Shaking the Sugar Tree (26 page)

“My son ran off,” I said.

“Terry went after him,” the deputy assured me.

I hurried down the street and found the deputy trying to coax Noah back to the fold. He was being very uncooperative. The deputy held one of his hands, trying to pull him along. Like a stubborn mule, Noah had planted his feet and refused to move.

“I’ve got him,” I said, taking Noah in hand.

“He’s a pistol,” the man said.

“Thanks.”

Noah pushed his face into my chest and sobbed.

Another cruiser pulled up, its lights flashing, “Union County Sheriff” written on the side of the door. Sheriff Johnson Crook got out of the car.

I walked Noah to my car, used Kleenex to wipe his nose. I adjusted his tie again. I tried to comb his hair with my fingers, then gave up. He stood there in tearful misery.

Why won’t she talk to me?
he demanded.

She can’t.

I don’t understand.

She’s gone.

But she’s right in there.

She’s gone. She died. She can’t talk to you. She can’t talk to anyone.

He lowered his eyes and stared fixedly at the ground, trying to puzzle this out.

I looked at my face in the driver side mirror. I had scraped a bunch of skin off. I had also ripped the sleeve of my shirt. The sight of it made me feel like a white-trash cracker from the trailer park.

Mama came over, face full of worry.

“I don’t want to go back in there, Mama,” I said as I dabbed at my face with a handkerchief.

“Kids in hell want the new iPhone,” she said.

“They don’t want me in there,” I said, surprised at how hurt this made me. “I’m tired of being looked at.”

“Since when did
you
care about what people think?” she asked. “Wiley Cantrell, of all people in the world, I never thought I’d hear you say
that
.”

I struggled to get hold of myself. I could not remember feeling so self-conscious, so out of place, so looked down on, so lacking in confidence in myself.

I felt like a fool.

“I can’t go back in there,” I said.

Mama took my hand.

“I raised you to hold your head up, young man,” she said in a whisper. “The Lord gave you a backbone because He wanted you to use it. So
use
it. And if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for your son.”

Mrs. Warren came down the sidewalk looking for Noah.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. She put her fingers to her lips as if to stop herself from crying. “Please come back inside. This is my daughter’s funeral and my grandson will damn well attend it.”

Mama took Noah’s hand and we followed as Mrs. Warren led us back inside.

I
LISTENED
to KUDZU on the way home that evening, my mind filled with thoughts, images, impressions of that day.

It wasn’t one of our better days, to be sure.

Noah sat on the passenger side, looking out the window, hands on his lap. I gave him a nudge to let him know I was looking at him. He ignored me.

The sun had gone down by the time we got home. Tonya had left a note on the door instructing me to call if I needed anything.

Noah went to his room and I followed. He wasn’t interested in Xbox or watching a DVD.

I don’t feel good,
he said, turning to me.

I helped him undress. He crawled into bed and I sat down next to him.

Tell me the story about Mom again
, he said.

I sighed.

Please?
he asked.

She was my friend when I was young like you,
I said
. We went to school together.

Like me and K.?

Yes.

But you went away,
he said.

I went to college.

She didn’t go?

No.

Then what?

When I came home for summer the second year, we hung out together. That’s when she got pregnant with you.

Then what?

She was scared. It’s not easy to have a baby.

But you helped her.

I took her to the doctor many times. I tried to help her.

Then what happened?

Then you were born. You came too early. You were supposed to wait for another month, but you came early. You had a lot of problems because you were too small. Your mom got scared and she left, so Memaw and I took care of you.

Did Mom love me?

I’m sure she did.

Was she nice?

She was very nice.

Did you love her?

I tried.

But you don’t like girls?

No.

You don’t like girls because you’re gay?

That’s right.

You like boys?

Yes.

Why?

I don’t know. That’s how God made me.

So you and Mom got divorced?

We weren’t married. We dated for a while, that’s all.

And then you had me?

Then we had you,
I said.

Where is Mom now?

She went to heaven.

Can she see me?

Yes.

Can she hear me?

I think so.

Can she visit me?

I don’t know. She’d have to ask Jesus for permission, I think.

Can she hear me if I pray?

Of course.

He folded his hands over his chest and closed his eyes and was silent for a long minute.

Okay,
he signed, opening his eyes.

Do you feel better?
I asked.

He shrugged.

I love you,
I said.

I know,
he said, closing his eyes.

I sat with him until he fell asleep.

T
ONYA
BROUGHT
a casserole that her mother had made.

“How is Noah?” she asked, putting the casserole down on the table, then taking a good look at me. “And what the hell happened to your face?”

“I fell down on the sidewalk,” I admitted.

“Last time you went to New Albany you came back with a busted lip. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something about the good souls in Union County.”

“Maybe.”

“You sure it wasn’t Bill pushing you around again?”

“You know what a klutz I am.”

She retrieved plates from the cupboard.

“Sit down and eat something,” she said. “You look awful.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I can always count on my best friend to make me feel better.”

“You can also count on her to tell the truth. You look like shit.”

Tonya was blunt, which is one of the things I liked best about her. She had no patience for nonsense, bullcrap, beating around the bush. She told it like it was.

“Well?” she prompted. “How was it?”

“I guess it could have been worse. It was like one of those dreams where you’re sitting in the cafeteria at high school and you look down and suddenly realize you’re naked and you’ve got a huge erection and you’re praying to God that nobody notices. I’m still not dead, though, so I guess it wasn’t that bad. I could have been decapitated or something. The old man would have been happy to swing the ax.”

