Waiting for Sunrise (15 page)

“Daddy . . .”

“And have her back by . . . what time, Mother?”

Billy looked to Mrs. Sikes, who said, “We agreed ten o’clock.”

Billy returned his attention to Mr. Sikes. Ten o’clock. His brain began the calculation. They’d arrive at the church by six-forty-five, seven at the latest. That gave them three hours. Three hours wasn’t a long time . . . not a long enough time . . . but it would have to do. “Ten o’clock, Billy,” John Sikes said. “Not a minute later.” He raised a finger. “Not one.”

“No, sir.”

“Daddy, we’re just friends, for heaven’s sake.”

John Sikes gave Billy a look that read “But not in this boy’s mind.” Billy grew warmer than before.

“I’ll have her home by ten, sir,” Billy said. He looked to the girl who owned his heart. “Come on, Ronni. Let’s get to the church.”

17

“Norma told me the other day that Brother Ralph said we could play music from the sound system at the spring fling,” Ronni announced from the passenger side of Ira Liddle’s yellow and white Chrysler Windsor. She fluffed her skirt over her knees and gave him a smile.

“I thought we always had music,” Billy said, looking forward. He gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned grayish-white.

He didn’t have to see to know Ronni rolled her eyes. “Not
that
kind of music.
Real
music.”

Billy turned the wheel, making a sharp right. “You mean, like
our
kind of music?”

“Mmmhmm. Norma said she was bringing her Pat Boone albums and Jerry said he was bringing the latest Everly Brothers he just bought at Woolworth’s.” She sighed. “The Everly Brothers . . . just think.”

“You think someone will bring Elvis?”

From the corner of his eye, he watched as she clutched gloved hands. “Oh no . . . no one is
that
brave, but Norma also said that she was going to try to slip in Buddy Holly.”

“That would be boss.”

“I know.”

Ronni sounded happy, and nothing made Billy happier than Ronni sounding happy, so . . . so far, the evening was going well. He turned the wheel again, forced himself to relax, and the car bounded into the far side of the church’s parking lot. Most of it, along with the church’s property—not the side with the graveyard—had been converted into a carnival.

“Oh, Billy, can you believe this? I love the spring fling so much.”

Billy parked the car. “Stay right there,” he said. He opened his door, tumbled out, slipped the keys into his pocket, and then ran around to the passenger side to open Ronni’s door for her. “Madame,” he said, making a grand gesture.

She giggled. “This is why you’re my best friend,” she said, swinging her legs out of the car and planting her feet onto the pavement. “Looks like we’ve already got quite the crowd.”

Billy shut the door behind her before falling into step with her. “Hey, Ronni?”

“Yeah?”

“Um . . . I just wanted to say . . . you look . . . very pretty tonight.”

Veronica stopped. Turned to look at him. He noticed how her index fingers laced each other, as if they were pinky swearing. Her head tilted to one side. “Thank you, Billy Liddle.” Her voice was whisper soft.

He sighed. Contented. So far, so good. “You’re welcome.” Then he smiled his best lopsided grin. “Hey, I hear Connie Francis singing. Wonder who brought her?”

“Maybe Jean. She loves Connie Francis.” They continued to stare at each other before she finally said, “Well, let’s go, okay?”

Billy bought her cotton candy. Pink, to match her dress. He won a blue and white teddy bear for her by throwing darts. They played the cola-ringtoss—Ronni won—walked the cakewalk—this time Ronni won a cupcake, which Billy ate—and took part in the square dance competition, where they were the third to be voted off the stage.

But they laughed about it, all the way through.

For a while they watched Brother Ralph—a powerhouse of a man—challenge carnival guests to a round of arm wrestling. It cost twenty-five cents to enter, the money going to missions. Ronni asked Billy if he wanted to go hand to hand against their pastor, but Billy declined. No need in being totally humiliated on the night he hoped would end with Ronni seeing him as boyfriend material.

When the sun had nearly set, Billy suggested the horse and buggy ride. Ronni seemed relaxed and in good spirits when he asked; the success of his plan was now all the more promising. “I’d like that,” she said.

