Day One (33 page)

“What’s up, little guy? Don’t you want to listen?”

He looks up at me. “My ears are sore.” His mouth hangs partway open, and a little bubble of spit has gathered on the bulb of his lower lip. I don’t know if I should wipe it off or leave him alone. I’m not good at this sort of thing, despite all the times he stayed with me while Luellen ran errands. We kept it simple. Mostly I let
him do whatever he wanted. Fortunately, it was never much. Watch the birds, pretend to sweep the deck. Drink grape juice. Run Hot Wheels around on the floor. I wouldn’t have known what to do if he’d tried to drive my car or set fire to the couch. The price of reaching my senior years without siring offspring.

“I never smoked.”

Ed’s voice startles me. At first I don’t realize he’s speaking to me. He’s looking out the window, watching Myra pace.

“You see guys like me, talking with a machine, and they are almost always someone who chain-smoked three packs a days for thirty years, or kept their cheek stuffed full of chew. I have inhaled my share of secondhand smoke, mostly Charm’s. But I never lit up myself.”

“I see.”

“You are a smoker, right?”

“Yeah.” I hesitate a moment. “I quit, but yeah. For upwards of forty years.”

“Why did you quit?”

“The usual reason, I guess.”

“Cancer, or fear of cancer.”

“Little of both. I’m in remission.”

He nods.

“I was always proud of myself for not smoking, like I was flipping off the Devil himself and nothing he could do about it. But only a fool tests Old Scratch. Because now I know he put my own gun into my son’s hands and gave him cause to pull the trigger. There is no escape.”

I draw a breath. “Ed, listen to me. It doesn’t have to be like that. Okay? Let me take Danny and walk away.”

“That is not possible.”

“I’m not a cop anymore. You let us go, I won’t tell anyone I even saw you. I won’t say anything. I just want Danny to be safe.”

“It is out of my control.”

“Please—” The car door opens beside me. I turn, catch a blast of Myra’s toxic breath in my face.

“What the fuck, Ed. Following dicklips all over hell today wasn’t enough for you? Now you gotta sit here jawing with him while the sun sets? I’m getting cold. Ain’t it about fucking time?”

I push away from her, feel Ed grip my arm. He doesn’t speak, just grunts an affirmation from the bottom of his throat. I quickly see why. He’s dropped the larynx so he can grab my other arm too and press my forearms together. Myra leans through the open door and twists a length of clothesline around my wrists. My eyes water in the stench that boils off of her. I struggle, but Ed is too strong. He holds my bound wrists in one big hand, takes the clothesline in the other and yanks my hands across the seat back. He pulls the rope tight, then ties it off as Myra thrusts her arm under the front seat from the back, finds the free end of the rope. I kick with both feet, stomp her arm and she squeals. Ed pops me in the cheek. In the instant I’m dazed, she pulls the rope around my ankles, too fast for me to writhe free. She knots it tight, then pulls back. Her face is red with rage.

“Did you see what that fucker did to me?”

Ed checks the tension on the clothesline. I’m trussed hands and feet, unable to move. The more I pull on my bonds, the tighter they become. Already my hands are starting to grow numb. His eyes are empty as he raises the electrolarynx.

“I am sorry if I gave you the idea we had become friends.”

