Kinfolk, page 18
Ah, youth.
He told her to sit on the bench outside for a moment. Nub walked into the Kmart and went to the manager’s desk. He asked to use the phone. The manager reminded him that there was a pay phone outside. Nub told him he had no quarters, although this was an express lie. Nub lifted the receiver and dialed a familiar number.
The female voice answered. “American Legion. Where serving you is always a pleasure.”
There was music in the background, along with the sound of clinking glassware and laughter.
“It’s me.”
“Hmm. I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Got a second?”
Leigh Ann shouted over the din. “All our agents are busy helping other customers, but your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and a representative will be with you shortly.”
“How long is shortly?”
“We’re about to close. Can I call you back?”
“No. I’m not at home.”
“What’s up? Make it quick. Jerry Peters is threatening to take his pants off.”
“You feel like giving an old man a lift tonight?”
He could hear her shifting the phone to her other shoulder and going someplace quieter. Her voice grew serious. “Are you in trouble?”
“Um. Sort of.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No, thank God. But I wish I was. I’m just broke down. The truck died, and I have a kid in tow. And a cat.”
“Where are you?”
“Leigh Ann, you’re a lifesaver.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
He told her he was at Kmart. He told her what had happened. He told her about the Po’ Nub sandwiches.
“That sounds disgusting,” she said.
“You haven’t tried one.”
“And I never will. Listen, I have to drive Randy Atkins home first. He’s been severely overserved.”
“Who’s to blame for that?”
“Probably his third wife. Then I have to close this place down. So I’ll be about half an hour getting to you. Hang tight.”
“Leigh Ann, I can’t thank you enough.”
“No. But you could at least try.”
* * *
The Kmart closed. The lights turned off, and the last employee locked the front doors. The employees bid Nub and Minnie goodbye and offered to give them rides to wherever they were going, but Nub assured all the well-wishers someone much prettier than them was coming for him.
Soon the parking lot was empty. Nub and Minnie waited in the stillness. Minnie held Wyatt in her lap, and the cat was purring loudly. Eventually Minnie’s head fell sideways from exhaustion, lying firmly on his shoulder. And she was out like a candle. He liked the feeling this gave him, the feeling of being trusted by a child. It had been a long time.
She was soon snoring lightly.
Nub looked at her and thought about his own father. He hadn’t spoken of his father in years the way he had tonight, when he told Minnie his story. He was never that direct. He was never that honest. Because that is the cardinal rule about suicide. You don’t talk about it.
But you never forget. Nub remembered the way the world changed after his old man’s death and how his mother let the house go, let everything go, really. His mother crumbled after she lost her husband. She quit trying. She quit living. She quit bathing. She sent Nub away to an asylum, not because he was crazy but likely because she couldn’t deal with him. She was incapable. His family lost everything. It lost its core. It lost its soul. He had more responsibility than a boy his age ever should have had. He began working because his mother lost her mind. He didn’t have a chance to grow up slowly. He became a man overnight. And the strange thing was, in all his growing up, he never truly had a chance to mourn his father.
A faded yellow Chevy Silverado pulled into the Kmart parking lot. Leigh Ann parked before them, killed the engine, and walked around the vehicle.
“Hi there, pops.”
Nub shushed her, then pointed to the sleeping kid on his shoulder.
“You’ll wake the baby.”
Leigh Ann came closer to the child. Minnie’s mouth was gaping open and saliva was dripping down her chin.
“How many miles did she walk?” Leigh Ann whispered.
“More than you and me.”
Wyatt flicked his tail when he heard Leigh Ann’s voice.
“You travel with a cat everywhere you go?” she said.
“That cat is an agent of the devil.”
Leigh Ann sat beside Nub and leaned her head on his other shoulder the way Minnie was doing. He was sandwiched between them. A real-life Po’ Nub sandwich. He could smell Leigh Ann’s perfume. He felt his insides get all squishy.
He turned to face her. He was looking at her lips. She was looking at his.
“You really are a lifesaver,” he said.
Leigh Ann smiled and pinched his chin. “Takes one to know one.”
* * *
Shug had been sleeping in the Taylor barn. He’d been caught unawares when a couple of guys threw rocks at his daughter’s bedroom window on her first night here. He couldn’t be sure it was the men who had been tailing him, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. Either way, there were no excuses for not being prepared. The number one rule in the army was: overprepare. He had overheard his new boss talking to some of the cashiers about Shug’s daughter coming back into town. It was pure chance he’d been present for such a conversation. Or maybe it was Providence. But he had still been taken unawares. It wouldn’t happen again. He was ready for them now.
It was so cold tonight he could see his breath.
Shug had been keeping close tabs on Minnie day and night, watching the old farmhouse like a hawk. He divided his night watches into one-hour shifts. Each hour he would get up, stretch his limbs, and take a walk around the perimeter of the Taylor farm. Sort of like they did in Korea. Hourly patrols. Hour naps. Purgatory, the privates called it.
The men had quit tailing him whenever he walked to work; he had not seen the white Cadillac in two days. Their disappearance was an intimidation technique. He was familiar with it because he had used it before. Let your victim know you’re there, then disappear. It plays with their minds. It makes them jumpy. And eventually, it makes them less vigilant and causes them to do something stupid.
