The Calling (20 page)

J
UST
BEFORE
SCRANTON
, I stopped at a Sunoco station to fill up and take a piss.
 

By then it was already three o’clock. I’d gotten a late start dealing with Steve and trying to persuade him to let me go back to Bridgton by myself. He was still shook up after the whole Jack Murphy incident and seemed to sense that something else was going on but kept his suspicions to himself.
 

There were only four available pumps, as two were out of order. Cars were waiting, so after filling up and paying inside, I moved my Cavalier to the side lot and parked between the building and an old red Celica. The bathrooms were outside here—one men’s, one women’s.
 

I tried the men’s door but it was locked and someone inside shouted, “Almost done,” so I stood back and waited. I glanced at the bare picnic tables on the grass, then at my own car. I tried not to think of my grandfather’s Bible inside on the passenger seat. While before I’d been curious to see what was written, now I wanted nothing more than to get it out of my life.
 

From inside the bathroom I heard the cranking noise of the paper towel dispenser, barely audible over the busy afternoon traffic on the highway.
 

I had about another two hours of driving left. I wondered what my excuse would be for leaving when the red Celica parked beside my car caught my attention.
 

Only two doors, its paint was faded and peeling, and the rear windshield had been shattered or taken out. What replaced it now was a sheet of heavy plastic kept in place by duct tape.
 

Something’s in the trunk
.
 

I had no idea what it was but that same chill raced through my body like it did back at the farmhouse. I was drawn to it, needing to know what was inside, but before I could even take a step forward the men’s door opened and a small Hispanic man walked out. He barely looked at me as he stepped off the curb and walked around to the Celica. He took one glance at the highway as he opened the door, and as he did his eyes widened just a bit.
 

I glanced over as well. At first I couldn’t connect what he was looking at, and then I saw. A Pennsylvania State Police cruiser had just pulled in and was waiting in line at the pumps. When I looked back the Hispanic man had already gotten into the Celica. The engine coughed to life and the car slowly backed up, its brakes squeaking. It then started forward with some hesitation before pulling out onto the highway.
 

“Hey,” I said, but it was barely the shout I’d intended, and I watched the car go, my body motionless, thinking
there’s something in that trunk
and wondering just what the hell I was supposed to do about it.
 

Then it was gone, lost in the continuous line of traffic, and I turned away, entered the men’s room. By the time I got back in my car and started off toward Bridgton again, the thought of that Celica and what was in the trunk was the farthest thing from my mind.

Chapter 19

W
hen I returned to The Hill around five that afternoon, my grandmother sat by herself on the swing beside her trailer. It was still positioned facing down into the valley. I parked, left the Bible in my car, and walked up to her.
 

Her cane rested between her legs, her hands in her lap. She stared out at the ragged horizon, her small face set, her eyes squinted. Even though I stood right there, she refused to look at me. I opened my mouth but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to say, so I looked away toward Moses’s RV. The Metro was gone.
 

 
“He’s not there.” Her voice was soft and low. “He left about an hour ago. He came over and asked me if you were back yet. I told him I had no idea. I told him I thought I knew my grandson, but I guess I don’t. No grandson of mine in his right mind would run off and leave his grandmother scared to death like that.”
 

I said, “I’m sorry,” but it sounded weak even to my own ears.
 

“Your uncle’s not happy. He doesn’t understand either. Just what could possess you to go all the way back home, Christopher? And why did that man know more about where you were than us? He’s just a stranger. We’re family.”
 

“That’s right,” I said. “We are family. But what about a month ago? What about last year? Were we family then? Until my parents died, did you ever wonder about me? Did you even care?”
 

She stared back at me, giving me an expression I would have expected to see had I just slapped her across the face.
 

I opened my mouth, meaning to apologize. But the shock in my grandmother’s face turned to anger and I wanted nothing more to do with her, so I just walked away. Five steps to the drive, where I meant to turn toward my trailer, but then I saw Sarah coming out of the Rec House. She carried a paperback in her hand. She was headed toward Half Creek Road.
 

I started up the drive toward the road. Sarah had just looked both ways and was crossing it, and as I passed the Rec House I called her name.
 

She turned around on the other side. Shielded the sun from her eyes with the paperback. I stood where I was on my side of the road and stared back at her, uncertain now what I wanted to say or do.
 

Finally I came up with two words.
 

“I’m sorry.”
 

“What?” She frowned. “Why?”
 

“For before. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
 

“And why’s that? You were being honest. That’s nothing to apologize for.”
 

A pickup truck came up the road, lumber stacked in the back. Sarah gave a quick wave to the driver as he passed us. I waited until it was gone before crossing the road.
 

“Because I made you upset,” I said. “I’m sorry for that.”
 

She started walking toward her house. “I told you, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You did the one thing almost nobody else in your position would have done.”
 

“And what’s that?”
 

“You were honest. Why should you be sorry?”
 

The garage door was open. Inside John Porter was busy working on his Firebird. “Perry Mason” blared from the stereo, Ozzy Osbourne singing about kids riding painted horses.
 

Sarah started walking but then stopped. She glanced at the garage before looking back at me.
 

“In fact, I’m going to be honest with you. Remember that day you met me in the Rec House? Did you even wonder why I was in there? I go there every time my dad and brother are home. Because since my mom died, they’ve both started hating each other. There’s no reason for it. Did you know my dad lost his pinkie finger while he was working when we were kids? John used to call him Pinkie behind his back. Now he calls him that to his face.”
 

