Dwelling Places (33 page)

“Grandma, get in Eric's truck. The heater's running.”

“Who's going to drive this one? Somebody's got to steer.”

“I'll drive it. Let me help you out.”

“No. I'm fine. I'll just scoot over.”

“You sure?”

When she moves to the passenger side, Young Taylor gets in. He tries to start the car and gets nothing. Eric's jumper cables are not in the truck, but he does have a chain, so they hook up the car that way. Young Taylor hops back in. “It's a lot warmer in Eric's truck.”

“I'll be home in my warm house soon.”

It takes them fifteen minutes to get to Beulah, with Young Taylor steering and Eric pulling as gently as he can. When they get to the main road, Young Taylor angles the wheels toward Rita's street. She puts her hand on his arm.

“No. Don't take me home.”

Young Taylor honks at Eric, and both vehicles stop. “You want to take the car to Tom? He can probably get to it tomorrow.”

“No, take this car to the dump.”

Young Taylor laughs and looks at her. “You serious?”

“I am absolutely serious. Take us to the dump.”

“We'll take you home first. It's just four blocks.”

“No, take me to the dump too.” Her voice quivers.

“Grandma, I think we should just take you home. We can do whatever you want with the car tomorrow.”

“Young Taylor, you haul this car to the dump right now! Don't back-talk me or act like I don't know what I'm talking about.”

“Okay. We'll go to the dump, and then Eric and I will take you home in his truck. Okay?”

“That's fine. But this car goes to the dump.”

Young Taylor hollers out the window and gives Eric the plan, and they cross the main road and head for the junkyard. Rita can feel her grandson looking at her every few moments. Maybe he thinks she is going crazy. No matter. What do young people know about life? And this one has been running around for nearly a year now, looking like Halloween, so he has no room to talk.

“Dump's the best place for this piece of junk,” she mutters.

“I never thought you'd do it,” says Young Taylor. “Take it to the junkyard. You've really liked this car.”

Rita feels the tears burn in her throat again. She feels the words come up too, like bad food: “He should've known better than to buy me a Ford.” All the men in her family line up on the hood in front of her: her son frozen dead, her other son out in the woods, her grandson with black eyeliner, and Taylor Senior, handing her the car keys. “I told him all along that I wanted a Chevrolet.”

Jodie

Their relief is short-lived. Mack brings Kenzie home, and Jodie can tell from their faces that he hasn't said anything to their daughter about the journal or their frantic search. The moment Kenzie sees her journal on the table, she grabs it and looks from one of them to the other.

“Why is my journal here?”

“You left it at Bekka's, with the books you gave her.”

“Oh.” She turns toward the staircase. Jodie moves to intercept her.

“Tell us about Mitchell.”

Kenzie stops cold. “Have you been reading this?”

“Just tell us about Mitchell.”

“You don't have any right to read it—it's private! I can't believe you did that!”

Mack has moved closer to her. He motions toward a chair. “Just sit down here and tell us what's going on.”

“No! I don't have to tell you anything!”

“Sweetheart, we need to know if you're involved with somebody.” Jodie keeps her voice as gentle as she can.

“Sit down.” Mack has a hand on her arm.

She sits and folds her arms, wrapping up tight as if to protect herself from both parents. They sit down on either side of her.

“Have you been seeing Mitchell?” Jodie doesn't know how else to put it.

“We're good friends.”

“So tell us about it.”

“You won't understand.” Kenzie starts to cry. “You'll never understand. That's why I wasn't going to tell you.”

“You were going away with him?” Jodie decides to keep talking until Mack jumps in. He sits across from her, eyes fixed upon their daughter.

“We didn't do anything wrong. He wouldn't do anything wrong. He's not like that.”

“What exactly have you done?”

“Nothing! Like I said. We just talk.”

Mack speaks up. “But you were planning to go off with him, weren't you?”

Kenzie doesn't say anything. She looks at her hands. After a moment, she nods. “There's this place in Kansas. It's a community where Christians work together. They share everything, and—” She stops, as if suddenly too exhausted to say more. “I knew you'd think it was crazy.”

“When were you going to do this?”

“Tonight.”

“That's why your room is all cleaned out.” Jodie finds it hard to breathe. Now that Kenzie has confirmed her fears, she doesn't know where else to go with this.

