Deception Creek (4 page)

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He walked to the boarding house, grabbing a quick hamburger along the way. He ate slowly, turning his sandwich in his hands, mimicking the doubt and confusion he felt concerning his original plans. He could leave town or stay. There would be minimal paperwork. And, at this stage, there would be little effect on anyone's life. He could stop here. Go away. Leave well enough alone.

Without the construction noise, Wyoming fell silent except for light traffic and the hollow sound of people calling to one another in recognition. A pickup would move slowly through town, the driver would see a friend, neighbor, or coworker, and yell out his window, “Hey, Buzz.” The driver would wave and Buzz would wave. There would be no other exchange. At first, the yelling shocked him. In prison a yell, or even a grunt, meant something very different than it did here, where the thread of sound and waving back and forth was all part of an interconnection he felt disconnected from. He shied from such contact, turned his head away from it. He didn't want to be recognized. Not yet. Not by just anyone.

He thought how the new sounds might fit with what he had become used to in prison. Instead of traffic there was the echo of shoes over cement floors, or the clicks and clunks of steel locks and shifting banks of bars. Instead of the friendly voice of a neighbor calling your name, there was the grunts or hoots of inmates expressing their own existences. But for some reason, the hamburger eaten in freedom had tasted better than the one eaten in a prison cafeteria.

The man didn't go to his room, but sat on a city bench a half-block from the boarding house. Maybe he did want to be seen. He should try it. Yet, not one driver leaned out the window of his moving vehicle to yell out the ex-con's name. That fact didn't stop him from eventually breaking through his restraint and trying an occasional wave. And more often than not, an automatic wave came back his way. Connection. Silent, but present.

After a short while, he got up and headed toward the boarding house, but walked past the building, went through the center of town, and didn't stop until he reached the Lamont River Bridge. There he stood midway across, and stared into the water. Unlike the road through town that pitched left and right, up and down, the river lay flat and straight. He could see up river a long way.

He had studied the maps. He knew where certain people lived. He knew their names, their ages, their jobs. He knew even more about them than they knew about themselves. But he didn't know if his knowledge would create damage or be a blessing. He didn't know how the years had shaped their personalities.

He spit over the side of the bridge and watched the whiteness of it disappear before it hit the water. Now, part of the river, as well as the town, he would stay on. Still uncertain what he might do—his plan had changed daily since his release—every day he felt more connected, more permanent.

A man drove by in an old Ford Galaxy and yelled out the window, “Hey, Moe!”

The free man straightened and waved. He would be Moe for the moment. He would exist as part of the townspeople, etched into the river, familiar with the land. He walked the rest of the way across the bridge, smiled, and waved at most of the cars that passed,
stepped lighter the farther he went. Near the edge of town, at the playground in a small park, he watched children play on swings as parents talked. The sun slid closer to the mountaintop and the air off the river began to spread a chill across town.

Freedom. He could walk anywhere he liked. Even the cooler air of evening felt stimulating. He walked to his room in the boarding house, opened the window in the small living room, and sat and stared out the window until he got tired, then he showered and went to bed.

T
he next morning, after a quick shower, Billy dressed, grabbed his new gloves, and took off for Pine River, where he spent an hour skipping stones in the early light of sunrise. Then he jumped into his truck and drove all the way back to London's Store for coffee and a banana nut muffin, hoping to see Vicki there, just for her smiling face and the positive feelings she gave off. She wasn't there, so he didn't linger. After he paid for his breakfast, he got back into the truck and drove to work.

Even though closer parking was available, he pulled in and parked where he had the day before, as though it were his spot. He walked directly to Scott Pierce's truck and found him sitting inside, sipping coffee and reading a book. “How's it going?” Billy said, interrupting Scott's concentration.

“Billy. A little early, aren't you?”

“A little.” Billy held his coffee cup, which was nearly empty. “You too.”

“Couldn't sleep for some reason. Decided to get breakfast and read a while.”

Scott pulled a marker from the back of his book and placed it where he was reading, before closing the covers. “Come on over and have a seat,” he said, while reaching down to slip the book into a Wyoming Library Association book bag at his feet.

Billy noticed there were several books in the bag. “What are you reading?” he asked, as he sat down and closed the door.

“Just now or in general?”

“Both.”

Scott looked into the book bag again. “Several things. There's
Household Wiring
— I'm hooking up a heater in the shop. Then there's
Great White
, about sharks, and
Band of Angels. Fiction. For fun.
” Scott sipped his coffee. “I never know what I'll be in the mood for.” He shuffled around until he was half leaning against the driver's side door. “So what got you up so early?”

“Jack Roberts. You know anything about him?”

“Not much.”

“Yesterday, when you were walking over, you stopped short when he came up behind me.”

“I didn't want to interrupt.”

Billy spread his palms. “I don't even know him.”

“He looked like he wanted to talk with you.” Scott sat still and didn't go on.

“My mom says he's an ex-con. That he's dangerous.”

“He is.” In a moment, Scott added, “An ex-con, that is. Not dangerous. Although, I don't know that for sure.”

