Hometown Legend (26 page)

“You’re feeling better though?”

“That’s the problem, Calvin. They detox you. In my case, they dried me out. But I was still on lots of medication. Gradually
they wean you off of that. I was very aware of the stages. I don’t know if you know anything about this, but there’s a bargaining
stage. Very ugly. Very deceptive. My life revolved around getting out of here and getting medicated again. That’s the polite
way of saying it. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then, as your body slowly adjusts to sobriety, there’s the remorse. They tell me it’s necessary and helpful, but I find it
depressing and draining. Do you understand?”

“Tell me.”

“You start to see where you are compared to where you’ve been. I should be happy to be sober, and in many ways I am. They
tell me what’s important now is getting your mind off yourself and starting to look outward. Put your attention on other people
and their needs.”

“Makes sense.”

“No question, but it’s awfully hard to look in that mirror and see what I’ve done to myself and to so many others. There’s
no making up for it, no going back. But there is a way to hide from it, a way I know all too well.”

“And you don’t want to do that.”

She swung her feet off the side of the bed and straightened her gown. “My heart doesn’t want to do that. My head sure does.”

Buster knocked. “For you, darling,” he said, handing her a glass. “Need a few more minutes?”

“Just a few, Buster. Thank you.”

I felt bad for him. It seemed she talked more to me than she had to him.

“Your Rachel is so lovely.”

“Thank you, ma’am. And a good girl.”

“That’s obvious. She’s been keeping me up to date on Beverly. She going to be all right?”

“Looks that way.”

“I loved her.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know she was your assistant, but from the first day she came in here, I was captivated. So loving, so precious.
I realize now she must have known who I was, but that never came up. She talked to me like I was someone she cared about,
and even if she did know me from years ago, she sure didn’t know me now. She encouraged me, read the Bible to me, prayed with
me. Well, prayed
for
me. Rachel didn’t say much that first night, but she had that look, you know, of real compassion. I didn’t feel pitied or
like some object of fascination. I don’t know why, but it seemed to me those two, particularly Beverly at first, didn’t do
this out of some obligation. It is something she enjoys doing because she truly cares about people, even strangers.”

“And that wasn’t even planned,” I said.

“Oh, I know. I requested a visit and was just lucky it was those two. They came back each day for a while. Then I learned
what happened. If I wrote Bev a note, would you deliver it?”

“Of course.”

“I’m afraid I burdened her.”

“Ma’am?”

“I let her pray but I didn’t join in. And I blamed God for a tragedy I endured.”

I nodded.

“Oh!” Helena said. “Did she tell you about that?”

“Bev? No. I didn’t even know they were volunteering here then.”

“I’m sorry, Calvin, but would you help me to that chair?”

I helped her off the bed. She pulled a box of cards and a pen from her dresser and began to write, talking between sentences.
“If I was to start getting out of here and was to turn my attention to someone else, where would you suggest I begin?”

I was in over my head. “Well, I don’t know. I—”

“Come now, son. Who could I help the most?”

“Coach,” I said before thinking.

She looked up and put down her pen. “And what would I do for him?”

“Tell him what you told me, about him being a big influence on you.”

She seemed to study me. “Let him back into my life, in other words.”

I shrugged.

“No, now you go on. You know what you’re talking about. But this has to be more than things said. We’re talking about a project
here, something I do. I leave this place temporarily and I do something for someone else. Buster’s a good choice. But what
do I do for him?”

“Come to a game,” I said. “He’d love that. Rachel would sit with you. Bev too, when she’s better.”

What was I thinking? Her face went blank and she picked up the pen again. “A game,” she repeated flatly, then finished her
note. She didn’t look at me as she slipped the card into a small envelope. “That would be a mighty costly way to do something
for Buster,” she said, still looking away. “You may send him in now.”

I reached for her hand, thanking her for her time. But she just handed me the note.

E
lvis was sitting on her porch steps when Rachel walked up. “You got time or you got homework?” he said.

“Both,” she said. “Scoot over.”

“Something’s not adding up with you,” he said in the darkness.

