Return to Redlin

by Lazette Gifford

  Chapter 7

  I watched Derrick herding Markie Weston down the stairs and I couldn't help but notice how anxious he seemed to get away from her. I'd always thought of Markie as kind of hopeless and helpless, caught in a world where people like Tom and Junior ruled, and I felt sorry for her. I didn't like to see Derrick almost shoving her out of the way --

  But then I wondered what life would have been like to live with this woman -- to not be her child, to not fit in, and to have not even her to turn to. Going to Markie with a problem would have been useless.

  Derrick pushed his coat over the seat into the back and settled beside me, shaking his head, plainly unsettled.

  "Are you all right?"

  "She gives me the willies, to be honest. I always felt like she's not connected to here and never has been. Maybe she learned that to cope with living with Tom -- but it really felt weird this time." He stopped and shook his head, then glanced my way. "I need to stop by the flower shop, if we can."

  "No problem. We have plenty of time. I was going to suggest some coffee first, but since Markie is heading over there --"

  "Yeah, I'd rather avoid her if I can." He leaned back and pulled the seatbelt into place as we headed out of the parking lot. "I don't know why it upset me so much. Probably because I had just talked to my kids and my sister-in-law."

  "Problems?" I asked, hearing worry in his voice again.

  "No. I have to make a decision." He shook his head again. He obviously didn't want to talk about it.

  I considered offering coffee at my apartment or my mother's house, but I thought he seemed worried enough already. No need to add any more pressure to him. Besides, he might have agreed -- and I didn't need the pressure, either.

  "Where's your car?" I asked. "It's not rental is it?"

  "No, I drove up from Florida. Needed some time to think." He shook his head again. "Police towed it to the place on Wayright Street?"

  "Good. That's my dad's place. He'll do good work."

  "Oh, good. I don't have to worry then. You never know what kind of work you'll get in small towns."

  I pulled up to the Redlin Flower Shop and he got out before I could offer to go in for him, or help, or anything. I had the feeling he was used to taking care of things himself, no matter what his condition. And I had to wonder about his limp and broken arm -- something we had managed not to talk about yet. I wondered why and what he hid.

  Derrick didn't take long and came out with two bundles of flowers. He carefully placed them in the backseat. We reached the funeral home about half an hour early and had a chance to talk to Shawn Heflin, the minister. He seemed quite surprised to learn Derrick was Jackson Hoy's grandson. They went off to a private room to talk, and I sat out in the waiting area, greeting a few friends from the Senior Center and helping a couple of them into the pews.

  Fragile people, slipping away by inches, and I didn't want to lose them. Mrs. Abrams seemed the strongest of them all, despite being one of the oldest. We talked for a moment before Derrick and the minister came back out. She glanced at Derrick, frowning a little. We went in and I sat down with her and watched Derrick take a seat, alone, in the area for family.

  "Who is that young man?"

  "Derrick Weston," I said, but then shook my head. "I don't know his real last name. He grew up with the Westons after his mother died."

  Her eyes widened a little. "Lily's son?"

  "Yes."

  "Well. My." She stared at the back of his head with a kind of speculation I didn't understand.

  But my attention turned to something far less pleasant. Tom and Junior arrived, both of them in work clothes, and sauntering down between the pews to the front, where they threw themselves down on either side of Derrick. I had started to stand, but Mrs. Abrams caught my arm, obviously afraid I'd do something stupid --

  "What are you doing here?" Derrick asked, his voice clear in the otherwise silent room.

  "Just came to pay the old fart our last respects," Tom Dare said, his voice too loud. "And to see you Derry, since you couldn't bother to come by and see us."

  "Not here. Not now."

  "You aren't showing much respect to the dead now, are you?" Tom asked. "But not a surprise, considering how little you show to the living."

  Junior snorted in agreement.

  "This is not the place --" Derrick began, and I could almost feel the ice in his words.

  "You upset your ma this morning by not having coffee with her," Tom said. "That's no way to treat --"

  "She's not my mother. You are not my father. And praise God, Junior is not my brother --"

  "You be polite boy --" Tom grabbed at his neck like someone would grab a bad kitten. Derrick pulled away --

  And Deputy Miller came stalking down the aisle. I didn't see his face, but from the way he walked, I could tell he was pissed.

