One Lane Bridge: A Novel (13 page)
Read One Lane Bridge: A Novel Online
Authors: Don Reid
After a morning like that, J. D. didn’t need any more excitement to make this day memorable. He was hoping it might take on some degree of normalcy, yet he was anxiously awaiting a call from Lavern Justice that could make everything that had already happened today pale in comparison. But by noon that call hadn’t come. He walked up the street to the Coffee Cup and had just what the name suggested with Rollie Doyle, his nearest competitor. They were joined by a couple of other merchant friends, and he enjoyed the diversion of small talk. They agreed to have their monthly poker game the following week, and he issued the invitation to hold it in his basement. It would be one of those friendly little games with no more than twenty bucks at stake. J. D. didn’t really think of it as gambling. It was just good, cheap fun. A night out at the movies could cost Karlie and him a lot more than he could lose in one poker sitting. The ticket price for two plus popcorn and Cokes would be closer to twenty-five dollars, and they always ran the chance of seeing a bad movie. At least with poker night, he always knew what to expect, and it was fun—win, lose, or draw.
By two o’clock he still had heard nothing from Lavern, and he knew it would be futile to call. She would let him know as soon as she had any useful information. He made up his mind that if he hadn’t heard anything by four, he would chance another trip to the bridge and see if Lizzie was feeling any improvement from the medicine. In the meantime, he needed to pick up the items Paul Clem had told him he wanted. A hoe handle, some chicken feed, and tobacco. “And bring Lizzie somethin’ to read.” He could find something for her at Valley News down the block. They had every magazine and paperback known to man. He popped in there on his way back to the restaurant and began searching through the shelves and stacks.
He quickly realized any magazine was out of the question. They were all filled with current news. The covers were full of Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears and
American Idol.
She would be expecting a magazine like
Life
or
Look
and stories on Gary Cooper and Joan Crawford. He walked to the bookshelves. John Grisham, Stephen King, and Mary Higgins Clark kept looking back at him. This was no good. He couldn’t take today’s books to her. On the back shelf, he found what he was looking for: a stack of used paperbacks. Some were in pretty bad shape, but at least they would have the right date in them. He ran his finger across the titles and noticed two Nancy Drew novels.
The Mystery of the Brass-Bound Trunk,
copyrighted 1940. Perfect. And another one,
The Quest of the Missing Map,
dated 1942. One more. He wasn’t sure what reading level she was and if these would be too young for her or hit just right. So to balance it out he decided on Agatha Christie,
The Body in the Library,
1942. She would probably never notice the dates, but if she did, he was covered. He didn’t want to offer up any more suspicion than was necessary.
He thought about the items Paul wanted and where he might find them. The tobacco wouldn’t be hard to find. He could find the hoe handle at a hardware store. But the chicken feed could be a little tricky. Then he remembered the Barn and Farm Store out on Clancy Pike. He hadn’t been there in years, but it was only a ten-minute drive and would probably be worth the trouble.
The parking lot was full of pickup trucks, cattle trucks, and family sedans. The Barn and Farm Store was huge and had everything from groceries to hardware to bib overalls and work boots to chicken and cattle feed. He parked and went inside and was immediately met with a strange odor suggesting a mixture of grain, floor polish, and flannel. The store was permeated from front to back with this not unpleasant but very peculiar smell. He looked around for a clerk to help him and spotted a large red-faced man with a name tag on his pocket informing the world his name was Leonard. Leonard’s neck was too large for his shirt and his legs were too short for his pants, and his attitude was favorable only toward those who knew what they were looking for. He was leaning on a bin full of half-priced house paint. He had a toothpick in one side of his mouth and looked like he didn’t want to be disturbed.
“Do you work here?” J. D. asked.
“Most of the day. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a hoe handle.”
“A hoe handle! Just a handle?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“There’s some back here, but why would you want just a handle? It’ll cost you as much as a new hoe.”
He walked ahead of J. D. through a couple of aisles and stopped at a display that held wooden shovel and hoe and rake handles.
“We don’t sell many of these anymore. I don’t know why anybody would want to buy one. You’d have to know how to put one on, and you don’t look like you do.”
“Well, actually you’re right. It’s not for me. I was just getting what someone told me he needed.”
“Well, you don’t need this. Get a new hoe. They only cost about two dollars more than the handle. Here.” He handed J. D. a new hoe from a neighboring rack.
J. D. took the hoe without further comment or argument.
“Next I need some chicken feed.”
Leonard actually squinted and sneered at him. “What kind?”
“What kind?” J. D. asked back. “Are you saying what brand?”
