Deception Creek (6 page)

Outside the old stone building, the wind had picked up. Clouds filled the sky. Leaves and paper, street garbage, shuffled noisily along the sidewalk. The leaves on the trees were turning up before rain.

Billy walked to his truck in the side lot. He sat quietly and watched about seven other library customers exit the parking lot. A young couple left the library hand in hand. What a date, Billy thought. How utterly adult and real. He was touched. Had he ever gone to the library for a date? He couldn't remember doing so.

After the lot emptied, the employees came out in one group. There were only the three of them. The older woman stared at Billy as she passed. He started the truck and pulled out of the lot. What did she think he was going to do? Break in and steal a look at a twenty-some-year-old newspaper?

He rolled down the window and let in the crisp air. He drove around town, trying to decide where to go next. He had no clothes with him, but he'd rather wear what he had on a second day than go home. Eventually, he stopped at an all-night diner for coffee-to-go, surprised at the number of people there. Back in his truck, he headed towards Wyoming, this time driving more slowly through the sharp turns of the mountain road.

When rain began to fall soon after he entered the darkness of the forest, Billy was forced to roll up his window and turn the fan on to keep airflow inside the cab. Still, the humidity rose and he began to sweat. Then the rain fell harder, thunder roared and shook the truck, lightning struck all around him. He had to pull over.

Every few miles along the road were pull-off points, typically used for scenic interludes. Billy found a pull-off and got over as far as he could. He left his lights on so that no one would try to pull into the same spot. Because the rain came at a hard angle, he was able to maneuver the truck where the passenger window got hit hard and
the driver's side window could be opened slightly. He placed his face as close to the open part of the window as he could, feeling the cooler air, smelling its freshness. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain. He could easily sleep right there. Remembering his coffee, Billy grabbed it and took a long drink. It had cooled and tasted fine. He kicked his right foot up and onto the dash and slouched in the seat against the door. He took in a deep breath and nursed his coffee.

He couldn't wait to start a life of his own. He closed his eyes and day dreamed a future where he had a good job in Chicago or Atlanta. He'd return to Wyoming only to take walks through the woods or along Pine Creek during the summer. He stayed in those thoughts until the rain let up. Finishing his coffee, Billy sat up and drove toward town.

When he reached the dirt road that led to Scott's house, he turned onto it, even though the time was well past eleven. Billy decided that if Scott wasn't awake, he'd find somewhere else to spend the night, even if he had to sleep in the truck.

The lights were on at Scott's. The house looked finished, but now there was an additional building, set back and to the right, that had been framed in. Piles of wood were stacked around it. The yard needed to be landscaped, too.

Billy pulled up next to Scott's truck wondering why it wasn't inside the attached garage. Before he could get out of the truck, Scott opened the front door and motioned for Billy to come in.

Trying not to get muddy, Billy tiptoed through a small patch of grass that led to the porch that ran along the front of the house. “The house looks great,” Billy said.

“Thanks. It's not finished.” Scott shook Billy's hand and drew him into a mud-room. “You can take your boots off in here.”

Billy left them under a utility sink by a washer and dryer.

Scott watched from the doorway. “I'll show you around.”

“What are you doing up, anyway? It's late.”

“Reading.” Scott pointed to a book resting on the couch arm as he led Billy into the great room just off the foyer. “Here you go.” Scott opened his arms.

The ceiling pitched up two stories, held by exposed beams. Track lights had been installed along every slope providing dynamic
shadow and light combinations on the ceiling and diffused light below. As Billy looked around, he noticed one bright light on a beautiful painting of the forest that hung along the inside wall. Under the painting, a lit fireplace crackled and snapped causing the flames to dance, adding movement to the shadows in the room.

“Wow,” Billy said. “This place is awesome.” He glanced over his head where a loft area overlooked the great room.