Shug stretched his lanky, six-eleven frame. He heard his joints crack. His lower back was killing him. He removed his watch cap and ran his fingers through his hair. He began his patrol behind the barn. He made his walk around the perimeter in the darkness, looking for anything out of the ordinary. When he had finished his third lap around the circumference of the farm, he stopped to light a cigarette. He clicked open his lighter and heard something behind him. Footsteps in the brush. He didn’t even have time to turn around.
“Stop right there,” said the voice.
Shug did not answer; the flame of his lighter was still glowing.
“Hands behind your head,” said the voice. “Get down flat on the ground. Now.”
Shug held up both hands, cigarette dangling in the corner of his mouth. He dropped the lighter and laced his fingers behind his head. He took a big chance and turned slowly to face the voice behind him.
It was a man in a deputy uniform. The deputy thumb-cocked his weapon. “You’re not very good at following instructions, son.”
Chapter 26
It happened in Cullman County, Alabama, in a little town called Baileytown, a few hours north of Park. Nub was in his early twenties. The war hadn’t broken out yet, and the Great Depression was going on. Nub had been playing in the backup band called the Nose Pickers that did the annual gig for the local Rotary Club. It was a fun band. Nub was on guitar, bass, or mandolin, depending on the tune. Benny played fiddle. The featured entertainer for the Rotary gig that year was a pretty woman from Tennessee named Sarah Cannon. Sarah was a comedian. A joke teller. A budding performer still trying to figure out what her schtick would be. She was in her midtwenties. Lean and lithe. She wore a nice dress with flowers on it. Nub’s main memory of her was that she laughed a lot.
Backstage that night, he tried to linger near her just so he could look at her. That same evening Sarah Cannon met a young woman named Myrtis backstage, the wife of one of Nub’s bandmates. Myrtis was loud and funny. She was a bumpkin from a small mountain community outside Baileytown, and everyone loved her. Myrtis always brought bologna and cheese sandwiches and beer for the band. Sarah Cannon admired Myrtis’s brand-new straw hat, which, embarrassingly, still had the price tag on it. Minutes before showtime, before Sarah went onstage, she asked Myrtis if she could borrow the hat.
Myrtis removed the hat and said, “This old thing?”
On opening night, Sarah Cannon took the stage in Myrtis’s hat, price tag and all. Cannon opened the show by saying to everyone, “I’m just so proud to be here in Baileytown, Alabama, tonight!”
The words were off the cuff, but they would be solidified in the collective consciousness of all rural Americans. And Nub had witnessed this fortuitous moment.
He thought about that night now as he was pulling the drain plug and drying off his newly shaven face with a towel. He could hear his Minnie singing a song in the other room that he didn’t recognize. She had been singing a lot lately. It was amazing what a few words of praise could do for a child’s self-esteem. Everyone in this world has self-esteem issues, Nub had learned long ago. Those who pretended they didn’t had them worst of all.
He looked out the tiny window of the bathroom at the dark pasture below. The moon was out, and the thin stripe of the Milky Way was on full display. He turned out the bathroom lights when he noticed something else outside.
He moved closer to the window. For a moment he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. Two figures were slinking slowly across his backyard. Nub blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing things correctly. He pressed his nose against the window and squinted into the darkness.
Yes. He was seeing it right. Two men. On his lawn.
One of the men had a pistol aimed at the other.
* * *
Nub was ready for the brats this time. He flew down the stairs in his stocking feet, retrieved the rifle from the coat closet, then opened the front door and tiptoed onto his porch. He made no noise. He had the element of surprise on his side this time. Before, his visitors had taken him unawares. But now the advantage was Nub’s.
He craned his head around the corner of his house and saw the figures sprinting across the dark yard toward the highway. Nub knew he had them. The question was, did he want them? One of them had a gun.
He leaned against the side of his home and reviewed his options. He would be no good to anyone injured or dead. He walked inside his kitchen, lifted the receiver, and dialed three numbers on the rotary dial.
“Ash County Sheriff,” said the voice of Mae Beth.
He was whispering. “Mae Beth, I need someone at my house. And fast.”
“Someone? You mean someone else?”
“What?”
“Gordon is up at your place right now, Nub. He just radioed in.”
Nub paused, then glanced out the window.
“Gordon? Here?”
“Yes. Gordon just saw some guy prowling around your place and he called it in. He’s on foot.”
Nub peeked through the curtain again and saw the two figures heading toward the east pasture. One of them was definitely Gordon.
“Well, send someone else to back him up, Mae Beth. He’s a little long in the tooth to be chasing these boys.”
“Someone’s already on their way.”
Then he heard gunshots.
* * *
Nub tore into the open field and jogged through the tall weeds in his socks. His eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the darkness yet. His feet sank into the muddy ground with each step.
“Where are you going?” Minnie called to him, standing on the porch. Her voice reverberated through the chill air.
“Stay in the house!” he yelled back.