  "Tom, Junior -- outside. Now."

  "You don't have no right, Miller, to harass us like this." Tom stood, scowling at Miller. I'd forgotten he stood taller -- and bigger -- than Junior, and not so much fat, either.

  "I've got a complaint from the Funeral Parlor. Outside. Now."

  Tom glanced back toward the door, and his eyes narrowed. I saw not only Sheriff Krogman from Redlin, but two State patrolmen, too. Tom scowled, then reached down and caught Junior by the arm.

  "Let's go, Junior," he said.

  Junior started to protest. Tom jerked him up, confirming my opinion about muscle in his bulk. They stalked out of the chapel, though I could hear voices loud in anger before they got out of the building.

  I could guess Derrick's mood from the ramrod straightness of his back. I thought maybe Tom and Junior were being pretty stupid. Derrick didn't look like the kind of person you should annoy.

  The service went pretty well afterwards. Shawn Heflin had known Mr. Hoy pretty well, and he told a couple stories, making some of us laugh. I had been watching Derrick, though -- how he gradually relaxed, and I couldn't help but wonder if he accepted more than his grandfather's death just then.

  By the time we got outside the ground felt slick with ice. Most of the people headed straight for the Senior Center, where there would be a luncheon.

  Derrick stopped by me after they placed the casket into the hearse. He shook his head. "I think the weather is going to change for the worse, Ginger. You don't have to go to the cemetery --"

  "I'm going." I looked around. "No limo?"

  "I told them no. Makes me feel too strange, you know?"

  "Yes, understand. So you need a ride anyway. Come on. They're ready to go."

  Derrick nodded. He looked drained and tired as we walked to my car. He limped worse again. He rubbed at his neck after he climbed in, but I didn't say anything.

  I fell in behind the hearse as we pulled away. Six others came behind us, a nice honor for Mr. Hoy, even on such a lousy day.

  "I can't believe Tom and Junior pulled that stunt," Derrick suddenly said, the words slipping out as though he could no longer keep them inside. "What the hell do they think they can gain?"

  "They do it for fun, Derrick. You're an easy target right now because you're an..."

  "An outsider." He shrugged and looked at me. "You don't be embarrassed; I know I am. Redlin was hell for me growing up."

  "My mom would like you to come to dinner tonight."

  I don't know what the hell made me say it right then, and he gave me a really odd look. I shrugged, finally.

  "She says you were a nice, polite kid."

  "Me?"

  "Yeah, you, the --" I stopped myself from saying the pretty one and concentrated on driving. "She said you helped carry groceries for her a couple times, and pushed her out of a snow bank."

  "Yeah, I did." He tilted his head. "She didn't treat me like dirt."

  "So, you want to come by? Or do you want to go to the Café and risk running into Markie or the rest of the Westons?"

  "We'll see. Maybe," he said, which was a better answer than I expected.
>
  Loma, the county seat, is about ten miles away through twisty, narrow roads passing over the hills at the edge of the river plain. Floods took out the closer cemetery about thirty years ago. I didn't like to make the drive in bad weather, though so far we only had a little bit of ice in patches. We went slowly up through the cut banks and pas brown, leafless trees.

  "I think I saw a couple flakes of snow," Derrick said suddenly. I hadn't realized we'd been quiet for so long. I'm used to driving by myself.

  "This is going to be bad tonight." I slowed a little, fearing ice. "Cars go off the road here all the time, and there's a damned steep drop down the ravine to the creek. We'll be fine. We're almost there."

  "Good. You know, I feel stupid for coming back here. I read the Loma newspaper online, just out of perversity. When I saw my grandfather had died, I thought I might be able to find something about my mother and my father.. I knew there would be trouble with the Westons. But I wanted to... I don't know. Maybe have a bit of closure with this part of my life. Get it done and --" He stopped and shook his head.

  "And buried," I said.

  "Yeah, but it sounds crass under the circumstances, especially since I only barely knew my grandfather. Tom Weston didn't like him and then Hoy moved away. When did he come back?"

