Deception Creek (13 page)

She blushed slightly, then turned her head. “I've never been here,” she said. “How did you know you could get to the water at this spot?”

“Playing,” Billy said. “When I was younger, Sam and I used to explore the creek all the time. Mostly over Pine Creek Mountain. There's one or two places there like this,” he pointed, his arm creating a big sweeping motion to include the entire area. “As I got older, sixteen, we drove everywhere, often following the creeks, sometimes following Lamont River. I don't know what it was about the water, but we were always fascinated by the way it changed after the spring thaw. How it cut new pathways into the flat areas and how deeply it gouged itself into the mountain.”

“Boys,” Vicki said. “You're doing all that while I'm playing inside with dolls.”

Billy laughed. “I've always wanted to follow the rivers and creeks as far as I could. To new towns, new experiences.”

“Escaping, even then,” she said. “Not that it's bad to get out. I want to someday, too. But, it seems that, even as a boy, you knew something wasn't right. You felt pushed out in a way that you probably didn't fully understand.” She hesitated. “Now look what's happened. Your intuition was right.” She leaned into him and held him.

Billy sighed away the last remaining residue of his imagined reenactment. With it, something else escaped him. He felt it leave. A need to blame. Or perhaps a need to belong. Whatever escaped during the sigh let room inside him for something else. Pride. Belief in his own ability to overcome his circumstances. A deep sense of his own worth.

“What is it?” Vicki asked as if noticing the change in him.

“I don't know. I just feel better.”

“Now that you know what you couldn't have done?”

“Yes. That and more,” he answered.

“You've been through a lot,” she said. “Let's go back.”

They held hands as they walked out from the creek. The sound of water flowing down stream followed them to the road. When they reached Vicki's car, Billy thanked her. “You are a kind person.”

He hoped that she understood his comment. That she was a friend only. Vicki reached up to touch Billy's face, where she gently stroked his cheek. “If you need me,” she said before getting into her car to drive away.

Billy got into his truck a stronger, more determined young man. He drove much more leisurely than he had the last few trips. Outside Scott's house, Billy sat inside the truck and thought about what had happened that evening. His return to where he believed the murder-rape had taken place. That had been the first time he'd thought of Karla in a while and wondered if he still had feelings for her, or was it the only reference point for love that he had available?

Trying to change the subject in his mind, Billy focused attention on Scott's house, workshop, and property. Not much had been done since his arrival. He had even disrupted Scott's life. The whole thing — his and his mother's lives — had roughed up the lives of so many around them. He could only imagine how it might have affected the bank and its employees. What he did know was how Scott's building had stopped, how Sam's vacation had been interrupted, the construction on the church slowed, Vicki's life changed. Shaking his head, Billy wished he could put everything back. Right all the wrongs.

He wondered about Grandpa and Grandma Maynard, too. He had let them separate from him. He had allowed it to end. Yes, at their request, but he had not fought back. He had grown up with them. They couldn't forget that. He couldn't. It was time to take a stand.

Billy jumped from the truck and ran to the front door. Finding the door unlocked, he pushed in and walked straight to the living room.

Scott sat reading. When he heard Billy approach, he held up his hand. “I'm not going to say anything. You don't have to avoid the place. I'll leave you alone.”

Standing at the doorway to the great room, Billy felt big. The whole room, filled with furniture, seemed small to him. Scott sat
quietly at a distance below. “I'm sorry for being a jerk to you today.” Billy stood his ground and continued. “You've stopped your life for me and I haven't been very kind. That's going to change. Starting tomorrow night, if I'm here, I'm going to help you finish your shop, the garage, anything you have in mind. I'm good at landscaping.”

“Can't always afford it,” Scott said.

“Then I'll help pay for things.”

“You don't—”

“I'll do what I can. Fair?” Billy interrupted.

“Fair,” Scott said.

“There are going to be times when I'm not here, and I want you to carry on with your life. I don't want you sitting up and waiting for me to come home like some concerned father. Deal?”

Scott folded his book closed, placing his index finger between the pages where he had been reading. “Deal,” he said.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“You're welcome.”

Billy nodded, satisfied he had done the right thing. “I've got some calls to make. Talk to you in a little while.”

Billy watched as Scott placed a bookmark into the gutter where his finger held his place, Scott then replaced the book on its shelf. As quietly and unobtrusively as possible, he walked through the house and garage, and into the shop.

