Deception Creek (11 page)

Sam had come in that morning and been by Billy's side the whole time.

People Billy didn't know showed up at the funeral home. Friends of Alice's from the bank, the grocery store, the beauty parlor. It helped him understand his mother on a different level. She had friends, was a kind person — loved him very much, they said. Each of them carried a story of how she had touched their lives in some way. If she had known all this, he wondered, would she have done the thing she had?

He thanked Mr. Pierce several times that day, pumping his hand and looking into his eyes as Scott had suggested.

At other times, he stood over his mother's open casket and just looked at her, stared at her young face. She wasn't even forty.
Was any of this real? Was she really gone?

“She was very pretty,” Vicki said from beside him.

Billy looked over at her and placed his arm around her shoulder. “I didn't really notice very often, but she was.”

Larry London came up to Billy, too. He and his wife, Linda, were there alone. Their little girl was home with Linda's mom, they told him. “You okay, buddy?” Larry asked.

Billy nodded, but couldn't speak, overwhelmed by all the kind attention.

Larry patted Billy's shoulder, then touched Vicki's. “Stay close, Sis,” he said.

Before they left, Linda grabbed Billy's free hand and told him she was sorry. “If I can help with anything, please call.”

“I will,” Billy said.

Sam leaned into Billy's ear, “I didn't even know he got married. Yikes.”

After graveside services, Billy, Scott, and Sam took a short walk through the cemetery, up the hill and back around to their cars. Billy wasn't in any hurry to go to Scott's for the reception, but Sam said, “The reception is a time to remember the good stuff. Everyone will be there to cheer you up.

“He's right,” Scott said.

Billy stared at the grave sites. “It was nice of Mel to show up.”

“A bunch of the guys showed up. Even Harry,” Scott said. “Jack stood in the back. He went up to look at Alice while you were in the bathroom. He was crying.”

“Scott?”

“Yeah, buddy.”

“You think he still loved Alice?”

“Don't know. Maybe.”

“Do you think he's wondered, all these years, whose baby it was?” Billy turned to look at Scott.

“What's going on?” Sam butted in. “What baby?”

“Wouldn't you wonder if it happened to you?” Scott said.

“Yeah, I would.” Billy turned to Sam. “Sammy, old friend, have we got a story for you.” Billy grabbed Sam's neck, then slapped it gently. “Let's go to the reception.”

During the drive, Billy explained to Sam what was going on. He still had not read Alice's letter himself and relied on his memory of when Scott had read it to him.

“Pretty amazing story,” Sam said.

“It is, isn't it?” Billy looked over and saw that Sam was upset. “What is it, Sammy?”

“You don't deserve this, Billy. It's already been rough for you. You don't need it all to come down on you now.”

“I can handle it.”

Sam looked at him. “That doesn't make it right.” After a while, Sam asked, “What about your grandparents? They should have made a show, don't you think?”

“Grandpa looked pretty upset and disappointed when he gave me the note. They've always hated Alice, and now I know why. I'm trying not to take it too personally, but we were close at one time. Now I feel like I was the one who betrayed them. You know, he used to show up at all my ball games, even when I didn't play. I used to be so embarrassed and upset for him. Sorry I wasn't more like his William, as he used to say. Shit, now I'm glad I wasn't.”

“You know, they could have been there for you, even if they did hate Alice,” Sam said. “So, what's this Jack guy like?”

“Christ, I don't know. Jack's kind of veiled in mystery at this point. At first he scared me, then Mom interfered. I ignored him until he saw me in the donut shop one day.” Billy tried to get a grip on how he felt about Jack.

“What's he look like?” Sam asked.

“About my height and build, maybe a little more bulked up. Well, a lot more, come to think of it. But, then I'm pretty average,” Billy answered.

“Was William average?”

“I know what you're trying to figure out. I've already tried. There's nothing there to make me really believe I'm part of either one of them. I probably look more like Mom. She always said I had my own look. I wonder what she really thought.”

After they had been at the reception for a while, Billy stole into the kitchen and dialed Grandpa Maynard's number.

“Hello?”

“Grandpa, it's me,” Billy began.

