Jaded (24 page)

Chapter Forty-One

Since Momma lost her job, my days of hitching rides came to an end, but only temporarily. I drove the hatchback to and from work for only a few days before it broke down. On the evening of its death, the car coasted into our carport and sputtered to a stop. My emotions were already so battered that the development didn't register as a letdown. So I'd have to get around on foot again.
Oh well.

I struggled with the lock on the front door and bumbled into the house, surprised to see Momma on the couch. “You're up.”

She grunted.

“Did you eat something?”

“Did you?”

Actually, I had hardly eaten all day. At school things were still unbearably awkward, so I didn't go in the teachers' lounge. I spent my lunch hour surfing the Internet in the library instead. And at the United, I had eaten only a package of crackers on my break.

“You talk to JohnScott today?” Momma flipped channels with the remote.

“Some.”

She didn't continue the line of questioning, but I recognized it as her way of saying she wished things would get back to normal in our family. Well, so did I. JohnScott and I still spent thirty minutes together before the first bell, but our conversations had become testy.

The library had become my sanctuary.

But on the bright side, Momma lay curled on the couch, a drastic improvement from being shut in her room, and I couldn't help wondering if she needed me, a little. Not that we discussed our problems like a functional family, but at least we occupied the same room.

Crouching at the hearth, I stirred the fire she had built earlier in the day, digging for red-hot coals, which gave off more heat. I added two logs, then leaned back to warm myself. No additional snow lay in the forecast, but temperatures would still dip down to freezing after dark.

A knock at the door sent a nervous jolt up my spine. Which of my friends was it, coming to tell me what I should do? I didn't want to speak to any of them.

I reached for the fireplace poker and resumed stirring.

Momma huffed. “Fine, I'll get it.” She peeked out the window before opening the door.

Clyde Felton strode past her as though we were expecting him. “Freezing out there.”

Momma replaced the bed pillow we now kept in front of the door to ward off the draft. “You can warm up by the fire. Ruth Ann, scootch over.”

I didn't want to
scootch over
. I wanted to hide in the hall like I'd done before, but that felt disrespectful now, even for Clyde.

He knelt next to me and held his hands near the fire. “I'm glad your momma's up and about.”

I frowned. “What do you know about Momma?”

“Watch yourself, Clyde,” Momma muttered under her breath as she sat on the couch and tucked her feet between two cushions.

“It's been a long time, but we used to hang out in school.” The ex-convict shook his head, assuming my next question. “I don't mean like that. She ran with Blaylock back then.”

“Neil?”
A red light flashed in my mind.

“It's nothing, Ruth Ann,” Momma snapped.

Clyde lowered his eyes as if he'd been sent to the principal's office, but I restated my question. “What do you mean, she ran with Neil?”

“Lynda, I didn't mean to stir up trouble,” Clyde said quietly. “I figured the girl knew.”

I shifted, wondering what he meant.

“Oh, Lord,” Momma growled.

A corner of his mouth lifted as he peered at me. “She's got Hoby's eyes.”

Momma pulled an afghan over her legs, not looking at him.

“You knew my daddy.”

His gaze swept to Momma, but when she didn't acknowledge him, Clyde answered, “Sure. Back in school, we played football together. Then after we graduated, we'd get together for dominoes.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “I'd usually win.”

Momma hummed a reprimand. “You know you and Hoby split the wins. You both cheated, though.”

“Aw, Lynda. Don't go telling the girl I'm a cheat. You're looking at a reformed citizen.”

“Ruth Ann, don't get all judgmental,” Momma said. “Clyde may have spent twenty years in prison, but he didn't do one blasted thing to deserve it.”

I remembered him building the fire for us after Thanksgiving, remembered him breaking up Fawn and Tyler at the fund-raiser, remembered him finding Fawn on the side of the road and bringing her to the Cunninghams.

For once I agreed with Momma. Clyde Felton didn't seem dangerous after all.

“How did it happen then?” I asked hesitantly.

“He doesn't like to talk about it.”

Clyde cleared his throat. “She probably ought to know.”

