Ajar (9 page)

“Why? Why do your hate your dad?”

“Because he’s a bastard and he deserves to
be dead,” she said through clenched teeth.

I didn’t ask her anything more. I could tell
she didn’t want to talk about it.

After that, we walked slowly through the
rest of the graveyard. Lindy stopped every once in a while and
traced the names and dates of the dead. Sometimes, I would lose
track of her amongst the stones and find her sleeping on the moss.
I would sit quietly next to her, waiting for her to wake up.

“What do you think they died of?” she asked
me, lying on the grass, her hands under her head looking
skyward.

“Who?” I asked.

“Everyone. Everyone here.”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess all
sorts of things, like people do now: old age, heart attacks,
cancer, that sort of stuff. My dad died of pneumonia.”

“What about the children?”

“They had a lot of diseases that we don’t.
We get shots now.”

“Hmmm,” she pondered dreamily, then, “where
do you think we go when we die?”

I had never really thought about this
question too deeply. Other than my father, I had never been close,
really close to anyone who had died. And really, my father didn’t
count because I couldn’t remember him or his death. I knew about
the people Dan killed but I had never been close to them,
either.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged.

“Do you believe it’s a better place, like
they teach in church?”

I shrugged again. She rolled over on the
moss to her stomach, her hands crossed under her chin. I sat
cross-legged, just in front of her.

“I like the idea of just going to sleep and
never waking up, you know: eternal sleep. I don’t like the idea of
a place where everything is perfect. How could everything be
perfect? How could we all think the same things? It sounds boring.
I don’t want to float around worshipping God all day. I mean, I
know He is our creator and all, but He is sort of to blame for all
of this, if He’s real. He could create heaven all beautiful, why
couldn’t He do it here? It seems stupid when you think of it.”

I sat there pulling at the grass, “I’d like
to think we go somewhere. I’d like to believe there is more to life
than this. I mean, I’d like to see my dad again, if I could.”

She looked up at me. We were quiet for a
long while.

“I’d just like to go to sleep someday.” She
paused and then added, “Forever.”

“Well, don’t do it anytime soon,” I said to
lighten the mood and threw some grass in her face. We laughed
wildly.

Chapter
Fifteen

About the same time as my life was beginning
again, restarting after a long period of suspended animation, my
uncle Elliot had a renewed interest in teaching me to drive. Each
night, after dinner, we climbed into the car and drove around
Sawyer. At first, we just went on back roads and country roads. We
practiced in the church parking lot. Soon, he trusted me on
streets. I learned to K-turn and parallel-park. He even had me
drive into Hutton.

“I’ve been thinking, Bud,” he said one night
as I smoothly glided into the driveway, “I’ve been wanting a new
car. If you pass your driver test, I’ll give you this one.”

“Really?” I looked over at my uncle. He
nodded his head firmly. I was curious about this new development.
My uncle had never been particularly generous and a car was very
generous. But I was not going to question him. I really wanted the
car.

He had also taken over the rebuilding of our
burned-out house. My mother had been unable to do anything for
months. My uncle got her to sign some papers, power of attorney,
and he was able to handle all her business. Rebuilding our house
was her business and now my uncle was in charge. The house had been
insured and my uncle convinced my mother that a modular home would
be the best way to go. It would be up in no time, he said.

I rode my bike over there with Lindy one
morning and he was right. The house came in two sections and it was
being put together very quickly. The new house was a one story
ranch style. It was blue with white shutters.

“It’s nice,” Lindy said sitting on the
handlebars. She tipped her head to one side looking at the
house.

“It doesn’t look anything like our old
house,” I said.

“That could be a good thing,” she assured
me.

“Yeah, but there was nothing wrong with the
old house,” I said stubbornly.

“I like this one,” Lindy said approvingly.
“Do you think your mom will let you come over and visit me when
it’s done?”

She thought a minute, sitting on my
handlebars, her head cocked to one side. I knew Lindy did not like
talking about her parents. There was something secret about her
parents that I just couldn’t figure out.