“Still? I don’t know how to be more honest. I went from what you called ‘everything’s beautiful’ to the ugly truth.”

He sat shaking his head. She waited him out. He began slowly, “It’s just that what you said about how you really reacted made
sense. I mean, I don’t care who you are or how you’re raised, you can’t help but be that way when something so awful happens
to you.”

“Yeah?”

“But now it’s been, what, like twelve years and you seem fine with it.”

“I wouldn’t say fine,” Rachel said. “I’ve learned to cope. And let’s face it, Elvis, I have a lot of things going for me.
My dad mostly, but my church, my friends—”

“Hold on. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“But, El, I can’t stay angry and scared and crazy because I lost my mom. Who can live that way? What kind of a person would
I be?”

“An honest one.”

“No! If you think the ‘everything’s beautiful’ is the lie and what I suffered is the truth, you’ve got it wrong. Everybody’s
got something they could be angry about. Maybe not losing a parent or both parents, but what kind of a world would we have
if nobody ever got over it?”

“You’re
over
it?”

“No! I still have my days. And lots of times I have questions. But nobody but God wants to hear that. I can ask Him ‘Why me,’
and don’t think I haven’t. But I don’t expect Him to write it in the sky.” She deepened her voice. “Miss Rachel, I took your
mama so you would be a grief counselor someday. I’ll make it up to you in eternity.”

“Not funny,” he said.

“I’m trying to make a point. I didn’t lose my faith in God, and I do feel like He’s bringing me along to where I’ll be okay.”

“That’s what I don’t get. You still believe in God.”

Rachel felt stupid.
So that’s what this is about!

“Nothing’s gonna change that,” she said.

“Nothing?”

She shook her head.

“What if your dad died too?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Couldn’t take that, could you?”

“Don’t be mean.”

“No!
I’m
making a point now. What kind of a God do you believe in? Somebody who is supposed to love you but takes your mom away? Sometimes
I think how dare you be happy and cheerful and a little Goody Two-shoes? Is it that much easier to lose only one parent?”

“Wow,” she said. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I grew up like you, you know, only worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were Christians. The best little Christians you ever saw. Church every Sunday. People getting saved all the time. Is that
what you are? Saved?”

“Kind of an old-fashioned term,” Rachel said, “but yeah, I received Christ, was saved from my sins. Yes.”

“We called it accepting Jesus,” Elvis said.

“Same thing, I think. So you did that?”

“No.”

“Didn’t buy it? Didn’t like church?”

“Actually I loved it.”

“But you didn’t believe in God?”

“I bought the whole package. I just never got saved.”

“Why?”

He shrugged and looked away. They’d come this far. He was driving at something.

“What happened, Elvis?”

He hesitated, then pulled a cheap wallet from his back pocket and removed the plastic photo insert. She leaned so the porch
light shone on it. “That your dad?”

“Yeah.”

He was a good-looking man with short hair, prominent ears, and a toothy smile. “What’d he do?”

“Mechanic. Huge football fan. Bears.”

“And your mom, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pretty.”

“Yep.”

“She work?”

“Part-time. Grocery store and she did some people’s hair, but mostly just friends and at our house.”

“She’s the one who named you?”

“Didn’t have a clue what I’d go through, I guess.”

“There’s other people named Elvis.”

“Nobody you know.”

“There’s that football player, the quarterback. And another singer. Costello.”

“You know either of em?”

“No.”

“See?”

He was stalling, but she didn’t want to push. “This your sister?”

“I told you I didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“That’s what I thought.” She stared at the picture of the dark-haired little girl, then turned it over. “Jennifer,” she read.

“Jenny Lucas. She’s older now. Ten.”

“Related?”

He shook his head. “Foster sister I guess you’d say. Last people I stayed with ran a bunch of kids through their family, but
she was the one who was there when I got there and still there when I left.”

“Close?”

“Used to be. Probably never wants to see me again.”

Rachel froze. “You do something to her?”

“I lied to her. Told her I’d get her out of there, take her with me when I left. Chickened out.”