“We couldn't come. Didn't want to, Billy. Please—”

“That's not why I called,” he said.

“It doesn't matter,” Grandpa Maynard interrupted. “We fought your mother for years, always hoping that you were William's little boy. We know it was wrong. Hate and love do terrible things to the senses. It can make you cold.”

“I'm not William. I'm not Jack. I'm not even Mom. I'm me, dammit. We were friends, Grandpa, before I grew up.”

“Before you grew into someone I couldn't recognize,” he said.

“You mean when you realized I wasn't William. Well, I've never been William. I've always been me. Me, Grandpa. You must have seen me at least once all those years. You can't wipe all those years out because you don't know.”

“I can, Billy. I'm an old man. Like I said, it makes you cold.” He hung up.

Billy held onto the receiver for a moment and sighed. When he turned, Sam was standing near the doorway. “I called Grandpa,” Billy told him. “I think he just disowned me.”

“He doesn't know for sure whose kid you are. Maybe—”

“Don't, Sam. It doesn't matter.”

“It does matter. He's not thinking,” Sam said.

“Even if I am William's son, I'm not William. The older I get, the further from being William I get. That's all he knows. That's all he cares about.”

“I'm sorry,” Sam said.

“Me too. Do you think anyone would mind if I just lie down?”

“I don't think so.”

*     *     *

Until the knock came to the door that first day he was in Wyoming, Jack thought that Alice had never gotten notice of his getting out. He opened the door and stood back for her to come in. “I wasn't sure—”

“What do you think you're doing?” she asked.

“Alice, don't.”

“It's not the same as it was. Too many years have gone by. I made a life. Why would you want to interrupt it now?”

“Is he mine?”

“I don't know.” She walked to the window overlooking the street.

“You must.”

When Alice turned, her eyes were wild. Jack stepped back.

She spoke in a monotone. “I have a son. Not you, not the Maynards, me. I have given my whole life to hold onto him. I can't keep this up. There are too many of you.”

“I just want to meet him.”

“No.”

She appeared strong, but something about the way her hands clutched at her skirt, then her jacket, something about how her eyes darted around the room, made Jack think of a cornered animal. “Calm down,” he said.

“I don't have to. You have no right to be here. Not now.”

“If he's my son, I've missed raising him. I've missed seeing him at two and three and twelve. You never wrote. You never sent a picture. Does he look like me?”

Her eyes stopped twitching momentarily. They locked onto his eyes. “He doesn't look like you and he doesn't look like William. He's my son. Mine. Why would you want to change that?”

Jack fell silent. There was no answer that would satisfy Alice and he knew that.” I just want to meet him.”

“He'll hate me.”

“No, he won't. He won't know.”

Her head began to shake and her eyes darted about the room. “There are too many people. Charlie Maynard, me, you, Billy. I know other people wonder. I know what's going on. You're all trying to push me over the edge, trying to get me out of the picture. God's doing it, too, because I lied and lied and lied. Well, I didn't lie to Billy about how much I love him. You can't do this. You can't make him hate me. You'll be sorry.” She headed for the door.

“Alice, wait.” Jack reached for her arm, but she sidestepped him, grabbed the door, and stepped out. She was down the hall before he could say anything more.

He closed the door and sat down. Just having her in the room those few minutes exhausted him.

B
illy returned to work on Tuesday. Most of the guys stopped by and said they were sorry. Some didn't, but that was fine with Billy. Harry took him aside and told him to take a break as often as he needed, or even to leave early, as long as he told someone. Billy saw Hillman had gotten a lot done without his help.

“Missed you yesterday,” Hillman said as soon as Billy stepped over the top of the ladder. He came across more cordial than Billy had thought possible.

“Thank you. I'll try to make up for it today,” Billy told him.

“We're in no hurry. Take your time.” Hillman pointed to where he'd stopped working the day before. “You can start over there. I'll show you.”