  "About seven years ago. He traveled all over the US, Canada and Mexico. I think he wanted somewhere he could sit and relax for awhile."

  "Was he happy here?"

  "Yes, I think so." I glanced at Derrick and almost smiled. "This isn't such a bad place, Apple Days and all."

  He gave a little laugh. We came up over another hill and Loma sat in a crevice of a valley, the city hall and courthouse sticking up between already bare trees. Two church spires stood at opposite ends of town. The graveyard sat another three miles past town, nestled among some ash and oak trees in the distance. The place dates back to the first settlements in the area, with some of the stones worn down by the weather and now unreadable. An old church that used to sit on the edge had succumbed to the weather about five years before, and the locals finally had torn it down for safety reasons.

  We arrived only a few minutes later -- the six cars and hearse travelling down the slick gravel road and into the otherwise empty graveyard. We passed a grave with a few dying flowers.

  The ceremony at the gravesite went better without the Weston's around, though I could feel a little ice in the rain drops and felt grateful-- and guilty -- when the people went back to their cars.

  Derrick had brought two bundles of flowers to the graveside with him. He laid one on the casket and stood there for a moment, silent and still while everyone else hurried away. I wonder what he said to Mr. Hoy.

  By the time he stepped away the other cars had already started to head out. I waved them on when a couple stopped and waited for Derrick.

  He stood by and watched as workers lowered the casket into the ground and quickly cover it with dirt. Had he done the same thing at his wife's burial? The way he stood seemed like he kept a vigil; something he done before.

  The men piled their shovels into the truck nearby and Derrick stopped and shook their hands. How odd. I'd never considered how un-thanked those people probably went.

  Then he suddenly turned around with a start and found me leaning against a big old oak tree by my grandparent's graves. He came limping across the ground so fast he nearly slipped on the accumulating ice. He still had a bundle of flowers in one hand.

  "Oh damn, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking --" he began.

  "No problem, Derrick. Everything's fine. What are the flowers for?"

  "I hoped -- I wanted to find my mother's grave. I haven't been here since they buried her, though. I don't remember where she might be --"

  "You take that half and I'll take this half," I said.

  "You don't have to help. You should at least go back to the car and stay warm."

  I probably should have listened to him.

  "Go on. I can help."

  He gave a grateful nod and moved slowly off to his side of the cemetery. I cast one glance at the car settled up by the trees and went to work.

  Derrick found the grave about twenty minutes later. He called me over before he knelt down, bushing dirt and dead leaves away, and pulling a few weeds before he carefully laid the flowers in place.

  I came closer, but gave him a little privacy still. I couldn't imagine how he had felt as a boy, never allowed to come back again. I wondered about his father --

  But I didn't ask. Not now.

  Derrick didn't take very long. I almost told him not to hurry, but he seemed ready to go, wincing as he stood. He held his hand out. A few flakes of snow landed on his palm.

  "Yeah, I know. We better head back. The roads in the hills get awfully icy in a storm like this."

  "You should have said something, Ginger."

  "We have time. There's no hurry."

  "I don't remember you being this laid-back in school." He hurried toward the car as fast as his limp would allow, probably to get out of the cold. I'm sure he thought fondly of Florida right now.

  "I was a teen-ager in high school," I reminded him. "No one was this laid-back, including you."

  "Especially me." He laughed at my vigorous nod. "I know, I was always in trouble."

  "Why did you make so much trouble for yourself?"

  "The real, honest to God truth?" he asked as we reached the car. Snow had started to fall harder, some flakes sticking to his already damp hair. "I made trouble to get away from the Westons for a while."

  "Hell, Derrick. I didn't think --"

  "I didn't belong there and they let me know it." He grinned unexpectedly. "But life changes -- at least if you let things change. I don't think Tom, Junior and Markie will ever realize they're stuck because they want to be stuck."

  He gave me a curious glance, as though he wondered if I wanted to be stuck here, too. I didn't say anything as I unlocked the car and we got in. I felt better getting out of the weather.

  Key in ignition, turn...

