Authors: Virginia Brown
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Sagas
He didn’t know what she was talking about, but suddenly it felt important. He leaned into the screen so that his mouth almost touched hers through the barrier. “You’re the craziest girl. I never know what you’re talking about half the time, but if that’s what you want
. . .
”
“That’s what I want,” she said softly.
It felt like a dream, like one of Tansy’s songs, the kind she liked to sing when there wasn’t anyone else around but him. And he closed his eyes and kissed her, felt her kiss him back, then she was gone. He heard her footsteps as she ran lightly across the ground, hard now with winter frost, and the black walnut husks thick on the ground where no one had picked them up.
If he’d known what she meant, maybe he would have gone after her. Maybe he could have done something. But he didn’t know, not then, even though he stayed awake a long time thinking about their strange conversation.
She wasn’t at school the next day, or the day after that, and Mama finally set him down in the kitchen and told him that Tansy wouldn’t be living in Cane Creek anymore. She’d gone to Chicago to stay with relatives, an aunt and cousins who’d left Mississippi so long ago they rarely ever even came back for a visit anymore.
“Why?” He stared at Mama, kicking himself. Tansy was right. He was thick as a post. He should have known she’d come to say goodbye. He’d just thought she was doing her girl stuff again, living out another one of her songs just like Mikey lived out some of his shark stories.
Mama didn’t look at him. She turned the fire higher under the tea kettle and said to the wall behind the stove, “She needs a mother’s guidance and Dempsey thought it time.”
He shot to his feet. “That’s bullshit.”
“Chantry—”
“She hasn’t had a mother for four years and she’s done fine. Don’t treat me like a little kid and tell me fairy tales. I deserve the truth.”
Mama turned to look at him. She studied his face for a long moment as if looking for a sign of something, but he didn’t know what. Then she sighed.
“She is pregnant, Chantry. Didn’t she tell you?”
Jesus. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think, what to feel. But he did know who he blamed for it. And suddenly he knew who Mama blamed. He blinked.
“You think it’s mine.”
“Is it?”
“Is that what Tansy said?” If it was, if she’d said it was his, he’d say it, too. He’d say it, and he wouldn’t care what anyone said or did about it.
“No. She has not named the father.” Mama turned back to the kettle as if watching the gas flames would make the water boil faster. “This is a small town. People will talk. Expect to hear
. . .
things you may not like.”
He thought about what Rafe had said that night at the Hideaway. He’d never thought it was true. Still didn’t think it was true. That wasn’t Tansy’s style. She knew her own worth even when she didn’t quite trust it to be true. She’d never have a whole string of boys on her line. There were only two that he could think of, and he intended to find out which one had done this to her and then abandoned her. He knew who he suspected.
“Where are you going?” Mama asked when he grabbed his jacket off the kitchen hook and headed for the door. “You are still on probation.”
“I’m going to talk to Dempsey. If you don’t believe that either, you can go with me.”
Mama didn’t try to stop him or follow, and his boots scraped on the icy gravel with loud crunches as he trudged down the frozen road. A curl of smoke drifted up from the chimney of the leaning house, melting into the smudged sky.
Dempsey opened the door and stood there a moment, light behind him and no welcome on his face. He looked—grieved.
Chantry didn’t know what to say suddenly. A wave of grief washed over him, an empty feeling like he’d lost something very precious. He could only stand there looking up at the old man who’d been the closest thing to a father he’d ever known, with words all churning inside him and none coming out.
Then Dempsey stepped aside and Chantry went in, going straight to his favorite place by the old potbellied stove. He didn’t know what he’d expected, commiseration maybe, or answers. He got neither. He asked for neither. He offered what he had—his presence, his grief—and the old man accepted it with his customary grace. Dempsey Rivers, Mama had once said, had more class than most of the folks living over on St. Clair Road. Maybe not the social graces or the education, but definitely the class.
The living room was clean and neat, Julia Rivers’s touches still evident in lace doilies on the back of the couch, a green and yellow pothos plant thriving on a windowsill, pretty statues on the low coffee table. Dempsey’s rocker was cushioned, and he sat in it and smoked a burled pipe that smelled like cherry tobacco. Music played, the radio tuned to his favorite gospel station and the TV screen dark and silent.
They sat that way for a long time, just the two of them, each wandering in private shadows, and then Chantry stood up. Dempsey looked at him and he met his eyes and didn’t look away. “If you need an extra pair of hands, I’m available.”
It was the closest he could bring himself to asking for absolution from suspicion, and he knew Dempsey understood when he nodded. “I could use you, boy.”
It was all over Cane Creek like wildfire. So far it was only rumor, a whisper of lurid suspicion, but any time a girl left school abruptly and with no explanation and was sent off to a distant relative’s, the assumption was that she was pregnant. It wasn’t always right and wasn’t always fair, but that’s the way it was. And that wasn’t all. Rumor had it, Chantry was the father.
