Far Far Away (14 page)

A woman out walking with her dog began to smile at Jeremy, but upon realizing that it was he, she turned her face to stone and looked pointedly away.

Jeremy stood on his pedals to power his bicycle along more quickly and did not stop riding hard until he reached a neat yellow bungalow trimmed in green and surrounded by a small, tidy yard.

This was the home of Jenny Applegarth, the very woman Ginger and Jeremy had run into the night of their misadventure. She was presently unmarried, after four previous attempts at such unions. Over the years, the smoothness of her beauty had eroded somewhat, but she still possessed the kind of physical advantages that men noticed and women regarded warily.

She worked two daily shifts at Elbow’s Café, one in the early morning and one at the noon hour, which allowed her to come home for an hour or so in between. This morning, while Jeremy was pulling weeds in the flowerbed, she turned up the walkway, wearing denim pants and a pink sleeveless blouse.

“Is that Mr. Johnson Johnson among the irises?” she called out in a friendly voice.

“Hi, Mrs. Applegarth. How’s it going?”

“Oh, it’s going,” she said, and then went inside and returned a few minutes later, nudging open the screen door with a tray laden with sandwiches and beverages. “Hungry?” she asked.

They sat on the steps of the green porch, the sandwiches smelling of butter and cucumber, Jeremy smelling of mown grass and turned earth, and Jenny Applegarth smelling of lavender soap. Well, that is how it is in the
Zwischenraum
. You taste nothing, but your sense of smell grows keen.

“Sticky weather,” she said, pushing her loose hair from her neck and looking off toward the red buttes, silhouetted now against the purple clouds, a pretty sight in itself, but Jeremy
seemed distracted by Jenny Applegarth’s caramel-brown shoulders and streaky blond hair. “I bet it rains,” she said almost to herself.

When she let her hair drop back down over her neck and turned to Jeremy, he quickly averted his eyes and took another bite of his cucumber sandwich.

She regarded him with a kindly expression. “Guess you know you’ve been the main subject of conversation the last couple of days in the café.”

Jeremy kept chewing.

“So how’re you doing?”

He shrugged. “Just okay.”

After a moment or two, Jenny Applegarth said, “And your father?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to speak but suddenly stopped.

“What?” she asked

“I don’t know. I was going to say, ‘About the same,’ which is what I usually say. But when Sheriff Pittswort took me down to the station, my dad wanted to go, too, to help defend me or something crazy like that.” Jeremy lowered his eyes. “But it’s been so long since he’s gotten dressed to go out, he couldn’t get into any of his clothes.”

“Oh, dear,” she said. “The poor man.” She sipped her tea. “Doesn’t he have friends?” she asked. “He used to have friends.”

Jeremy appeared surprised. “When was that? That he had friends, I mean.”

“When he was in school. He was shy, but he was nice to people and, really, he had the nicest smile. He had a good voice, too. For a while, he sang in the madrigals.”

“My father sang in a choir? Who told you that?”

“Nobody told me, Jeremy. I was in it with him. We were in school together.”

“But isn’t he lots older than you?”

She laughed mildly. “Your father and I graduated the same year.” She swirled the ice cubes in her glass. “He didn’t stay in the madrigals, though. He was the only boy, so he ran for it.” She looked off. “You know, all my husbands were different, but they could all sing. Every one of them, even though a couple of them didn’t like to.” She smiled at Jeremy. “So your dad’s pretty down, huh?”

“Yeah. All he does is watch TV, but, really, he hardly even pays attention. The only show he’s interested in is that goofy one called
Uncommon Knowledge
, where—”

“I know that show!” Jenny Applegarth exclaimed. “And it’s not goofy! I watch it all the time! I loved the one with the woman who studied prairie dogs.”

Jeremy smiled. “Yeah, I watched that one with my dad. He liked it, too. He liked the clip of the male prairie dogs fighting over a mate.”

Jenny Applegarth gave a small laugh. “There’s the difference between men and women. I liked the part about how they kiss when they go visiting.”

It was quiet for a moment or two. Then she said idly, “They’re coming through the Plains this summer, you know.”

“The prairie dogs?”

Another chuckle. “The scouts for
Uncommon Knowledge
. They’re looking for contestants.” She sighed. “I’d love to go on that show, but all I’m an expert on is how not to pick husbands.”

“I could go on for being good at getting a whole town to hate you,” Jeremy said.

Jenny Applegarth yawned, arched her back, and stretched, which distracted Jeremy from his gloomy thoughts, as I suspect she intended. Then she said, “You know, if you and your dad want to feel better about things, you need to make a plan.” She smiled at him. “Everybody needs a plan.”

“Do you have one?”

She laughed. “I’ve had dozens.”

As she began to tidy up the tray, she said, “Just for the record, I didn’t tell the sheriff I saw you the night of the … 
incident
, I guess you’d call it. He asked if I’d seen anybody on the street and I said, ‘Not that I could remember.’ ”

Jeremy turned. “Did he believe you?”

Jenny Applegarth’s laugh was so cheerful, it seemed musical. “Not for a second, but I said, ‘That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.’ ”

“Well, thanks,” Jeremy said.

It again grew quiet.

A question had formed in my ancient mind, and when Jeremy moved away and Jenny Applegarth stood and stretched and stared out across the lawn, I drew close and whispered,
Listen, if you will
.