  The car grumbled and died, grumbled and died, grumbled....

  Derrick sighed and shook his head. "I'll take a look."

  I got out, helping him with the hood. The engine appeared fine. I'm the daughter of a mechanic, and I at least know the basics. Derrick did too, and fiddled with a few things before I got in and tried once more.

  Grumble, die; grumble, die.

  We kept trying until the battery went nearly dead. By then we had at least an eighth of an inch of snow on the ground and the wind had picked up a bit.

  "I don't suppose you have a cell phone?" he asked.

  "Sorry, no." I got back out of the car. "I can't see the use in one out here -- though this may change my mind. You?"

  "I have a lovely one. I left the thing sitting on the bed back in the hotel. I didn't want Markie in, and I forgot to grab it on the way out." He watched the woods, frowning, turned toward the road -- and back to the woods again. "Something moved in there."

  "Deer," I said with a grin. "You've been gone too long."

  "I don't think --" But then he stopped and grinned. "Yeah, you're right. Well, shall we start walking?"

  "I suppose so." I shoved the door closed and tried not to scowl. "At least we don't have far to walk back to Loma. Are you going to be alright?"

  "Yeah. I'm sorry, Ginger."

  "The car would have broken down somewhere. I'm glad I have company."

  We started walking down the dirt road. I saw him glance back at his grandfather's grave and then at his mother's. He probably would never be back here. Mr. Hoy had been his last tie to the area, after all.

  Someone drove by on the highway just as we reached the road. I had hoped they'd stop and offer us a ride to town because Derrick's limp had already gotten worse, and the road felt icy. But car sped on, and I didn't see any other cars nearby.

  So we walked, talked about school, talked about Redlin, talked about my parents and my cousins... and we quite plainly did not
talk about him, his life away from here, and his children. I wanted to be annoyed that he asked so much about me and gave nothing back about himself, but I thought he didn't want to link them to this place and to bring even the thought of his children into an area he hated so much.

  I felt badly for him for new reasons, but I didn't pry.

  The snow began to fall harder, obscuring more than a few feet around us. I didn't feel too cold, at least, and the wind hadn't picked up. We both moved to the far edge of the road. I hoped cars came by soon, though this wasn't a well-traveled road at the best of times since the Interstate went through about five miles south of us.

  We'd walked about a mile before another car finally came up over the hill behind us, honked and slowed. I didn't recognize the car, but I sighed with relief as the driver pulled over and someone inside leaned across to pop open the side door. I hurried and --

  And I nearly knocked Derrick over when I pulled away from the sight of Junior.

  "What the hell are you two doing out here?" Junior demanded. He had a knit cap on, rolled up over his ears and his hair stood out on all sides. A long scarf hung around his neck and the coat he wore looked two sizes too big, even on him.

  "I had car problems," I answered, frantically wishing someone else would come along.

  "Just get the hell in and I'll take you back to Redlin."

  "I'd rather walk," Derrick answered and I gave a frantic nod of agreement.

  "Look -- I'm sorry about pa and me this morning. Miller was all over our asses about it, too. But you upset ma, the way you treated her. So here's the deal. I give you a ride home, you have coffee with ma before you leave town. Then I don't have to put up with more shit about you. Deal?"

  I glanced at Derrick, trying to keep my face neutral because I didn't want to ride with Junior, but the weather looked increasingly bad.

  "Deal." Derrick didn't sound happy. I glanced in the back seat and found boxes and sacks shoved in. Derrick nodded for me to get in the front.

  I didn't want to sit next to Junior, but probably better me than Derrick. I slid in, glad Derrick didn't bulk as much as Junior, so I kept closer to him. Junior put the car in gear, cursed when we slipped on the ice, and started driving -- a bit too fast, I thought, and didn't want to consider going over the hills with him.

  "Where did you get the car?" I asked.

  "Working on it at the junk yard." He hardly slowed at all at the edge of Loma, and I wished for police to pull him over right then. I think Derrick would have agreed.

  Junior slowed and swung into a lot, pulling up to the door at the little store at the edge of town.

  "Got to grab some cigs." He turned off the car and took the keys out. "Only take a minute."