Momma snorted. “Everybody ought to know. Not likely to happen, though.” She focused on me and exhaled. “Back in the day, Clyde had him a girlfriend, sixteen years old. Pretty little thing, smart, and I don't often say this, but she was a sweet girl—back then anyway. You can see why she hit it off with Clyde.”

He lowered his head.

“Anyway, her daddy wasn't too keen on him. Told her to break up—you know the type, father knows best—but she wouldn't do it.” Momma cackled. “I'd have loved to see the look on that man's face.”

“Why didn't he like Clyde?”

Momma lifted her chin, seemingly proud I would defend him. “He was from the wrong side of town. And if that weren't enough, Clyde had reached the ripe old age of twenty-one.” Her smile faded into an empty stare. “And when the girl ended up in the family way, her daddy charged Clyde with statutory rape.”

“No matter, Lynda,” mumbled Clyde. “It's in the past. Let's leave it there.”

“As long as you're in Trapp, it won't be in the past.” She softened her voice in wonder. “You ought to go away and start over some place.”

“Aw, Lynda, this is home.” He bent down and stirred the crackling fire, sending a shower of sparks onto the hearth. “Besides, I don't want everybody around here thinking poorly of me for the rest of my life. I want to set things straight.”

“You can't set things straight, though, and you sure can't change anybody's mind.”

“I don't expect to. I just want to live so they'll know I'm a good person.”

“Maybe in fifty or sixty years. The people here are awful, Clyde, plum awful. If it weren't for Velma, I'd have left by now.”

“Naw.” He shook his head. “People are no different here than anywhere else. No different than me. No different than you.”

Momma sat up straight. “I am
not
like those people.”

“You don't act like them, but deep down inside, we're all the same, you know? We all have problems. We just mess up our lives in different ways.”

“I disagree.”

He rotated to warm his other side. “You never could forgive people, Lynda.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” she snapped. “After what they did to you? Twenty years of it, and you're willing to forgive them?”

Clyde swallowed hard. “I know you've had a hard time, and people treated you bad, but they weren't the ones who soured your life. You did that by yourself.”

She lifted her eyebrows and blinked at him.

“Aw, Lynda …” He laughed softly as he rose and stepped to the door. “I'll be seeing you in town.” Then he was gone.

I diverted my gaze from Momma as my problems faded into triviality. Clyde's story outweighed my dating troubles with Dodd, or my edginess around JohnScott, or even Fawn's untimely pregnancy.

Momma dragged herself off the couch, replaced the pillow by the door, then plopped on the hardwood next to me.

We gazed into the fire, and I sorted through the information she had dumped on me.
Strange.
Momma didn't often tell me about the past, and it occurred to me she felt more secure speaking about someone else's memories than her own.

A question nagged at my brain, but I feared she would shut down again or, worse, get angry. The more I thought about it, though, the more my curiosity itched.

“Momma?”

“I know what you're going to ask me,” she said quickly.

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye.

“I ought to tell you it's none of your business, except of course, it is.” Her face flushed, but then she shook her head as though to settle into her typical bland numbness. “Don't worry about it, Ruth Ann. You're better off not knowing the details.”

I clasped my hands together, willing them not to shake. “Tell me what happened.”

But Momma only answered by jabbing the fire, taking out her frustration on the red-hot coals.

 

Chapter Forty-Two

In town the next week, I viewed each person in a different light and caught myself classifying them as those who might know about Clyde and those who did not. Older people would have known, but not the Cunninghams. Probably not JohnScott. Definitely not Maria. But what about Fawn?

Such a heavy secret caused me to ponder life in general, and surprisingly, I found myself overwhelmed with sympathy. This newfound emotion manifested itself in mercy for Clyde because of the injustice of it all, but occasionally my thoughts landed on Fawn and her predicament. If I dwelt on her for more than a few moments, I felt shame at my attitude over the past two weeks. Perhaps hardship acted as an equalizer.

Fawn's mother transformed much more dramatically than I did. She showed up in the school office one afternoon, awkwardly pulling a couple of wheeled suitcases behind her. When she asked if I could deliver the clothing to the Picketts' house, I grudgingly agreed but wondered why she didn't do it herself. Apparently Mrs. Blaylock had enough heart to give her daughter a wardrobe but not enough gumption to stand up to her husband.