Three Years, Three Months Before

I
n the Victory Chapel, there was only the cross. No graven images, no images of the Apostles. The Bible picture books in the Sunday School rooms showed no illustrations of Moses, Abraham or the Savior. Such were deemed idolatry and thus forbidden. The fallen churches may defy the second Commandment—the Catholics and Lutherans and Presbyterians—but not the Victory Chapel. On this matter, as with many others, doctrine was firm. It didn’t stop Ellie’s mother from keeping a framed print of Jesus. The picture hung in the hallway at the top of the stairs. Jesus among family pictures: Brett and Rob in their Little League uniforms, Myra and Ellie in school pictures. Second grade, no front teeth. Tenth grade, first FFA ribbon. Grandparents, cousins, some of the pictures as old as photography itself, some of them as new as one-hour digital printing from Wal-Mart. Among them was a faded shot of the original homestead, her three-greats grandfather and grandmother standing in front of a sod-topped house, peering blankly into the camera. Hasting Kern, the oldest stone in the family plot, his wife Marybell next to him. And Jesus, there in the midst of them all. Ellie would sometimes catch her mother at the top of the stairs,
gazing at the print, her expression blank as Marybell Kern’s. Ellie never knew if the picture offered her comfort, if or it hung there as an act of defiance, a holdover from her life before she found the Victory Chapel. Her mother’s past was never discussed, but it wasn’t a secret she was raised a mainline Christian. An idolater.

In the moment Ellie reached Mount Tabor’s summit and saw the statue of Harvey Scott for the first time, she thought of her mother’s forbidden print. The statue stood a dozen feet high, eyes smoldering, right arm pointing west. Guiding, or commanding— Ellie couldn’t tell. She pulled up short, a trickle of understanding springing up within her. Perhaps her mother’s print served as an anchor to her life before she became a Kern. Perhaps she didn’t see Jesus when she looked at the picture, but rather a glimpse of her own history. And what did Luellen see when she looked up at this stern figure? Did she find a similar anchor in Harvey Scott’s graven image, or did it mean something else to her; a link to a new history in a new land, worlds away from Givern Valley?

A woman sat on a concrete bench below the statue, her back to Ellie. Her dark hair was tied in a knot at her neck. With one pale hand she gently pushed a stroller back and forth in front of her. Ellie moved closer. She heard the woman’s quiet voice singing a wordless lullaby, a tune she faintly recalled across the years from her own childhood, something her mother might have sang to her, or to Myra. She couldn’t name it, but the sound brought up a swelling ache in her chest. She paused and pressed her hand to her breast as if she could force the pain back down again. For a moment she stood there, until the sight of footie-clad baby feet kicking in the stroller, tiny pink hands waving, drew her forward. Trying not to make a sound, Ellie climbed a set of narrow steps from the roadway up to the grassy area at the foot of the statue. A twig snapped under her foot. The woman turned her head. Ellie drew a sharp breath.

“Lu—?”

She stood and smiled, her hand still resting on the stroller’s handle. “Hi, Ellie.”

For a moment Ellie’s sight blurred. “I didn’t know if I would ever find you.”

“I’m glad you made it.”

Ellie felt as though she was standing in a dream. A breeze rushed up the hill behind her, carrying with it the scent of fir resin and water. Somewhere inside her a clock seemed to be ticking down the seconds since she’d fled Hiram through Stuart’s corn. With Luellen’s appearance, unexpected yet hoped for, it ran down to zero and stopped. She lost all strength in her legs, started to slide sideways. Luellen moved quickly to take hold of her, led her to the concrete bench and helped her sit. Her hands fell into her lap. Luellen’s arm curled across her shoulders and pulled her in tight. Ellie lowered her head and leaned against Luellen’s shoulder. She’d made it, Givern to Portland, a step ahead of the storm.

They sat together for a long time without speaking. The only sounds were of the winds pushing through Douglas-fir trees above their heads, the footsteps of runners and dog walkers passing on the summit drive. Ellie listened to the casual chatter of strangers in the park, felt the cool concrete bench against her bottom. After a while, the breeze lifted her hair off her face and she opened her eyes.

“Your note didn’t say much.”

“I was afraid someone would read it.” From the stroller, the baby looked up at her through round, dark eyes. “I just wanted you to know I was coming.”

“Interesting choice of a place to meet.”

“I remembered it from one of your letters.”

“That’s right. I told you how I like this place.” Luellen paused, turned to face Ellie. Her eyebrows gathered together between her eyes. “What happened? Why did you come here?”