He found that out when Cinda Sheridan marched over to him in the school cafeteria at lunchtime where he sat with Donny and two other boys known for being rough. She didn’t look at all uneasy at coming up to a table full of boys. She looked mad.
“Chantry Callahan, I think what you did is just terrible. You should be ashamed.”
Since he’d committed any number of sins that a girl like Cinda might think terrible, he had no idea which specific one she meant. He leaned back to look at her, and had the thought that being mad sure did make her eyes a pretty green.
“All right,” he said evenly, “tell me just how ashamed I should be.”
She planted a fist on each hip and glared at him, and for some reason he thought about her mama and how she’d looked at him that day in the kitchen, like he just didn’t measure up. Maybe Cinda was more like her mama than she knew. She stomped her foot.
“It
is
you. Everyone said it must be. You don’t even try to deny it.”
He went still, belatedly realizing what she meant. Then his mouth went real flat and he just stared at her, until finally something in his face must have convinced her that she didn’t want to keep on. She took a step back, then whirled around and walked off. No one at the table said much after that.
Chantry cornered Leon Smith behind the boys’ gym one afternoon right before basketball practice. He went straight up to him where he stood with his friends, all of them rangy black boys with athletic aspirations and muscles honed by years of practice and hard work. Some of them gave him a pretty hard look that he ignored.
“I want to talk to you, Leon.”
“Yeah?” Leon twirled a basketball in one hand, balanced it on the tip of a long blunt finger and eyed him coolly. “Don’t much think we have anything to talk about.”
“I think we do.”
Leon was a senior this year, tall and hard-muscled, nearly two years older than Chantry. He didn’t look the least bit inclined to conversation. One of the other boys nudged closer, flexing his arms and back.
“You think you so tough?”
Chantry didn’t even look at him. “No. This is between me and Leon.”
After a minute, Leon put up a hand and said something to his friend, then jerked his head at Chantry and led the way to the side of the red brick building that held classrooms. He turned to look at him, something raw and dark in his eyes.
“So what’s up with her?”
“You tell me.”
Leon scowled. “Like I’d know? You’re the one she always talked to all the time. Or about all the time.”
That surprised him. He shook his head. “You’re the one she went out with. Is it yours?”
Leon didn’t pretend not to know what he meant. “I haven’t been out with Tansy in nearly six months. I thought she was hanging with you.”
“Not like that.”
It was Leon’s turn to be surprised. Then he just looked off toward the gym, the basketball stuck under his arm, distance in his eyes.
After a minute, Chantry turned and walked away. He had his answer. And it was just what he had thought it’d be.
Mama couldn’t keep a close eye on him forever, and the day finally came when she had to take Mikey to a doctor’s appointment before he got off work from the clinic. Doc gave him a ride and didn’t say much, even though Chantry felt him look at him from time to time.
“You sure this is where you want to go?” Doc asked when he stopped his big Suburban in front of Six Oaks. It was nearly dark. Deep shadows stretched all the way up to the house settled in behind the massive bare oaks. Lights gleamed from windows, but out here it was dark and cold.
“I’m sure.”
Doc put the Suburban into neutral gear. “Got a ride back home?”
“I’ll hitch. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Doc nodded, and when Chantry shut the door, he leaned out his window and said, “Just watch your step.”
Chantry stared at him as he shifted into gear and left, headlights sweeping across the lawn. There were times he suspected Doc knew a lot more than he let on. Hell, everybody probably did. Secrets just weren’t that easy to keep in Cane Creek. It couldn’t be like Chris’s mama claimed. Even if he hadn’t known she was “delicate,” Mama had known. And people had known drugs were being sold out at the Hideaway but he hadn’t heard about that until it was too late. There were probably so many things he still didn’t know, just like Tansy had said about the lies piling up like dead leaves. But there was supposed to be a difference between a lie and a secret. Sometimes it was just hard to tell which was which.
A lady in a uniform answered the door and let him in to wait on Chris. He stood in the entrance hall, where he could hear a television on somewhere close by, and the murmur of distant voices. Music played. He watched the staircase, and in a few minutes, saw Chris coming down the carpeted steps.
Chris paused when he got to the landing and saw who it was, then came down more slowly until he stood right in front of Chantry. “What are you doing here?”
He looked wary, defensive, but afraid, too. Chantry stared hard at him.
“Is it yours?”
Like Leon, Chris didn’t even try to play stupid. He just looked quickly around to be sure no one was close, then he jerked his head to one side for Chantry to follow him. “Come in here.”
Chantry went with him, feeling all tight and angry inside, but oddly calm. He waited until Chris closed the double doors, then said softly, “You sorry piece of shit.”
Skin stretched back tight over Chris’s cheekbones and his mouth went thin. There was a bleak light in his pale eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Hell, yes, I understand. You’re man enough to father a baby off Tansy but not man enough to own up to it. I ought to beat you till you can’t walk.”
To his surprise, Chris laughed, but it wasn’t with humor. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t lift a hand to stop you. It might help. Anything has to be—better than this.”