Stones in the Road (39 page)

But I’m scared.

It’s all right.

He looked up and down the beach, as if trying to decide. Then he removed his shorts and waded into the water, shivering as though the water was cold or perhaps filled with sharks, his lips set in a grim line.

Come on, sweetie. Don’t be afraid.

The ocean is so big….

I’ll be right here….

Are you sure?

Of course I’m sure.

You promise?

I promise
.

What about sharks?

Don’t worry – they only eat people from Florida. Or Republicans.

He waded slowly over to me, looked up at me rather fearfully.

We’re going to be fine, sweetie
.

A small wave lifted us, and we drifted backward a few inches.

Cool, isn’t it?
I asked.

He smiled ever so slightly.

See? Nothing to be afraid of. You ready
?

He moved closer to me as another wave poured over us, lifting us then pushing us back.

You ready?
I asked again.

He nodded.

“B
OSTON
’
S
GOING
to seem positively boring after all we’ve been through down here,” Mrs. Ledbetter offered, “what with tornados and mosquitoes and crocodiles and fried chicken. However, I do believe it’s time to return to civilization. Tell me, Willis. Are you going to be good to my Jackie?”

“Is your Jackie going to be good to me?”

“Of course.”

“How much harm can a pissed off Southerner do with a chain saw anyway?”

“If anyone is going to find out, I’m sure it will be Jackie.”

It was a week later, and we were at the airport in Memphis, saying good-bye. Jackson’s parents were to return to Boston for precisely three days before heading off on a cruise of the Caribbean.

“I hope you boys work it out,” she said. “You make a cute couple. I would have preferred a daughter-in-law—I am so outnumbered in this family, the only woman in the midst of a bunch of beastly males with their penises. But I’ll settle for you, Willis.”

“Very kind of you, Eugene.”

“I
love
it when you call me Eugene.”

“I’m sure you’ve been called worse.”

“It’s like they say, Wiley. If you’ve got something bad to say, please, by all means, come sit next to me.”

“I feel the same,” I admitted.

“Gotta break a few eggs and all that.”

“What doesn’t kill you….”

“We understand each other perfectly.”

“Terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Not so much,” she said. “I respect people who say what’s on their minds. Which is one of the reasons I have such respect for
you
. You’ve broken a few eggs in your time, and I hope you keep right on breaking them. One always knows where they stand.”

“Or where they don’t,” I pointed out.

“Touché!”

“Almost sounds like you’re complimenting me.”

“Perhaps I am. Take care of my Jackie.”

“Mom!” Jackson said, annoyed. “I’m not a puppy dog.”

“Oh, but you are, Jackie. If you only knew. Well, I suppose this is good-bye.”

She seemed reluctant.

“I need to thank you,” I said. “I went to the hospital yesterday to pay my bill—Saint Francis gave me a check for almost six thousand dollars. I figured it would be enough to keep the hospital happy for a while. But when I got there, I found the bill had already been paid.”

“And?”

“Well, I wanted to thank you and your husband for that.”

“And why would you want to do that?”

“It was a very nice thing to do.”

“It was, wasn’t it? I’m afraid I didn’t do it, though.”

“You didn’t pay the bill?”

“Stephen and I met Kayla’s parents at your grandfather’s funeral, you see. We got to talking about your medical bills. Her father said he would see what could be done. He whittled the bill down quite substantially—he’s a very good lawyer. Then we decided to split the difference, but my Jackie went and paid all of it for you. So I’m not the one you need to thank.”

“Oh.”

I felt humbled and somewhat embarrassed.

“I do hope you’ll make an old lady happy and come visit me in Boston.”

“Are you calling yourself an old lady?” I asked.

“I was talking about the housekeeper. She’ll be thrilled.”

“Take care of yourself,” I said.

I opened my arms for a hug.

“You’re not going to hug me, are you?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, “because that’s just what we do down here in this cesspool of history. Come on. You know you want it. You can’t lie. You can’t come down to the state of Mississippi and not have folks loving on you, because that’s what we do whether you deserve it or not.”

“I wish I could take Jackie back to the stork and exchange him for you, darling,” she said, planting the merest hint of a kiss on my cheek as she shyly allowed me to hug her.

“Thanks, Mom,” Jackson said.

“I suppose you’re all right,” she said to him, treating him to a similar good-bye kiss.

“Bye!” Noah said too loudly, a bright smile on his face.

She turned to look down at him and surprised me by signing
Good-bye
and
I love you
.

“I love you!” Noah said happily, throwing himself into her arms.

“It’s so ‘family values,’ isn’t it?” she asked after she had disentangled herself. “And you know what they say about family….”

“Can’t kill them,” I offered, “if only because….”

“It dulls the ax blade,” she finished.

“That, and hydrochloric acid is just so damned expensive these days. It was nice of you to visit.”

“Now you really must return the favor and come to visit us,” she offered. “Take care of my Jackie.”

“I’ll try.”

I would swear to God there was a tear in her eye as she turned to follow her husband in the security line. We stood for long minutes, watching as Mr. and Mrs. Ledbetter went through the security procedures, waving one last time before they disappeared into the depths of the airport.

“That takes care of that,” Jackson said, visibly relieved.

“They’re not so bad,” I offered.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Thanks for paying my bill,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that. In fact, I wish you hadn’t. I still have that check from Saint Francis—I’ll sign it over to you.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Cantrell.”

“Yes, I will, Ledbetter.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll say thank you and you’ll leave it at that.”

“I’ve been so horrible to you.”

