Finding Bluefield (24 page)

“I know and I’m sorry.”

“What are you going to do in Bluefield?” Barbara said.

“I have no idea,” Nicky said. “See things. See what’s happened around here. Maybe you’ll come down here too?”

“I most certainly am coming down to get you,” Barbara said.

“To be with me. Not get me.”

“I can’t believe you’re in Virginia.”

“I had a wonderful ride,” Nicky said. “I had so much time to think about things. I bought a pack of cigarettes in Maryland.”

“You what?”

“Not to smoke. I just bought them. I think it was because I always had them with me here. The cigarettes reminded me of how much has happened since I moved away. I left the pack on the counter at a road stop before I pulled into town. They’re very expensive now, you know?” Nicky stood and stretched the phone as far as it would reach. She let the water drip off as she spoke.

“Don’t do anything till I get there.”

“What would I do?” Nicky stepped out of the tub and dried herself.

“I don’t know what you would do, but you just drove to Bluefield on an impulse so I’m just saying don’t do anything else till I get there.”

“I love it when you worry about me. Have I ever told you that?”

“All the time. What about Paul?”

“He’s not here.”

“Funny.”

“He’s in school. Don’t bother him. He’s busy with classes.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Barbara said. “As soon as I hang up with you I’m calling him. He will want to come with me.”

“I’m not in the mood to argue.”

“Nor are you in the position to.”

“Did I tell you how beautiful it is here? I have the windows open. It’s November.” Nicky carried the phone back to the bed where she got under the covers.

“Are you really okay, Nicky?” Barbara said.

“I’m better than okay. A little tired though,” she said, pulling the cover over her shoulders. “On the way down I kept thinking that the sun is always shining. It’s always shining. We still talk about sunsets and sunrises even when we know better. Sometimes I forget. I guess I stop paying attention and then I forget that the sun is always shining. But I love you. I never forget that.”

“I love you too, Nicky,” Barbara said. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

Nicky fell right to sleep. An old dream came back to her like some late night rerun. In it, Leroy was being chased by an angry crowd, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not reach him. She’d had that dream for weeks after she gave Leroy a ride out of Bluefield. It didn’t matter that she knew Leroy was safe, that she’d brought him to Richmond herself. The dream had frightened her so that she remained always on her guard, and the fear stayed with her during waking hours, and daytime too became full of bad dreams. Barbara had said it was triggered by hormones, and she might have been right because as soon as Nicky gave birth, the dream stopped and never came back. Until now.

*

By the time Barbara got off the phone with Nicky, she was calm. She had wanted Nicky to have a stronger reaction to Carol-Ann’s death, and this was something. Maybe a bit more dramatic than she had hoped for, but Nicky had to make her peace with Carol-Ann, with Bluefield, with herself, and maybe a return to Virginia would speed up the healing. In fact, Barbara now wished she’d been the one to suggest going to Bluefield. But if it had been my idea, she thought, Nicky probably would not have gone. Nicky was more comfortable just driving off than planning. Feeling wide awake, Barbara called Susan. It was late, but she promised.

“She’s in Bluefield, Susan.”

“Where?”

“Bluefield, Virginia. Where she grew up.”

“And she’s okay?” Susan asked.

“Yes. I’m going to go down there tomorrow.”

“It sounds like Nicky needs a sort of homecoming, and she should have her whole family there with her. You should bring Paul.”

“I’m going to call him when I hang up with you. He’ll want to come.”

“She went back because of her sister?”

“We moved here because her sister wanted to take Paul away from her, wanted to adopt him. That’s why Nicky stopped talking to Carol-Ann, and that’s why we never returned to Virginia. Not even for a visit.”

“Does Paul know about this?”

“None of it. It’s time for Nicky to tell him. If she won’t, I will. This has gone on long enough.”

“I wish I could come with you.”

Barbara replaced the phone in its cradle. It was late and she decided to wait and call Paul in the morning. She went into her study and checked her commitments for the rest of the week. She called the airlines. Flying wasn’t going to be convenient so she would drive. Paul might miss some classes, but she didn’t care if he missed the whole semester. Barbara didn’t like anyone to cover for her and had never left the office with such little notice. It made her nervous to skip out on her commitments, as if everything she had worked for would unravel. Being responsible for the family’s economic well-being drove her. She never wanted Paul to feel like he was going it alone the way she had.

Wide-awake now, the road trip was quickly growing on Barbara. Yes, she would let Paul sleep and then he would do most of the driving. He took to driving the way Nicky had. The return to Bluefield, she realized, meant that she too would finally come to terms with having been run out of town. And Paul would at last make his journey home. If it was his home simply by having been born there. But wasn’t it more than just his birth? It was his lineage, his heritage, his legacy. He left Bluefield when he was just three months old, but the Stewarts had been farming there for over two hundred years. Nicky had put Paul to bed with stories about the family farm, the pond, the barns, the fields of silage corn, the hogs. She told him about Andy’s garage, and Lucinda’s diner where you could always, always find a piece of blackberry pie. But why, why do I think Bluefield is his home? Isn’t Medford his home?

Later, after a few hours of sleep, and with the sunrise shining through her study window, she dialed Paul. On the twelfth ring Barbara heard the receiver being lifted.“Paul,” Barbara said.

“Barbara?”

Barbara heard a woman’s voice complain about the time.

“It’s Saturday,” Paul said.

“I know. I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Paul whispered into the phone. “Talk.”

“Did Mom call you last night?”

“She didn’t. What’s going on, Barbara?”

“Your mom drove to Virginia.”