“If I don’t ask, they can’t say no.” She
turned and smiled at me. I smiled back.

* * * *

We went to visit Dan one more time. This time
Uncle Elliot stayed out in the parking lot and my mother and I went
in to see him. He was worse than the last time. He was gaunt and
yellow. He never spoke the whole time we were there. All he did was
rock back and forth in a chair shaking uncontrollably. The visit
only lasted about ten minutes because my mother started to cry and
they made us leave again. I stopped thinking of him as my brother
because, in truth, he wasn’t. Of course, I wanted to do something.
But there was nothing to be done. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted
to help him. I just wanted to be his brother again. But our lives
had changed irrevocably. Sitting in this shabby visiting room was
going to be the best it was ever going to get.

Chapter
Sixteen

The first frost had come and Lindy and I
were trying to find warmer places to spend our time. Of course, the
library was always an option. The waitresses in the diner were nice
to us, too, when we had some money. My aunt was still slipping me
money now and then. I did chores for her so I didn’t feel guilty
about taking it. The women at the diner thought Lindy had cancer.
That was my fault, though. One time when Lindy was in the restroom,
the waitress asked me why we weren’t in school. I told them Lindy
had cancer. She believed me, of course. After that, they’d
sometimes give us free hot chocolate.

Lindy never really ate at the diner. She
would just take small bites of my food. I would order something and
cut it up very, very small and she would take the tiniest bites.
When she thought I wasn’t looking, she’d spit it all out into a
napkin. She never swallowed anything. Sometimes she just watched me
eat. She said she liked to watch me eat. But I always felt a little
funny when I ate in front of her. So, after awhile we stopped going
to the diner.

Our house was almost done. I thought I would
ask my mother if Lindy could come over. My uncle Elliot had said,
“Absolutely not” when I asked if I could have a friend over. “The
last thing we need is more trouble.” I didn’t know what kind of
trouble he was referring to, but I didn’t ask. I figured Mom and I
would be back in our own house soon and I wouldn’t have to ask
Uncle Elliot’s permission.

I passed my driver’s test in late November
and true to his word, Uncle Elliot gave me the car. Lindy squealed
with delight when I showed up at the library in the car. We didn’t
have to worry about the cold anymore, plus, we could travel
farther, go to real places.

I only went to Lindy’s house once. She had
asked her mother if I could drive her home from our tutoring. Lindy
invited me in and I met her mom. Lindy’s mom was a fleshier version
of Lindy.

“This is Gus,” Lindy introduced me.

“Hello, Mrs. Stevenson.”

I held out my hand. She glanced over at
Lindy clearly pleased by my manners. She took my hand and shook it
graciously.

“You look very familiar,” she said.

I shrugged and glanced at Lindy.

“Everyone looks familiar in a small town,
Mom,” Lindy said.

“No, really. Have I met you before?”

“No, ma’am,” I said politely.

“Maybe I know your parents...”

“My father’s dead.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Your mother, maybe?
What’s your last name?”

What’s your last name? The last question I
wanted to hear. I glanced again at Lindy. She had sucked in her
breath and held it.

“Woodard,” I said coldly.

“Woodard.” Her voice was high, gushy, “Where
have I heard that name? Woodard?”

“Mom, you don’t have to be so nosy,” Lindy
tried to rescue me.

“I’m not being nosy, darling. I’m just
trying to be polite.” She turned back to me and said “Why don’t you
come in and have a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied.

Lindy rolled her eyes after her mother as I
followed them into the kitchen. Lindy had saved me for now.

The kitchen was bright, white cabinets with
blue trim. There were large windows and a breakfast nook. She
motioned me to a chair while she put hot water on to boil. She
pulled out two mugs and put some chocolate mix in them. Lindy sat
across from me at the table.

“So, you go to tutoring with Mrs. O’Reilly
at the library, too?”

Mrs. Stevenson was busying herself in the
kitchen but I knew she was probing. I didn’t know if I would get
myself out of it this time. Lindy squeezed my hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.

“And what grade are you in?”

“I’m a senior. I graduate in June.”