So they walked to the large live oak standing sentinel at the back of an open field, the loading and unloading station . . .

Where about twenty other couples appeared to have the same idea.

“Oh . . .” Ronni drawled. “Do we really want to wait for this?”

“Sure we do.” But he looked at his Timex just to make sure. They’d spend more time standing here than he’d counted on, which would leave them with precious little time before Billy had to get her home. Still, for his plan to work . . .

Patti Page crooned “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” from the sound system.

Billy slipped his hands into his pockets, all the while his mind scrambling for something to say. He cleared his throat. “Is it all right with you, Ronni? To wait, I mean?”

She looked around, as though she were not sure. Or like she was looking for someone else to be with. He’d counted himself lucky that she hadn’t run off with any of her girlfriends already. “No . . . no. This is fine.” They took a step up. “Looks like there’s more than just one horse and buggy, so maybe this won’t take
too
long.”

Billy felt defeated. “Look, Ronni. If you’re going to have that attitude . . .”

Veronica’s green eyes grew wide. “What attitude? What’s wrong with you, Billy?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He looked down at his shoes, which had grown dusty by fine grains of sand. The night had gone so perfectly; he didn’t want anything to spoil it for them.
Him
. “Sorry.”

The sound of tires squealing in the parking lot stopped him from saying anything more. He turned, as did everyone standing nearby, and, he figured, everyone within a mile radius. He felt his brow furrow.

Harold’s car—a ’56 Chevy convertible—was among the half dozen skidding dangerously close to other parked cars, the start of the carnival booths, and the tree line on the left side of the church property. Instinct raised Billy’s right arm, his hand gripped Ronni’s, and he pulled her behind him just as Harold’s car jumped a curb and tore across the open field. Billy saw one of his brother’s hands on the steering wheel, one holding a beer bottle. It was raised in some sort of mock salute.

The other cars followed close behind. Someone shouted “Holy rollers!” Someone else laughed.

Engines revved. People screamed. The two sounds became feverish. Billy heard a whinny. He turned to see a carriage filled with four of his fellow church youth, eyes wide at the cars barreling toward them. The horse—an impressive flaxen-maned brown quarter horse—reared, his front hoofs rising two feet from the earth. It pitched forward; the carriage jerked and then sped behind the spooked animal.

Others around them ran, but Billy pushed Ronni against the tree, wrapped himself around her, his back to her front, his arms straining to keep her safe. His eyes locked with Harold’s just as the car started to skid.

Billy knew his brother; Harold was going to fake them out.

He was going to come dangerously close to him and Ronni. He was going to dare them to run like Billy always did. And if they did, he’d laugh. And he’d do it again and again.

Dust had kicked up behind the Chevy, leaving the others in a brown cloud. Billy heard Ronni scream; he pressed himself even tighter against her, keeping his eyes in perfect line with his brother’s, daring him to kill them both if he thought he could. Anything less from the younger, and the older would torment them for life. Billy couldn’t let that happen. Not tonight. Not that he truly believed . . .

Harold threw back his head and laughed. He flipped the wheel to his left until the rear of the Chevy pushed its way toward them. Calculating the velocity, Billy realized that the speed had been too fast, braking had come too slow, and his brother’s face now registered surprise. Billy screamed “Run!” even as his left hand grabbed Ronni’s right wrist and pulled. The sound of others—the cries of both young and old in realization as to what was about to happen—filled his ears as quickly as the dust and grit sanded his eyes. He jerked the girl whose face was paralyzed in fear, threw his arms around her, then fell to the ground and rolled.

The thud of metal against tree trunk, the bending of one against the other, rushed over him.

Ronni cried his name from beneath. He scampered to stand, yelled, “Harold!” before hobbling toward the wreckage. Fearing the worst and seeing nothing close to it. The car was beyond repair, but Harold sat with only a trickle of blood dripping from his nose to the front of the shirt that had earlier hung on the back of a chair.

Harold took a sip of beer, the bottle still clutched in his left hand, and said, “I thought we’d join you.”

