Deception Creek (12 page)

B
illy felt a sudden emptiness inside him as Sam pulled away early that Thursday morning, but knew that Scott would help fill that quiet space. Sam, having been his long-time friend, had helped Billy through his roughest days just by sticking nearby.

Later that morning, Harry took Billy aside to be sure he was ready for work. “You don't have to be here,” Harry said. “If you need more time, that's okay.”

Harry's drawn face appeared more serious to Billy than ever before. He didn't merely ask, but suggested that Billy take more time off. He spoke from the heart, as if remembering all the opportunities he had had to stay home. Had he overcome those opportunities — through obligation, enthusiasm, or simply through fear — and now felt sorry for all those lost days?

Billy had no idea where the suggestion originated inside Harry, only that it had arrived.

“I'm okay,” Billy said. “In fact, I think I'm ready to work.”

“But it's a big deal,” Harry said. “You know, what happened.”

“It is. I agree. But I might never really be over it. Sometimes, I need to do what I need to do. I have to get back to my life. Please, Harry, let me do that.”

Harry nodded his approval, then told Billy to work with Hillman again. This time they had moved to the main roof of the church. “Take a harness. You can get hurt up there.”

Billy grabbed a harness from the trailer Harry kept near the site. When his head poked above the roof line where Hillman could see him, Hillman rolled his eyes. “Had to rework some of your job the other day. You sure you're ready to be back?”

“I'm sure,” Billy said. “But if one more person asks me that question, I won't be.”

“You sure you're ready to be back to work?” Jack said, stepping around from the opposite side of the roof.

Hillman and Jack both laughed at the joke.

“What are you doing here?” Billy said.

“He's helpin' too,” Hillman answered. “Come on, I'll show you what we found.”

Billy pulled himself onto the roof of the church and followed Hillman, walking past Jack, who bent close to Billy as he passed and said, “Boo!” Billy jumped. Jack just turned away.

On the other side of the roof, a huge opening appeared. Hillman had his arm out to keep Billy from stepping any closer. “We found carpenter ants everywhere. We may need to check the rest of the roof again.” He pointed several stories up to the steeple roof. “Even up there, although Jack said it felt safe while he was up there.” Hillman turned back to the job at hand. “We have to replace some beams, maybe the whole roof. Don't know yet.” He turned back, still talking while Billy followed. “We thought the storm did all that damage. Here, it was rotting through anyway. They're lucky no one got hurt while prayin' down there.”

“So, what do we do?” Billy asked.

“Afraid of heights?” Hillman questioned.

“Not that I know of.”

“Then we re-frame the roof, put in new supports, build a new roof.” Hillman pointed to Jack, who sat near the edge of the roof, straddling the peak, his back to them. “The three of us should be able to do most of the work.”

“The three of us?” Billy questioned.

“Got a problem with that?” Hillman said.

“No. Not at all. Just asking.”

Jack turned around and looked at them. “Nice view from up here. You can see all the people working to build the town back up, but you can't tell what many of them are doing. Like it's being rebuilt invisibly.” He stood then. “So, Billy, I came down to your level.” Jack stopped speaking abruptly and stared.

Billy felt a shiver go up his spine. “I'd say we're on the same level and leave it at that,” he said.

Jack laughed. “You could say it that way.”

“You two got somethin' goin' on I need to know about?” Hillman interrupted.

“No,” Billy said immediately.

Jack, though, in a slow even response said, “An unfinished conversation.” He nodded his head at Billy and added, “When we're both ready, we'll finish it.”

With Hillman always present, Jack and Billy couldn't talk freely. So, they held beams in place, measured, and cut. Their hands touched when working close.

Lunchtime interrupted the day, allowing sweat to dry and bodies to be nourished. During lunch, Jack hung around Scott and Billy, conspicuously out of place, staring off into the distance, saying nothing. At one point, Scott looked at Jack while his back was turned, then shrugged, glancing between Jack and Billy, questioning why Jack might be hanging around.