She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
 

“My mom was the glue that held our family together, and now without her it’s falling apart and I can’t put up with it anymore. Don’t you get it? That’s why I was there that day, because I was hiding from the silence that comes from both of them. It scares me.”
 

She shook her head.
 

“And you, Chris, you scare me too. But not in a bad way. It’s just ... I want to be your friend, but I know it wouldn’t work out. Because right now I’ve got no friends. All those people that call themselves my friends at school are fakes. I’m an outcast, that’s all I am, and I’m afraid if I get close to you I’ll somehow drive you away. Either that or pull you down with me.”
 

She kept her gaze level and steady.
 

“I mean, don’t you get it yet? Don’t you see who and what I am? Look back across the road. That’s a
trailer park
, for Christ’s sake. And do you know what that makes me, just because my dad—who’s
also
a truck driver—owns that trailer park?”
 

She paused, willing me to answer, but I didn’t.
 

“Trailer trash,” Sarah said. “That’s what I am, Chris. No matter what I do, I’ll always be trailer trash. No matter if I played the clarinet in school, or got good grades, or tried out for the debate team, or”—she held the paperback up—“read classic literature just for fun. Nothing I do can change my place in life. Believe me, I’ve tried, and it was never going to happen. I am what I am. And then this trailer trash girl got herself knocked up. Isn’t that just the perfect ending to my crappy life story?”
 

She waited, letting that last question hang out there between us, and when she realized I wasn’t going to say anything she turned and started up the steps. Opened the front door and disappeared inside.
 

It was a couple of seconds before I realized John now stood in the doorway of the garage. One of his Marlboro’s hung in his mouth. He nodded at me to come over.
 

“Don’t worry,” he said, once we stood facing each other. Behind him, in the garage, Ozzy now sang about seeing the man around the corner waiting. “I don’t give a shit what all that was about. I know you’re a decent guy and my sister’s crazy, so whatever. But how you holding up after Sunday night?”
 

“Not bad. How about you? I thought you were grounded.”
 

He was inhaling when I said this; now he laughed, coughing out smoke. “Yeah, right—grounded. I guess you could say that. I’m only grounded when my old man’s home, and he left like an hour ago. He’ll be gone tomorrow night too, which is sweet, ’cause me and a few of my buddies are crashing this pre-graduation party.” He paused, gave me a look, and said, “Hey, you wanna come?”

•
 
•
 
•

D
EAN
STOPPED
BY
The Hill around seven o’clock that night. I was exhausted from my day and was taking a nap when he knocked at my trailer door. When I answered he looked at me, his face hard, and said, “Get your shoes on.”
 

Ten minutes later we were at Luanne’s. The place had its diehard regulars, as I recognized most of the men at the counter from my last visit. We even sat in the same booth, only this time Grandma wasn’t with us. As it turned out she wasn’t up for dinner tonight, and though Dean never gave a reason, I knew why.
 

He waited until we’d ordered our food before he got down to it.
 

“All right, Chris, what the hell’s going on?”
 

“What do you mean?”
 

“Don’t bullshit me. First that Cunningham kid gets abducted. Then when he’s found he refuses to speak with anyone but you. Now he’s dead and the Sheriff’s got men working round the clock trying to find the bastard that took him. And the worst part is we don’t have any leads. But what really piqued my interest was when Mom told me you went over to Moses Cunningham’s place last night. Then this morning you take off back to Lanton. Why?”
 

“I left something there I needed.”
 

“Really. Like what?”
 

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
 

“Try me.”
 

I stared back into his brown eyes and wondered what he thought was going on. He probably had some crazy idea concocted in his mind, nowhere near the truth. Telling him now would throw a wrench in whatever machinery he had going, but when all was said and done I really had no choice.
 

“I went back to pick up a book your father sent me a long time ago. It’s the entire Old Testament handwritten by him word for word.”
 

Dean stared back at me, his brow furrowing just a bit. “What?”
 

“I left it in my trailer if you don’t believe me. You can look for yourself when we get back.”
 

“No, that’s okay. But you’re right—I don’t believe you. Why would he do something like that?’
 

“Well, let’s see,” I said, and raised my index finger. “One, he was crazy. Do we really need to know anything else?”
 

Dean’s face reddened. His hands balled into fists. Images of him lashing out and punching me raced through my head. But he only sat there and whispered, “My father—your grandfather—may have been a lot of things, but if anything, he was not crazy.”
 

“Yeah, okay. Then why did he try to kill me? Why was he locked away in that mental institution? The last time I checked, they just don’t put you away for the hell of it.”
 

Something broke in my uncle’s face—it seemed to soften a little, as he shook his head slowly.
 

“I can’t explain what happened, Chris, because I don’t know the whole story. But I knew that man my entire life. He raised both me and your dad real well, and what they say he did just isn’t something he’d do. He was a good man, a damned fine man, and things really changed after he went away. For a while the Myers name had a stigma to it that I thought we would never live down. And your dad ... he cut off all contact with us. He turned his back just like that and you know, I can’t say I blame him. A lot of weird stuff happened, but I swear to you, your grandfather was not crazy.”
 

The conviction in both his eyes and voice asserted the fact that Dean believed it was true. No matter what may have happened, my grandfather was sane in his son’s eyes.
 

“Okay,” I said. “So where is he now? Is he still alive?”
 

“No. He’s been dead almost four years.”
 

I thought of my father and how he’d cut off all contact. When did he find this out? The night it happened? A week later? A month?