“No, I’m saying what kind. There’s all kinds of chicken feed.”
“I guess I just want regular chicken feed. I don’t know much about that either.”
“Obviously.” Leonard snorted. And then he reeled off a list that was meant to put the city boy in his place. “You got Chick Starter, Pullet Builder, Egg Maker Pellets, Concentrate. And you can get it in bulk or get it in bags.”
If he meant to stop J. D. cold, he had just succeeded. “Ah, maybe Pullet Builder. Is that pretty normal?”
“For a pullet it is. You got pullets?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re buying chicken feed, and you don’t know what a pullet is?”
“Yeah, I guess I am, Leonard.” J. D. was liking this man less and less all the time.
“A pullet is a layin’ hen. You got layin’ hens?”
“I think I’ve already told you I’m not buying this for myself.”
“Well, I would hope not. I hope you’re buying it for the chickens.” And then he threw his head back and laughed way too big and too long at his own joke.
“Give me a hundred-pound bag of Pullet Builder.”
“Don’t come like that. It comes in fifty-pound bags.”
“Then give me two bags. Now that’s not so hard, is it?”
Leonard seemed to back off a little. “That’s eight dollars and sixty cents a bag. What else you need?”
“Nothing.”
Leonard wrote out a ticket, handed it to him, and said, “Pay at the register and drive around to the dock, and it’ll be waitin’ on you.”
J. D. took the ticket and walked toward the checkout counter with the new hoe in his hand. He stopped at the tobacco case. He knew as little about tobacco as he did chicken feed, but he wasn’t about to ask anyone else for help. Still, questions ran through his mind. Did Paul want chewing tobacco? Pipe tobacco? Cigarettes? Loose tobacco to roll himself? There was no way to be sure. He looked over all the brands and remembered some history trivia about the slogan “Lucky Strike Goes to War.” His grandfather used to talk about it. But hadn’t they changed the white on the package to Army green? That was no good. Then how about Camels? He knew that was an old brand and hadn’t changed much. It still had a picture of a camel on it. Maybe Paul wouldn’t notice the change in design or the taste, if there was any. He told the lady behind the counter he would take a carton of Camels. She came around with the key and opened the case, took one out, and handed it to him with the comment, “You know those things will kill you, don’t you?”
“Naw, the chicken feed will get me first,” he shot back.
“What?”
“Nothing. How much is all this?”
Karlie was cleaning in the den and didn’t hear the phone until she happened to turn off the vacuum cleaner. She ran to pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Karlie.”
“Jack. Haven’t talked to you in ages.”
“I know. It’s been a while.”
“If you’re looking for J. D., you can find him on his cell. He should be around someplace.”
“Actually, I was looking for you. I knew he wouldn’t be there in the middle of the day, and I wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, afraid and sure something was coming she didn’t want to hear or talk about.
“This thing with J. D. and that bridge. What’s going on with all that?”
“How much has he told you?”
“Everything, I guess. Told me you thought he was crazy and needed to see a doctor. He took me out there just like he did you.”
“And what happened?”
“What do you think happened? Nothing. There’s some kind of country convenience store out there. It’s just a country road like a hundred others in the county. I’m calling, I guess, because I’m sort of worried. I don’t mean to worry you, and I would never do anything to betray J. D. I’d fight, die, and lie for him. But this thing has got a hold of him, and I’m scared about it.”
“I know, Jack. Me, too. He’s had so much on him lately. His mother in the nursing home. Angela at school and then out of school and then back. The restaurants. I wish we had never taken on the second one. The headaches outweigh the income. You knew somebody was stealing from us at the downtown site, didn’t you?”
“I heard. Did you get ’em?”
“We may never know who it was.”
“What can I do? I’ll do anything. You know that.”
“Why don’t you two take off and go to a ball game somewhere? Make a two-or three-day trip of it. Get him away. Get him thinking about something else besides … besides that. You know what I mean?”
“I can do that. If he’ll go.”
“He’ll go if you insist. And the sooner the better.”
“I’ll call him tonight or tomorrow and plan something.”
“Thanks, Jack. You’re a good friend. By the way, how’s the love life?”
“What’s that? I’m not familiar with that word.”
Karlie laughed. “Good-bye, Jack, and thanks for calling.”
“Bye.”
