They Call Me Crazy (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

Maryanne

R
unning in the morning after a hard rain is bittersweet. The air smells clean, of wet leaves and pine trees, and everything shines, washed new. But the pavement is wet, forcing me to concentrate on each step, and the humidity causes me to sweat more than usual. By the time I get home, I’ll be soaked, and not a fresh-rain soaked but a sticky, sweaty soaked. But I do it. At least three times a week, I run my five miles. The exercise keeps me fit and healthy, and I have some time to think.

Once in a while, I’ll have a running buddy, but they never stick around long. There aren’t many people in this town who dedicate themselves to fitness the way I do. I tried to get Shaylene interested, but she prefers sports that involve teammates. Not me. I always have to slow down for my running partners or leave them at the coffee shop at the halfway mark. Running is my escape; I don’t want to be babysitting. I like to be alone. I enjoy my own company.

I run early, not because I am a morning person but because I get a little town gossip on the way. Running five miles in a town that has a main street half that length pretty much has me covering the entire area, at least the interesting parts. And I never miss a Sunday morning. It gives me the opportunity to see where everyone’s parked after Saturday night.

One mile down East Avenue, I cross the highway that’s the main drag. I find myself searching for Roland’s pickup. I run down Shawnee Street and pass Daze’s place then circle around to Wyandotte and check Pet’s. No blue truck. It will still be early by the time I get back to my house, but I already know I’ll be calling Clay to find out if he’s heard anything. I know Roland never went to work last night. After getting what I wanted and leaving what’s-his-name passed out with nothing on but his mismatched socks, I made a second run through Tina’s parking lot on my way home.

And Roland didn’t show up again for coffee this morning, though he rarely misses a Sunday. He says it’s a good day to repent for his sins, which he never does. He likes to talk, needs to talk, and I guess he figures I owe him one. I wish all those rumors about him and me were true. Sure, we once had a thing, but now, he just comes for the coffee. I’m still hopeful, though, even after last Sunday’s conversation.

He walked in the back door, still in his pink neon T-shirt from Fat Tina’s. He went straight for the coffee without a word then plopped onto one of my dining room chairs. I could tell something was wrong. He’s rarely silent.

I sat down, already dressed in my running clothes. “What’s up?”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He took a sip of coffee and didn’t look at me.

I stifled a snicker. Roland changed his mind more often than some people changed underwear. “About what?”

“The house. Us. Everything, Maryanne. Everything.”

Roland was saving money to build a house on the hill he owns outside of town. He’s been working two jobs and putting up with Cass at the same time. He’d said once he had given her a nice home, he’d feel better about leaving her so we could be together.

“What are you saying?” I heard my own voice crack, and I tried to control it.

“I’m taking the money and moving her away from here. Maybe get her some real help.”

The heat rose in my face. “Damn it, Roland! You promised. You said once Shaylene was off to college, we could be together. You don’t owe
her
anything!”

He stood and put his coffee cup on the counter. He stared out the window over the sink. “Fuck, Maryanne. She’s my wife, and she’s getting worse. I lose my temper all the time, and I ain’t cool with that.”

“And moving her away also means you’ll be moving away from me. Damn you, Roland.” I hurried out the front door and took off at too fast a pace. All these years, he’s been promising we would be together, and finally, I realized he was playing me like any other game.

I ran faster, needing to get away, needing to get far away from him.

Now, just thinking about last Sunday makes me mad as hell. “Damn him!” I scream it so loud, I almost fall.
Got to focus on my step.

“Damn him.” Another thing great about running alone is that I can talk to myself, curse, mumble under my breath, or whatever else I want to do.
Damn him.
How could he even consider what he was thinking? How could he do this to me?

He slunk in again on Thursday. He said he’d heard of a decent place for mentally unstable people up near Omaha, and he was going to talk to her about it this weekend. He hasn’t had the balls to show up since. Maybe he changed his mind and just decided to slither off on his own and leave us both behind. I wonder if he’s mentioned it to her. I could go out there and ask.

“Not hardly.”

I pass Dr. Kenney walking his dog. He nods, thinking I was speaking to him. His little white dog yaps.
No, I wasn’t talking to you, either.

And I wouldn’t be talking to Cass. We haven’t spoken in five years. When I first moved back to town, being around the two of them was hard enough on me. They were the epitome of the loving couple, and seeing it hurt more as the years went by. She would tell me things about Roland and her, things that girlfriends talk about, and my jealousy overwhelmed me at times. She also told me some things that I know aren’t true, that Roland said things that I know he wouldn’t say to her. She claimed he made fun of her, called her worthless, and said she was loony as a cartoon. I would shake my head and not encourage her, knowing if I did, she’d keep telling her tale. How could she lie about him? He wouldn’t say things to hurt someone. Not Roland.

When they moved out of town, avoiding her was much easier. Of course, I lost Roland, too. While I don’t see him as much, when I do, it’s just us, and that’s at least a plus. But lately, he seems obsessed with her illness—or illnesses, I should say, after hearing him rattle off a list of medical terms that Dr. Kenney told him. It’s all he talks about. I don’t want to talk about her. I want to talk about
me
.

I know Roland has been saving money. There’s enough there for Shaylene, and I don’t need any. I know that’s what he thinks, even though he’s never said it. But it’s not the money. I told him to just send Cass away, and he could stay here and continue to work, but he won’t do it. He feels he has a responsibility to her.
Damn him.
He has a responsibility to me, too.

Murphy’s Grill is packed this morning. I figure I’ll stop in and see if anyone’s heard any gossip. I do that once in a while. Those peanut butter pies Mr. Murphy makes are a true weakness of mine.
Run through it
, I tell myself. I may be the gossip topic of the morning, and I don’t want to sit at the counter and eat my pie with a hundred eyes on my back.

