Kinfolk, page 16
Jeremy Tyson was a young man with a speech impediment who used a cane to walk. Anyone who picked on Jeremy Tyson was a kid with problems.
“So he’s a bad kid.”
“Your words, not mine. You might have bitten off more chaw than you can chew with that girl, Nub. She comes from a screwed-up family.”
“Don’t we all.”
“Not like her. Her father’s doing life in prison.”
Nub sighed. Mae Beth went on, “Look, it’s probably just high schoolers horsing around on your property. I’ll send Gordon out there tonight to check things out if it makes you feel better.”
“Yes. Thank you. It will be so nice to see Gordon again.”
“If anything else happens, you call us back. Or like we always say around here, you can always call Smith and Wesson. It ain’t like Phillip Deener doesn’t have it coming. I mean, don’t kill him; just shoot him in the leg or something. But you didn’t hear this from me.”
“You’re all heart, Mae Beth.”
After he hung up with her, he called Glenn Barker, city councilman. Nub’s boss. He told Glenn he was sick and unable to make it to work today.
“You’re bailing out on me today?” said Glenn. “I need you. You’re supposed to be painting the fence at Reynold’s Park.”
“I’m sorry, Glenn. I’ve got a fever.” He coughed for effect. The coughing fit started out fake but immediately became real. Nub Taylor had been smoking unfiltereds since he was sixteen.
“You’re really sick?”
“As a dog.”
“Okay, what’s your temperature?”
Nub hesitated. “One hundred and . . . and one.”
“You’re lying. You got the brown bottle flu again is what you got.”
“No, Glenn. I’ve been trying to quit all that.”
“Bull.”
Nub gave no reply.
He heard Glenn groan in disgust. “Well, I guess that means Tonto won’t be coming to work either?”
“Actually, I’m Tonto. Benny’s the one who gets to ride Silver.”
“I doubt that very much. Does this have something to do with that girl you adopted?”
“I’m sick, Glenn. This has to do with me being sick.”
“Whatever.” Then he hung up.
Nub crawled into the Ford, drove into town, and picked up Kemosabe. Then they drove out of Park, heading north, toward Ambassador, following the soupy roads of mud that cut through the foothills of southern Appalachia.
“Where are we going?” asked Benny.
“We are going to see an old friend.”
* * *
Emily had taken a sick day at school. She drove through interstate traffic until she reached the doctor’s office in Reed City. The brick medical building. The doctor’s office was located on the fourth floor. The elevator had windows in it so you could feel your bowels drop into your feet as you shot upward.
She checked in, and the receptionist told her to have a seat in the waiting room, then judiciously avoided eye contact with Emily for the next hour. The doctor’s waiting room is a misery unto itself. It’s a room where your thoughts and fears run free, horsewhipping you into a full-blown panic. The waiting room is worse than the actual appointment by far. Emily had this sinking feeling that she shouldn’t be here without her mother. Or Charlie Jr. Or someone to support her. Even her father would have sufficed. But the last thing she wanted was to let her family in on this. Cancer was her secret.
If Emily Ives was going to die, she was going to do it her way.
She patted her thigh out of nervousness. A few times she attempted to read a Highlights magazine but found herself too preoccupied to even focus on the pictures. Part of her Type A-ness was anxiety. She knew this. Angst came with the territory. But she had never experienced anxiety this crippling before.
The doctor appeared in the waiting room doorway. Her thigh-patting stopped. He called her into his office.
Emily rose. She took in a breath. She entered the doctor’s den and sat across from the desk. The room smelled of disinfectant and cheap cologne. The obligatory leather-bound volumes rested on the shelves. Did doctors actually read those things? There was a pipe in his ashtray. A window overlooked several nearby rooftops in Reed City. The doctor shut the door behind him and allowed her a few moments to take in her surroundings.
He sat behind his grand desk and folded his hands. Emily could tell by the look on his face that this second opinion was not going to be a good one.
The doctor forced a smile. “How do you feel today, Mrs. Ives?”
She shrugged. “Can we just get to the point?”
He nodded. “You wrote down in your history that you’ve lost some weight. Is it lack of appetite? Do you notice that you’re not hungry?”
Emily frowned. “Maybe a little.”
The doctor made a note and nodded. He put down his pencil and removed his glasses. “The weight loss could be from stress. How are your stress levels?”
“Well, let’s see. They told me I’m dying, so . . .”
He removed a large X-ray film, then he drew in a large inhalation and heaved it outward, like he was getting ready to do something he didn’t want to do. “I’m not good at words, Mrs. Ives. In my experience, I’ve found that just coming out and saying it is the best way. For your benefit. For everyone’s benefit.”
And he did.
His words hit like a brick. His diagnosis was worse than the first. She could only look out his window when he finished speaking. She could only breathe in and out.
“So I’m dying.”
“The problem is,” he began, “breast cancer is almost always diagnosed too late. We have a real deficit in our health-care system for this sort of cancer. We have the tools to diagnose it, but we don’t. There are no excuses.”
She closed her eyes. “Treatment options?”
He took another breath and looked at his hands.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ives. I really am so sorry.”