“Kayla’s dad?”

“He made a bit of a fool of himself. Shouting and carrying on about how it was all my fault. His wife told him to go to hell, which was fun.”

“She’s the one who’s been coming to see Noah?”

“She told him Noah was the only grandchild they were ever going to have and to stop pushing him away and get over his damn self.”

“He didn’t like that, I’m sure.”

“At the end of the funeral, he came over and shook Noah’s hand. It’s a start, I guess.”

“How did Noah cope with all of this?”

“It was a bit freaky, but he did okay, all things considered. He’s confused, trying to understand what happened to her and why she didn’t want to be his friend. He really got his hopes up.”

“I know he did.”

“He’s like me that way,” I said. “Too trusting. He doesn’t realize that some people are going to do the dirty on you, and it doesn’t really have anything to do with you.”

“Speaking of doing the dirty….”

“Yes?”

“Have you called him?”

“Jack?”

“Is there some other guy you’re dating that I don’t know about?”

“I can’t call him.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to get involved with someone like that again.”

“Don’t you think you owe him a chance?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But it is. He made a mistake. You jumped to a bunch of conclusions about him and slammed the door shut in his face. If he really loves you, he might change, but you’ll never know it if you don’t give him a chance.”

“It’s too risky.”

“Love is risky, Wiley. Didn’t your mama ever tell you that? If you really want to get married and settle down, you’ve got to stop waiting for the perfect man ’cause there ain’t no such thing. And don’t forget the woman’s rule of thumb: If it’s got tires or testicles, it’s going to be a headache.”

“I know.”

“I’m just reminding you.”

“Says a woman who is also waiting for the perfect man.”

“I am not!”

“Let’s talk about your love life.”

“You’re not going to distract me, Wiley Cantrell. This is about you and your male nurse. He’s the first man in a long, long time that you’ve actually fallen in love with, and those are your words, not mine. How many times do you think that’s going to happen to you?”

“He had prescription drugs!”

“It’s hardly shake and bake, baby. Everybody does something.”

“I don’t want that in my life.”

“Then tell him that and give him a chance.”

I sighed rather too heavily.

“Do you love him?” she pressed.

“I don’t know.”

“That means you do and you don’t want to admit it. Call that man. Unless, of course, you like wallowing in your misery.”

“I just want to be happy.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll call him?”

“I’ll think about it.”

She got up, opened the fridge door.

“You got any beer?” she asked over her shoulder.

“I love it when you talk butch,” I said. “When is your mother going to marry Mr. Eddie?”

“Never, I hope,” she said, putting two beers on the table. “You know what the word you’re looking for is, Wiley?”

“Well, no.”

“Poker. It’ll distract you and I need the money. Where’s the cards?”

“What makes you think you’re going to win?”

“Don’t I always win? We ought to go to the casino next weekend. I’ve got four days off for the July Fourth holiday. What do you think? If you’d pick up that damn phone and call your boyfriend, we could introduce him to the wild side of life in Mississippi.”

That
would
be fun, actually.

“I can’t think about that right now,” I said.

“But you’ll think about it?”

I agreed I would.

“Find the cards so I can kick your skinny white ass. I also need to tell you about Bryan.”

“Who’s Bryan?”

“Just a lawyer I met, that’s all. Now find those damned cards. I ain’t got all night, sugar.”

I
T
WAS
late when Tonya left and I lay down on my bed in my underwear, thinking about Jackson Ledbetter.

I punched in his number. When it rang, I hung up, suddenly unsure of myself.

I wanted him. Sure.
Needed him.
Or at last needed something. Sex. A friend. A distraction. Something. Anything.

I need somebody to love!

Well, that too.

I wasn’t grieving for Kayla. I was sad, of course. We were inseparable as kids. But then we grew up and grew apart and drifted into much different lives. It would be wrong to say I hated her, or that she hated me. We just outgrew each other and the feelings of closeness and friendship stopped.

I felt sorry for her. She was the perfect child of perfect parents who had set impossibly high standards that she could not meet. Disillusioned, she had rejected them and everything they stood for. When she got pregnant, they tried to use her pregnancy to force her back into the straightjacket they had sewn for her.

She tried. I had to give her that. She allowed herself to be talked out of having an abortion. Carried the baby. Gave birth. But then reality washed over her and she cut her losses and ran and never looked back.

I could not judge her because I had been tempted to do the same. Had she not run off, I might very well have walked away from the situation. I might have somehow convinced myself it was for the best. I was, after all, a gay man. What else could they rightfully expect of me? And I had been one of the people telling her to have an abortion. Not that I wanted her to have one. Not that I thought it was right. It was simply hard to see what possible future this child could have under the circumstances with a mother like her and a father like me. I wanted her to know she had a choice; that she didn’t have to let biology force her into decisions she was not prepared to make.

Ten years later, lying on my bed, it was hard to imagine life without Noah. Impossible, actually. I didn’t even want to imagine such a life. I felt guilty that I had so much as thought of an abortion.

I was sad that Kayla had missed this, had turned her back on something she didn’t understand, had shut herself off from what had turned out to be such a blessing. I wished I could have shared it with her. I wished she could have felt what it was like to be loved by Noah, loved by someone who was so wonderful and good-hearted. Now she would never know the happiness she had brought into the world.