“Oh, how nice. And do you have any
plans?”

Did I have any plans? No, I didn’t. I hadn’t
even thought of life after school. Life had been stuck in a rut for
me for a long time. I hadn’t thought of a future.

“I’m thinking of going to community
college.”

“That is a good idea. I always think
starting at community college is such a good idea.”

The kettle whistled. She poured the water in
our mugs. I stirred mine watching the spoon making swirling circles
in the water.

“When will you start back at the high
school?” Mrs. Stevenson joined us.

“Excuse me?”

“Lindy said you were in an accident and
broke some bones. You certainly look recovered. When will you go
back?”

“Mom!” Lindy cried.

Her mother looked at her with a reprimand in
her eyes.

“I...uh...am not going to be able to go
back,” I stammered, making it up as I went along. “There’s been
complications.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I sipped my chocolate. The room grew
quiet.

“Woodard,” Mrs. Stevenson said idly, “I know
that name from somewhere.”

We were all quiet. I sipped. I noticed Lindy
taking tiny sips off her spoon. Then I saw the look on Mrs.
Stevenson’s face. It started with her thinking, her brow furrowed
in the act of recollecting, trying to grab that thought that was
just out of reach. Then her eyes widened when the fact presented
itself to her, and then she tried to return her face to some sort
of semblance of calmness. It didn’t work. She had remembered where
she had heard my name before

“Well,” she smiled at me. The smile was
forced. She turned to her daughter, “Lindy, may I see you in the
living room for a moment?”

Lindy glanced at me as her mother got up and
walked from the room.

“I’m sorry,” Lindy turned and mouthed.

Of course, I heard them. Lindy actually
started it all.

“Mom, you’re being rude to him.”

“Melinda Mavis Stevenson! What do you think
you are doing? You cannot be friends with that boy. Do you know who
he is?”

“Of course I know who he is, Mom. Gus
Woodard.”

“His brother is the Sawyer Shooter!” she
exclaimed and then continued talking more to herself than Lindy. “I
knew I knew that name from somewhere.”

“His brother is Dan Woodard. He’s mentally
ill. Gus is nothing like his brother.”

“Shhh,” Mrs. Stevenson chastised, lowering
her voice, but I could hear it clearly, “if I had known that you
were being tutored with that boy, I would have put an end to
it.”

“Mom, I don’t have friends. I like him and
he helps me with my work.”

“Absolutely not. You cannot see him again.
I’m calling Mrs. O’Reilly.”

“Mom!” I heard Lindy yell and I was on my
feet. I stood there listening.

“Go to your room.”

“Mom!”

“Go to your room!”

I heard Lindy stomping down the hall. Mrs.
Stevenson re-entered the kitchen. She was smiling and smoothing her
hair.

“Well, now, Gus,” she said, but could not
look at me, “Lindy wasn’t feeling well. I sent her to her room.
Perhaps you can come again another time.”

I nodded and mumbled, “Thank you for the hot
chocolate.”

I could feel angry tears in my eyes. As I
left the house I resisted the urge to slam the door. I got in the
car and slammed that door. I sat there for a minute trying to
gather my thoughts. How could her mother do this to us? Was this
never going to end? Was this going to be my life forever?

“So now you know my middle name.”

I was startled by a voice in the back seat.
I turned. Lindy lay across the seat, smiling. I laughed.

“Mavis,” I said grinning.

“It was my grandmother’s name. I hate
it.”

“I kinda like it. Melinda Mavis.”

“Don’t let her bother you.” Lindy shrugged.
Her knees were bent and her hair splayed around her face on the
seat.

“She’s no different from anybody else,” I
commented wryly.

“It’s not fair.”

“Will she really call Mrs. O’Reilly?”

“I don’t know.”

We were quiet for a moment. Lindy still lay
across the back seat. I gazed out the front windshield.

“Gus, let’s run away.”

“What?”

“Let’s run away. I don’t want to be here
anymore.”

“I don’t think I could leave my mom. She’s
really sick over this whole thing with my brother.”