* * *
Benny asked where they were going for the fifth time. Nub gripped the steering wheel tightly, too lost in thought to answer. The truck bucked over each pothole on Route 4 and felt like it was about to rattle apart into a collection of bolts and nuts. The scenery changed from open pastures to thick woods, to a forest that was more black than it was green. Deadly straight longleafs lined the roads, suffocating all remnants of daylight. The truck struggled to breathe as it ascended hill after hill into mountain country. They exited Ash County and crossed the line into Blount County. Soon they were in a remote place where residents had to mail-order sunshine from Montgomery Ward.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” said Benny.
No answer. Nub was too busy thinking. And fuming.
They spent nearly thirty minutes stuck behind a John Deere that was driving approximately two miles per hour. The road was clay, top-dressed with gravel, and had been turned into a giant National Co. washboard by recent snows and rains. The truck bounced so hard Nub’s jaw hurt.
The kid driving the Deere was bundled in a Carhartt and a watch cap. He kept waving his arm, motioning for Nub to pass. But Route 4 was too narrow for passing, with cavernous drainage ditches on either side that were begging to swallow a midsized Ford. So they loped gently behind the Deere for several bumpy miles, listening to Hank Senior sing about cheating hearts and Tanya Tucker sing about Delta Dawn wearing flowers.
When the tractor finally pulled off, Nub draped an arm out the window and gave the driver the two-fingered wave. The farmer waved back because everyone waves in the country.
Don Gibson’s voice came onto the radio and began singing “Give Myself a Party.” And this song triggered something inside Nub, who wished he was drunk.
“You ever play guitar anymore?” asked Benny.
“No.”
“You ever think about playing again?”
“Never do.”
“Really? You never miss playing with the fellas?”
Nub stared forward.
They finally arrived at a craftsman-style home in the middle of the woods. The house looked like it was falling down. The front yard was a shoulder-high sod farm. A footpath led past a graveyard of dead appliances, dry-rotted toys, a dead swing set, and a Studebaker on blocks. Nub took a few steadying breaths, leaped out of the truck, and left it idling.
“Who lives here?” said Benny.
“Just wait in the truck.”
Benny shrugged. “Call my name if you run into any trouble.”
“That gives me such peace of mind, Benny.”
Nub knocked on the door with a friendly tap. Nobody answered, so he beat on the door again. This time it was no tap, tappity, tap. This time it was boom, boom, boom. The door opened, and a kid stood before him. He was tall, skinny, with crow-black shaggy hair. He was wearing pajamas, like he just woke up. Nub had expected to talk to the kid’s mother; he expected Phillip Deener to be at school. But sometimes the universe smiles on you.
“Hiya, Phil. Remember me?”
The kid rubbed his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Is your mother home?”
“No. Nobody’s home but me.”
“How about your dear old dad?”
“He’s at school.”
“Well, how about that.”
The kid’s face drooped and he took one step back. Nub hung in there.
“I want to ask you a few questions, Phillip.”
“About?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“Know what?”
“What’d you do last night?”
Phillip glared at him.
“Did you know Minnie Bass is pregnant?”
The look on Phillip’s face told the whole story.
“So? What’s that got to do with me?”
Nub leaned in. “Do I need to explain how the birds and bees work?”
The kid broke eye contact just long enough to imply guilt. “It’s not mine.”
“So it was immaculate conception. You trying to start a new world religion, Phil?”
“Did Minnie say it was mine? Because if she did, she’s lying. She’s been with tons of guys; it could be anybody’s.”
Nub bent down and picked up an orphaned roller skate lying on the porch. A leather shoe with orange wheels. Nub lobbed it through the front window. The window shattered beautifully. He had the kid’s full attention now.
“What’d you do that for?” Phillip said.
“Effect.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Correct.”
Phillip tried to close the door, but Nub placed a boot in the way. He kneed the door open. Phillip fell backward on the floor, and Nub stepped inside. He picked up the roller skate that was lying in the middle of the pile of shattered glass.
“You broke our window. My dad’s going to be mad.”
Nub weighed the skate in his hand. “Were you at my house this morning?”
“What?”
Nub took a few more steps forward until he was standing over the kid. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Phillip, and then I’m going to get very mad. I’m not mad yet. This isn’t mad. Do you understand me? Mad is very bad. You don’t want mad.”
The kid nodded. “Okay.”
“Were you at my house this morning?”
Phillip didn’t answer the question, so Nub took the roller skate and aimed it at a console television playing in the corner. The TV practically exploded.
“Hey!” shouted Phillip. “Quit it! I’m calling the cops. You’re already in enough trouble after what you did to my dad.”
Nub grinned. He was nose to nose with the kid.
“Go ahead. Let’s call the cops. In fact, I’ll even dial the number for you. Let’s have a nice long conversation with the police. Let’s get them over here and talk about what the law says about child support and paternity tests. What do you say?”
The kid didn’t move.
“It’s not mine.”
“If you come near my house again, if you mess with Minnie, you will go down, Phillip Deener. Nod once if you understand me.”
The kid nodded.
Nub patted his head. “Good boy. Now, get off the floor. I think you need to change your trousers.”