Billy had no answer to Scott's question.

At day's end, Scott met Billy at his truck. “I thought Jack told you he'd be available when you were ready. I didn't think he meant he'd actually hang around until then.”

“He spooks me right now.” Billy looked around to be sure they were alone. “Even worse than before. You know, when I was walking past him once, he said ‘Boo,' like some odd little boy. I know he knows I'm spooked by him, but doesn't that seem awfully weird?”

“It does,” Scott assured him. “But maybe he doesn't know what else to say. He was in prison, remember? And, for your dad's death. Socially he's a misfit. Perhaps if we told him to go fuck himself, he'd
know how to begin a conversation. I doubt if it'd get very deep though.”

Billy laughed. It felt good, the way his face relaxed naturally into a smile. “You're absolutely right, Scott. Why the hell should it bother me that he doesn't know how to open a conversation? Christ, he probably wonders if I'm his son, just like I wonder the same thing. We're both afraid of the answer, I'll bet.”

“And I can see why,” Scott said. “The whole dynamics of your relationship would change.”

Billy turned and pulled the truck door open, then said, “We have no relationship.”

“You know what I mean,” Scott said.

“Yeah, I know. My whole past as I've known it would change. I don't know if that's what I want right now. It's changed enough for one summer.”

“You've said that before. But what you haven't noticed is that it's not your choice. All you can do is ignore it. You can pretend Jack doesn't exist, or that the possibility isn't there, but you really can't change anything. Everything is how it is. It's your reaction that adjusts. You can try to choose other than the truth, but the truth stands.”

“Nice speech.” Billy leaped into the front seat and closed the door hard. “But we don't know the truth.” He started the truck and began to back out of his parking spot before Scott finished talking.

“You have an idea,” Scott yelled, following as Billy backed out. “You can't run.”

Billy squealed the truck tires getting away from Scott. His heart beat rapidly. Where should he go?

He drove out of town. The scent of the air cleared his lungs. After breathing sawdust and ancient roof-dirt all day Billy particularly noticed the wonderful smells coming in his open window. The town smelled of its own mixed odors—food cooking, cigarette smoke, asphalt from all the construction. Just outside of town, the scent of dried grass and weeds of the field came through strong and almost pungent. While stopped at a crossroads outside of town, the wind that rushed down from Bradford's Ridge carried the sharp, specific scent of spruce, pine, and hemlock.

Still extremely warm, the air dried Billy's sweat into a sort of tight film over his body. He looked into the mirror and brushed his hair flat with his palm, then fluffed it with his fingers. Stopping in at London's, Billy ordered a sandwich. He still had plenty of warm water in the truck.

“You're not going home to Scott's tonight?” Vicki asked as Billy paid for his sandwich.

“No. We, ah, had a disagreement. I'm going to sit somewhere I can think for a while.”

“The library?” Her eyebrows lifted.

“No. I'm finished there.” Billy knew she wanted to be invited, but he didn't want the company. Besides, he told himself, she was working.

“Heading that way though?”

“No. Maybe. I don't know.”

“That's okay. I'm sorry I asked,” she said.

“Don't be. I'm sorry. I just don't know.” Billy left the store and got into his truck. He pulled out as though he could be going back to Scott's. The direction he turned, up 107, also led to Shannon.

Billy had decided where he was headed. As he was driving through the woods, sun hidden by the mountain, cooler, yet more humid air rose around Billy. The air quality changed dramatically. It penetrated the truck and seeped into his body, reminding him just how quickly things could change — in a matter of minutes or miles.

He had no control over nature unless he stayed inside — and then only minimally. And what was a house, he wondered as he took the turns, but a box? Whether he put his body inside a box or his spirit inside a box, neither stopped or controlled what would go on naturally. There was no escape and could never be.

Billy drove where Pine Creek wound through the valley near Shannon. He didn't know exactly where the murder had taken place, but he could guess. There were only a few spots where it was easy to get to the creek from the road.

