Deception Creek (2 page)

He'd clean the place up when he got the time. He went back into the house and sat down in the living room, where he fell asleep with his head leaning against the couch-back.

Alice woke him. “Billy, go to bed.”

“What? What? Mom. Why'd you do that?”

Her hair was done and she wore a tan jacket with matching knee-length skirt and a pale yellow blouse. She had on stockings and a pair of pumps to match her purse. With makeup, her wrinkles — most of them — had disappeared. “You should go to bed. You'll get a crick in your neck.”

“Sorry,” he told her. “You startled me.” Billy shook his head to clear it. “You look nice.”

“Use the bed,” she said, ignoring his compliment. “I'll be home between four and five.”

“Okay.”

“Will you be here?”

“I don't know yet, but I'll leave a note so you don't worry.”

“I think these past two years have broken me of the need to worry.” Alice had changed personalities along with her clothes. Her tone was cheerful.

When she was gone, Billy sighed and rubbed his neck and forehead, attempting to get the blood flowing. He didn't feel so tired after his nap. He walked into the kitchen and got a glass of water, then grabbed the phone book and opened it on the corner counter near the phone. He made a late afternoon appointment to get his hair cut, then called Hank and Harry's Construction to see where they'd be working and to verify what time he should start on Monday. A red-tailed hawk circled in the sky outside the kitchen window. He watched as the bird slowly rose in the air, lifted by thermals.

Late morning sun and a cool breeze further brightened his day. He was on a mission to visit some old hangouts, and drove down 22 past the Route 107 crossroads that led into town and stopped in at London's Store for gas and a late breakfast.

The store still used the old, rounded pumps with mechanical numbers that clicked and dinged while he pumped gas. He noticed, with higher gasoline prices, there was more time between the clicks and dings than the year before. Billy went inside to get breakfast and pay for his gas, and realized he didn't recognize the girl at the counter.

“You're Billy Maynard, aren't you?” said the thin blonde who cooked his egg sandwich.

“Yeah.” Billy smiled, but said nothing more. He wanted to get back on the road.

“Vicki London?” she said.

He leaned closer, “Wow! You look—.”

“Older.” She blushed. “But not wiser. I'm still working here.”

“You still in high school?”

“Last year coming up.”

“I'm sorry I didn't recognize you, I expected Larry.”

“You don't have to explain. We never really talked much.”

“How is Larry?”

“He's working down at the tackle shop. He's doing fine.”

“He got married, didn't he?”

“To Linda Steward. They have a little girl.”

“Damn, I've been out of touch.”

“That happens. You're better off.” She handed him his breakfast sandwich. “You here for the summer?”

“Yeah, the summer.”

“Stop in sometime.”

“Sure.” He paid her and left.

He drove straight toward Pine Creek Mountain and up its winding road. He pulled off the road to look out over the greening valley, then, becoming impatient, continued down the other side of the mountain. He gobbled down the sandwich and drank a cup of black coffee while driving. Hawks circled in the sky and a multitude of songbirds chirped and flitted just inside the light-speckled woods. At the bottom of the mountain, Billy pulled off the road and slid the GMC to a standstill. He shivered as he walked through a two-acre field and down over a small bank to the creek where he and Karla Ann used to meet. He skipped stones and sat on the rocks the rest of the morning. Shadows shifted as trees swayed with the wind. Dappled dark and light areas seemed to float across the ground and water as the sun rose in the sky. The wind stilled; the air became warmer. When a breeze blew through, Billy got goose bumps up and down his arms and chills down his back. Sitting on a large, flat rock, dropping stones into a tide pool one by one until there was a pile of them, Billy glanced up just as Karla Ann stepped down over the bank. He watched as she drew near. Was he daydreaming?

“What are you doing here?”

“I stopped over at your house,” she over the gurgle of running water.

“I wasn't home.”

“That's why I came here. I figured you'd be here. We need to talk.”

Billy noticed how the sun danced along the edges of her red hair. She wore blue jeans and a University of PA sweatshirt, even though she didn't attend college, and low duck boots. He had loved her once. She had been the sole reason for his concern over leaving town for college. But things had changed, particularly over the last semester as he began to date some of the girls with whom he shared classes. Karla didn't know that bit of information.

