Liar's Bench (20 page)

I
passed Liar's Bench and parked in front of Dick's Barber Shop.

Bobby and I walked over to the jailhouse. I frowned. The
WILL RETURN IN AN HOUR
sign was still posted.

“Jeez.” Bobby turned to the town clock. “Twelve fifteen.”

“Out to lunch,” we said in unison.

We walked over to the Top Hat Café and peered into the window looking for Sheriff. No Jingles. Resigning ourselves to a wait, we headed over to Liar's Bench, where Mr. Harrison, a teller from over at First Tilley State Bank, was having a smoke and reading his newspaper. We waited politely behind the bench, holding hands. Each of us lost in our own thoughts. Mr. Harrison finally stubbed out his cigarette and made his way back to the bank, leaving a cloud of smoke around us. I sliced my hand through the haze, waving the smell away as we sat down.

I looked around and then I gently poked at Bobby's jeans. “Town's pretty quiet. Amos's letter,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, I wonder what this is about.” Bobby stood up for a moment, fumbling. “Gramps doesn't talk much about family, only my gramma. Must've stirred him up talking about your dad and all. Never connected Amos with Moss . . .”

Carefully, Bobby dug the paper out of his pocket and then scooted close so that we could both read.

I picked up a hedge apple and rolled it between my hands, pressing in my pain, Amos's sorrows, and Bobby's rage until the ball split and ran sticky sap over my clean jeans.

Bobby rubbed his jaw and then lit into Liar's Bench, hammering his fist onto the empty spot between us. “Another stick for the mutt dog. I'm a damn Anderson!” he blasted. “I can't believe it. That's why Gramps never showed me,” he said, disgusted.

I quickly covered the wood between us, taking Bobby's hand in mine, and said, “Most folks have kin connections if you dig deep enough.... You're still Bobby Marshall. You'll never be him.” I swallowed hard. “I knew it was bad with Frannie, but I never knew it was this bad for everyone. . . . It's like one of those napalm bombs in Vietnam that scatters its sticky fire onto everyone in its path. Bobby, I am so sorry for your family. . . . My Grammy Essie must've known about Amos's letter when she recorded Frannie's history. I guess Jessum or Sara shared it with her, but she didn't get around to recording it.”

“He wouldn't want it anywhere but in his Bible.... Let the devil be damned.” Bobby set an angry jaw as he folded up the letter. He gave a flick to the paper. I held my breath, praying he wouldn't tear it up in a fit. It was important to keep Amos's history.

“Bobby, it wasn't unusual back then to . . . you know, have blood of a . . .” I let the words trickle. “You know, we have your family pieced together now,” I said softly, rubbing the edge of the bench, thinking about Amos and his strong hands polishing and pounding. “You'll build your tomorrow on this.” I thought about his plans for law school. “Put it back into your pocket, Bobby. It's history, everybody's history. Amos had his wife pen his words for family—for you. We have their markers now. We'll have it all recorded and clean up the cemetery and we'll—”

“Do nothing, Mudas, because ain't nobody gonna care about the graves of darkies.”

I placed my hand on top of the letter. “That's not true, Bobby. I'm going to care.”

Bobby breathed a weary sigh.

“Forever,” I promised.

Bobby kissed the tear that had rolled down my face. “Mudas, you know what?” he whispered hoarsely. “I believe you. I believe you will.”

We sat for a long while, not saying anything, just giving the bench and each other the tender needed.

After a bit, Bobby got up and paced, muttering about Jingles's whereabouts.

I kept one eye locked on the jailhouse. Growing anxious, I fished inside my pockets, withdrew the recipe card, and fanned my face. I tapped the paper on my lips, thinking about how badly I missed Mama.

I spied ThommaLyn with three of her brothers circling Town Square. She was riding shotgun in the Nova, and two of the boys were grocery'd in the back. I stood up and waved her over, excited to see her, but unsure of how to explain everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Or even
if
I should explain. I'd already brought Bobby into this mess and he'd been rewarded for his trouble with whizzing gunshots and threats. Did I really want to drag anyone else I loved into my mess?

The Nova pulled up in front of Liar's Bench and ThommaLyn hopped out. Her brothers sat in the car waiting.

