Читать книгу Buried Treasure - Jack B. Downs - Страница 16

9 / What’s in a Name

The evening of Mr. Thompson’s funeral, Nana served a Sunday dinner. It was a pleasant change for a Tuesday, which was always baked hot dog and mashed potatoes with melted cheese on top. Tonight, it was roast chicken and baked potatoes, and corn and fresh-baked bread.

James looked around the table. Looking in our window, you might think we were normal. Mother’s probably in the kitchen fetching the butter dish. He smirked, smoldering.

“What made you decide to come back?” he said, stirring his crushed potato.

His father had been back now since before Thanksgiving. James tried to be gone most of the time.

“Hmmm.” It was plain that though James had asked the question, his father was preparing to answer everyone.

“I always wanted to come back. At first, when I left, I just thought that even though it’d be hard for you, you’d be a lot better off without me around, because of what I was becoming. Had become.”

James rested his fingertips lightly on the edge of the table. He studied the fingers of each hand in turn as they tapped a quiet cadence on the edge of the smooth maple wood.

“So let’s see. I lose my brother. Stolen.” He glanced up at his father. “And… it makes you feel bad too, and so you leave, because that somehow is better than you staying.”

James’s eyes locked again on his fingers. His father’s eyes were dark swirling pools. James plowed on. “David was your son. He was my brother. I guess because I was a kid, I didn’t have the choice of cutting out and drowning my pain.”

He could feel his eyes reddening, and the vein throbbing on the side of his head. “You say you left because of David.” His mouth set, and he lifted his eyes to stare back at Sam. “But you still had a son, you bastard.”

His dad continued to look on James as if his son were describing a football play, or an accident downtown. Outside, a blue jay squawked, chasing the smaller birds off the feeder just beyond the window. James didn’t think anyone else noticed.

“How. Do. You. Think. It. Made. Me. Feel.” James spit each word in a low growl. Separate and distinct. His own quiet fury made him think of a leg-trapped possum he had seen once on the far side of the river.

“I’m sorry, son.” His father’s voice was low, as gentle as a mother coaxing her infant to sleep. “There is nothing I can do to change what’s passed.” Sam dropped his head. “I wish I could, but wishing won’t change any of it.”

Nana moved to lay a hand on Sam’s, but held back when he raised his head, chin firm. “I can only try to do the next right thing.” He paused. “When I talked to your mother last, when she was…she asked me if I remembered how it was, back before...” His father’s eyes misted and he shook his head, as if trying to rattle the right words loose.

“You boys are entitled to a father. Doesn’t mean I’m entitled to be one. But…” He gave a slight smile. “I’m likely the closest you’re gonna get. So if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay.” At these last words, Nana’s hand covered her son’s, and she patted his lightly.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a little late for me?” James said. “I could be gone next year.” His tone had softened a fraction.

“We are free to start over again, anytime we like. Maybe time isn’t all there is.” Sam shifted in his chair, leaning forward over the table. He continued: “We all have had some hard lessons. Thing is, maybe we learned some things that can help each other. Maybe we need each other some.”

Sam looked out the window at the sound of the ice cream truck crawling down Nash Street, Buster tailing it in joyous pursuit.

“I want to tell you a little about your mother, too. Some things you don’t know.” His father somehow knew better than to move toward James, who had quiet tears rolling down his face.

“Your mother was a big James Brown fan. The colored singer? His voice would just get her swooning.” His mouth curled in a small smile, remembering. “She always said she just liked the name. I always told her I didn’t believe her.”

“So who named me?” Dylan asked.

“Ah, Dylan was my idea,” His father replied, smiling. “Do you recall,” he asked Nana, “How Mo fought me on that one?” Nana nodded.

“Mo?” Dylan asked.

“Maureen. Your mother. I called her Mo. No one else was allowed to. She was not big for nicknames.” His father was more at ease than James ever remembered seeing him. Funny, considering how the talk had started. James knew there were tough things, not yet discussed.

“For reasons that escape me now, I was a fan of the poet Dylan Thomas. Seems like I used to understand his poems, and now I don’t anymore. He was quite a drinker too, in his day. I still like the name, though.”

“He’s dead?” Dylan asked.

“I’m afraid so. He was not yet forty. The booze I think got him.”

James stared hard at his father. “If drinking made him die, didn’t you think about that when you drank?”

“I didn’t think about the dying part, though I did think the way he drank was sort of…tragic and heroic, all in one.” Sam looked down at the table’s surface, rubbing his jaw. “It’s a little hard to say. In the beginning, I drank so I would understand his poetry. I thought it was the secret elixir of the gods.”

“Who named David?” James asked quietly.

Sam pursed his lips, watching his own fingers tap the table in cadence. Maybe it was like the way Dylan avoided the sidewalk cracks. Patterns that gave assurance. Then it struck James. Sam tapped just the same way he did.

