Southern Cross (7 page)

Justice
Baptist was a little white church at the end of a short dirt drive on the
outskirts of town. I knew as soon as we rounded the corner and the church was
in sight that something was wrong. The parking lot was packed, the road lined
with cars, and people had started parking in the field out back. I wasn’t
looking at them, though, my attention caught by a crowd gathered in a clearing
across the road.

A
cluster of a dozen men, women, and children stood at the church property line
holding signs and chanting nonsense. Danny leaned toward the front seat,
straining to see through the windshield.

“What’s
going on over there?” he asked.

“Go
on in the church and get settled,” I told Danny and Solomon. “I’ll be right there.”

The
kid wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded, his attention still fixed on the
demonstrators. “Is that Reverend Barnel?” he demanded. He got out of the car
before I could answer. Solomon and I tore after him as he strode toward the
crowd. I caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

“Get
in the church—you hear me? Now. I’ll handle this.”

“I
don’t need you to handle it.” Danny tore his arm away. “I got it.”

I
could hear the chanting the closer we got. At the center of it all was Reverend
Jesup T. Barnel. Even now, I felt the cold, bowel-clenching fear I’d known as a
boy around him.

“The
Lord is gathering his flock,” he preached. “The end is upon us—judgment time is
here, brothers and sisters. Wyatt Durham was found wantin’. How many more will
the Lord smite before the fires consume this land of ours?”

Danny
pushed through the onlookers. “What the hell are you doin’ here, old man?” he
demanded. “You ain’t got no right being within a hundred miles of this place.
My daddy was a good man.”

“Your
daddy strayed,” Barnel said. He was a barrel-chested old man who hadn’t aged
well, his face slack and his coloring a deep, unhealthy red. “And you know it
full well, son. We’re just here to warn anybody who comes near, just what we’re
facin’ right now. Somebody put your daddy in the ground for the sins he done
against the Almighty.”

“Somebody
oughta put you in the ground, you old bast—”

I
grabbed Danny before all hell broke loose, and physically dragged him back to
the church while Barnel shouted after us.

For
the first time since I’d set down in Louisville, I felt myself slipping.

Between
the two of us, Solomon and I managed to wrangle Danny into the church. Once he
was inside, I walked away for a minute—away from Barnel and his flock, away
from the church, up the road toward freedom. Solomon walked alongside, eyeing
me with concern.

“I
could beat that guy up for you if you’d like,” she said. “The crazy old
preacher, I mean. Juarez taught me some moves. I’m not saying I’d come out on
top ultimately, but I’d probably give him a run for his money.”

I
laughed, a breathless rush of air that felt better than anything had all day.
“Maybe later.” I walked another few feet. A cold drizzle started, but I
couldn’t bring myself to go back. Solomon laid her hand on my arm. She gave me a
solid smile. Rock steady when it really counts—that’s my Solomon.

“You
can do this, Diggs.”

I
nodded. My palms were damp, my suit too warm despite the chill in the air. “I
know. No sweat, right?”

We
turned around and headed back. The air smelled like damp earth and fresh rain.
I thought of Wyatt and me, leaping streams and crashing parties as kids. Our
freshman year, rooming together at Columbia, when Wyatt left every party early
to call Mae while I bitched him out for passing up opportunities to sleep with
the hot coeds throwing themselves at him.

I
don’t want whatever those girls are sellin’.
I pictured him, always a head taller than anyone else in the room.
Broad-shouldered and powerful, with a sense of empathy that ran deeper than
anyone I’d ever met. Women loved Wyatt.
They’re too skinny. Anybody’s that
skinny, it’s bound to make ‘em mean. I don’t want my girls mean. That’s the
difference between you and me.

That’s
the only difference?
I’d asked, grinning. 

Well,
that and I dress better. Other than that, we might as well be livin’ in the
same skin.

