cup was empty, but the pee jug was full. Tilda was waiting to come inside; Luke could hear her shuffling just beyond the door. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”
Luke chuckled. “Indeed Mr. Doe.” Luke walked to the door, then saw Tilda standing a few feet away. “Don’t go in there yet,” he said to her.
“Why not?”
“I need to….” He grunted, then grabbed her hand, leading her away from the shed. He didn’t speak until they reached the porch. “I need to do some things before you can go in.”
“Like what?” She put her hands on her hips. “I can help, you know.”
Luke shook his head. “Not with everything. C’mon, you leave him alone.”
Tilda clucked loudly, taking her hand from Luke’s grasp, but she didn’t turn back for the shed. Together they went in the house, where their mother sat at the table, Gail on her lap, Esther in a chair next to them.
“Mama, Mr. Doe wants a haircut.” Luke smiled, then kissed his mother’s cheek. “How’re you feeling today?”
Dora gave him a quizzical look. “I’m okay. A haircut huh. Well, I’ll need to think about that.”
Luke nodded, feeling very grown-up. Maybe that was his favorite part of taking care of Mr. Doe. This wasn’t like keeping an eye on Esther or Gail, which was what Tilda was then told to do as Dora stood, setting Gail on the floor. “Tilda, you mind your sisters. Luke, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Luke nearly clapped his hands, for he knew his mother was going to get her scissors. “We’ll be waiting for you Mama.”
She nodded, then walked toward the back of the house. Once she was gone, Luke gave Tilda a triumphant glance, and she scowled at him. He raced out of the house, reached the shed, hollering that Mr. Doe was going to get a haircut. Then Luke emptied the jug behind the shed, and was waiting just beyond the shed door as Dora walked down the path, scissors in one hand, an old sheet in the other.
Ten minutes later John was seated on the metal chair outside the shed, covered by the sheet from his neck down. Dora stood behind him, cutting his hair as Luke stood in front, giving his opinion. In the distance Tilda and her sisters observed the proceedings, which John realized must be quite a show. He was glad, however, that his shoulder was concealed from the girls. While still heavily wrapped, it wasn’t more than a sharp slope from the base of his neck to where his right arm hung limply along his side. Walt had kept the wound free from infection, but no doctor alive could repair that sort of damage.
Dora had only asked how short did he want his hair. John had replied as short as possible without needing his neck shaved. She had giggled, which made Luke laugh, lightening the mood. John had still only seen Dora in passing, not that he could see her now, for she remained behind him, a snipping sound the only proof she was there. She reminded him of someone who preferred keeping themselves aloof. Tilda’s fami
liar sassiness made John smile, but it was Luke who tugged strongest at John’s heart, the boy’s blue eyes like a calm in the storm. John gazed at those eyes, but other than that familiar hue, John couldn’t place them.
Luke was chatty, making up for what his mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say. Luke talked about school, the weather, which was relatively mild for December, even in their part of Texas. He hinted toward Christmas, which was a little over two weeks away. John inwardly sighed; he’d been here for two weeks, and while he didn’t like imposing, there wasn’t much else he could do. Part of it was his injury, but most was simply from not knowing who he was or where he was from. The bits he recalled were fragmentary; he felt as if he’d lived in a rural setting, but not like Karnack. Yet he couldn’t fathom what he did, if he was married, or did he have children. He still wondered if he might be an escaped convict, but Walt had disallowed that, for no reports had surfaced in the news. Walt had pointed out that other than his shoulder, John had no scars or marks that might speak to a violent past. Sometimes John’s left foot ached, or maybe it was the memory of pain. Then John grimaced; why in the world couldn’t he recall anything of significance? His accent was more northerly, or perhaps from the west. Walt couldn’t place it, neither could Callie Bolden. Callie’s wife Susie had given John a good once-over last week, but other than noting that his arm, while healing slowly, was permanently crippled, she couldn’t ascertain from where his inflection might originate. Then John smiled; it wasn’t merely his tone, but the words he used, whether aloud or to himself. Not that these people were ignorant, only uneducated.
“Maybe this is good enough for now. Luke, whatdya think?” Dora stepped to where John could see her, but her arms were folded across her chest.
“Oh Mama, that looks much better.” Then Luke laughed. “Not that you looked bad before Mr. Doe, just shaggy. Yes, he looks pretty smart now.”
“Do you have a mirror?” John wanted to see Dora’s handiwork. Then he realized he hadn’t yet looked at his image. “Maybe just a hand mirror.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to see more than his face, which might appear unusual, what with the beard he’d grown since staying with the Richardsons.
“Tilda, go get my mirror,” Dora called. Then she stepped in front of John. “I hope it’ll be all right.”
He ran a hand through his hair, then smiled. “Feels better, thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.”
She glanced at him, her eyes the same color as her daughters, but not as blue as Luke’s. Then John shivered, for as soon as she turned to the side, he could see she was pregnant. Quickly she faced the house, as if watching her youngest children. John wondered if that was why she’d been avoiding him; on occasion he’d heard her throwing up, maybe his injury exacerbated her condition.