Billy followed him and listened to what he had to say. Measure the overhang, cut using a straight edge, double-check your nailing. Roofing didn't seem difficult, but Billy knew from bricking with Mel that there was a fine line between how the work was done and how it felt while doing it. It seemed to Billy that most labor-intensive jobs weren't as easy as they appeared. Like adjusting the carburetor on your car, all you had to do was turn a screw, but the feel of the screw, the sound of the engine – all had to be taken into account. As he listened to Hillman, who kneeled in front of him, Billy knew he'd have to learn to use his own body and not expect to do the job perfectly right away.

When Hillman was through, he looked up into Billy's face, the clouds behind his head like a halo of condensed moisture. “You got it?”

“I think so,” Billy said.

Hillman nodded, then stood and walked to the other side of the roof.

Billy worked all morning, glad to be busy. He thought of Sam briefly, and what he might be up to, but soon moved on to thoughts of Jack, Alice, Charlie. His mind swam with images of the rape, the killing, the shame and guilt, the uncertainty they all must have felt, the uncertainty that he felt. He worked through his thoughts, lifting his head occasionally to the sky as if to ask for guidance from a higher source, as if to ask for answers. Once, just before noon, as he looked up, Billy saw Jack perched at the edge of the very peak of the church. He was bent down over the edge nailing up the gutters, which must have been ordered and had just arrived.

Jack looked at Billy, directly, and waved his hammer in the air to acknowledge Billy's attention.

Billy waved back, remembering that Jack had cried at the funeral. Billy wondered about the connection between Jack and Alice. Was the connection still there, attached only to Jack now, the Alice side dangling loose? It would have been easier for Alice to forget Jack than the other way around. Jack could very well have held onto his love for Alice because there was little else to hold onto.

“Noon.” Hillman said, breaking Billy's thoughts.

“Oh. Yeah.” Flustered, confused, deep in his own thoughts, Billy dropped his hammer and sat down. He looked up at Hillman, who stood waiting.

“You comin'?” Hillman asked.

“Sure. Lunch, right?” Billy's thoughts were coming back into the real world.

“Yeah, lunch.” Hillman turned and went over to the ladder, then turned again, facing Billy, to climb down. “You should take another day. You're not paying attention to what you're doing.” Hillman pointed to the area Billy had finished. “I may have to do some of that over,” Hillman said, just before disappearing below the edge of the roof.

Billy looked over at his handiwork and saw nothing wrong. Yet he knew that his heart wasn't in it. Perhaps Hillman was right; it was time to take off.

Billy scooted down to the ladder, turned, and lowered himself. He went to see Harry, to let him know that he was taking off.

“Take tomorrow, too,” Harry told him. “You need more time than you might think.”

Billy nodded politely, thinking that the reason he didn't want more time was because he didn't want to have the time to think. But he hadn't been able to stop thinking anyhow, and now Hillman might have to redo some of the work he had done, which wasn't fair to Hillman.

On the way to his truck, Billy noticed Jack standing near the tailgate.

“We should talk,” Jack said. “When you're ready. Don't misunderstand, though. I don't have answers. In fact, you may know more than I do.” Jack put his hands in his pockets.

“I'd like that,” Billy said, and turned toward his truck to leave.

The heat of the day pounced, like a cat, over Billy's truck. Wind, warm and uncomfortable, dense with moisture, slammed through his open window throwing his hair into odd circular patterns on his head. The only word he could think of to explain how he felt inside the cab was stuffy. If he were in such a room, he'd go outside, but inside the cab of the truck, he felt he could go nowhere. He couldn't walk away, couldn't run. The heaviness of the air closed around him and stole his breath. He was suffocating. Near the open field — laid fallow — outside of town, Billy pulled over and turned the engine off. He leaped from the cab and ran to the other side of the truck and into the field where he kneeled onto a tuft of grass.

His heavy breathing allowed him to regain equilibrium. Air began to enter and exit his lungs more easily. His breathing slowed back to normal. Closing his eyes, Billy saw only red penetrating his eyelids — the sun forcing its way through his thin skin.

At that moment, the inevitable aftershock of what had happened hit him squarely. As much physical as mental, Billy's energy drained and his shoulders slumped. “Mom,” he whispered, “what could I have done to prevent this?”

No answer came. There would never be an answer.