As the police station comes into view, I see Benny’s car in the chief’s parking space. He either had a late night or had to come in to cover the day shift. The election is six months away, so he’ll probably be pulling a lot of double duty for a while to get some exposure. I think his war record makes him a sure thing.

I slow my pace when Clay and Babe Shatner exit the police station. Babe turns back several times and waves her arms as if cursing the building. Clay has his head down and drags his feet as he moves. I get a bad feeling in my stomach, as though someone made me swallow a large rock. I ease down to a walk, trying to fully catch my breath, and even though I’m not too happy about seeing Babe, I’ve got to know what’s going on. Something is wrong.

Clay sees me coming, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes are red and puffy as if he’s been on a four-day drunk, but he doesn’t drink.

I stop and wipe the sweat from my face, preparing myself for… whatever. “Clay?” I focus on him and avoid Babe’s glaring eye.

He swallows hard. “Cassie is in jail. She killed Rolly.”

I back up, reaching behind me for something to hold on to, but nothing’s there.

Clay steps closer, and I grab his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me in a protective hug.

Babe turns and announces, “She did not. She did
not
kill that man. I don’t care how it appears!”

Her hair is disheveled, long strands of gray and white shooting in every direction, and she stands with her hands on her hips, that spread-leg stance that I have seen on Cass so many times before, as if she’s preparing for battle. Her face moves through a series of quick expressions, from anger, to hurt, to disbelief, then back to anger.

She squints at me and waves a crooked forefinger. “
You
are the devil.”

The hummingbirds are back today. Their bright blue bodies move up and down, left to right, their wings pounding so fast that they’re just a blur of color against the afternoon sun. They never stop. Probably why they have such a short life span. I sit at my kitchen table and watch them, wishing that, just once, they would stop.

The morning has been a blur, reminding me of the wings of the hummingbirds, yet colorless. Clay offered to take me home, but after Babe called me out, I thought it wise to get as far away from her as possible. She called me the devil, but she doesn’t know the half of it. We all have a bit of the devil in us, and if that’s all she saw, then she must be failing as the years go by. I didn’t want to stick around and give her a second shot at it, though.

I was already soaked with sweat, so the tears didn’t matter. I told Clay to call me, and before he could answer, I turned and ran—away from Clay, from Babe, from Cass. From Roland. I ran past Central School, where I teach and where Cass and I first became friends. I ran by the public pool and remembered the many nights when Cass and I climbed the fence, the combination of fear and excitement overwhelming our simple desire to cool off on a hot summer night. I ran past the C&S Drive-In, my first job in high school, where Cass used to come and order Suzy Qs and a Coke and wait for me to get off work.

I just ran.

I couldn’t think too much about Roland. Not then. Not yet.

When I got back to the house, exhausted, wet, and tired, I found a note from Shaylene. She had left early to meet a friend for church. The wooden mantel clock read eight thirty. I had just missed her. I thought about getting in my car and going to her, but I knew it was probably already too late.

This little town churns out gossip faster than the
National Enquirer
. The Second Baptist Church spews it from the pews, and I’m sure the believers were going full bore.

I showered, trying to wash off the rain, the dirt, the hurt, the years. I scrubbed and scrubbed but still felt dirty.
Damn you, Roland.
I told you something bad would eventually happen.
I lay in my bed and cried, wanting to get it out before Shaylene got home, but knowing I would never get it all out.

Shaylene left church early to come home to me. I was still wrapped in my towel, hair damp, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

She crawled in next to me and put her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know he was your friend.”

My friend. Yes, he was that.
No more early-morning coffee. No more calling Roland when I need help with things around the house that are beyond my skill level. No more just having someone to talk to. No more. No more Roland.

For the second time in my life, Cass has taken him away from me.

Shaylene is a smart girl. I’m sure she knows about my side activities, and she seems to understand. She doesn’t say anything when I go out. As she gets older, she’s realizing that a woman needs a man sometimes. She also seems to understand my need to be independent and not have one around all the time. I think she’s okay with that. I think she actually likes that it’s just the two of us. If we need anything, we have Clay or Roland to call, but we don’t have to feed them or clean up after them.

She also knows that I am not sleeping with Clay or Roland, which would complicate things. No, there are men to sleep with and men to talk to and men to marry. A smart woman doesn’t confuse them.

“Have you talked to Dad?”

I hadn’t even considered how Clay must be feeling right now. His baby brother is dead. Suddenly, I felt very selfish. “We should call him, make sure he’s okay. He may need us this time.”

Shaylene went into the kitchen and grilled cheese sandwiches. I wasn’t hungry, but she made me eat then sent me back to bed. I could hear her singing “Home Sweet Home” while she cleaned the kitchen, the Justin Moore version. I prefer Mötley Crüe.

I awoke to find her standing beside my bed, watching me sleep. I hadn’t realized I had dozed off.

“I talked to Dad. He said he would come over this evening. He has to do a few things first.”

I opened my arms for her. She crawled into the bed with me, and I hugged her. Clay needs to come. We need to talk.

Shaylene laid out some clothes for me before she left for ball practice. For her, life just goes on as usual. At least today. Tomorrow, all hell breaks loose. So many years. Tomorrow, I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.

I walked through the house, still in my towel, and sat at the kitchen table.

I know I should get dressed, but I can’t quit watching the hummingbirds. I need to talk to Cass. I need to talk to Shaylene.

But first, I have to talk to Clay.

The hummingbirds move quickly, up, down, left, right. I wish they would just stop.