“He's already gone.” Mack's voice is harsh. Jodie stares up at him. Kenzie looks at him too, tears still on her cheeks.

“What do you mean?”

“His place is cleaned out, and the van's gone. The sheriff's had people looking for him all afternoon.”

She jumps up from the table and is upstairs before they can stop her. They hear the door slam. Jodie slumps against the kitchen wall. She looks over at her husband.

“Did you have to say that?”

“The sooner she faces up to it, the better off she'll be.”

“Just because you're mad at me doesn't mean you should be cruel to her.”

“I'm not being cruel. That son of a bitch Jaylee is the one who's cruel. Do you think he ever intended to take her anywhere? He's odd as hell, but I don't think he's stupid enough to take a minor out of state.”

She knows he is right. She also knows that she cannot ease her daughter's agony. Some things cannot be borne by others, ever.

“Are you going to go up there?” Mack asks.

“No. I'll wait a while. She needs to be left alone.”

“It appears that we've already left her alone way too much.”

“Don't start, Mack.”

“I'm not starting anything. Whatever craziness she's gotten mixed up in started long before now. I'd better not find out that…that bastard has—” He turns away and brings both hands to his face.

“I don't think anything has happened.” She knows that she should touch his shoulder or at least move closer, but the distance is just too far. “I'll find out. She'll talk to me later, and I'll find out, but I don't think anything like that has happened.”

Mack is wiping his eyes. He clears his throat. “I'll talk to her too.”

“We can do it together.” She climbs the stairs then, and stops in front of Kenzie's door. She can't hear anything. Jodie slides down the wall and sits there in the hallway, waiting for an entrance.

Kenzie

She decides that, even though they know about her and Mitchell, she will leave at midnight anyway. Since they've found her, maybe they'll stop looking for him. And he told her he would be away today, taking care of business. That's why his house is all closed up. But if there's any way possible, he'll be down by the woods later. And she will go to him. Her suitcases still wait in the coat closet by the front door.

Mom has not left the hallway, and Dad is downstairs; she can hear his movements in the family room. Maybe she should just talk to them, act like she's fine now, so they'll leave her alone and go to bed.

“Jesus, why did you let everything get so complicated?” She tries to pray, but can't. She glares at the journal, which now lies on her bare desk. How could she be so stupid? And how did her most prized possession get mixed up with the giveaway stuff?

Mom taps on the door. For the third time in an hour. Kenzie walks over and unlocks it, but turns her back before Mom can look at her.

“Kenzie, talk to me about this, okay?” She follows Kenzie to the bed, and they both sit on it. “Sweetie, I really want to understand what's been happening. Dad and I are just concerned—we're not mad at you.”

“Yes, you are. And you're mad at Mitchell, who's my very best friend. So you may as well be mad at me.”

A shadow rests on them. Dad is in the doorway, the hall light behind him. It's seven o'clock and dark outside. Kenzie scoots across the bed and sits against the wall. Dad moves her desk chair close to the bed and sits on it. He and Mom don't look at each other.

“We're not mad at Mitchell or you,” he says. “But we need to know…what's happening with you. That's all.”

“Even if I explained everything, you wouldn't understand.”

“Try us.” Dad's voice is steady, but not edgy the way it gets when he's controlling his temper.

“Well, he's really gifted. He's an artist. I bet you didn't know that.”

Her parents shake their heads.

“And he has such a heart for spiritual things. We read the Bible and pray together all the time. I've grown so much since I got to know him.”

Dad's jaw is working nervously, but Mom is making a little smile.

“And sometimes he is so full of ideas that he doesn't sleep for two or three days. He reads all night or works on his sculptures or just makes all sorts of plans for the future. I've never met anyone like that.”

Mom sits cross-legged, there on the bed, and tucks hair behind her ear. “How long have you two been friends?”

“A few months. Since before Halloween.”

“So you talk? And you pray, stuff like that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you…” Mom is thinking hard. “Do you feel romantic toward him?”

“It's more like a calling.”

“What calling?” Dad asks.

“To work for God together.”

“That's what you were going to do at this retreat place?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, she thinks that the conversation is over. She has answered their questions, and nobody's getting mad. But Mom's eyes are working still, and she then does what she is so good at doing—getting to the point.

“Kenzie, have you been having sex with him?”

Thank you, Jesus, for helping us stay pure.
“No, Mom.”