After school, JohnScott loaded the luggage into the back of his truck and asked if I had time to go to the Dairy Queen before my shift at the grocery store. He explained that Fawn planned to meet him there because she needed to get out of the house for a spell. I inwardly cringed, but since I'd discovered the evil surrounding Clyde's verdict, I had become more charitable toward my family, and I realized how I took my cousin for granted. It was high time I started acting like a grown-up. I called the store manager and asked to come in thirty minutes late.

“So, what's your take on Fawn now?” I asked as we sat at the sticky Dairy Queen table.

He shrugged. “She's definitely still a Blaylock, but she's in a pickle, and I don't mind helping.”

I smiled at his words. “How is she getting to the Dairy Queen?” I asked. “She has no car.”

He shrugged. “Mom's Chevy.”

“Fawn Blaylock is driving Aunt Velma's old tank?”

“I know,” he admitted. “Doesn't really fit, does it?”

I giggled when I looked out the window and saw Fawn in the Chevy, but honestly she didn't look as out of place as I had imagined. Maybe because she still wore my aunt's recycled wind suit, but she also toned down her makeup so she looked more like a real person than a plastic doll. The effect made her more approachable, but at the same time, more vulnerable.

“Why do we eat ice cream when it's cold outside?” JohnScott mused as the three of us picked at our desserts and tried to act normal.

Fawn set down her caramel sundae and breathed into her folded hands. “At least we had sunshine today.”

I tried to sound normal, but my words still came out in a tumble. “We almost hit fifty degrees yesterday.”

“Oh, of course,” JohnScott said. “It's perfect weather for ice cream.”

I sensed the conversation stilting. They were keeping things light because of me, but we could only talk about the weather for so long.

Fawn looked apologetic. “I heard you and Dodd are taking a break.”

“Probably longer than a break.”

“You seemed good together.”

I scanned the parking lot. “Things aren't always what they appear.”

“Tell me about it.” She poked a plastic spoon into her ice cream. “I can't help but think you and Dodd had a misunderstanding.”

I smiled at the irony of her words, since she represented our biggest disagreement, and Dodd would be thrilled to see me befriending her. I shrugged. “It's not worth the trouble. I'll be at Tech soon.” She needn't know my plans were currently on hold again because of Momma.

“Lubbock is only an hour from here, Ruthie. Dodd could visit on weekends.”

JohnScott wadded his paper napkin. “It's not about the school. It's about the church.”

Fawn's expression fell blank, and the silence that followed was filled with the sizzle of french fries being lowered into hot oil.

I picked a chunk of chocolate off my dipped cone.

“Can I ask you something?” Fawn said softly. “Why did you stop attending church in the first place? Was it just too hard without your dad?”

Chill bumps crept up my back and across my scalp. “You don't know?”

“Should I?”

JohnScott crunched his cone between his front teeth and answered while he chewed. “Well, sure. Your church practically kicked Ruthie and Aunt Lynda out.”

“Kicked them out?” Fawn looked between the two of us, her gaze landing on me. “So your mother had an—” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. It's none of my business.”

The chill bumps that so recently had formed on my skin flared into angry heat, because labeling conflict as
none of her business
was cowardly. “Well, Fawn, apparently the rest of the congregation thought so too, because none of them asked Momma about it.”

My subtle remark sailed over her head. She had the same expression on her face as when she worked calculus problems back in high school, and I realized how little she knew about what happened back then. I released a breath, letting air smooth across my lips like a chain-smoker. While bitterness hovered around me in a smoky haze, I wiped my eyes to keep them from burning.

“It's been different since the Cunninghams moved here.” I thought of Emily Sanders's peculiar behavior. “But I'm not sure it's any different for Momma.”

“But they wouldn't do that unless—”

“Oh, Fawn, think about it. You know everybody in town. Who would Momma have an affair with?”

Her eyebrows slowly rose as the solution to the calculus problem came into focus. “Then why?”

“I've been trying to figure that out for thirteen years, but Momma won't talk about it.”