A
pressure I’d been feeling in my chest all day got steadily worse. Solomon
bumped up against me as we walked. She wore a deep blue sundress that fell
above her knees and made her green eyes shine. The cut showed off the new
definition in her arms and calves, the physical manifestation of whatever
transformation she’d been through in the six months since I’d seen her last. A
transformation Juarez had been witness to; maybe was even partially responsible
for.

She
stumbled on the uneven terrain, and I held onto her elbow.

“Just
a second,” she said. She took off her heels and held them in one hand. “I never
did get the hang of walking in these things.”

“I
don’t think Wyatt would mind.”

She
glanced at me sadly. “No. I don’t expect he would.”

<><><> 

I sat
in the front row beside Mae and the kids during the funeral. Wyatt’s father
never showed—not a surprise, really. I remembered him at his wife’s funeral and
in the days that followed: not a pretty sight. George was the kind of man who
preferred to grieve in privacy. Solomon told me she’d find a seat on her own,
insisting that I should be with the family. When I scanned the crowd, I spotted
her sitting alone in the back. There’s always been something solitary about
Solomon, something strong and isolated and a little sad about her, as though
she was set adrift at some point and has never quite found her way back to the
world. I got that cold, unfurling pain in my chest again—like something was
trying to break free, trapped by blood and muscle and bone. Ida, Wyatt’s
youngest, whispered to me. I leaned down to hear her. She took my hand in hers.
It was warm and damp, her freckled face blotchy from crying.

“What’s
that, sweetheart?” I whispered.

“Daddy’s
glad you’re here,” she whispered back. “I know he’s watchin’. He’s glad you
come back home to us.”

“I’m
glad I’m here, too,” I lied. In a church. To a seven-year-old kid. If I
believed in hell, I would have felt the flames licking at my feet.

The
service wasn’t long. There was a lot of praying, and a lot of singing, and a
lot of crying. People snuck glances out the windows toward Barnel’s
demonstrators and there was plenty of angry whispering from those in the
congregation, but otherwise the service went smoothly. Toward the end, I stood,
adjusted my tie, and smoothed out the eulogy Mae had asked me to write. I
passed Wyatt’s open coffin without looking inside. Somehow, I made it through
the entire speech without breaking down, my gaze fixed on the double doors at
the back of the church.

When
I was finished, I got down from the pulpit and returned to my seat, wishing for
a drink or a smoke or, more than anything, a line of white lightning to dull
the pain and make everything a little brighter. Instead, I bowed my head while
the congregation prayed one last time to a god I don’t believe in, and then I
joined the other pallbearers as we carried my childhood best friend to the
hearse waiting outside.

Solomon
joined me in the parking lot once the hearse was on its way. Her mascara was
running, and I saw no sign of her shoes. Historically, Solomon didn’t really do
funerals; now I remembered why. I pulled her into my arms as much for myself as
her, and held on tightly while she mumbled something unintelligible into my jacket.
Her hair smelled of honeysuckle, and I was acutely aware of the warmth of her
body and the curves pressed against me.

Eventually,
she extricated herself. She rubbed her eyes and sniffled wetly. “God, I hate
funerals.”

“Well,
you certainly handle them well.”

She
laughed. “I was fine until you got up there. I’m officially booking you for my
final farewell.”

“If
there’s any order at all in the universe, I won’t be around for that day,” I
said. She was trying to be light, I knew, but I couldn’t summon a smile at the
thought.

She
hesitated, studying me now. “It really was beautiful, you know. Are you okay?”

“You
have to stop asking me that. I’ll let you know if I’m not—or, more likely,
you’ll be able to tell before I can.” I glanced at her bare feet. “Didn’t you
have shoes when this thing started?”

She
swore, earning a sour glance from the few stragglers who hadn’t left for the
interment, and darted back into the church to retrieve her heels.

Solomon
was just out of sight when I spotted Reverend Barnel again, ambling toward me.
He wore a double-breasted blazer too small for his girth, and he was surrounded
by three oversized white guys in equally ill-fitting suits. Danny was already
headed to the cemetery with the rest of the family, which meant there was no
reason for me to play the rational adult any longer. I bridged the distance
between us in a few strides, my anger flaring as soon as Barnel opened his
mouth to speak.