“You haven't?”

“He's kissed me a couple of times, that's all. We want to stay in God's will.”

“You know,” Dad says, and clears his throat, “there's a reason Mitchell stays up for days at a time.”

Mom finally looks at him.

“It's God's Spirit,” Kenzie says.

Dad rubs his hands together slowly, the way he does when he's working out something in his head. “I think there's more to it than that. He has a condition that makes him swing from highs to lows. It's a chemical thing in his brain.”

“How would you know?” She can feel demons at the door.

“Well, because someone who knows him told me. And Mitchell doesn't always take his medicine—”

“I don't want to hear this, okay? You think that everything gets solved with some stupid pill!”

“No, I don't.”

“You're the
king
of pills! You don't know anything!”

“Kenzie!” Mom's eyes flash.

“I'm just trying to do things the right way, Mom!” If she hadn't cried so much already, there would be tears coming now. She's glad there aren't, because she has to be strong. “I pray and pray, and it doesn't make any difference. You just don't care! You don't have faith! Nobody in this family cares anymore! You just pop pills and argue and—” Well, maybe she didn't run out of tears after all. She gets off the bed to head for the hallway and the bathroom, but Dad takes hold of her, and just like that she's on his lap. And just like a little girl with no strength at all, she is crying into his shirt, and he is saying over and over, “Baby, baby. We're all right. Everybody's all right. Baby, baby…”

The rest of the evening is quiet, full of tears and sighs. She can tell that Mom and Dad are both hurting a lot; they hardly ever cry in front of her or Young Taylor, but they weep too a little, and stay close by. Mom makes hot chocolate, and they are at the kitchen table drinking it when Young Taylor comes in, full of a strange story about Grandma. Dad just stares at Young Taylor and manages a question or two.

“So she's home? She's all right?”

“Yeah.”

“And where's the car?”

Young Taylor shrugs. “She made us leave it at the dump. Said something about wanting a Chevy. I don't know—you go talk to her.”

“She coughing a lot?”

“No. I think she got scared, though, sitting out there on the road.”

“Well, good. Maybe she'll stay put for a change.”

“Maybe we should just get her a better car.” Young Taylor seems to notice then that something's wrong. “What's up?”

Mom pulls him down to the remaining kitchen chair and goes for another cup. “Nothing. You have supper?”

“Grandma made me eat soup with her.”

Shortly before midnight, Dad walks Kenzie down to where she is supposed to meet Mitchell. He didn't want to at first, but probably he thinks this is the easiest way to confront Mitchell. Then Kenzie thinks it's probably not such a good idea. She wants to go by herself, promising to say good-bye to Mitchell and come right back. Of course, Dad won't go for that. Mom says that maybe she should come along, but Dad waves her off, almost as though he's mad that she'd suggest it. Probably fathers need to take charge of stuff like this.

They wait a long time, but Mitchell never comes. She tells herself that he must have found out that people knew, and so he stayed away. But that doesn't even matter now. She is tired and kind of relieved that she doesn't have to take such a big, awesome step this minute, this day. She wonders if Jesus has intervened, through Mom and Dad and even the mistake with the journal, and saved her from what looked right at the time but really wasn't. In a strange way, when she and Dad walk back into the house and she goes upstairs, she feels as if she is returning to her real self. This is too confusing to think about—who has she been lately, if not herself? And haven't her prayers been true, her time with Jesus exactly what it should be? But she pushes all of this away as she crawls into bed, her head aching from all the crying and trying. Dad kisses her good-night, and Mom comes in and lies down beside her. She doesn't remember when Mom gets up, only that she is alone when she awakes for a moment and sees that the clock says four
A.M
., and she feels perfectly safe.

Jodie

She and Mack have been talking, off and on, for hours. Kenzie is spending the day at Rita's, helping her clean out kitchen cabinets, because Rita saw a mouse two days ago and won't rest until the whole place is ravaged. The two of them are without transportation, and Kenzie is calm, though not talkative. Mack and Jodie decided that a day with Grandma might do her good, although Grandma has no idea
that she almost lost Kenzie to some cult off in Kansas. Young Taylor has uncharacteristically taken his hunting rifle and Ed's dog out to the fields in hopes of bringing home some rabbits. He still won't eat any form of pork but has apparently rediscovered the value of killing his own food.