“The name David was your mother’s all the way,” he said to the middle of the table. “Don’t know where it came from, really.” Nana set a tray service down in the center of the table. It held two cups for coffee and a small pot, and two tall glasses of lemonade, along with a plate of Oreos. His father ran a hand along the side of his head, and then sniffed a bit.

“So David it was.” He leaned the chair back on its two back legs, balancing with his knees on the side of the table. Dylan waited for the reproof from Nana—four legs on the floor, that’s why they give a chair four legs, for the floor—but she sat quietly, sipping at her cup.

“I kind of think your mom always wanted a girl. Not instead of either of you,” he hastened to say. “I just think probably every mother wants a little girl. Is that so?” He raised his face to Nana.

“I was happy enough with you,” she said shortly. “Of course,” she sighed, as she poured a half cup of coffee, “I suppose it would’ve been nice to dress up a wee little lass. I never did hear that woman mention wanting a girl, though.” There was a disapproving edge to her comment, and she seemed to sense it.

“Oh, she spoiled you boys something awful.” She smiled, amending. “I thought that was a grandmother’s solemn job.” She winked at Sam.

“As I recall, you did a fair amount of spoiling on your own,” he said.

“Not after mommy left,” James said, without malice. “You got a lot stricter with us when we came to live here.”

“So what do you boys remember?” Sam asked. Dylan knew he was referring to Maureen.

James looked at Sam, shrugging. “I remember when it was just me and David, how she loved to play with us. It was almost like having a big sister sometimes.” He looked at Dylan. “She used to take us on walks around the block, with other ladies from the neighborhood, and their kids. She never yelled and hollered like the other moms would.”

“I remember her smoking, us sitting in the kitchen mornings,” said Dylan.

“Yeah, I remember that, now that you say it. She smoked a lot.” James shrugged. “I remember she didn’t talk very much. Not like Nana.” He glanced over at Nana. ‘I don’t mean you talk too much. I mean the way you talk to me. Mom didn’t seem to…care.” He had a feeling like he was rolling in a drum. The floor didn’t seem as solid as it had earlier.

Nana looked uncomfortable. “Losing David seemed to just drain the heart of your mother. I don’t know how else to say it. She went into a kind of shock that she never came out of.”

Sam laid his hands on the table. “And I was no help. None at all. When David first disappeared, things went crazy. Not just with us. With the whole town of Berlin. There was this…panic. Understandable. Nothing like that had ever happened in these parts.”

Sam’s face clouded at the memory. “Every moment that went by cut our chances of finding him. Maureen needed to care for you,” Sam raised his eyes to James, “and so she was alone. All alone, while the rest of us were out looking. I had the search to distract me.”

“Distract you from what?” James asked.

“The pain. It was unimaginable, worse than I would ever have guessed. Wanting like Jesus—sorry, mother—wanting ‘til you almost bled, to turn back the clock. To choose over again.”

His father rubbed at the slight stubble on his chin. He seemed to be recounting the sad story of a stranger, pitiful and mystifying.

“But I was going through the motions. From the beginning, I knew he’d been taken, and whoever ran with him was not going to stop running for a long time. Berlin was too small a town for it to be anyone who lived there.”

He sighed. “The town was just so…enraged. And scared. Everyone felt so violated. They needed for it to be…fixed, and there was just no fixing it.”

Sam looked out the window, recalling a time seared in his memory. “By the time I came back home to pick up the pieces, your mother and I were complete strangers. No arguments, no tears. She just walked out and headed west. I can’t blame her. I hope you don’t either, though it must be hard to understand.”

James snorted, but didn’t speak. In the gathering dusk outside the window, an owl hooted a mournful question, over and over.

***

A week or so after Mr. Thompson’s funeral, Dylan and James walked up the sidewalk from a baseball game in the waning evening. Their father was sitting with Nana on the porch.

“Boys, supper’s in just a few minutes,” Nana said. Then she glanced at Sam.

“I was hoping I could hold you up a second to tell you some news.” Sam spoke to James, his tone a question. He seemed to be steeling himself for James to march inside. But his oldest son rested his hands on his hips.

“Sure. Let’s hear it. What’s up?”

“I have some things to tell you. It may come as a surprise, some of it. It sure did to me, anyway.”

“Is this gonna be bad?” James sighed, slumping in his chair.

“Well, I don’t think so,” Sam replied, “But it is a little sudden. I went down to see a lawyer today. The one Mr. Thompson mentioned in his note. Seems that Mr. Thompson wanted us to have some things.”

Nana gasped, covered her mouth, and glanced across the street. She dropped her hand and shook her head as if she’d spoken out of turn. Sam paused, bemused. She bit her lip and waved a hand in front of her face.

“What kind of things?” James asked.

Sam scratched his chin. “Well, his car for one. He wanted us to have his car.”

“My goodness,” Nana said in a hushed tone. “What a generous thing.”

“There’s more. He left us his house.”

James whistled. “Say, what do you mean he left it to us?”