Well, here was something! She caught her breath and cocked her head!

I said it again:
Listen, if you will
.

She turned intently toward the trees, as if
they
were speaking, but the next time I said
Listen, if you will
, she gave up. She shook her head and heard nothing.

“That was odd,” she said.

Jeremy turned from his gardening equipment. “What was?”

“This faint … 
oboe-like
sound—I heard it for a second, and then it was gone.” She looked at Jeremy and smiled. “Maybe I’m losing my marbles.”

It was me
, I told him.
She almost heard me, but not quite
.

It seemed a shame because, in my experience, it never went any further than that.

As Jeremy wheeled his bicycle and cart toward the gate, Jenny said, “Jeremy?”

He stopped and turned.

“You know, you might tell your friend Ginger that male chauvinism can have its happy byproducts.”

“How’s that?”

“When the sheriff was grilling me, he asked if I’d seen you or any other
boys
.” She grinned. “The sheriff seems to think girls wouldn’t be able to climb fences and run as fast as, to use his term, the
perpetrators
did.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jeremy said. “I’ll tell her.”

Jenny let her eyes settle on him. “When would that be, Jeremy? The next time she spends the night in your attic?”

So! Somebody
had
seen her!

Jeremy’s pale skin burned red.

Jenny Applegarth slipped a napkin under a plate and said quietly, “Morley McRaven saw her shinnying down the drainpipe from your attic.”

So
, I thought.
Once again, our Deputy McRaven
.

“It’s not what you think, Mrs. Applegarth,” Jeremy said. “I was reading her a story and she just fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up and then I messed up setting the alarm clock. It was all my fault.” His expression was miserable. “I set the
alarm for twelve
p.m
. instead of twelve
a.m
.” He raised his eyes to Mrs. Applegarth. “But all we did was sleep. Nothing happened.”

“I believe you, Jeremy, I truly do. Problem is, in a town like this, the appearance of doing something wrong can be as bad as actually doing it.”

Jeremy’s jaw tightened. “What else can they do to me?” he blurted. “They’ve already crowned me the scummiest kid in town! What else can they possibly do?”

Jenny Applegarth shook her head and picked up the platter. “More,” she said quietly. “They can always do more.”

She was correct, of course.

Normally, Jeremy did nine jobs every Saturday. Five had canceled by telephone, but, not counting Jenny Applegarth’s job, that still left three.

When he arrived at the first house, a sign hung from the gatepost that said
JEREMY—DO NOT COME INTO OUR YARD YOUR SERVICES NO LONGER NEEDED
.

At the second house, the note was shorter:
JEREMY, NO MORE WORK FOR YOU!

When he got to the third house, he did not need to look for a note. Another boy was already at work in the yard, running his mowing machine back and forth.

On past Saturdays, Jeremy had a little ritual. After finishing his last yard work of the day, he would ride to Crinklaw’s Superette, purchase groceries, select a bottle of root beer from the refrigerated case, and then sit on the wooden bench in front of the market to drink it. It was always a pleasantly reassuring scene—a tired boy drinking a cold refreshment in front of his bicycle and gardening equipment—and passersby would nod and smile and tip their hats.

But this was before the public shunning and the loss of nearly all of his jobs.

Today he purchased the barest necessities at the market and was about to pedal away when Dolores Broom pulled up in her postal truck and stepped out, holding a letter.

“Been looking for you, Jeremy,” she said, waving an envelope and a pen. “Certified mail. You’ve got to sign for it.”

Dolores Broom seemed to hope Jeremy would open the letter then and there, but he merely stared at it.

“Looks official, doesn’t it?” she said.

It was true. It did. The return address was
High Plains National Bank
.

“Guess it’s important,” Jeremy said, and the mail carrier replied, “ 
’Course
it’s important. You don’t pay for certified unless it’s important.”

She waited, but Jeremy merely folded the envelope in half and stuffed it into his rear pocket.

“Okay, then,” Dolores Broom said, plainly disappointed. She glanced up at the darkening sky. “I better get to it before things turn damp.”

She climbed back into her truck and drove away.

Jeremy pedaled to a remote corner of the municipal park and seated himself on a picnic table. A grumble of thunder issued from the north.

Jeremy touched his finger to his temple. “You here?” he whispered.

I am
.

“Kind of a bad day,” he said.

Yes. But things will turn for the better. Often in the tales it is when circumstances seem most hopeless that good fortune intercedes
.

“I thought you didn’t really believe in the tales.”

That does not mean I would not like to
.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s just see.” He pulled the envelope from his pocket and tore it open.

Notice of Foreclosure Auction
was the first line, followed by particulars: Barring payment of all monies due, Jeremy’s property would be auctioned on the steps of the county courthouse in sixty days.

“Sixty days,” he whispered. “We’ll never get the money by then.”

His eyes fell again on the letter.

But listen!—a soft footfall, and there was Ginger Boultinghouse slowly stealing up on Jeremy from behind.

Do not look now
, I said,
but the girl is sneaking up behind you
.
She is going to try to scare you. I will tell you the moment before she is going to pounce
.

This was in fact what I did, at which point Jeremy leapt up, spun around, and let loose a hair-raising scream!

Ginger shrieked, recoiled, and tripped backward onto the grassy lawn.

Jeremy found this extremely entertaining. I was myself somewhat amused.