Summer wasn’t even beginning to act like it was over. J. D. was thankful for the patches of shade that appeared on the country roads and gave a nice respite to the early evening heat beating down on top of his head. He had driven the TR3 this morning and was glad he had because Paul had made some unsettling comments yesterday. He had accepted the sports car without much suspicion better than he had the van on the subsequent trips. The old guy was country and maybe hadn’t darkened a lot of schoolhouse doors, but he was no fool. He had an instinct most educated people fail to nurture. J. D. had noticed that most erudite people were the most trusting, thinking everyone as upstanding as they were and consequently leaving their backs open for undue advantages. Not Paul Clem. He gave no one a break because no one had ever given him a break. His eyes told J. D. that he wasn’t ever going to turn his back on him or believe half of what he was telling him. J. D. had to admit he was a little apprehensive about pulling up that lane again today just because of Paul Clem’s attitude. He wasn’t afraid of him, but he was constantly aware that the situation could become explosive.
His cell phone was ringing. He hated to talk on the phone with the top down. The wind whistling around his head made it almost impossible to hear clearly, but it might be Lavern. He reached for it and looked at the screen. Jack. He let it ring again and then again. He wasn’t sure what they had to say to each other that was of much importance. He didn’t want to blame Jack because he could certainly see how hard it must be for even an old friend to accept such an outlandish story. But what would it have hurt to give him a handful of penicillin tablets? It’s not like somebody could get high off of them. They were to save someone’s life, for heaven’s sakes. Still, J. D. understood his friend’s reluctance. He had to respect the fact that Jack was a professional, that he was serious about his career. It rang a fourth time. One more, and the voice mail would kick in.
“Hello.”
“J. D. Where did I catch you? At work?”
“No. I’m on the road. What’s going on?”
“Just checking in with you. Haven’t heard from you in a couple of days.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been busy.”
“You been back out to that bridge?”
“I’m on my way there now. Why?”
“I just wondered. Has anything else happened?”
“Yeah, plenty’s happened. I found a doctor who gave me some amoxicillin, and I took the pills to the girl. That was nearly twenty-seven hours ago. I’m on my way back out there to see if she’s any better.”
The pause at the other end was so long that J. D. thought he might have lost the connection, but he was determined he wouldn’t be the first one to continue the conversation. Jack had called him. Let him say something if he wanted to.
“Are you telling me you actually saw these people again?” Jack finally asked.
“I’m telling you.”
“J. D., I know you’re not all that happy with me right now, and I wish I could do or say something to make it up to you.…”
“You can.”
“Really? What?”
“Give me some medical info. It’s been nearly twenty-seven hours since I was out here. The first pill was at two yesterday. Then another at eight last night. Then one at two a.m. Then one at eight this morning and another at two this afternoon. That means she has taken five pills total. Is that enough to start to show some improvement?”
“Oh, yeah. It should be in her system good by five doses. But don’t count on five.”
“Why not?”
“Well, when doctors say every six hours, people are always confused if that means literally every six hours or just when you’re up and awake. Most people don’t get up at two a.m. to take a pill. They should, but they don’t.”
“I think she would. And I’m hoping she did.”
For those few seconds the banter between the old friends seemed natural and unstrained. Then Jack asked, “Who was the doctor that gave you the prescription?”
“You don’t really want to know that, do you?”
“No, I guess not. Hey, anyway, the reason I was calling. You want to go catch a Panthers game this weekend? I can get some tickets, and I know a girl in Charlotte—you know, the one I told you about—who can get us a last-minute hotel room with no problem.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Come on. It’ll be fun to get away. You’re not scared Karlie won’t let you go, are you?”
J. D. laughed. “No. Truth be known, she’s probably the one who put you up to asking me. Maybe some other time.”
The pause this time was longer than the last. J. D. waited just long enough to know in his heart he had hit the nail on the head and then finally said, “Gotta go. Talk to you later.” And snapped his phone shut.
Just as he did, the hoe sticking out of the car shifted. He grabbed it to make sure it wouldn’t jump out on a sharp turn. The hundred pounds of chicken feed was packed in the small trunk so tightly that there was no chance of it shifting anywhere. He was less than a mile from the bridge, and his only thought was how relieved he would be if Lizzie met him at the door. That would prove in short order that she was on the mend. He had decided to stay a little longer this time and talk to Paul. He really wanted to win him over and make him comfortable with the situation. He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that it never crossed his mind that the one lane bridge might not be there when he rounded the final curve. But it wasn’t.
Only Stan’s One Stop.
What had happened? He never considered he might not be able to cross any time he wished. He was sure he had figured out everything that could possibly be of importance. The vehicles, the time of day, the passengers. What else could it be? There was only one other possibility. His Mission. Was the Mission over?
As he drove back into town with the wind blowing in his face, clouds boiled up behind him and settled deep into a dark gray sky. It looked like it would surely rain before he got home. And he didn’t care. He hoped it would.