“What'd he do?” Billy asked.

“You know, if your mother has a problem with him, you really need to talk to her, not me. It's her deal.”

“Look,” Billy said, “I can't talk to Mom. She's too out there. She gets all hyper when I ask a lot of questions. I just need to know why she's so burnt about Jack.”

“Sorry, Buddy, I'm in the dark.”

“You don't even know why he was in prison?”

“Rumors, murmurings, but it's not my style to spread what I don't know.” Scott's face lighted up, “What about your grandfather? He's known your mom since she was a kid.”

Billy rubbed his hands together, then put one on each knee. He shook his head. “I don't know who to ask. Grandpa hates Mom. I don't know if I'll get the truth from him either.”

“Sounds pretty bad.”

“It's worse every year I come home.”

“Like a bad marriage. As soon as the kids move out, all hell breaks loose.”

Billy looked out the window. “The whole thing sucks.”

Scott slapped Billy's shoulder. “If you want facts, you can go to the library. Facts don't lie.”

Billy nodded his head in an affirmative. “Thanks.” He pulled on the door handle.

“Hey,” Scott said. “I am available for morale support.”

“Sure,” Billy said.

Stepping from Scott's car, Billy began to notice the details of the morning, like the warmth of the air, the breeze that scattered dust along the sidewalk, even the noise that rose slowly as construction began all over the city. Standing outside Scott's truck, the sensations of morning that Billy he had missed while they were talking, rushed back to him. He let in the full strength of the day.

Since it was still early for work, Billy walked down the street to a bakery for a second cup of coffee. Inside were three other customers. While he waited for his coffee, he heard, “Hey, Billy,” from behind him. He turned and Jack stood next in line.

“Hey,” Billy said, but nothing else came to mind.

The woman behind the counter noticed Jack and began to make a fuss. “Jack! Oh, good morning. How are you feeling today? You're looking well.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, smiling at her.

Without his ordering, the woman made him a large coffee and set it on the counter at the same time she set Billy's down in front of him. “One dollar,” the woman told Billy. But first she yelled back to her husband. “Honey, Jack's here!”

A stocky, dark-haired man stepped out from the back, wiping his hands on his apron. He came around the counter. “Martha!” he yelled. The woman seemed to know his code language because she grabbed a huge double helping of coffeecake and slipped it inside a white bakery bag. The man held out his hand to shake Jack's. “It's good to see you. You should stop by more often. Maybe some evening after we close,” he suggested.

“I will, Todd. You've just got to stop embarrassing me with all the fuss.”

“I promise, buddy. Look, we really should get together.” The baker stood up straight and slapped Jack's shoulder. “It's been a long time. A hard time for you, I'm sure. But you still look great.”

“Thank you,” Jack said.

Todd took the bag from Martha as she passed it over the counter.

Billy paid for his coffee then politely waited for Jack.

“Well, look,” Todd handed the bag to Jack, “I've got to get back. You come by after work, all right? Promise me?”

“Sure,” Jack told him. “Really, though, you don't have to do this.” Jack looked over at Martha and nodded.

She waved her hand as though to say it was nothing. Todd walked towards the back. “We'll be upstairs,” Todd said.

“I'll visit this weekend.” Jack now held two bags in his left hand. Billy recognized the worn one that, no doubt, held a peanut butter sandwich and the jar of water.

Pushing past Billy, Jack grabbed the coffee and held it up in a toast toward Martha. Then he turned and pushed the door open. Billy followed.

“Friends of yours?” Billy said.

“How'd you guess?” Jack smiled.

“Gee, I don't know,” Billy joked. He had not seen Jack smile before and noticed how that one act removed all the threatening angles from his face. Smoothed them into rounded, softer lines. The dark eyes, dense and deep, sparkled in what seemed to Billy a complete metamorphosis.

Jack nodded. “I knew Todd back in high school. Never thought I'd see him here. Of all people, I expected him to be in some big city wheeling and dealing.”

“You from here then?” Billy asked.

Jack stopped. He turned to look at Billy squarely. His face metamorphosed back into something — someone — much more serious, strong, almost frightening. “I'm from Shannon. A little ways over the—”

“I know where Shannon is.” Billy felt great amounts of energy coming from Jack, but couldn't let him go on. Neither of them spoke until they neared the truck where Harry posted the jobs. They both knew what they were doing for the day, so Jack began to break off from Billy. “Hey,” Billy yelled after him. “Did you know William Maynard?” He swallowed hard.

Jack lifted his coffee towards Billy and nodded. “We'll talk later.”

Billy watched Jack walk away, then ran around to the back of the church where Mel had already begun to mix the mortar.

“Billy, can you take over here?” Mel said, holding the shovel handle toward him. “I'm going up the scaffolding to look over the next section. See what it's going to take.”

“Mel?” Billy said.

“Yeah. What is it?”

“My mom told me Jack's an ex-con.”

“Well a man's past ain't nobody's business unless he wants it to be.” Mel went on over to the scaffolding.