“You couldn’t have taken her, El. You’d have never got away with something like that.”

“Tell her.”

“Were they Christians?”

“Said they were. Went to church. I didn’t believe it. The guy was a hypocrite. Nothing like my real parents.”

He stuck two fingers deep into the wallet and gingerly pulled out a yellowed, crumbling newspaper article. He unfolded it
and placed it in her hands as if it was his most prized possession.

“Couple Killed in Crash; Son Spared,” it read. “GeorgeA. Jackson, 31, and his wife, Eloise W. Jackson, 32, of rural Kankakee
Banks, Indiana, were killed on U.S. Route 30 Saturday afternoon in a head-on collision with an eighteen-wheel cab and tractor
trailer. Their 10-year- old son, Elvis P. Jackson, was thrown from the vehicle but suffered only minor injuries.

“Eddie Burns, 56, an over-the-road veteran and employee of Peak Cartage, Muskegon, Michigan, was uninjured and not charged
in the incident. ‘Looked like they pulled out to pass before they saw me,’ he told police. ‘I didn’t even have time to hit
the brake. I seen that little guy fly out of that car, and I never expected to find him alive.’ The shaken Burns said he had
never before been involved in a fatal accident.

“George Jackson was an auto mechanic at …”

Rachel swallowed and began to fold the paper. Elvis carefully took it from her and she covered her face with her hands. “Elvis,”
she whispered, shaking her head. He put everything back into his wallet. She wiped her face. “Do you remember it?”

“All I remember is following a truck and driving toward the sun. I don’t remember my dad pulling out to pass. You’d think
I’d remember the sounds or something. We were on our way to a gospel singing convention, one of those all-night deals with
the southern quartets.”

“I love those,” she said.

“I used to,” he said. “I’d try to stay awake as long as I could, but they always wound up carrying me out to the car and I’d
wake up in my own bed.”

Rachel leaned over and embraced him. “I can’t imagine,” she said. “Losing them must have been so hard.” He didn’t seem receptive,
so she backed off.

“Thing was,” he said, “I was just starting to get it.”

“Get what?”

“The Jesus thing. I had started asking a lot of questions and both my mom and my dad tried to explain it. I told them I wasn’t
saved and they said they knew that but wanted me to really know what I was doing and understand. They said there was no rush
and I said but what about all those scary stories about people who wait till it’s too late and then they get killed or something?
My dad finally told me that if I understood grace and what Jesus did for me, I was ready. I should make a decision and go
forward in church and pray and get saved. But they always had an invitation, an altar call, at the quartet concerts. I wanted
to do it there. I wanted to surprise my mom and dad.”

Rachel said, “Didn’t almost getting killed like that make you want to do it all the more?”

Elvis stood and walked down the steps to the yard. He turned around, his hands deep in his pockets. “I was in the hospital.
Our pastor came after church the day after the wreck and he and the doctor told me about my mom and dad. He started right
in with how he knows I have this hope because I’m a Christian and God will see me through. I wanted to ask him what kind of
a God takes a kid’s parents, but you don’t ask questions like that.”

“Sure you do. Elvis, nobody expects a kid to go through that without grief and anger.”

“The next Sunday the pastor told everybody I was brave, that I had cried, sure, but I was going to be okay. But, Rachel, the
last place I wanted to be was in church where everybody kept saying I should be grateful I was alive, that I could be used
to tell everybody how good God was. They said my mom and dad must have been so good God wanted them early. What did that make
me? If there’s a God who takes little kids’ parents, why would I want anything to do with Him?”

“So you don’t.”

“I don’t want to put down your faith, Rachel. I mean, you’re really into it. But you’re serving a God who took your mom from
you—or at least let her die.”

“I didn’t say I understood Him, El. Who does?”

“I don’t
want
to understand Him! If that’s how He is, I don’t want Him to exist. Guess I’m with those who say God didn’t create man. Man
created God.”

“So I’m a fool,” Rachel said.

He shrugged. “Your beliefs give you some kind of comfort.”