The Bighead (5 page)

Jerrica slowed past the wood-post
sign, then turned and idled up a long gravel road. At the end, an
opening bloomed. And in the middle of the opening sat a beautiful
stained-wood country inn, with a long wraparound porch, cedar
shingles, and big bay windows, all nestled nicely in a plush,
wooded dell. A high wood sign announced: ANNIE’S BOARDING HOUSE.
$20 PER NIGHT. VACANCIES.

“
This is it?” Jerrica
asked. Her bright blond hair, finally, lowered against the
breeze.

“
This,” Charity said, “is
it.”

—
| — | —

THREE

(I)

“
Aunt…
Annie!
” Charity exclaimed. She threw
her arms up. The woman who’d come out onto the porch looked about
sixty. Snow-white hair, attractive in spite of her age, a warm
smile set into subtly weathered facial features. She was wearing a
threadbare white summer dress and, quite proverbially, black
workboots. Cool blue eyes seemed to fasten on them as they got out
of the Miata.

The woman burst immediately into tears
right there on the old porch.

Charity stood in time-jag. The world
stopped. Everything she was looking at seemed to freeze, and
suddenly she was looking at herself more than anything else. No,
she hadn’t known at all how she felt about coming back, nor had she
known how she’d feel about seeing Annie. Luntville, her aunt, this
house—they were all the broken shards of her life, best left behind
with everything else, the deeper things: her father’s death, her
mother’s mental problems and eventual suicide, parents she’d never
known, shadows. But now, as she stood amid this freeze frame of
recollection, she knew at once that she’d done the right thing. The
only thing, actually.

Coming back to Luntville would give
Charity the chance to reconfront herself, refit the pieces of
herself that had never quite found the right gap. There were a lot
of pieces.

Charity, in sudden tears herself now,
hugged her aunt on the front steps.

“
My gracious, Charity,”
Aunt Annie wept. “Seein’ you…is a gift from God.”

««—»»

“
But you girls must
be
so
tired,” Aunt
Annie speculated, inviting them into the front parlor. “Such a long
drive.”

“
It wasn’t that bad,”
Jerrica said. “About ten hours.”

“
Oh, I’m sorry,” Charity
apologized, neglecting to introduce her travel-mate. “This is my
friend, Jerrica Perry. She works for the big newspaper in
Washington.”

“
Very pleased ta meet you,”
Annie said, offering her small, white hand. “A newsperson, is that
it?”

“
Not really,” Jerrica
admitted. “I write for the Local section of the
Post.
I’m on the staff but I only get
particular assignments. And that’s why this whole thing is so
great, Charity and I driving up together.”

Aunt Annie paused, trying not to show
her befuddlement. “I’m not quite sure what ya mean.”

Christ,
Jerrica thought.
I guess
Charity didn’t even mention me.
“Charity
and I met in the classifieds. We both put in ads for a drive to the
area. My newspaper contracted me to write a series of articles
about rural areas in proximity to Washington, D.C. The first set
will be about this area right here, between the Allegheny and
Appalachian Mountains.”

“
I sounds like a wonderful
opportunity fer a pretty young girl such as yerself, in your
profession, I mean.”

Jerrica stalled minutely.
She wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Ordinarily she would’ve been
offended; she didn’t like her gender mentioned with regards to
career. But then she took into consideration:
She’s from a different world, a different society…
“Yes, it is,” she responded, and actually it was.
She’d been working for the paper since just after graduating
Maryland, and this was the first quality field assignment she’d
been given. She tried to liven up the conversation. “It’s an
opportunity, all right, and the best part is—my boss is paying my
whole way!”

Aunt Annie’s head went slightly atilt.
“Well, ya needn’t worry about room and board.” Then she patted
Charity on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t dream of charging a friend of
my little girl’s.”

“
I appreciate your
generosity,” Jerrica replied, but she couldn’t help but be stricken
by the quick look on Charity’s face.
This
is a domestic Chinese fire drill,
she
thought.
I better not even ask…

“
It’s wonderful about all
the signs,” Charity said then, finally relaxing back into the big
cushions of the couch. “We saw them all along the interstates.
’Annie’s Boarding House,’ every twenty or thirty miles. They
must’ve cost a fortune.”