He played the part of jilted lover. “Talk?”

“I'm not the girl for you any longer.”

“You decided that.”

“No. You did. I just didn't figure out what was going on for a long time.”

“Was that before or after you started dating Johnny Fitzpatrick?”

“That's unfair.” She sat down next to him. “I'm a home girl. I don't want to leave Wyoming. You, you're not going to stay. I couldn't hold you here before and I never will be able to.”

“Why would you want to hold me here?” he asked, staring into the creek.

“Because I want to stay. I like it here.”

“So, what's wrong with my wanting to do something with my life?”

“Nothing.”

Billy looked at her and tried to find the deep feelings he once felt.

Karla smiled and kneeled next to him. She took his hand in both of hers. “I will never forget us.”

Billy remained silent for a long while. “I loved you, Karla.”

“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “I still love you. But I know it won't work.”

“The hardest decisions—,” he said.

“What?”

“The hardest decisions are when both ways are right.” He kissed her hand. “We were good together, but we want different lives. We're going in different directions.”

“I wish it weren't so.”

“Sometimes so do I.” He waited again. He couldn't reach that place inside himself where they were still in love. Because of that, it was easy for him to be kind. “Johnny will be good to you, I'm sure.”

“Thank you. I knew you'd understand. I just had to face you with it,” She let go of his hand and stood to leave.

Billy walked with her through the field, his hand on her shoulder. At their cars, she turned and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I will always remember your dark hair, those deep dark
eyes. There's so much more inside you than other people. Explore it all, Billy.” Her hand rested on his cheek.

“Thanks for coming. I needed this too,” he said.

Billy sighed as Karla drove off.

Six months ago he wouldn't have felt the same or reacted the same. As it was, he couldn't be angry with her.

For another half-hour he sat on the hood of the truck and watched as the wind blew the field grass into waves, shifting back and forth. He wondered if the wind ever pushed the grass exactly the same direction on two occasions in one summer. The odds against such an event happening would be astronomical. His speculation amused him. The possibility of ever being able to test such an event was beyond his comprehension.

He pulled an oat stalk, the remnant of a long ago harvest from the ground and chewed on it as he walked the perimeter of the field. The sun penetrated his clothes, warming his skin. The sound of running water waxing and waning over the rush of wind through trees soothed him. By the time he looked at his watch, lunchtime had passed. He jumped into the truck and drove into town.

On the Main Street hill, he noticed the damage from an early spring tornado and the flood that followed. An unusual year for Wyoming—nearly a hundred years had passed since the last tornado. Floods they were used to. The Lemont River flooded an average of every seven years, but because of the tornado, the dike had been weakened and several large stores and the Sheridan Hotel had been destroyed. Construction equipment rose above the buildings downtown and there was ample roadwork being done. Trees were down in people's yards. The Catholic Church was pretty beaten up. Hank and Harry's Construction equipment was parked there and at several other locations. He'd be working on the church come Monday. He drove to the Downtown Diner for a quick burger before heading to the hair salon.

*     *     *

The cell door closed behind him. Two burly guards, silent, following his lead, escorted the man down the hall. Other prisoners
stirred. One yelled, “Have a good one, buddy.” Sentiment among prisoners. Someone else sniggered with envy and doubt.

He had been grounded. All those years living inside a cell, working in the laundry or library, outside for only short periods of time. He had lost the smell of trees and streams to the scent of iron, steel, dirt.

Another iron-barred door opened, then closed behind the three of them. Old metal bolts turned into place. In another room, this time one with a solid door, all his things lay spread out before him on a long table. He had been debriefed every day for the past week. This was it.

He picked up the small prison duffle and packed his belongings neatly inside. Before he left, an official handed him an envelope, saying, “You know the rules. Check in within twenty-four hours of arrival.”

The prisoner nodded. Already his insides rejoiced.

The official produced a smaller envelope. “Bus ticket.”

Again, a burst of energy shot through the man. He held the bus ticket as though it were a rope holding him safe against the side of a mountain. He nodded again. No more signatures. He was happy about that.