B
illy left two messages Thursday night, several more during Friday evening, and three on Saturday. Grandpa Maynard never returned one. Billy felt he had only one choice left and that was to go there. Although it appeared they had severed all ties with him, Billy would not let them ignore his existence.

It had rained, then cleared Friday night. Puddles lay all over the dirt road and drive. Mud caked slightly along the bottoms of Billy's tennis shoes and he kicked off as much of it as he could before pulling his feet into the truck. Even though it was almost noon, a cool haze hung over the woods. Billy shivered once, then rolled his window down anyhow. Scott, up before dawn with renewed enthusiasm, hammered away in the shop, the sound echoing down the road, fading as Billy drove away.

At the Maynard's house, Billy knocked, rang the doorbell, then hit the door with his fist.

The latch clicked and a moment later Charlie Maynard's face appeared around the door. “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“No!” he heard Grandma Maynard say from behind her husband.

When the door began to close, Billy shoved his hand between it and the door frame. “Grandpa?” he pleaded.

The door closed on his hand, but without pressure. They both stood like that, silently.

“I said no.” Billy heard his Grandma say again.

“It's a stranger, Sarah. I'm going outside to see what he wants.” Even as Grandpa Maynard opened the door and stepped outside to face Billy, Grandma protested.

Nodding to Billy, he said, “What do you have to say?”

Billy turned around and began to walk away.

“Where the hell do you think you're going now? I'm out here. Talk.”

“Come with me,” Billy said.

Grandpa Maynard followed the young man, the stranger, out and onto the sidewalk, catching up to Billy's fast pace.

“You can't disown me,” Billy said, once Charlie kept pace beside him.

“You're not our grandson.”

“You helped raise me.”

“You were a lie. You didn't exist. I always suspected it, now I know.” Grandpa stopped walking and waited for Billy to stop as well. When Billy turned to see what was up, Grandpa said, “So there you have it.”

“No, I don't,” Billy said. “I don't have it at all. You took me to baseball. Grandma watched me while Mom worked. We used to talk. Grandma took me shopping for school clothes.”

“All,” Grandpa interrupted. “All, every moment, existed for who we thought you were. But you weren't that person. You're, you're – that criminal's son.” He spit out the words. “Aren't you?”

“I suspect that's who got Mom pregnant. But I can't be his son, if he was never my father. All I truly know is that Alice was my mom.”

“She was nuts,” Grandpa said.

“She's dead,” Billy said. He stepped forward. “But you're alive. You can still choose to be there. She can't. My memories of Mom are all I have left. I choose to remember her kindly. What would you like me to do with you?”

“I don't know, Billy. Sarah's broken-hearted. And I don't know what to think.”

“Then don't think. Remember. Remember when we used to be together and tell me there was something wrong between us.”

Grandpa lowered his head.

“Maybe it's time you two mourned the death of your son and stopped making me his replacement. It's up to you. And to Grandma. But I'll tell you one thing — I'm here. I'm still alive and, even if you ignore me, I'll still be here. Even if you disown me, you'll have memories of our times together. Not William's. Ours.” Billy pushed his index finger into his own chest and leaned towards Grandpa Maynard. “You can't get rid of that.” He fell silent, so silent that the air between them became crisp. “I know I'll remember you. You're the only father I ever had, even if you didn't want me.”

“That's not true,” Grandpa said.

“What? What isn't true?”

“That we didn't want you. That's not true. We wanted you. But you're right about one thing, and that's that we wanted a replacement for William, a second chance. He was out of control. I knew that. Sarah refused to notice. But I couldn't ignore it. I always had to clean up after him. We used Alice as much as she used us. We used her to clear William's name. To hide behind. But, I'm tired now. I'm tired of hiding.”

Billy reached out to touch his grandfather on the shoulder. “I love you, Grandpa.” He paused to take a deep breath. “And I forgive you.”

Grandpa Maynard's jaw clenched. He shook his head. “Maybe we've been wrong all these years. I don't know, Billy. Let me think.”

They returned to the house in silence. Grandpa Maynard opened the front door, turned to look at Billy for a moment, then went inside.

Once the episode with his grandfather had ended, Billy felt refreshed. In town, the haze had lifted; though, in the distance, a layer of ground fog still obscured parts of Pine Creek Mountain. Stripes of gauze-colored fog ran in strips like holes punched through the cloth of green foliage.