“
Well, they did,” Annie
admitted, “and that’s just more of what we have to talk about.”But
before Annie could continue, Charity cut in once more. “And the
house itself—it looks terrific. It looks almost brand
new.”

“
Not ’xactly brand new,”
Annie discretely chuckled. “But I did put a lot inta
refurbishments. The McKully brothers—do you remember them? They did
a wonderful job fixin’ up the place, and they did it for a song,
considering the economy. And as for the roadsigns—they cost a lot,
but they bring in the business, ’specially in the fall and
spring.”

Charity leaned eagerly forward in the
couch. “But, Aunt Annie, how could you afford it?”

Again, Annie’s poise seemed discrete,
reluctant. “I came into a little money. Everyone did on the north
ridge. I’ll—I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“
That’s…
wonderful!
” Charity
celebrated.

But Jerrica got the vibe: Annie didn’t
want to talk about it, for whatever reason, not now, at any rate.
Hence, she added quickly enough, “But Charity’s right, Ms. Walsh.
The boarding house really looks nice.”

“
Oh, you silly thing,”
Annie chuckled. “Please, call me Annie. Oh—let me get the
tea!”

Aunt Annie rose from the couch, quick
and nimble for a woman of her age, and disappeared through
dark-scarlet curtains. “Your aunt really is cool,” Jerrica took the
opportunity to cite.

“
She is.” Charity gazed
into a long pause. “She’s the most wonderful person. I don’t
understand how I could’ve forgotten.”

“
Well, when you’re apart
from someone for so long, they kind of fade from your
memory.”

“
I know,” Charity admitted.
“But Annie’s different. Lots of people are from around these parts.
She’s…”

“
Exclusive,” Jerrica
offered.

Charity’s face beamed. “That’s it!
That’s the perfect word!”

“
What’s
the perfect word?” Aunt Annie inquired, arriving
with a beautiful silver service of steaming tea cups.

“
Oh, nothing, Aunt Annie,”
Charity said. “Just girls talking.”

Annie smiled. “Oh, really? Well, you
might not believe this, but I used to be a girl myself. And I know
how girls talk. ’N fact, that’s why I saw fit ta put Jerrica’s room
right next ta yours, Charity. ’cos there’s a connectin’ door, which
yawl kin leave open to talk yer girl talk.”

Jerrica, aside, assessed
this.
Hmmm. There’s a loaded
comment…

“
Thank you, Aunt Annie,
that was very thoughtful.” Then Charity’s voice turned dreamy.
“It’s just do great to be back.”

“
And it’s great to
have
you
back. I
always thought that ya never should’ve left, but then…”

“
Aunt Annie, don’t,”
Charity rushed in, leaning forward again. “It wasn’t your
fault.”

Annie sat back stolid in her seat.
Then a pause unreeled.

“
Do you mind if I smoke?”
Jerrica asked, to break the odd ice. She’d already noticed the
turtle-shell upturned on the hardwood table.

“
Oh, please do,” Annie
invited. Jerrica relievingly lit a Salem, took a deep drag, and
then watched with something like astonishment as Annie withdrew a
long meerschaum pipe and loaded it with tobacco. The stereotypes
dazzled her:
Christ,
Jerrica thought.
This place is so
hick. I’m surprised she didn’t pull out a
corncob
pipe!

Jerrica then took a moment
to look closely at Annie’s face. Yes, it was weathered yet genteel,
crinkled yet pretty. Her blue eyes clear as a teenager’s. She
seemed to have a terrific figure for a woman her age.
I hope I’m so lucky…

Then her gaze flicked to Charity.
Different hair, different shape of face, but still pretty in some
odd, backwoods way. However, the silence was piling up. Jerrica
knew she needed to cut it. “Oh, that’s what I wanted to ask you
about. It’s in my Lexus notes. Tell me about the abbey.”

At once, Annie looked afrighted,
pipesmoke sifting from her tiny white bowl. “The abbey? Oh, my
goodness,” she eventually recovered. “That old place has been
closed for decades.”