“Come on,” Scott said, as he walked down the hall to the kitchen in the back of the house. Out the windows over the sink, it was black until Scott turned on several floods. A back yard illuminated instantly. Scott leaned close to Billy and pointed a few things out. “In the corner over there are roses. They get morning sun. Down the center of the yard — you can see them growing right now — are peony. I have wild flowers planted near the edge over there and about ten feet into the woods. I just did that this year. Every year I put in new plants, starting back here because the kitchen's here. The front's still a pretty big mess, but I'll get to it.”

“It's like a dream back here. You can't even tell it's here from the front.”

“I know. It's my secret right now.” Scott smiled.

“And you've done everything yourself?”

“Oh, goodness no. Some of this is too heavy for that. I had a few people help with the beams, the larger windows, things like that.”

“From work?”

Scott shook his head. “Not often. Mostly my dad and brother. Once in a while, an uncle or two.”

“Why not ask the guys from work?” Billy asked while following Scott upstairs.

“I think I alienate them.”

“Sounds familiar.”

While standing at the loft railing looking down into the great room, Scott said out of the blue, “You're smart to get a degree. No matter what you know, what you can do, you need papers these days in order to prove you're a thoroughbred. There's hardly a job in the papers that doesn't require a degree—even in this small town.” He shifted his weight and turned around. “I'm a man who works
with his hands.” Scott held up his hands and looked at them. “That's not worth as much as it used to be. Not to anyone.”

“I sense there's a who in there somewhere,” Billy said.

“A woman,” Scott said. “Come on. I'll show you my plans for the future.”

Billy followed Scott back downstairs. “What woman?”

“Promise you won't laugh.”

“I promise.”

“I can't tell you her name because she's married. But I'm waiting for her to get a divorce.” Scott led Billy back through the kitchen and into another mudroom lined with shelves and closets.

“You're having an affair?”

“No.” Scott answered quickly. He hesitated while holding the doorknob to the garage door. “She married the wrong man. He's a jerk. But he has a regular job, businessman, you know. As soon as she finds out he's the wrong guy, she'll divorce him. That's when I'll get involved.” Scott forced his smile this time. “I know it sounds nuts, but that's it. I'm in love with a married woman who doesn't know I love her. And I'm waiting for a miracle to happen.” Scott laughed.

Shaking off his curiosity and feeling a sudden tenderness toward Scott, Billy said, “Well, let's see what you have here.”

Scott opened the door, reached around, and turned on the light. “Ta-da!”

The garage was filled with woodworking equipment—lathe, drill press, band saw, and industrial router. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, “that's why I'm building the shop next door. I'd have been working over there had the rain not come. Rain's become rest and relaxation time to me.”

“What are you going to do with all this?”

“Have done,” Scott corrected. “I built every piece of furniture in the house. Look,” he pointed to a corner of the garage, at the far end. “An industrial sewing machine.” He turned off the light and closed the door. Stepping past Billy, he opened a side closet, which was filled, top to bottom, with material the same colors as the furniture Billy had seen throughout the house.

“You're amazing,” Billy said.

“Thank you. So, that's it. My story. Now for yours. But first, let's get a drink.” Scott headed for the kitchen and grabbed two beers from the refrigerator.

“Not for me,” Billy said. “Do you have soda at all?”

“Sure, you choose. Anything you could want. Glasses are over the sink to your right. Ice in the freezer. I'll meet you in the living room.”

While getting his drink, Billy became aware of the kitchen table and chairs. All hand made, he thought. Scott had suddenly become one of the most talented people Billy knew. He had done so much in the ten or so years he had on Billy. Walking into the great room, Billy turned to sit on a side chair. Scott sat on the couch where he had been before. Billy looked up at the painting, still highlighted over the fireplace. “I suppose you painted that, as well?”

“No. My brother did. He's really good, isn't he? Kind of abstract, suggestive of how the forest feels, not just how it looks.”

“It's beautiful.”

“He teaches art at the grade school.”