Nub returned to the truck and slammed the truck door.
“How’d it go?” said Benny.
Nub threw the Ford into Reverse. “It went.”
They rolled along the miles of county dirt, acres of golden stubble passing by like a smudged Thomas Cole painting. The ash trees were poised against the powder-blue sky and the sun was unobstructed. Nub waited for his blood pressure to lower, but it didn’t. It had been a long time since he’d felt the hotness of his own anger without alcohol to dull its spiked edges.
He pulled the truck into his long-winding dirt drive, then threw the truck into Neutral to check his mailbox, which was full. Junk, junk, and more junk. He drove up to his lonely house, tires crackling on the gravel. And something was wrong.
“Look,” said Benny, pointing.
The front door to his home was wide open.
* * *
Nothing in Nub’s house appeared to have been disturbed. A cross breeze blew through the rooms. The back door and front door were both open. Nub and Benny stood in the kitchen, stock-still. But something was wrong. Someone had been inside this house. The air was different too. Nub could feel someone in here.
Nub pointed upward to the ceiling.
Benny nodded and mouthed, “Upstairs?”
Nub nodded.
They kept their eyes on the ceiling as though it were going to reveal some important clue. They entered the den together. Slowly. Trying not to make clopping noises on the floorboards. The sound of the grandfather clock’s pendulum was the only other noise in the home.
Wyatt sat atop the clock, staring down at them, whipping his tail, looking very much like Satan. They climbed the stairs. When they reached the top step, Wyatt was already entangling himself around Benny’s lower legs. Benny hated cats, which made Wyatt love him all the more. It was a cat thing.
Nub inspected the upstairs rooms but saw nothing amiss. He flipped on the light to his mother’s old sewing room. When he opened the closet, he felt Benny’s breath on his neck and turned to see Benny standing behind him, holding a baseball bat cocked over his shoulder.
Nub looked at him. “Where’d you get that thing?”
“Found it downstairs.”
“Well, back up a little. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“That’s what scares me.”
They walked into Minnie’s room next. It was immaculate. Her bed had been made. The new clothes he’d bought her had been folded squarely in her closet.
Nub was about to speak when he heard a faint noise on the staircase, as though someone was tramping down the stairs. How this person had managed to get past him was a mystery. He must have been hiding in the closet.
The two old men raced down each step as fast as two in the final quarter of their lives could move. The kitchen screen door was wide open. Nub tore out the open door and jogged into the tall grass for a better look, but there was nothing to see. It was just prairie.
He rubbed his face and tried to get his blood moving, tried to catch his breath. He swore.
“Who do you think it was?” said Benny, breathless from exertion.
Nub doubled over to breathe. He felt like he was going to puke. His lungs burned. His head was spinning and he was dizzy. He did not have the stamina to even answer his cousin.
They walked back to the house. Although limped might be a more accurate way to describe it. When he got into the kitchen, there were three crisp hundred-dollar bills on the kitchen table.
Nub and Benny stared at the money.
“I’m too dang old for this,” Nub said.
“For reals,” said Benny.
Chapter 24
Minnie’s first week of school was nearly over and it had been difficult. Very difficult. Worse than she had expected. Nub had been called into the principal’s office three times. At this point, it was a rarity when he wasn’t called into the office.
Minnie usually sat outside the offices during these conferences and listened to her teachers explain to Mr. Nub why Minnie was getting harassed. They had all sorts of reasons to explain the problems, but Minnie knew that some kids just got picked on more than others. High school was a dog pack. Dogs went after the weak.
Minnie could hear Mr. Nub and Miss Rhonda, her homeroom teacher, speaking through the thin walls. She heard Mr. Nub say, “How can kids be so cruel?” She heard Miss Rhonda answer, “I don’t think the students are trying to be cruel, Mr. Taylor. I think they’re just experimenting with their boundaries.”
On the second day of school someone put a snake in Minnie’s locker. There was another incident when someone stole Minnie’s clothes during PE class and she had to borrow clothes. She had to finish the day wearing skimpy shorts and a T-shirt that was too small. That got a lot of laughs.
During a music class yesterday, Phillip Deener had pinched her backside and called her a terrible name. She couldn’t believe that someone who had claimed to love her was now filled with so much bitterness and hatred for her. Minnie threw a wooden marimba at the boy. The marimba splintered on the floor, and the school made Nub pay for it. Mr. Nub was thrilled about that.
She was thinking about this when Phillip Deener himself came walking past the offices. He was with his friends; they all wore team jerseys.
She avoided eye contact.
As one of the young men passed by, he called her a very bad name.
The other boys smirked at her. These were toadies who did whatever Phillip did. If Phillip ran headfirst into a stone wall, his pals would draw straws to see who got to sprint into the wall next. Not an original thought in their stupid heads.
One of the boys told a dirty joke as they passed by. The other boys laughed even though they probably didn’t get it.
And it was all she could take.
Minnie stood up, drew in a deep breath, and positioned herself in the center of the hallway so they couldn’t pass. She was staring over their heads like an adult in the kiddie pool. Minnie could feel her whole body trembling with adrenaline.