Sam spoke as he studied the dark house across the street. “Mr. Thompson left a will, and in it, he left the car and the house to me. But he was pretty clear that it was for the use of us all.”

“The car’s cool, but we already have a house.” James said. He sighed impatiently. “Are we moving across the street? What do we need a house for?”

“He intended for me to sell it, I guess.” Sam shook his head slightly. “Shouldn’t say I’m guessing. Elmore—that’s Mr. Thompson—was quite plain on that point.”

James listened in amazement. Mr. Thompson was just the friendly old man who lived across the street, until a month ago. Then he had become somebody they’d never really known. And now, he was back in their lives.

His father looked again at James. “Well, there you have it. You don’t have to decide anything now. But I know you’re graduating this year. If you want to try college, we can help with at least some of it. If we can sell the house, of course. But I’m sure somebody will want to buy it.”

James looked down, his forehead creased. “Um, that’s something, alright. I’ll have to think it over. College wasn’t part of my plan. Do I have to use the money for that?”

Sam looked at James. “What were you thinking you might want to do with it?”

“Well, lots of the guys have cars. I don’t need something new. But I could work at the Dash-n-Go for a hundred years and still not be able to afford much. Some money for a car would help.”

“So you’re going to sell his house?” Dylan asked.

“I am,” said his father. “I have an appointment with a realtor fella this week. While you boys were in school the other day, I met with Mr. Latham over at the house. It seems to need very little. Mr. Thompson kept it pretty much up to snuff.” Sam looked out the window as he talked, gazing across at the house. “Mr. Latham did suggest I have some painting done, and take the old wallpaper down. He said the realtor would know best in that regard. I’ll probably do it myself, if it comes to that kind of thing. I used to be fairly handy with a paint brush.”

James saw a look pass between his father and grandmother. Did adults really think they were so clever that no one noticed them?

“Well, boys,” his father started. “I have one other bit of news. I’ve been doing some talking with folks around here about what I might do with myself. Fact is, I talked to Elmore—Mr. Thompson—about it a few times.”

James and Dylan glanced at each other, and Sam continued. “I’m pretty good with cars, I guess. It’s what I did when I was in California, and I kinda got used to it.” Sam hesitated and then plunged on. “With some of the money from the sale of the house, I could start my own garage. Thing is, we’re a little off the beaten path here to take advantage of traffic to the beach.” He looked up at Nana as he chewed his lower lip, but she was bustling around the table, wiping it clean. “Somebody suggested I consider Virginia. There’s a new bypass opening up soon near Richmond, to skirt people around the downtown area.”

James nodded slowly, trying to follow.

Sam laid his hands on the table. “This is just in the talking stage. We haven’t even put Mr. Thompson’s place on the market yet. And truly, I don’t feel I have the right to come in here now and tell anybody what they ought to do.”

James’s head snapped up. He shot a look at Dylan, but his brother’s face was unreadable.

“It got me thinking a new highway might be a good place to open up a service station. I wanted to get an idea of whether you’d be open to a move yourselves. To Richmond.”

James turned around to catch Nana’s eye. She had risen to stand in the doorway.

“Whatever you boys decide is best, I’ll go along. If I’m invited, that is.” She smiled at his father, and James sensed this wasn’t the first time Nana had heard about the possibility of moving.

James had thought Nana would object to this whole discussion. But as she stood there, she was the image of tranquility. James was confused. Was this all about Mr. Thompson’s gift, or Sam coming home? Or his mother’s passing?

His father brushed his hair back along his temples, a habit he had whenever he was mulling something over. “Nana, you wouldn’t mind leaving this old house? Just pulling up stakes and having to start all over?” His gaze swept over the boys, as he addressed his mother, still standing in the kitchen door. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Nana’s eyes sparkled. “I think it might be nice.”

James had been staring at his father for the last several minutes, and felt oddly like he was seeing him for the first time. Sam’s eyes dropped to lock softly on James. “Well, boy. What do you think?”

The porch felt fluid to James, the chair not solid, the railing a prop that could vanish if he let go. His life was mutating at a giddy pace, and he felt dizzy with the speed of it.

“I guess it might be okay,” he heard himself say. He instantly felt betrayed at his own hand, but his life was veering in a direction he felt powerless to stop.

***

Later in their room James dropped into his bed, and grabbed The Sinister Signpost from the Hardy Boys mystery series. He had just finished Treasure Island, and handed it over to Dylan. “See if you can find the hero buried in this book.”

He tried to focus on the words on the page, but they made no sense. He rose and went to the bathroom. Running water in the sink, he squeezed toothpaste over the bristles of his brush. James looked in the mirror and saw a dismal dread in the eyes staring back. His life was here in Crane Ridge. But it had been in an uproar since his father came back. Things were a lot less confusing when Sam wasn’t around. Calmer. He wasn’t calm at all now. He flicked the light out and made his way back down the hall. Tomorrow, he decided, he would talk to Anne.