“I deserved it, and I wanted to do something nice to make up for it, so I did. Even if you never want to see me again, I would have done it, if not for your sake, then for Noah’s. If you don’t like it, you can sue me.”

“I might.”

“I’ll see you in court. And if you’re not careful, my lawyers and I will eat you alive.”

“That could be… interesting.”

“Very.”

As we made our way down the escalator, I reached out tentatively to take his hand.

“So what am I going to do with you, Ledbetter?”

“You’ll think of something.”

“We’re going camping next weekend. I was thinking maybe you might want to come.”

“Is this going to be ‘camping’ camping, or ‘naked camping’ camping?”

“A little bit of both.”

“Good deal!”

“So you’ll come?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said.

“You have such a dirty mind.”

“And that’s one of the things you like about me.”

“Among other things. I’ve heard make-up sex is really good.”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

“It’s been so long I think my virginity has grown back, but that’s all right. Once I dust off the cob webs, I’ll be good to go.”

Noah turned to glance at us, grinning like a Cheshire cat when he saw us holding hands.

“So you think we’re going to be all right?” Jackson asked.

“Maybe,” I allowed. “That’s kind of up to you, isn’t it?”

He smiled.

“Why are you smiling, Ledbetter?”

“If it’s up to me, then I know we’re going to be just fine, Mr. Cantrell. We might even get engaged again.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

As if the sight of two grown men holding hands wasn’t enough for the patrons of the Memphis International Airport, Noah scurried down the escalator singing “Hoo hoo awk!” in a rather loud voice.

“I
WANT
to ask you something,” Jackson said as we sat on the rocks at the swimming hole on Mama’s property, fishing poles in our hands, waiting for supper to come along.

“What’s that?”

“At your papaw’s funeral, you put something in his pocket.”

“And?”

“I was just wondering what it was….”

I didn’t answer for a long minute.

Noah stood knee-deep in the water, his skin nicely browned at this point. He stared intently at the dimple in the water where his line went in, anxious to see the line move.

“Well?” Jackson prompted.

“It was a note,” I said, fingering the engagement ring that Jackson had just put back on my finger earlier that day.

“And?”

“It was the words from a song,” I admitted.

“What song?”

“An old Billie Holiday song. Papaw and I loved Miss Billie Holiday.”

“What was the song?”

“God Bless the Child.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“What does it mean?”

“Do you know the words to the song?”

“No.”

I sang the first verse, which was Billie’s take on a verse from the gospel of Matthew:
For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath
. Billie sang on how a child was blessed to “have his own”—not just his mama’s, or his papa’s, but his own.

“I still don’t understand,” Jackson admitted.

“Papaw used to sing that to me when I was little. Because of my daddy, I guess. What my daddy did. Because he wasn’t there for me. Papaw always wanted me to know I’d have my own—because he was my own. He was my daddy, in a way. Or he was everything my daddy wasn’t. Papaw never wanted me to grow up thinking I had less than other kids, or that I was any less loved than other kids because of what my daddy did.”

Jackson said nothing.

“When I got older,” I said, “I used to tell him I’d put the words to that song in his pocket if he ever died so that when he woke up in heaven, he’d check his pocket and know I was all right. I had my own. Because
he
was my own, and always would be.”

For a long time, he said nothing.

Then:

“You really loved that old man.”

After a minute, I began to smile.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I was just thinking about what song I’d put in your pocket if you ever died,” I said.

“Oh?”

“Well, there’s Dolly Parton’s ‘I Will Always Love You,’ of course—”

“Of course.”

“—but I was thinking ‘Disco Duck’ might also work.”

“Very funny.”

“Do Ya’ Think I’m Sexy?”

“No!”

“One Toke Over the Line?”

“Please!”

“Hah!” Noah squawked suddenly, yanking on his pole.

“I think he’s got one!” Jackson said, excited.

“Hoo!” Noah’s voice rang out again. He flashed a brilliant, proud smile as he worked his pole. “Hah!”

We waded into the water after him.

Shaking the Sugar Tree

By Nick Wilgus

Wise-cracking Wiley Cantrell is loud and roaringly outrageous—and he needs to be to keep his deeply religious neighbors and family in the Deep South at bay. A failed writer on food stamps, Wiley works a minimum wage job and barely manages to keep himself and his deaf son, Noah, more than a stone’s throw away from Dumpster-diving.

Noah was a meth baby and has the birth defects to prove it. He sees how lonely his father is and tries to help him find a boyfriend while Wiley struggles to help Noah have a relationship with his incarcerated mother, who believes the best way to feed a child is with a slingshot. No wonder Noah becomes Wiley’s biggest supporter when Boston nurse Jackson Ledbetter walks past Wiley’s cash register and sets his sugar tree on fire.

Jackson falls like a wet mule wearing concrete boots for Wiley’s sense of humor. And while Wiley represents much of the best of the South, Jackson is hiding a secret that could threaten this new family in the making.

When North meets South, the cultural misunderstandings are many, but so are the laughs, and the tears, but, as they say down in Dixie, it’s all good.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

N
ICK
W
ILGUS
grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in a variety of small towns in Michigan. The child of an alcoholic father whose drunken binges left the family in constant poverty, Wilgus ran away at age fifteen and joined a right wing religious cult, but was eventually rejected and shunned because of his sexuality. After living on the streets, he was taken in by an Italian family. He eventually put himself through school and has lived and worked all over the world, including almost two decades in Bangkok, Thailand, where he worked as the chief subeditor for the
Bangkok Post
.