“
I remember you mentioning
something about an abbey,” Charity said, “in one of your
letters.”

Annie sighed. “Oh, of course, but
there wasn’t much to tell. It was after—well—after the state took
ya. Wroxeter, they called it. Way on back in the woods past Croll’s
fields. It’s nothing. The Catholics had some of their nuns running
it for a time, as a rest center for priests.”

“
You mean a
hospice
,” Jerrica
remembered from her Nexus search all too quickly. “For dying
priests?” The abbey was obviously a sore point; it ruffled
Charity’s aunt so quickly, Jerrica would’ve been a fool not to
notice. Nevertheless, according to her research, Wroxeter Abbey had
been reopened by the diocese as a care ward for priests. But what
was the controversy?

“
There were problems
there,” Annie finally admitted. “But that’s all in the past.” The
shift in topics, then, was so quick, Jerrica knew she’d run afoul
with her comment. “I’m sure you girls will like your rooms,” Annie
said next. “Charity, of course, has her old room. And you, Jerrica,
right next door, you have Governor Thomas’ suite. They named the
road after him, you

know.”

“
Governor Thomas?” Jerrica
queried over her Salem.

“
He was governor a hundred
years ago, and, well, he was, you know, he was a fella who liked to
get together with other fellas.” Aunt Annie smiled. “Back then, of
course, being that way—gay’s what I guess ya call it—wasn’t
something you told folks about. He had a wife, for show. But every
Thursday night he’d bring his boy-lover to the house… Oh, I’m
sorry, I didn’t even consider.” Aunt Annie’s clear blue eyes
focused with concern on Jerrica. “Maybe staying in such a room,
with such goings on, might be offensive to ya.”

Jerrica nearly laughed. “Not at all,
Annie,” Jerrica said, “I’d be honored to stay in Governor Thomas’
room.”

“
Good, good,” Annie said.
“Fine. ’cos it’s a nice room, it is. Perfect view into the woods.
Goop!”

Jerrica and Charity nearly
jumped out of their seats at the exclamation.
Goop?
Jerrica wondered.
What is that?

At once, though, a tall man
in overalls appeared at the parlor curtains. Jerrica nearly stared
at him.
Another cliche, another
stereotype.
Overalls, workboots, there were
even a few strands of straw in his disheveled, shoulder-length
hair. In fact, his hair length was the only thing that didn’t meet
the cliches. His physique, though—
Christ!
Jerrica thought. All hard
muscles on a large, tapered frame.

“
This here’s Goop Gooder,
and this is Jerrica Perry and this over here’s my wonderful niece
Charity, who I’ve told ya ’bout many’a time,” Annie said briskly,
an edge of sternness to her drawl. “So don’t you mind ’em. You just
leave ’em alone.”

“
Yes ma’am,” Goop
said.

“
Jerrica, why don’t ya give
Goop yer keys so Goop can git your bags out the trunk’a your
car?”

“
Sure,” Jerrica said. She
passed the keys. She smiled. “Hi, Goop.”
Goop? You gotta be kidding me! That’s a name?
“Nice to meet you.”

Goop’s shucksy face blushed. “Aw, aw,
hi—I’se pleased ta meet’cha too, Miss Jerrica, and you’d too, Miss
Char—”

“
Goop!” Annie yelled. “Just
get the dagged bags and take ’em up to their rooms!”

Goop shrugged, without losing his
grin, and ambled out for the front door, his big workboots scuffing
the hardwood floor.

“
I know you’re a city gal,”
Annie aimed at Jerrica, “and you might not think it’s too nice for
me to be talkin’ ta Goop that way. But what’cha gotta understand is
that Goop’s about the finest handyman in these parts, but he’s also
quite slow in the head, and he can get a bit riled over pretty
women.”

“
I understand,” Jerrica
said. More backwoods convention, still more cliche.
Slow in the head? Well, he looked fairly well
packed in the pants,
she boldly thought,
unable to not notice the considerable endowment in Goop Goodman’s
lower regions… It was something she always noted of men, something
she, even if unconsciously, couldn’t help but flick her eyes on.
This Goop’s crotch looked like he’d put the entirety of the
Post’s
sports section in
his shorts.