Outside the prison gates, he had only a moment to feel the air, notice how it smelled, and to get a sense of his new freedom, before he got into the prepaid cab. In that moment, though, he was struck by the reality of his situation. Free, but no job. Free, but no living parents. Free, but unsure of his plans. In that moment between prison gates and cab door, he registered the wilderness of the world. Even a city or small town would be wild in comparison to his life inside prison walls. Sure, there were tough guys inside, but he knew where they stood. He sensed everything through the general feel of the air he shared day-in and day-out for years. The bars soaked up the psychic energy of each inmate and were always available to monitor the conditions. Between the prison and the cab door, all that familiarity was gone. The scent was wild and unfamiliar, the cab door handle felt colder than steel. The seat threatened to engulf him.

As the cab pitched forward, he rolled down the window.

“Do you mind? The air might seem fresh to you, but I been soakin' up the cold all morning.”

He rolled the window nearly all the way up. “This okay?” His first words on the outside and he's still asking permission.

“Sure.”

The rest of the trip remained quiet. The bus terminal looked like a cattle car. Noise made the air jittery and confusing.

The free man took his ticket to the counter after waiting in line for a few minutes. “Can you tell me which bus I get on?”

The woman took the ticket from its pouch and pointed to the bus number printed in bold. Her finger moved down the ticket as she spoke. She read it upside down so he could read along with her. “The 515. Boards at 8:00 A.M. Look above my head and you'll see we list the slot. The 515 is in slot seven.” She pushed the ticket back toward him. “You can board now.”

His ride to Wyoming, Pennsylvania, would take almost ten hours with all the stops.

As the bus pulled from the station, the free man almost burst into tears. His mission had begun. He had a second chance.

The man sitting next to him smelled of sweat, a familiar odor that eased his sense of entering a wild world he knew little about. He wasn't sleepy. He looked forward to stare out the window, a tourist in his own land.

L
ate Saturday morning at breakfast, Billy realized Alice must have taken the day off. She usually worked half-days on Saturday. “You skipped work?”

“You're more important to me than you might realize,” she said sheepishly.

Billy smiled and went over to hug her. “I'm sorry.”

“About what?”

“I don't know. I guess I get cranky when I'm home. At least that's how it feels to me. Every little thing gets on my nerves.”

Alice patted his back. “You're not comfortable coming home. I knew it would happen one day.”

“No, Mom. It's not that.”

“Of course it is.” She walked to the sink and looked out the window. “I know how it is to move out. You've been away nearly three years.” She turned to look at him. “You're a young man. If you felt comfortable living here after all the time you've been out on your own, you wouldn't be normal. Your being away is hard for me. I admit that. But things are as they should be.”

“Maybe you're right.”

“Oh, I'm right. Now you get ready and go visit your friends.”

Billy looked at his watch. “No. Let me unpack real quick, then mow the grass. The lawn looks like a shag rug. Then you and I can go over and visit Grandpa and Grandma together. After that, we'll have an early dinner and just stay home. I can visit my friends tomorrow.”

In the shed out back, Billy had to clean the spark plug on the mower before it would run properly. He cut the grass by making a first pass along the perimeter of their two acres. A mixture of sumac and elderberry scrub along with young maple and pine trees stood on three sides of the property. On his second pass with the mower, he realized the job would take longer than he thought, so he turned mid-way to separate the yard into two halves — the second half to be completed later. The smell of new-mown grass reminded him of spring. The feel of the lawn mower handle in his hands reminded him of being in high school when mowing the lawn was a chore.

As a young child, Billy was proud of his mother, believing her adult knowledge and experience stretched far beyond his own. He obeyed her wishes then. As he grew older and began to push against the boarders of their relationship, Alice quickly became frustrated with him. Her frustration would rise to a manic craze, frightening him even as a teenager, at which point he would give in to her. He grew to feel responsible for her sanity. It took years for him to realize that her show of hysteria was as much manipulation as instability. But the habit of their relationship had been set. He found that the only way to escape responsibility was to lie to her.

For example, there was the time he quit the high school football team. The whole family reacted badly to his decision, especially Grandpa Maynard, who wanted Billy to be the football star his father, William, had been. Billy felt alienated and used school spirit as an excuse to be out-of-the-house.