“Hey, you two!” she called as she made her way over. Bobby nodded and waved. “Where have you been, Muddy?” she said in a huff. She glanced at Bobby, then pulled me aside and inspected my face. “You were tight-lipped about where you were going yesterday. . . . And your old man stopped by the house looking for you.”

“Daddy and I had a fight yesterday.” I shrugged away a blush. “I'm okay.” I stuffed the recipe into my back pocket and rubbed my thumb across my fingertips.

“You don't look okay. Your face is all bruised and scratched up. Your jeans are torn. And look at your knee.” ThommaLyn inspected my cut and ran her eyes over the green T-shirt I was wearing. Questioning. She tugged on the hem of Bobby's oversized tee, eyebrows raised.

“I'm okay.”

She reached for my runaway fingers and placed her hand over mine to still them. “You're ticking off troubles.” She gave a squeeze.

I tucked my thumbs into my back pockets. ThommaLyn knew my hands were a dead giveaway that I was worrying. She knew every inch of my wardrobe, which didn't include any oversized green T-shirts. But I wasn't about to go into the steamy details of last night—not here on Liar's Bench with Bobby sitting two feet to my left and ThommaLyn's brothers over there in the car. I knew that if I tossed my romance into the daylight, my face would light up in red for all the world to see. No way. I'd wait until ThommaLyn and I were alone to spill. Better yet, alone and in the dark.

“We'll get together real soon. And I'm fine. Just fine.” I stepped aside and took a seat next to Bobby. “I just went for a walk in the woods, that's all,” I said, rubbing my fingers over Liar's Bench, kneading my lie into the old wood. “Tripped over a stupid log,” I fibbed.

“A log?” ThommaLyn asked, looking to Bobby for confirmation. She lifted my hand. “You and those logs.”

Bobby looked from me to ThommaLyn and back again. “I should go say hi to the boys,” he said, clearing his throat, “and welcome Bernie back. I haven't seen the hero since he got back from Vietnam.” He walked over to the Nova to lean inside and chitchat with the brothers. Within a minute their friendly-like voices carried across Town Square.

ThommaLyn plopped down on Bobby's spot and studied me. She flipped her ponytail, a dangled bird's nest of fried curlicues that I'd given her with a home-perm last month.

“I haven't been able to talk to you.” She poked my arm. “Two whole days since Ella's funeral . . . I've been fretting ever since you called yesterday. You hung up so quickly. And I could hardly sleep for worrying last night after your daddy's visit. Everyone's worried about you. Jeez, hon, I'm worried.”

“Yeah, I know. I just need some time. I'm still working things out,” I said flatly, looking away. A silence settled between us.

“Ya know, school's starting soon.” ThommaLyn smoothed back the curls tumbling out of her ponytail. “And I know your world's crazy right now. But why don't you take a break and come over to my house? We're going boating on Mayfly Lake this weekend. And the State Fair's coming up. C'mon. It'll be good to get away. Mama and Daddy have been asking about you; they'd love to see you.” She covered her worry with a floppy smile. “You sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, it's . . . well, Daddy and I had that argument. And I ran off after I gave him a heaping bucket of what-for.” I shot ThommaLyn a guilty glance. “Ya know, that was liberating for all but a minute, just a minute. Until I saw how much it hurt him . . . and me.” I winced. “Still, he had it coming.”

ThommaLyn nodded sympathetically.

“What did you say when he came by last night?”

“I told him you were in the bath. That Mama was taking care of you, and would make sure you got supper and rest. He asked about your car, and I said that James had asked to borrow it to run an errand for Mama and was that all right? He bought it, Muddy. And, thank goodness, I was able to get him off the porch and gone before someone came along and lit truth to the tale.” She crossed her fingers and traced an imaginary
X
across Liar's Bench, leaving her signature mark—a token for laying her lies down on the bench.

“Thanks for covering for me, ThommaLyn.”

“Well, I owed you. You covered for me and PJ when we spent the night in Nashville.” She nudged me mischievously.

I nudged her back.

“Muddy, he called again this morning. I told him you were helping Mama bring berries in from the field while I did up the breakfast dishes. Your daddy said to tell you he had to run into Nashville for the day, but that he'd be home around suppertime. Asked me to tell you to have a good day.” ThommaLyn squeezed my hand. “You
sure
you're okay? I know how bad you must be missing your mama.”

My soaked lashes answered for me.