He pulled into the brush and shut the engine down. Sitting quietly for a moment, he listened to the snapping and clicking of the truck engine as it cooled. He got out of the cab and stepped into tall weeds. Around the other side of the truck, the slope gradually made
its way to the creek. Weeds grew thick. Insects, disturbed by his intrusion, rose up and into his face. Swatting at the air in front of him, Billy made it to the bottomland near the creek. His truck could no longer be seen from where he stood. The weeds and heavy buzzing of insects thinned. Shorter grass, more wispy and thin, grew between rocks and stones, the beginnings of the creek bed. From where he stood, the air felt warm. The area stood open to the sun. The long day of heat had warmed the stones. The creek flowed freely in front of him. Wide in that area, only in the center did it seem to have any real speed going. Tide pools created by large rocks and piles of smaller rocks, like little dams, stretched for quite a distance along the shore.

Billy imagined Alice and Jack sitting together, necking, even making love in and out of the water. His thoughts created a kind and gentle Alice from his memories of the mother who had taken care of him at three and four, before her guilt had eaten its way to fear.

He understood the totally free feeling one got while standing naked outside. Completely naked, he used to think of it. Exciting. Sneaking around brought a measure of excitement as well. There was the escalating sense that they could be seen. Excitement must have raged inside their young bodies. He and Karla had done the same, only far, far from that point, way on the other side of the mountain, near Wyoming, near a different creek.

Billy's mind slipped into a new segment of history. He imagined William stalking the beautiful Alice, the poor, innocent Alice. He watched the story his mother had written down unfold before him. Horrified. Disturbed. Billy searched inside himself for a sense of how William must have felt. But nothing rose from him. Nothing. Only shame. Shame and then anger. Then rage. In his imagination, he quickly substituted Karla for Alice. Had he seen her getting raped what would he do? Billy turned from where he stood and cried out.

Vicki, suddenly right there in front of him as he turned, jumped back in fear. “Billy! No!”

The images dispersed as if being absorbed by the creek, the stones, and the woods. His rage drained quickly. For a moment, he felt surprised by her presence. Coming to, he reached out to her. “Oh, no. No, Vicki. I'm sorry. Wait. I was—”

“In a trance,” she said. “You looked like you were gone. It scared me.”

Billy's shoulders relaxed. “I know.” He stepped toward her and she stayed put. He noticed that. As though he wasn't truly frightening, but had only surprised her, as she said. In fact, when he stepped forward, she reached for him. He reached for her too, and they held one another for a long time.

“I followed you. I knew you were coming here. Is this where it happened?” Vicki seemed to be crying. The sound of her voice tipped him off.

“I don't know,” Billy said, raising his head and looking around. “Maybe.” He sighed. “It could be.”

“You were reenacting the whole thing in your head,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Billy pulled loose and held onto her shoulders. Tears welled in Vicki's eyes. Not tears of fear, but of compassion. Billy could feel it. He thought he could feel all the way into her heart. “I could never have done anything like that,” he said.

“Like what, Billy? The rape or the murder?”

“Neither. Never. I felt rage though, even at the thought of seeing such a scene.” He didn't tell Vicki how Karla had become a stand-in for his mother in order for him to understand the love connection Jack must have felt.

A cool breeze off the creek blew Vicki's hair into her face where a few strands stuck to the tears near the corner of her eye. Billy felt protective, as though he never wanted Vicki to know what he had just felt.

Vicki remained quiet, letting him explore his own emotions. Billy noticed how sensitive she was to his needs. When he felt ready to speak again, he said, “I am who I am. I know that. But if I had to derive an answer from what just happened, I'd say that there is more of Jack Roberts in me than William Maynard.”

Vicki smiled. “There doesn't have to be either.”

“I know. Perhaps there was a third person I'll never know about.”

“Don't think that of your mom,” she said.

“You're right. That wouldn't be like her.” He brushed the hair from the corner of Vicki's eyes and kissed her softly. It was not a kiss that promised anything yet, only a thank-you kiss, one between close friends.