At an away game, he met Chicky Lawrence. She had beautiful full lips and deep brown eyes. Billy loved the way her auburn hair blew along her face in the chilly autumn wind. He loved the way she touched his arm when they talked and how his lack of interest in playing football didn't matter to her. He dated her secretly for several months, lying to Alice about where he was and what he was doing.

Chicky had grown up in Shannon, a good hour and a half drive from Wyoming, and a place Alice had all but forbidden him to visit. After Alice found out about Chicky, Billy continued to see her behind his mother's back. When Alice found out, she grounded him.
During their argument, it came out that it was Shannon, not Chicky or the drive, that bothered Alice.

He asked what it was about Shannon that she hated, but Alice ignored him, pushing her frantic act up a few notches, which got him to back down. In his room that night, Billy thought about reminding her that she and his grandparents had been born and raised in Shannon. But he knew that wouldn't change her mind.

After finishing the first half of the lawn, Billy took a quick shower and got dressed to leave. He wondered why she let everything in and around the house run to ruin except herself? She got all done up in a light blue pleated skirt and navy blouse, ruffled in the front and at the sleeves. She had a light blue blazer over her arm. Her makeup was fresh.

“You look great, Mom.”

“Not bad for thirty-seven, huh?”

Billy smiled. “Let's go.”

They took Alice's Neon instead of the truck. Billy drove. On the way, Alice said, “You know, your grandparents have always hated me.”

He shifted his hands to the top of the steering wheel and shrugged.

“Really. We were too poor, too low-class for them,” she said, speaking of her own family.

“You've said.” Billy thought for a moment. “Things have changed. You have a good job. Besides they're not like that any more.”

“Yes, they are. I'm telling you.” Alice fiddled with her purse. “You don't know everything. That's why I dress up when I go over.”

He could see that she worked herself up, getting more and more angry from her own thoughts. “Don't think about it, Mom.”

“They wish I was out of the picture,” she said. But as long as you're their grandson, they'll have to deal with me.” She shifted in her seat. “I don't care if they hate me.”

His grandparents lived on the other side of town in one of the better neighborhoods. Billy drove the long, winding Lemont River Road rather than the more direct route through town. Going slowly, with his window down, he heard the river rushing over rocks. He'd
ridden his bicycle along here when he was a boy. The air smelled of spring.

Alice stared blankly out the front window. Her lips pursed as though she were still running her complaints through her head. Billy glanced at her. “They think everything is my fault. As if their William had nothing to do with it,” she said.

As he pulled into his grandparents' drive, he was already thinking up ways to cut the visit short. Grandpa Maynard came out the front door and headed down from the porch. Grandma stood in the doorway behind him. Billy jumped out and strode over to hug his grandfather.

Alice walked up behind Billy.

“Hello, Alice,” Grandpa said, acknowledging her.

“You brought your mother, I see,” Grandma said with little enthusiasm.

“We came to visit,” Billy said.

“Well, come on in,” his grandfather said. “Have you had lunch?” He put his arm around Billy's shoulder.

They sat in the living room while Grandma Maynard made tea. Billy thanked his grandfather for securing his summer job the third year in a row.

“Don't thank me. There's so much work around here; they can't find enough help. God knows they needed it. After Hank died last year — he was the brains — Harry struggled to keep the business going. In a sense, the flood was a blessing for him.”

“I didn't know Hank died.” Billy looked at his mother.

“Oh, I'm sure I told you. But you and your studies.” Clearly she was lying. She hadn't known about the death. Billy felt embarrassed for them both.

“How's school?” Grandpa Maynard asked.

“Great—” Billy started.

“Well,” Alice broke in. “It's hard keeping him in. The cost of books. Tuition.” She bent toward them. “I send an allowance, but it's really not enough.”

“Mom, it's fine. I'm fine. Really, Grandpa. Thanks for asking.”

She shook her head as if to shake off Billy's comments. “You're fine. But I'm working over-time. And there's the food bill while
you're home.” She clipped each sentence with a shake of her head, then ended with her lips pushed together.

“I'll write a check to help out.” Grandpa winked at Billy and went for his checkbook.

“Please don't,” Billy insisted. “I'll buy my own food with the money from work. I won't be home much anyhow.”

Grandpa sat down. “This time,” he said.