A breeze shoved the long stems of wild oats against his arms. The roughness of the stems scratched him. The smell of dirt lifted into his nostrils, as a reminder of the moment he now occupied. He could not shift time in reverse and alter the facts of the past.

Sweat beaded along his forehead and upper lip. When he opened his eyes, even while looking down, the sun stung them. Pain in the world can come in many forms. Shakily, he stood and walked back to his truck, got in, started it, and pulled back onto the road. Like a robot, Billy drove to Scott's house, where he called Sam and asked him to meet him at Alice's house. “I need to clear things out,” he said, allowing several meanings to be present in the statement.

When Billy pulled into the drive of his mother's house, Sam stood waiting, leaning against the rusted door of his Ford Fairlane. The grass around the house had not been cut since Billy had last done so. Weeds grew tall around two stuffed garbage cans near the shed. From the outside, dirt clung to the siding, shadow covered much of the yard, and the screen door hung open, slowly banging against the wall as breezes blew through the area.

Sam placed his hand on Billy's shoulder. “You sure you're ready for this?”

“No,” Billy said.

Billy led the way into the house turning every light on as he walked through. “This place has never had enough light in it. A mirror into Mom's soul, I'm sure.” He opened curtains in the living room, then the kitchen.

Sam followed suit, taking the initiative to go ahead of Billy, into each room, turning on lights and opening curtains. The two of them crisscrossed in the hall. By the time they were finished, the inside of the house glowed from the combination of natural and incandescent light.

From the end of the hall, Billy said, “I like this better.”

“My room first,” Billy said, leading the way. Entering the room like a man on a mission, Billy told Sam, “This was a mess the last time I was here.” The room had been cleaned up, as though Alice had put everything in order before she left the world.

Sam retrieved boxes from the closet and helped Billy neatly empty the dresser drawers. Then, as they were filled, he carried boxes and luggage out to Billy's truck.

As they entered Alice's room, Billy said, “I don't like the smell.”

“No problem.” Sam opened the side and back windows. A breeze blew through the room. “Let's get this over with. Sit near the
window. In that open space. I'll bring you things. Anything you don't want, just chuck onto the bed.” Sam opened dresser drawers from the top down, leaving clothing and searching only for items Billy might wish to see — cards, pictures, and the like. There wasn't much: a few birthday cards from people at work, one picture of Alice when she was in high school, standing alone, next to a tree, the creek in the background. As Sam rifled through the second dresser, Billy stared at his mother's picture. He began to feel closed in again and leaned his head back against the window sill. “She was pretty, you know?”

“You look a lot like her,” Sam commented.

“She always said I had a look of my own.”

“So maybe you don't need to know who your father is if you take after your mom. Besides, neither of them were ever around to actually be your father, so you couldn't pick up behavioral patterns from a proximity standpoint.”

“But there's got to be some small part.” Billy looked up at Sam. “Besides, Mom killed herself. Do I want that to look forward to?”

“Listen, Billy, your mom went through hell. It must have been terrible for her, always loving you, yet feeling as though she had to keep everything a secret.”

Not waiting for an answer, Sam jumped into the next job at hand. Pushing clothes aside in the closet, he pulled boxes from the top shelf. Every time Billy lingered with an item — a box of photos or a tin of letters, Sam said, “Put it on the save pile. You can look through each item later.”

At the end of it, Billy and Sam took one last walk-through. When they reached Billy's room, his face got bright and he ran to his bed, pulled the mattress up and reached under it. Inside a small metal box with a sea-shell-shaped lid was a pendant that had fallen from someone's necklace. Fake diamonds were held into place by tarnished silver settings. Billy had found the container and the pendant on two different days. But, he remembered only the day the pendant appeared at his feet.

Walking home from where the school bus dropped him off, Billy kicked rocks and smacked weeds. In the afternoon sun, on a cool spring day, the pendant sparkled up ahead. He had often thought of
that day with pleasure. It represented his childhood, his deep-felt happiness and luck. It was his lucky charm. Holding it in his hands, he remembered that day clearly and smiled.

Sam peered over his shoulder, but said not a word.

Billy squeezed the pendant in his hand, then lobbed it onto his bed.