Billy wondered what it was in Scott's family that pumped out such talented people, yet people strapped to such simple jobs rather than ones more glamorous?

There was a long silence before Scott turned and prompted Billy a second time. “Well? Your story? You showed up for a reason, didn't you?”

“Actually, no. More by accident. I didn't want to go home.”

“You just driving around all night in the storm?”

“I went to the library over in Shannon.”

“Good choice.”

“Well, I didn't think the Wyoming paper would have much about what happened to my dad, you know, since the two papers try to ignore one another.”

“I know. Country pride or something,” Scott cut in. “You're right though, the Wyoming papers glossed over it pretty quickly. The whole incident was a much bigger deal in Shannon. And even there, not much showed up in the papers.”

Billy cocked his head like a curious dog. “How do you know so much about it?”

“My dad. He's a local history buff. Besides, he was building our house around that time. He got both papers because lumber prices were fluctuating so much. He searched out the best prices.” Scott winked at Billy. “Dad told me all kinds of stories and like a little nerd, I soaked them up. I even read some of the papers myself. I suppose I was maybe around eleven at the time.”

Billy shook his head. “Well, I didn't find much. Just as I got to the headline about Dad's death, the library closed. But I'll go back tomorrow. In the mean time, I'd like to stay away from Mom. She's really getting under my skin.”

“You can stay here.”

“Thanks.”

“None needed. I'll be glad to have the company.” Scott crossed his legs and looked down at his foot, thinking. “Originally, I thought whatever was going on was something you had to hear from your mother. Now, I'm not so sure.” He looked up. “Everything happens for a reason. I don't know much. An eleven-year-old doesn't have the level of understanding that an adult does. So, I get the feeling that there's more to your mom's concerns than what I might remember from the papers. In those days you couldn't print the names of minors. I remembered the incident because nothing ever happens around here.”

“Go on,” Billy said.

“I don't know.” Scott uncrossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees. “Forgive me for saying this, but you want out of this town, but without knowing your history, you can't really know what you want.”

“So what do you know of my history?” Billy said.

“All right. But you'd better check the facts.”

Billy nodded.

“William Maynard was killed in a fight along Pine Creek, outside of Shannon. He and your mother were not married then. The marriage was probably something your grandparents drummed up to reduce the embarrassment. Charlie Maynard had run for mayor of Shannon and lost. He was going to run again, but decided not to after William died.”

“I believe your mother was there at the time William was killed. That she witnessed the death. It's also my suspicion that Jack was involved. Maybe Jack killed William.”

“So Mom's been lying all these years? Why? Because Jack killed my father? Why lie about that?

“I don't know. I don't even know if William's death and Jack's prison sentence are connected. No names, remember? I'm just guessing.”

Scott got up. “I'm heading to bed. You can sleep in either of the other rooms.”

“Thanks again. I'll sit for a while first.”

“Tomorrow,” Scott said. “Don't think too much. Only adds to speculation.”

*     *     *

Late as usual, young Jack drove his step dad's car through downtown Shannon. He liked the smells in the morning. Eggs and bacon from the three diners pushed into the morning air like promises. Jack made a loop through town, up Third to Campbell, then down Fourth to Market and back. He breathed deeply and thought if he had any money, he'd stop for breakfast. In fact, he'd meet Alice for breakfast some day, he promised himself, taking one of the promises from the bacon-thick air for his own use.

Daddy-Bob's car chugged along like the heap that it was, sputtering oil-dense exhaust into the streets. During turns Jack got a whiff of exhaust for only a second, then the scent of breakfast would take over again.

He exited town by going up High Street to the Pine Creek Highway. He wore his good jeans and a clean shirt. The air changed temperature once he got outside of town—who needed a street sign that said, “You are now leaving Shannon”?

Breakfast scents were gone, and water and woods scents slipped into the car with Jack. A hawk circled a field to the west, and slow clouds, lifting from the creek, had already formed into hazy tufts above the trees.