He held his rifle like a soldier, with two hands out before him. He paused to catch his breath and saw red droplets on the trail beneath him. Someone was bleeding.
He followed the trail. He could hear faint movement from the brush ahead. A whoosh, whoosh in the grass. He chased after the sound. His lungs were burning when he reached a cow path. He was getting near the highway. Adrenaline made his body cold, and he was already choking for air. Nub stopped to breathe and lowered his head between his legs. Then he heard the rustling in the underbrush again.
He started running after them. He veered right and found the old wagon trail that led to the highway. It was a shortcut, a towpath from the old tobacco days. The boys wouldn’t have taken this trail because nobody even knew it was here. But this trail was a straighter shot to the highway. He could beat them there if he hurried.
His breathing was getting worse now. He was nauseous from exertion. His ribs hurt. His thigh muscles felt like they were going to tear. Then he stopped and vomited a little. Nub forced himself upright and willed himself to keep breathing. To keep running.
Finally, Nub burst through the thicket onto the gravel highway. He was breathing so heavily, stars were dancing in his eyes. But he had done it. He could hardly believe it. He had beaten the runners to the highway. They would be plowing through the weeds at any moment, aiming straight for him. He assumed a stance, braced himself, cocked his rifle, and listened to the oncoming whooshing in the grass ahead of him.
They were heading right for him.
He steeled himself and saw the grass part.
Two men emerged from the brush. One of them was limping; it was Gordon. Nub attempted to shoot the one who wasn’t Gordon, but he was too weak from running to hold the gun steady. The report of the rifle nearly knocked him off his feet. The runner careened straight into Nub and knocked him backward.
Nub dropped the rifle. He lay on his back, flat in the dirt. His assailant had the rifle now, but the man wasn’t aiming it at him. The man was tall and bone-thin, holding the weapon like a bat, gripping the business end. The man had it cocked behind his head, ready to swing for the fences.
“I know you,” said Nub.
The figure did not move.
“You’re from the IGA,” said Nub.
“What?” said the figure.
“You’re the man who was bagging our groceries. What are you, seven foot tall? Not many guys like you around these parts.”
There was no answer.
“What do you want with her?” said Nub.
Again the tall figure was quiet.
“Well, you’re going to have to kill me,” said Nub. “I won’t let you hurt that precious girl.”
“You don’t understand,” said the man. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nub glanced at Gordon, who was lying on the ground, holding his leg. He shouted, “You okay, Gordon?”
Gordon only moaned.
“Who are you?” said Nub.
The tall figure in the darkness did not relax his stance. The man towered over Nub like the Chrysler Building.
“I said, who are you? Are you the one who broke my windows?” said Nub.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the man said.
“I wish I could say the same to you, son. But you just shot a police officer.”
“He’ll be okay.”
“Yeah,” said Nub. “He looks terrific.”
“I didn’t shoot him.”
Nub felt his temper surge. It was a fight-or-flight thing. A burst of energy came from an unknown place within his exhausted and asthmatic body. He was going to take this man down or go to Hades trying.
Nub bounded up from the dirt and ran toward his attacker, screaming a rebel yell. But he was no match for the man. The man jabbed him in the groin with the butt of the rifle so hard that Nub nearly passed out. Agony ripped through Nub’s entire body. He hit his knees and went down under the power. Next, the figure used the bat to tap Nub from behind, just enough to knock him down. The man tossed the rifle into the dirt and spirited away.
Nub watched his aggressor dart into the night. The whole world looked cockeyed from his prone position. He had never been in this much pain in all his life.
“Gordon,” he said, “are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I’m hurt. I tore my Achilles. But I’m okay.”
“I saw blood. Are you shot?”
“No. But he is.”
* * *
Emily Ives sat in her living room, listening to her mother tell a story she had heard at least 1,298,821 times. Maybe more. She felt her face turn to wood as her mother reached another of her story’s false climaxes. Emily’s stepfather, Daniel, sat beside his wife, sipping his whiskey. He’d heard this story before too. Many more times than Emily had. But Daniel knew that you did not mess with Loretta midstory.
Charlie Jr. sat on the sofa with his chin in his hands, akin to Rodin’s The Thinker. Emily wanted to fade into the wallpaper and never come out.
She was absently thinking about the American chestnut tree. She had spent the entire morning at the tree with a young student, a xylology major from the State University of New York. The girl had traveled all the way to Park just to see the tree and to volunteer. They had a nice conversation. The young woman had the world by the tail, which made Emily mourn the passing of her own youth.
That’s when she made the decision to tell her family about her illness. It was the adult thing to do.
And that’s what tonight was supposed to be, in fact. It was supposed to be about Emily. She had gathered her family together to share her horrible news. But it was clear that her mother suspected nothing; therefore Loretta considered this to be a normal family dinner. So, as usual, she dominated all social discourse.
Somehow the conversation got around to the water tower incident, which brought the conversation around to the topic of Nub Taylor, which was never a good thing at a family dinner. And the subject of Nub Taylor only got Emily further from tonight’s goal. Soon, stories were told about Nub. Bad stories. Embarrassing stories. Loretta couldn’t help herself but replay Nub’s greatest hits.