As for Jack, no matter how disjointed and odd his social interactions, he was just a man. In fact, Jack seemed more frightened of Billy, or what Billy understood, than a man who could be dangerous.

The rest of the crew, those who worked with Jack — like Todd and Martha at the bakery — treated Jack exceptionally well. Not out
of fear, but respect. Respect that isn't handed over easily. Respect that is earned.

Billy deduced that his personal life may have clouded his interactions with Jack.

In the middle of town, Billy parked the truck in a side alley near the bakery. He sat inside the truck for a long while. When he got out of the truck, his hands were sweating and his breath quick, as though he had just run around the block. He tried to calm down, but found the more he focused on his nervousness, the worse it became.

A young couple sat at a table having coffee while Martha kept busy cleaning up the counter. When she saw Billy, she said, “May I help you?”

Billy stepped up to the counter. “Ah, yes. I'm looking for Jack Roberts.”

Martha put her hand over her mouth. “Oh. You must be Billy Maynard. I heard about your mother.” She shook her head. “How are you?”

Billy swallowed. Pushing his lips tightly together, he nodded, then said, “I'm all right.”

Martha turned away after looking into Billy's eyes for a moment, apparently searching to make sure he felt as he said he did. She took a few steps toward the back, almost as though she was going to leave, but stopped abruptly and yelled in at her husband. “Todd, Billy Maynard's here looking for Jack.”

Todd appeared in the doorway, wiping his chubby hands on his apron. “Jack lives at the Wyoming Hotel, down the street. They rent efficiencies there real cheap.”

Billy patted the counter with his hand and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't know why he waited, why he didn't just turn and leave with the information, but he didn't. He shook his head at Todd and said, “Thanks for your help.”

Todd stepped closer to the counter. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, not at all.”

“He's been through a lot, too. I know you've probably been pretty upset, but understand, so is he.”

“Have you known him long?”

“Since grade school. When he got put away I hardly talked with him. Hardly went to see him. I'm not proud about that. But he understood. Tells you something, doesn't it?” He breathed deeply. “A big chunk of his life is missin'.”

“Mine too.”

Todd changed the subject. “Be careful over at the hotel. A lot of odd balls over there.”

The Wyoming Hotel was a little scary to walk into. Dingy and dusty. Boxes piled near the front desk. Billy walked up to the counter to ask for Jack's apartment number.

No one was there, so he made noise, sniffling, tapping his fingers, to get attention. Before long a woman, over sixty, and in a shabby dress, walked through the lobby. She looked at Billy as though he'd just magically appeared before her eyes. “You slummin' it today, honey?” she said, her voice raspy and harsh.

“No, ma'am, I'm looking for someone.”

Before he could say any more, the woman yelled “Hey, Frank. Customer.” She curtsied, smiled, and walked on.

Her curtsy was so smooth, so natural, Billy wondered if she felt out of place. Did she have a better life at one time and then lose it?

“Stop gawkin', kid and tell me what you want. I know you're not here for a room.” Frank had his hands on the counter. His three-day beard and greasy, jet-black hair drew attention to the fact that he had two teeth missing. “Come-onnn,” he said, “ain't got all day.”

“Jack Roberts.”

“Third floor. Room 333.” Frank slapped the counter. “Another happy customer.”

Billy took the stairs. The stairwell smelled more like a men's room than a stairwell. He ran up two steps at a time and lifted his shirt to breathe inside it, decreasing the intake of stench. At the third floor landing, the door stood ajar, jammed against the floor at an angle because of weak hinges. Billy had to force it open. He breathed better once in the hall. Light poured in from the windows at the ends of the hall, which was a good thing. Of the four or five ceiling lights along the hall, only one worked.

Billy strolled to the end of the hall where he took a hard right, going deeper into the building. He heard voices coming from several
of the rooms, conversations, radios, televisions. A loneliness permeated the space as though it were something concrete, chunks of it hanging inside each room, growing there like exotic plants.

At room 333, he knocked twice and waited. As he lifted his fist to try once more, Jack opened the door. “Come in. Please. I didn't expect anyone. Well, not you. Or anyone.” He let Billy have plenty of room, then stepped around, and closed the door. “It can get noisy in the hall.”