“Virginia?” Paul said loudly.

“Yes.”

“Where she grew up?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“That’s the part I was hoping she told you.”

“Well, she didn’t, so you need to. Did you have a fight?”

“Is everything all right?” Barbara heard a woman’s voice ask.

“Who’s that with you?” Barbara asked. “If she’s in your room this early then you might want to introduce us.”

“What’s going on?” he asked Barbara.

“This is going to sound confusing.”

“Going to?”

Barbara paused for a moment. “Her sister died.”

“Died? What sister?”

“Mom’s sister. Her name is Carol-Ann,” Barbara said. “She was three years older than your mom and she lived in California.”

“Mom has a sister and you’re just telling me now. And you’re only telling me because she died?”

“I can’t believe she left this for me,” Barbara said.

“That’s not the issue, Barbara.”

“You’re right. Okay. Your mom and Carol-Ann haven’t spoken in many years, and then on Saturday we got a letter from one of her kids, Claire. She’s your cousin. She’s maybe ten years older than you. Anyway, she wrote to tell us that her mom died and that she thought Nicky and I would want to know.”

“You knew her?” Paul asked.

“I met her a couple of times, many years ago.”

“I have an aunt that no one told me about, and she died. And I have a cousin? And Mom took off for Virginia,” Paul said. “Anything else? Anyone else I should know about? This seems like a good time to tell all.”

“There are more cousins. Carol-Ann had three girls the last time we saw them.”

“When was that?”

“Before we moved to Medford. Carol-Ann and Richard and their family came to Bluefield to see you after you were born.”

“They met me?”

“You were about a week old.”

“So why is Mom in Virginia?” Paul said. “You said Carol-Ann lived in California. Are they burying her in Bluefield?”

“No. We missed the funeral,” Barbara said. “Truthfully, I’m not sure why she’s in Virginia, but I’m going down there to get her.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Have to? Funny,” Paul said. “And miss seeing Bluefield, the land of the Stewart legends. No way.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d want to come.”

“Then why didn’t you ask?” Paul said. “Is there anyone else I should know about before I shower?”

“That’s it.”

“What about my father? What does this have to do with him?”

“I don’t know,” Barbara said.

“Was Mom going to tell me about Carol-Ann?”

“I don’t know,” Barbara said.

“Why didn’t they talk?”

“Your mom should answer that.”

“She will, but you get to tell me your version,” Paul said. “Because the timing of all this points to having something to do with me.”

“Give her a chance,” Barbara said. “She took the news about Carol-Ann hard. I’m worried about her.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Mom’s tough.”

“Anyway, you have to catch a bus soon so we can start driving.”

“Okay.”

“Bring your friend,” Barbara said. “Road trip.”

“Good-bye, Barbara.”

“Bring her.”

Barbara remained at her desk for several minutes. When she finally stood up, she put down the phone and went to the bedroom where she changed into a cotton turtleneck and running shorts. She double knotted her sneakers, slipped out of the house and into the cool, crisp autumn air, and began to run under the cloudless sky. At the end of her street she turned left toward Center Road. Crossing the bridge, she glanced briefly at the dam below. Most trees along these familiar miles had shed their leaves—except for those stubborn oaks. Always the last to let go. Houses, set back from the road and hidden by the foliage since spring, were once again exposed.

Barbara’s muscles were now warmed and loose and she picked up her pace. Her legs felt strong, almost springy, as they carried her along the route. As she settled into a familiar rhythm, her breathing became steady, her arms swung purposefully, each trained to stay on their own side of her belly button as she ran, and her mind began to clear.

Barbara got Paul into running. She started out going for walks to relieve the stress of work but quickly found it too slow and turned to running. At first, Paul rode his bike alongside her as she ran, but after a while, he abandoned the bike and ran with her. She liked the time they spent together and their routes steadily grew longer. She discovered the ability to maintain her pace over long distances and entered a marathon. A successful first try led to more training and more marathons. Last year when she turned fifty, she won her age group. Paul ran the whole race alongside her.

At the steep hill on South Street, Barbara’s legs automatically shortened their stride, her arms exaggerated their motion, appearing as if they were pulling her. Up ahead, a woman raking leaves onto a tarp looked up, nodded, and continued raking. Barbara lengthened her stride as she started to come down the other side of that hill.

Barbara turned left by the cemetery. Carol-Ann was buried somewhere in California. Where will Nicky and I be buried? Near our house in Medford? Nicky’s family, the Stewarts, have been burying their dead in Bluefield for over two hundred years. My family is all over Ohio. All these unconnected gravestones are a little like littering, she thought. It’s why cremation intrigued her. But she was scared of fire.

“Good run?” Susan called from her driveway as Barbara approached her house.

“Yeah. It’s going to be a good day.”

“Call me from Virginia.”

Once back inside, Barbara peeled off her wet clothing and stepped in the shower.

1982

Nicky wiped sweat from her brow and reached for the phone that kept ringing and ringing. Shaken from her sleep, she sat up and looked around the room, needing to orient herself.

“How’d you sleep?” Barbara said.

“What time is it?”

“Eight. Sorry. I wanted to catch you.”

“I was having a nightmare,” Nicky said. She swung her legs out of bed. “Remember the one I used to have before Paul was born? The one about Leroy, the one where he gets lynched and I can’t stop them?”

“I remember,” Barbara said. “It went away after Paul was born.”

“I was too tired to tell you last night or this morning or whenever it was that we talked.” Nicky lay back down and pulled the white sheet up to her neck. “I met his daughter.”