Tilda ran toward them, a small mirror in her grasp. “Here you are,” she said, stopping next to her mother.
Dora didn’t turn to face John. “You can give it to him,” she said to Tilda.
John smiled at the girl, her usual brazenness having disappeared. She grinned shyly, then held out the mirror.
“Thank you very much,” he said, taking it from her. He stared at his face; his eyes were gray, which he hadn’t known, his skin seemed slightly pale, but he’d been indoors for the last two weeks. His beard was the result of not being able to shave by himself, and his hair looked…. Well groomed, he smiled. Then he looked at Dora. “This’s great, wish I could pay you for it.”
Dora met his gaze. “It’s nothing. Been cutting the kids’ hair, you know.”
“Not mine anymore.” Luke approached John, giving him the once-over. “I go to the barber in town now.”
Tilda rolled her eyes, making John laugh. “Well, you look good too Luke. But your mother does a fine job.”
Dora’s soft chuckle didn’t escape John’s hearing, nor did Tilda’s huff. “She cuts mine real good too.”
“Yes she does.” John met Dora’s eyes. “Again, thank you so much.”
She nodded, but her lower lip trembled. Then she walked behind him, taking the sheet from around his neck. She brushed off loose hairs, then balled up the sheet. “You should probably lay down now, been upright a good while. Luke, you help him. Tilda, you take the chair back in there.”
“Yes Mama,” the children answered in unison, but Dora was already walking away as they spoke. John stood, watching her reach where the little girls had stayed, even without anyone close to them. All four were well behaved and another would be added in the coming year.
That evening John ate his supper with Walt for company, although John had urged Walt to join his family. “It’s all right,” Walt said. “Maybe in another few days you can sit with us.”
John smiled. “That would be wonderful.”
Walt nodded, then leaned back in the metal chair. “Not sure what we’re gonna do with you.” Walt took a bite, chewing slowly. He swallowed, then sighed. “Been talking about it with Callie, he has no idea either.”
“I’ve been thinking about this, but I just don’t know.” John had hoped getting a haircut might jog his memory. Then he cleared his throat. “Walt, can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask,” Walt smiled.
John chuckled. “Fair enough.” Then John paused, for while he was curious, it truly wasn’t his business. Yet, if Dora was pregnant, it would explain her demeanor. “Are you and Mrs. Richardson expecting a….”
Walt’s eyes went wide, then he nodded. “But it’s still early days,” he said softly.
“I wondered.” John took a deep breath, then started to cough. He began to choke and Walt gently patted his left shoulder. No food was caught in John’s throat, only a memory, now making him tremble.
“You okay?” Walt asked as John took another breath. “What’s wrong?”
“I just remembered my wife,” John whispered. “Oh God, how could I have forgotten I was married?” He shook his head, then shivered. “She’s expecting our baby and she’s due soon, Jesus Christ!”
Walt leaned forward in his seat. “What else can you remember?”
John closed his eyes, but no image was present. Yet the feeling ran so strongly through him, making him bend over, grasping his knees for support. “Nothing, only that she’s pregnant and….”
“And what?”
John sat up, looking at Walt. “We have a daughter, God, maybe Gail’s age?” He wasn’t sure exactly, but that seemed close. “I have a wife and a child and another on the way, so what the hell am I doing here?”
“I dunno, sure wish I could tell you. Are you certain?”
John nodded, then shook his head. “I guess, I mean, there’s no proof, but….” Then John sighed deeply. “Luke’s eyes are the same color as my daughter’s. I knew there was something familiar about him.”
Walt stood. “Lemme go get him, maybe if you see him….”
“No, don’t.” Suddenly John wanted to be far away from this place, but not to find his family. Why had he abandoned his wife, their daughter, and…. “Just go, I need some time alone.”
“You sure?”
John nodded, then met Walt’s cautious stare. “Don’t worry, I can’t get far.”
Walt gazed around the room. “I sure as hell don’t wanna come out and find you hanging from the rafters.”
The idea had already passed through John’s mind. “I can’t tie a decent knot one-handed.”
Walt grunted, then took a deep breath. “Listen to me now. The last thing Dora needs is more upset, so you keep this to yourself. If I even catch you trying something stupid, I’ll, well, just don’t say anything, all right?”
John nodded. “Is she okay?”
“She’s….” Walt cleared his throat. “We’ve lost a couple. Don’t wanna lose this one.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Walt nodded. “Nothing we can do ’bout it now. And as for you, at least you’re recalling something. It’ll come back to you, I’m sure.”
“Yeah?”
/> “Well, I can’t imagine you’ll be living in my shed the rest of your life. If you’ve got kin out there, they’re looking for you. Maybe they’ll be showing up before Christmas.”
“But if I have family, why haven’t they found me already?”
Walt wouldn’t meet John’s stare. “Dunno. In the meantime, think hard on it. We’ll see what you remember tomorrow.” Walt picked up John’s empty plate, then his own, still with a few bites remaining. Wordlessly he exited the shed, leaving John with much to ponder.
Chapter 172
The Hawk: Part Nine Page 15