Billy wasn’t sure when the other cars had stopped. He wasn’t aware of the moment when the adults who’d been attending the spring fling ran onto the scene. He didn’t hear the police sirens shrieking in the distance. He only felt the hot chrome of the driver’s door in his hand, the cotton as he clutched the front of his brother’s shirt and pulled until Harold was out of the car, lying facedown in the dirt, struggling to stand. Billy kicked him, swore words he’d promised never to use.

From deep within a tunnel, he heard Ronni yell his name as she always did. “Billy Liddle.” In spite of the obvious pleading in her voice, he kicked again. This time Harold rolled over, laughed at him, causing the anger that had been boiling inside him for so long to explode. Something guttural escaped from deep within his gut, and he fell on top of his brother, ready to beat the life out of him, if he had to.

But before Billy could make matters worse, Brother Ralph’s muscular arms encircled his waist and pulled him up, then pushed him toward Ronni. Her slender arms slid over his shoulders and encircled his neck. He felt the strength of them. Her face buried itself into his neck, the moisture of her tears slid down his flesh and into his shirt. “Ronni . . .” he breathed.

She tilted her head back, looked into his eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Me? I’m okay. Are you?”

She didn’t answer but instead looked over his shoulder. The look in her eyes told him he should too. Behind them a short line of police cars were entering the church’s property. Billy looked to where Brother Ralph had helped Harold to his feet and held him, waiting for the police to arrive.

“The others have disappeared,” Ronni said, her eyes scanning the grounds.

“Cowards. They left Harold to face this on his own.”

With her fingertips pressed against his chin, she turned his face to hers. “Don’t tell me you’re going to feel sorry for him, Billy Liddle. He practically tried to kill us.”

He shook his head even as he wondered if she felt his shiver. “That wasn’t what he was doing.” Billy became keenly aware of the people gathering. “Come on,” he said, drawing her away from what he knew would be a spectacle. “Let’s go over by the candy apple booth.”

“But what if the police need to talk with you?” she asked.

His hand reached for hers. He wanted to protect her, to guide her, to tell her everything his heart had hoped to say. Gratefully, without hesitation or another question, hers slipped into his, allowing him a moment of gallantry. “I’m sure they will. But I’d just as soon not be a spectacle.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Well, no more than I already am.”

They moved against a stream of curious onlookers but made it to the booth unnoticed. Billy turned to face the scene of the crime, keeping her face toward his. When he was needed, he’d know it. Until then, precious minutes were slipping away.

“Look, Ronni . . . there was something I . . . when we were going to be out there with the horse and carriage. I had something I wanted to say.”

“Billy? You look ashen. Are you going to be sick?”

“No.”

“Because if you are, I wouldn’t blame you. After all that just happened.”

Billy shook his head. “You don’t understand, Ronni. This kind of stuff . . .
This
is what I’ve grown up with. This isn’t new to me. Harold’s got bad blood running through his veins, you know that.”

She blinked. “I know you don’t like to talk much about things at home. That you’d rather be with me and my family than with yours.”

“For good reason.” He took both of her hands in his. “Things in my family have not always been . . . have never been, really, like what you think. Not like what Daddy and Mama make them out to be when we’re at church. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Not really, no.”

Billy looked back at the scene. The police had made it to Harold. He had been handcuffed and was being led toward a squad car. Brother Ralph’s neck was craned, his eyes roaming about the grounds. “Brother Ralph is looking for me,” he said.

“Then we’d best go back.”

Billy squeezed her hands. “No, wait. Wait until I say what I have to say.”

“Okay.” She sounded timid and afraid.

“Ronni, you’ve been my best friend since we moved here.”

“And you’re my best friend, Billy Liddle.” The green in her eyes intensified.

“I’ve done all right here. First pitcher for the church team—”

“No one pitches like you, Billy.”

“Sunday school president every year and I’m on the youth group leadership team.”

“I know.” Pink lips broke into a smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

“My business has been successful, Ronni, and now your dad has asked me to work for him.”

“I know that too.”

He pressed his forehead down on hers. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

“Billy?” He could smell her breath, they were so close. Cotton candy and sweet candied apples. “Why would I ever be mad with you?”

“Because . . . because you’re always so focused on God and you say we’re best friends.”