“I never knew.” Fawn gazed at the tabletop, as though not seeing it. “I remember Mother telling me I couldn't be your friend anymore because Lynda decided not to go to church. She made it sound like your mom had done something bad.” She lowered her voice and peered at me. “I was seven, Ruthie. I'm sorry.”

My milkshake was melting, and I swirled my straw through it as I brooded on what to say to her.
It's all right. No big deal. Don't worry about it.
Was that what she expected? JohnScott cleared his throat—a simple sound, but the equivalent of anyone else screaming a reprimand. I debated punching him in the ear. Wasn't it enough that I was here at all?

The electronic mechanism above the door beeped, and Milla and Grady entered the restaurant. An intense fight-or-flight instinct came over me, but I rooted myself to my seat. I could handle this. At least they distracted Fawn from our trip down memory lane.

“How are you feeling, Fawn?” Milla touched my shoulder but otherwise gave me a fair amount of space as she pulled up a chair.

“Good,” Fawn said. “I have another appointment with Dr. Tubbs tomorrow.”

“How's everything else?” asked Grady.

She lifted a shoulder. “Emily still calls me—even more than usual—but most people are keeping their distance. Maybe they don't know what to say.”

JohnScott shot his napkin into a trash can several yards away. “Don't take it personal. You know people in this town are persnickety.”

A million snarky comments came to mind, but I kept my mouth shut.

“I've thought the same thing,” Grady said, “but then someone will come forward with a penitent heart, sorry for something they've said or done.” His voice softened. “I can't help but think God's working here.”

Milla rested her chin on her palm. “The other day, a friend called and asked me to pray for her. When people openly refer to their prayer lives, they're usually living what they preach.”

Frustration picked at my nerves.
God … prayer
… such soft, fuzzy explanations. Fawn's life lay shattered in pieces all around her, and they had the nerve to suggest the church might practice what they preached. I felt like pounding my fists against my skull, or shaking Milla by the shoulders, or simply curling into a ball until all this conflict had passed.

But Momma had already tried that. And it hadn't worked.

Fawn's gaze fell to her sundae, where the caramel swam through the melted ice cream like swirling mud.

Milla touched her hand. “I talked to your mother. She's worried sick and wants to call, but—”

“Dad won't let her.”

“Yes, well … she also mentioned Tyler.”

Fawn tensed. “And?”

“Your mother called him.”

“Of course. It's all right for her to call
Tyler
.”

Milla tilted her head to the side and bit her bottom lip. “He denied the baby is his.”

Fawn's face paled, but she didn't comment, didn't really seem surprised.

JohnScott leaned forward. “Can the doctor do a test or something to prove Tyler is the father?”

Milla nodded, but Fawn shook her head wearily. “I don't want him in my life anyway. Is that awful of me?”

“You don't have to figure it out today.” Milla patted her arm. “Those questions can be answered months from now. Like the Scriptures say, each day has enough trouble of its own.”

That's for sure.

Grady's attention shifted to the back corner of the dining room, and he lifted his chin in a greeting. “How you doing?”

Clyde, filling the napkin dispenser two tables over, nodded. “Fine. You?”

“Not bad.”

I speculated whether the four people sitting in front of me had any idea about Clyde and the scandal surrounding his imprisonment.

“How do you like your new job?” Milla asked.

Clyde moved to the next table and tore open a package of napkins. “It's a paycheck.”

“Do you get free food?” Grady motioned for him to join us.

“I do.” He stepped as far as the table next to ours and shoved a stack of napkins into the spring-loaded holder. “Though after cooking all day, it's not as good as it sounds.”

“Free ice cream would make it worth it.” Grady rubbed his stomach.

“Sure enough. That part's nice.”

My chest ached out of pity for him. I'd always wished no one knew my business, but Clyde made me wonder if that would be more of a curse.

The door beeped again, and JohnScott pushed his chair back briskly. “Time to go.”

His abruptness startled me, and I frowned at my cousin's rudeness, but Clyde only shuffled away to work on his napkins. Milla, in contrast, put her arm around Fawn, and Grady thrust out his chin, eyeing the front counter.

I followed his gaze, and my nerves turned to granite. Neil Blaylock gazed at the lighted menu on the wall, calmly placing his order as if he were the only customer in the place.