TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1984
I awoke to the muted sound of birds heralding Indian summer. Crickets and frogs brought back my childhood in full surround sound as I shook the sleep from me. I had fallen into bed without setting an alarm and slept the rest of the day and night. I wandered outside to the car early enough not to disturb my parents.
I rolled down the driveway in neutral, starting the car as I coasted onto the road. I had to have a clear plan of action but my brain was foggy. Returning to the Dogwood Food and Drug and catching Jesse before she went to work seemed best. I could have called or gone to her house, but I wasn’t sure who I might encounter. I wanted our conversation to be face-to-face and without interruption.
The store opened at seven, but I knew if Jesse worked the early shift, she would arrive before that. It was a little after six when I rolled into the Morning Dove to get gas and coffee. I paid inside and noticed a group of men gathered around coffee and pancakes and sausage biscuits served in Styrofoam containers.
“Is that Matt Plumley?” one of the men said from across the room.
“In the flesh,” I said, smiling and trying to remember the man’s name.
I approached and he stood, stretching out a big hand. “Jennings Caldwell,” he said. “I remember when you were this high and this wide.”
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Caldwell.”
He introduced me to the other men around the table, all retired—from the glass plant, Union Carbide, driving a bus, and Jennings was retired from the sheriff’s department. He had attended our church before we arrived in Dogwood and then left for reasons unknown. I could, of course, imagine several reasons, all of which were tied to Basil Blackwood.
“How’s your family?” Jennings said, taking his seat.
“Mom and Dad are good. Still busy with the church.”
“How’s Chicago? Treating you all right?”
I wondered how he knew where I had wound up, but small-town news travels. Before I could answer, the talk turned to the Cubs since Jennings had mentioned Chicago and that led to the Reds and their disappointing season and who they might trade for in the off-season.
“Baseball’s not what it used to be,” the retired glassblower said. “When I was a kid, there was team loyalty. You played in one place and rooted for that team no matter what. Now, with free agency, it’s all about the money. And you can root for the Cardinals or the Yankees from anywhere in the country.”
“The Yankees,” Jennings said like he was cursing.
“It’s always been about the money,” the Carbide man said. “The only question is who’s going to keep it.” The man’s words and tone reminded me of Dickie.
Jennings turned toward me. “What brings you back, Matt?”
“Just in for a visit.” The look on his face gave me the impression he didn’t believe me.
“That girl. Woods. You still keep in touch?”
“My parents do.”
He shook his head. “She sure had a tough start, didn’t she?”
I nodded. “The whole family had a tough time.”
“You got that right. I got called over there a few times through the years.”
“My dad mentioned your name at one point. The night that . . .” I didn’t finish my sentence, and by the look on the man’s face, I didn’t have to.
“I got the call. When I pulled up, your daddy was talking to her.” He took a big swig of coffee. “I’ll never forget how sad that girl looked up there.”
A wave of guilt swept over me and I wished I hadn’t set foot in the restaurant.
“What are you two talking about?” Bus Driver said.
Before Jennings could answer, I told them I had to get going. “It’s nice seeing you again, Mr. Caldwell.”
When I made it to the door, Jennings had launched into the story of that night. I didn’t want to relive it, so I drove back to the grocery parking lot and drank my coffee, watching the clouds roll through the sky as it lightened from black to dark blue. Wind blew leaves that wouldn’t give up their losing battle.
Twenty minutes later a car pulled up by the Dumpsters. I didn’t recognize the man who got out, but a ring of keys pulled his belt low. He disappeared inside. Still hoping to see Jesse, I rehearsed my lines to a script that hadn’t been written.
A Dodge Omni, a square car that didn’t fit her personality, pulled into the lot and she rolled down the window. She stuck out a hand and opened the door using the outside handle, then rolled the window up again and slammed it without locking it.
She wore jeans and work shoes and a heavy cotton T-shirt with a pocket over the left breast. Her hair was cut short, just below her ears. She still had the same lithe build I remembered, like a dancer, and that same Jesse saunter, like she could conquer the world, even though she was going to grind beef or cut chicken all day.
I opened my door and she glanced back and stopped.
“Jesse,” I said.
She squinted like she didn’t believe what she was seeing. “Well, look what the cat drug in. Hey, PB.” She crossed her arms and put one work boot in front of the other. “I heard you were in town.”
“Who’d you hear that from?”
“People.”
She stared at me with those blue eyes. I wanted to see her smile, to feel the warmth of being close, but she seemed like a chicken looking for a hawk. I had to admit I felt just as awkward and nervous.
“That’s a creative way to get out of a car.”
“Handle snapped last winter. I do what I gotta do, you know?” She bit her cheek. “So you heard the news?”
I nodded.
“Who told you?”
“Wasn’t my parents, I can tell you that.”
Her eyes had a deep sadness to them. “And you drove all the way down here for what?”
With a deadpan face, I said, “Jesse, you can’t get married on the thirteenth. It’s bad luck.”
“Saturday the thirteenth is not bad. Besides, I don’t believe in luck anymore.”
“What do you believe in?”
“I believe you’re going to get yourself into a bunch of trouble—and me, too—if you don’t leave.”
“Trouble never bothered you before. You thrived on it.”
“Matt, don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“What you’re fixing to do.”
“And what is that?”
She didn’t answer, just looked at cracks in the asphalt and the grass poking through. “I saw you yesterday. In the store.”
“Why didn’t you come out and talk?”
“Because there’s nothing to say.”
“I think there’s a lot to say. I have a lot of questions.”
She shook her head. “No. Talking time is over. It was over a long while ago.”
Her face had changed a little. There’d been a hardness to her eyes from the moment I had met her, but it seemed something in the intervening years had softened her. Her hair hung past her eyes like a shadow and she made no attempt to brush it away like she wanted to hide. But she was the same girl I had fallen in love with, the same girl who had cast a spell I wasn’t sure I would ever escape.
“Do you ever think of me, Jesse?” I said, my voice soft, almost a whisper. I said it with affect, with the dramatic flair of a line I had practiced but never truly gotten right.
She turned her head like the question touched some open wound. “You need to leave me alone.”
“I’ve thought of you a lot. And this choice you’re making doesn’t feel right to me.”
She slung her purse over her shoulder—I could see a brown bag sticking out with her lunch in it—and shoved her hands in her back pockets. “I appreciate your concern.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
She dipped her head and spoke without looking at me. “I’m grateful for everything you tried to do.”
“You don’t love him, Jesse.”
She cocked her head. “How would you know who I love? You always thought you knew more. That you were better than me.”
“I never thought that.”
“You always thought because you knew big words and did well in school that you were on a high branch looking down.”
I studied her face. Was the anger real or an act? “You know better than that. You and Dickie were my best friends.”
She shook her head like a dog will shake water from its back and glanced toward the hills where we spent our childhood. “It’s not safe, you being here. Go back and live your life. Make us proud.”
“I don’t want to make anybody proud. I want you to come to your senses. I’m not leaving until you do. I don’t care if I have to sit in the baptistery and wait for you to walk down the aisle.”
More shaking of the head. “Don’t do this, Matt.”
“You would.”
“What?”
“If something was right to do, you’d do it. Like taking care of Daisy.”
Just the mention of the name brought her eyes to mine. And there we were in the parking lot of Dogwood Food and Drug staring at each other and remembering, the salty and sweet of our past close enough to taste.
Another car pulled into the lot and we were no longer alone.
“I need to go. I’m sorry you came here for nothing.”
She turned and walked past another employee, who looked back at me and tossed away a half-smoked cigarette. I got back in my car and started the engine. Nothing about this was going to be easy.