Jodie is cleaning house like a mad woman, Mack trailing behind her, doing what he can. And the whole time they talk. They yell or cry or stomp out of the room. He has set up an appointment for them to talk with George, and now she doesn't want anything to do with it. She says she has broken things off with Terry, but he suspects she hasn't. They talk at each other, over and around each other. It is a prolonged battle, brimming with strategy and failure.

“I'm trying to do what you need for me to do, Jo.”

“How can you know what I need? I don't even know what I need. You think you can just fix things. That's always been your problem. You're your mother's son. Just fix things and expect people to shape up.”

“Maybe I used to be that way, but not anymore. Nothing's that simple. I'm not trying to make it simple.”

“Just give me space, Mack.”

“And let you leave without trying to put us back together?”

“I don't have the energy to put anything back together.”

“That's why we need to keep our appointment with George.”

“It would be you two against me.”

“What?” He drops the pile of newspapers he's gathering. “What are you talking about?”

“You've already got this relationship. I'm the new one. And I'm the one who's been sleeping around. I know where this is going.”

“Jo, it's not like that. This guy is real professional. He'd never stack the deck. He wants to help both of us.”

“But, see—” She slaps the dust rag on the back of the sofa. “See, what you don't get is that, no matter what anybody says, you're the person who needs help and I'm the person who has screwed up. Because you're the one who went to the hospital, and I'm the one who
stayed home and let everything go to hell. I'm the one who didn't hold things together in the first place. See, Mack, it's
my job
to make sure you and the kids are okay. And I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. So I'm already guilty.”

Mack gets up and heads for the door.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn't turn around. “I can't.”

“Can't what?” The old impatience rises in her, this inability to deal with her husband's unfinished sentences.

“I can't be in this room right now.” He is through the kitchen and gone before she can pull him back with more questions.

But his words repeat in her mind:
I can't be in this room right now.
When has he said this before? She knows he has said almost those exact words, but not recently. She picks up the dust rag again and stares out the window, where Mack is coming into view. He is walking to the old barn, the one that houses all their leftovers. He will rummage around for an hour or more, finding things to chop into kindling or patch up in some way.

Then she hears those words of his, from deep in her memory.
I can't even sit in the same room with him.
It was what Mack told her the Sunday he walked out of church, halfway through the service. One of the deacons was their banker, and after months of battles in the man's office, after the notices and warnings and refusals had built up into a wall no human could climb over, Mack had said that he could not sit in that church with that man. He had left before the offering plates were passed—a part of the service painful to them, a family who had given to the church always, without fail, until recent months—and he had never gone back.

I can't be in this room right now.
Jodie feels a hammer strike that hard thing inside her, that core of strength that has, over months of coping, turned into coldness. She realizes suddenly that Mack did not say what he actually meant:
I can't be in this room—with you—right now.

So this is what she has become: the banker. The caretaker of other people's troubles, the one who in the end turns tired and angry and fi
nally greedy, the one who stops hearing others' sorrows and simply collects their property. The one to whom the debts are owed, debts that cannot possibly be repaid. She has piled up Mack's debts, all the pains his pain has caused her, and she has kept the books, and he can see that pile of debts between the two of them, and he knows that what she demands of him is impossible. She needs a bookkeeping sort of justice. She is the banker, and she can foreclose whenever she wants.

Jodie feels the hammer strike again, like a judge's gavel, against her tired, rigid heart. She tries to stop thinking, but instead imagines, in acute detail, the devastation in her husband's spirit. The accumulation of defeats. The constant inability to do enough or be enough. And the loss of the one person, his wife, who could have, with a look or a few words, rendered those defeats less deadly. Jodie begins to tremble. In light of this great, awful sin, this gathering and keeping of debts against her husband, her adultery of recent days seems almost a small thing.

Mack

As his family troops out the door and gets in the car, Mack fears that he is leading them to a place from which they will not return whole. After Reverend Maynor came by a few days ago and invited them to the special church service, Jodie didn't say a word about it, but Mack brought it up with George. And George, the master of deadpan, displayed enthusiasm on the spot. A grieving ceremony, yes. A chance to make the good-byes formal. What an excellent idea. And Mack called the reverend and committed his household to the evening, without asking anyone else's permission. This is not the way he usually does things, but when Jodie and the kids gave him incredulous looks, he did not defend himself but took another tack altogether.