I had
no interest in listening.

Instead,
I tried to plow through his entourage, ready to beat the sanctimonious snot out
of him—regardless of his age. A guy built like a Frigidaire—Brother Jimmy,
Barnel’s son—pulled me back, and one of his buddies delivered an uppercut that
would have knocked me on my ass if Jimmy hadn’t been holding me up. My leg,
still throbbing from the snake attack the night before, buckled beneath me.

“Settle
down, boys,” Barnel said.

His
voice was the clear, rich tenor of a lifetime orator. He squinted at me over
his glasses while Jimmy continued to hold my arms.

“Daniel,”
he said. “Daniel Diggins, isn’t it? I never forget one of my boys, son. I hear
you had an unfortunate encounter last night with some o’ my babies. Them snakes
do get testy ‘round non-believers.”

I
stopped struggling, and Barnel gave his son a nod. Jimmy let me go. It was all
I needed; I might not be able to justify pummeling the old man himself, but
there was no love lost between Jimmy and me—he was a worthy substitute. I
wheeled on him and managed one solid blow to the jaw before his friend attacked.
He caught me in the nose, hard, and I tasted blood and saw stars.

Buddy
Holloway emerged from the church and shouted something I didn’t catch, then
grabbed me and held fast to my arms, pulling me back. The world had gone red,
images I was powerless to stop rushing over me in fast-moving waves: 

Wyatt
on that first day we’d met, smoking a cigarette out behind Barnel’s Redemption
Hall; racing bikes and drinking beer and the sound of his laughter on hot
summer nights. And then, the sight of him that same summer, strapped down while
Barnel brandished a blazing hot steel cross. The sound of his screams, flesh
sizzling when the reverend pressed the metal into his chest…

I
fought harder, the reverend watching with a smug, holier-than-thou smile.

“Calm
down, doggonit,” Buddy said “Get him out of here!” he shouted to the reverend’s
men, who did their best to shepherd Barnel away.

“Now
keep your shorts on,” Barnel said smoothly. He met my eye. “That rage has to
burn itself out sometime, son, or you’re lookin’ at an eternity in the fire.”

“You
think I don’t know who did this?” I finally managed, my voice choked. Barnel
didn’t move, his eyes as hard as stones. “I don’t know why, or how, but I know
this all comes back to you. Wyatt’s death; those snakes last night. And when I
figure it out, you’re going down. People will see you for the monster I always
knew you were.”

Barnel
took a step closer to me, his yellow, cracked teeth bared in what could have
been a smile or a snarl. He smelled like tobacco and sweat. “I’m havin’ a
service tonight, son. We’re gonna save ourselves some souls, put the Holy
Spirit back in this demon town. Your friend Wyatt strayed, and the Lord smote
him—just as the Lord’s gonna do anybody who don’t see fit to cleanse themselves
but quick. You watch yourself, boy, or it just might be your broken body folks
are mournin’ next.”

“Is
that a threat?” I asked.

He
smiled more widely. “It’s no such thing, brother. That there’s just a promise.
I hope to see you tonight, Daniel. I plan on savin’ your soul before the end’s
upon us. And that end’s comin’ sooner than you might expect.”

“That’s
enough, Reverend,” Buddy said. “Why don’t you go on now, see if you can’t find
somebody else to save.”

“I
reckon that’s a fine idea,” Barnel agreed. “Always a pleasure seein’ you,
Deputy.”

He
tipped his hat, and he and his goons made their exit.

When
he was gone, Buddy handed me a handkerchief for my nose, now bleeding all over
my shirt and tie.

“Sometimes
I don’t know what gets into you,” he said. “You know Barnel ain’t worth the
energy. Nice to know you haven’t changed none in five years, though.” He looked
at Solomon, who’d returned with her shoes at some point in the excitement. “You
think you can get him cleaned up and cooled down?”