Grandma Maynard brought tea and the conversation drowned into inquiries about Billy's friends at home and in college. Soon, Alice and Billy were back on the road. The drive was quiet until about a mile from home. Alice said, “You should let them help. That's what they want. Besides, they owe us.”

“You've been thinking about that the whole way home, haven't you?”

“So?” She looked directly at him. “You don't know them like I do. You only know them as a grandchild. The only child of their only child who is no longer around.”

Billy had heard it all before. His mother got pregnant by the football star, whose recklessness got him killed in a car crash. The Maynard's attempting to get full custody of Billy once he was born. The courts ruling in favor of the mother. Alice and Billy living with Alice's aging parents until she was able to move away from Shannon. Soon after she settled in Wyoming, William's parents moved also, apparently deciding to get into Billy's life the only way they knew how—through money.

“Why can't you just let it go?” Billy slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

A smirk came over her face. “They won't drop it. But any time I choose, I could just fix them, and they know it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It's nothing, just that they owe me.” She wasn't going to say anything more.

Billy quickly changed into work clothes and went to the shed to get the mower. As he mowed he thought about his mother and grandparents. Alice had been a late child in her parents' lives. By the time she reached high school, her mother would have been over sixty and her father nearly eighty. Her mother died less than a year
after Billy's birth, only a month after Alice had moved out. Her father lived only another two years. Billy had seen pictures of their trailer, of him sitting on his grandfather's lap, but remembered nothing about him. The past and her problems never mattered that much to him. Talking about it only shoved Alice into depression, so he stayed away from the subject. He finished the lawn. In a little while, the two of them could eat an early dinner.

*     *     *

The teenager walked with the light step of joy on the way to their secret place. Their spot was a short distance from the road, but difficult to reach. There was no worn path. Plus, to get there, you'd have to get wet. Tucked away on the far side of the creek, past thick underbrush, and under the protection of a large Virginia Pine, they would collapse to the ground, fumble with their clothes, and slip into each other's passion.

The girl hummed as she maneuvered over the embankment toward the creek. Thinking ahead, she imagined getting a little wet before he arrived. The cold mountain water would purse her nipples to excitement. She knew how to drive him crazy. But there was little he could do in the shallows. They would be visible to the cars that occasionally drove by. He would have to think about her, look at her, want her. She thought about his excitement too, and how she'd wait until he made the request, until he asked if she wanted to lie under the tree on last year's discarded needles. She could imagine the feel of the needles stuck to the sweat and skin at the small of her back.

For spring, the sun blistered the air. Gnats circled one another in bunches, levitating over the weeds. The rough bark of saplings slid against her palms as she used them to steady her decline.

She had been a nobody at school until he became interested in her. She could not dress like the other girls, could not join in on school trips that cost extra money, and had long ago quit accepting invitations to birthday parties. Even as a child, the gifts that her family could afford were too embarrassing. Was it her poverty that
had kept her alone or her propensity for being alone that kept her in emotional poverty? None of that mattered to her now.

As irony would have it, her attitude and demeanor changed once she fell in love. She became a brighter soul and let her physical beauty bloom as well. In less than a year, it appeared she had become desirable. Other boys began to ask her out. The tug of her past held her back from the popular crowd, but she explored others who had grown up like her, shunned or shy or simply loners.

This day, the sun reflected her brightness. She had a story to tell and a plan as to when to tell it. She had the glimpse of an escape from elderly parents, a cluttered trailer, and a life of loneliness. Today, her life would change. She had hope—more than hope. With him as a partner, she'd have normalcy in her life.

She brushed at swarming gnats near her face and trotted a little way along the gravel edge of the creek. The shallow water, warmed by sun, soaked into her sneakers and socks, then dampened the hem of her skirt. The air blown over the deeper, colder, part of the creek was already doing its work on her body. The skin on her arms tightened. She hugged herself.

As usual, she arrived a bit early and he would be a bit late. She never minded the wait. It gave her time to get ready, to think of him, to relax, to imagine herself naked under the tree, his body heat warming her in a protective cocoon. Imagining him, she could feel his hands near her shoulders and his thighs plunged between hers. She easily sensed the feel of his fingers separating hers as they would make love hand in hand.

“My love,” she said, fondling the newly budding leaf of a butternut tree.