Ellie had planned to tell Luellen everything. With Pastor Sanders,
she might avoid an outright admission, but Luellen was different. Luellen was her friend, the only island of security in the deep, turbulent sea of her life in Givern Valley. But as she gazed at the baby, she hesitated. She thought about the many brief notes Luellen had sent from Portland, snippets of information appearing almost at random
... rented a mail box ... I’ve moved again ... started a new job ... rented a room in a house near the park ...
Taken together, the notes might fill a page or two. None had mentioned a baby.

“Luellen, who is this?”

“His name is Danny.” She licked her lips and shifted on the bench. “He’s my son.”

“Your son.”

“You know,” Ellie felt Luellen’s arm slide off her shoulders, “I haven’t checked that mail box in over a month.”

“You never told me.”

“They called me to tell me I had mail.” As she spoke, her fingers knotted and unknotted in her lap. “They’ve never done that.”

That boy with the strange name.
“Raajit.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Luellen shrugged. “I assumed he was calling because the box was jammed with junk mail and they wanted me to clear it out. But all that was there were your two notes.”

“That was very thoughtful of him.”

“A world first from that place.”

“Lu, why didn’t you tell me about your baby?”

Luellen leaned forward and brushed a wisp of hair off the baby’s forehead. He squirmed at her touch. Danny, she’d called him. Ellie tried to remember the name of Luellen’s college boyfriend, the one who presented nicer than he turned out to be. Not Dan.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how? You think I don’t understand that people don’t always have their children when they want to?”

“Ellie, please—”

“I get it, Luellen.” Her fingers dug into her palms. “I’m not some backwoods hayseed.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest you were.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Luellen put her hands to her temples. For a moment she held them there, her eyes closed. Then her eyes snapped open and she dropped her hands back in her lap.

“After I got to Portland, one of the first things I did was make an appointment at Planned Parenthood. I wanted to get it out of me.” She stole a glance into Ellie’s eyes. “I suppose that’s a shock to you.”

“I’m not my family, Luellen. I’m not the Little Liver Creek Victory Chapel.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

An uneasy silence fell between them. Ellie gazed out over the city to the east. She looked for Mount Hood in the distance, but low clouds clung to the horizon, a reflection of her dark mood.

“How did this happen? You always were the one who said we should pay attention to Lady Latex.”

Luellen attempted a laugh, the sound rueful and tired. “Remember when my mom cornered me on my sixteenth birthday to give me that box of condoms? I thought I would die.”

Ellie managed a wistful smile. Luellen’s mother had always been kind to her, the poor farm girl living among superstitious cavemen without the benefits of civilization. Mrs. Granger often seemed surprised if Ellie said something to indicate the Kerns had running water or electricity.

“You know what’s worse? At my appointment I found out I had chlamydia. Go figure, huh? Me, Miss Safe Sex Klamath County, not just knocked up, but infected.”

“Chlamydia?” The air seemed to evacuate from around her.

“When I heard, a switch must have flipped in my brain. I’d been
impregnated, infected, had my life turned upside down. As I sat there in that exam room I decided to hell with him. It was my life and it would be my baby. I told the doctor I wanted to treat the infection and keep the baby.”

“Chlamydia.”

“Like I said. Complicated.”

“Lu, where’s that clinic? Can anyone go?”

“What do you mean?”

“I lost my prescription when I left the house. I couldn’t go back for it. It wasn’t safe.”

“Ellie—”

Ellie’s mind flashed back to the sitting room, the scent of moldy bread, the slap of Stuart’s worm against her cheeks. The clam dip. “He has Stuart’s eyes.” Spoken softly. She reached out and stroked the fat baby cheeks. “Big and round and dark. Danny.”

Luellen went stiff. She seemed to have stopped breathing. Then she sagged. “He started showing up after you lost the baby. He felt guilty, and sad. Angry with his father.” She shook her head. “I should have made him go away. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Ellie felt suddenly cold. She lifted her head, saw the clouds had moved closer from the east, heavier and darker. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at Luellen’s baby. Stuart’s baby.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”