  He pulled his cap down over his ears, shrugged his jacket back up on his shoulders and pulled the scarf around his face as though he feared freezing while walking the four feet from the car to the shop. He slammed the door behind him, leaving us alone.

  "Damn. I'm sorry, Ginger. This is --"

  "A quick way home," I said. "Don't worry."

  He gave a reluctant nod and glanced at the street as a police car went by. Police still made him nervous, I supposed. Police, Redlin, Junior, Tom Weston, Markie -- I could suddenly understand why he didn't want to spend time here.

  Junior came back out of the store at a bit of a run, slid on the ice and nearly fell. He grabbed the door, and threw himself in, shoving a sack into his jacket. He laughed as he turned the car on, hit the gas, and spun in the parking lot before hitting the highway and heading straight up the first hill.

  "Junior --" Derrick began.

  "Oh, get a grip. Lighten up. Have some fun!" And he hit the gas and went faster.

  I braced my hands on the front of the seat and gave Derrick a worried glance. I hoped he took my worry to heart and didn't say anything else to annoy Junior. We reached the top of the first hill and skidded through the turn, and then around another curve and up the next higher hill --

  I heard a siren and looked back, barely able to see police car's lights far back in the snow and probably still on the first hill.

  "Son of a bitch!" Junior shoved his foot down on the gas pedal.

  The car slipped dangerously on the ice, the back end hitting the railing and nearly knocking the car out of Junior's control. I gasped, hardly able to think as fear and rage fought for control. Once we got this car stopped, I intended to beat the hell out of him myself.

  "Don't be an idiot!" Derrick yelled and tried to reach past me with his good arm to grab Junior. "Stop the damn car and take the ticket --"

  Junior let go of the wheel with his right hand, reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, aiming toward Derrick -- and me. My breath stopped. Just stopped, and I couldn't be certain if I was more afraid of the gun, or the fact he took a hand from the steering wheel and his eyes from the road.

  Or maybe his maniacal grin scared me the most.

  "You robbed the store," Derrick said, his voice calm.

  "Damn right I did. I planned to anyway -- you should have asked what I was doing over here in Loma, you know. And you should have thought about why Missy's car broke down. I thought having you two along -- would just make the robbery better. You try anything Derrick, and I'll shoot her. Then I'll shoot you."

  Derrick's hand found my arm and squeezed gently. "Fine, Junior. But if you crash you're not going to enjoy this for long."

  The car swerved on the ice. The snow came harder now, like a falling blanket of white made seeing the road even more difficult. Junior grunted and grabbed the wheel, gun still in hand. We took the next curve a little slower, but I soon heard the police car and knew Junior would speed up again.

  I wanted to be brave and smart and to start talking to cover the sound of the police. My mouth wouldn't work. I knew Junior would shoot me. In fact, I had no doubt he intended to shoot us both anyway. Derrick knew and kept silent, but I saw him staring ahead, as though he expected more trouble, and glancing out the side window at every curve --

  We lost control, hit the guardrail and bounced back, the car sliding across the road and hitting the hillside. Derrick grabbed hold of me and Junior fought the car as we bounced back, clear across the road and toward the embankment and the drop into a ravine.

  We hadn't quite come to a stop when Derrick threw the car door open and pulled me out with him, rolling toward the edge of the road as the car slid past. I could hear Junior shriek in rage as the car stopped. The door opened --

  Derrick pulled me up to my feet and shoved me over the side of the road. I tumbled down the snow and ice-covered embankment, trying to grab at the weeds and bouncing against the rocks --

  I heard the gun fire, and saw Derrick turn and leap over the side of the embankment. The gun fired again. Then I heard the police car coming closer, and tried to frantically climb back up and get the attention of the police.

  "I'll be back for you, you bastards! I'll be back!"

  The car door slammed shut, the engine roared, and the car took off again, the sound echoing through the hills.

  I hadn't reach the road when the police car roared by, lights flashing red, siren wailing.

  I wailed as well, but the sound came from frustration. I stopped working so hard to get back to the road, and headed for Derrick.

  He hadn't moved from where he had fallen.