“Don't you wonder?”

“No. I don't.” Mel said.

Work went slow that morning. When lunch came, Billy could hardly wait to speak with Jack. But Jack didn't show up until near the end of lunch. “You waiting for me?” Jack said.

Billy turned.

“Apparently, your mom had a little talk with Harry,” Jack said. He told me to stay away from you, or else.” Jack laughed. “I know there's no ‘or else' to it though. He can't find anyone else to climb up there.” Jack kneeled next to the truck.

Billy sat on the tailgate. “Why is Mom so dead set against my talking with you? You know her, don't you? You knew my father?”

Jack paused, contemplating how to answer. “It's a long story,” he said finally.

“I've got time.”

“Not now,” Jack said. “Let me think. And you should speak with Alice. It's not my place.”

“She gets too upset.” Billy bit his lip. “I'll talk with Grandpa. He'll level with me.”

“No, Billy, he won't.” Jack stood.

“Wait,” Billy said. “Why won't he? How do you know him?”

Jack answered, “You better ask your mom.”

At the back of the church, Mel was looking over their work.

“How's it look?” Billy asked.

Mel scratched his two-day beard and concentrated for a moment. He glanced at Billy. “My section looks almost perfect. But you see that last bit you put in?”

“Yeah,” Billy said.

“Looks like shit.”

Billy's face flushed. He searched the work with his eyes trying to figure out what was wrong.

Mel laughed.

“That wasn't funny,” Billy said. “You know that, Mel. You know it wasn't funny.”

Mel continued to laugh. “Made you nervous for a second.”

“No, you didn't. I'd gladly do it over again. You're an asshole, you know?”

Mel laughed even louder. “Finally got a rise outta you.”

“Already, and it's only day two.” Billy slapped Mel's shoulder. “You know something about Jack, don't you?”

Mel's shoulders slumped. “Shit, man. You sure know how to ruin some fun.”

“Don't you?” Billy persisted.

“No. Not really. Heard a little.”

“What? What'd you hear?”

“Somethin' to do with your mom and dad. That's all.”

“I figured that much,” Billy said.

“I'm not from Shannon. Don't know their secrets.” Mel scratched his forehead.

“What secrets?” Billy said.

“Every town has secrets.”

Billy grabbed his own mortar and trowel.

“My advice,” Mel said, “is to leave well enough alone. At your age you got more important things to worry about.”

“Like?”

“Who you're going to date this Friday. What you're going to do with that engineering degree. Is the truck goin' to last the summer without a breakdown?”

“All right. Enough. I see your point.”

Billy worked hard all afternoon. By quitting time, he felt tired and hungry. On the way home, he contemplated stopping by
London's to say hello to Vicki, but changed his mind at the last minute.

As he pulled to a stop in his driveway, the odor of grilled chicken came from the house. His hunger pangs increased, so he quickly said hello to Alice and cleaned up for dinner. Fifteen minutes later he sat down to eat. “Your plan worked,” he said to her, not wanting her to think she had gotten away with anything behind his back.

She stared at him for a moment. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, while putting food into his mouth. “Harry must have threatened Jack, because now he won't get near me.”

“That's no loss,” Alice snorted.

Billy swallowed and gave Alice a hard look. “It's my life now, Mom. You have no right to interfere.”

“He's not the type—” she began.

“Stop.” Billy held up his hand. “I don't care. You've gone behind my back. Your plan worked. Fine. I'm just telling you to stay out of my business the next time.”

Alice pursed her lips. Billy watched her face as she rolled something around in her head, holding back words.

“I don't care if you want to keep something from me, Mom, just don't lie and go behind my back. Your worries are for you to keep, not me.”

Alice listened, looking more relieved as Billy talked on. She patted his hand at one point. “You're absolutely right. You have your own life to live.”

That evening they watched television together. Billy retired early, hoping to fall asleep and not wake until morning. But at two-thirty, he woke from a dream involving himself, William, and Jack, who was just about to say something.

Billy sat up and rubbed his face. He shivered even though he felt hot. He tried to remember what Jack had begun to say, but couldn't come up with any of the words. Sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet touching the floor, Billy waited until he stopped shivering. His mouth felt dry. Grabbing a T-shirt, he walked, in his boxers, out to the kitchen for a drink of water. He tried to remember more details of the dream. All that happened was the dream became less
vivid. The dream wasn't real, after all. Probably a mere review process that his mind went through, perhaps testing his body's reactions, like the self-test mechanisms on some electronics equipment. So the question wasn't so much what the dream was about as it was how well his body reacted.

Billy sat on the couch and stared into the darkness while holding a glass of water next to his thigh. An owl hooted outside. The hollow sound indicated the presence of a low fog. Billy got up and walked to the front door. Cracking the door slightly, cold air rushed over him. If he hadn't been fully awake before that moment, he surely was then. He stepped outside and, sure enough, a fog hung just above the treetops. The owl hooted once again. Billy wanted to get dressed and take a drive, but had to work in a few hours and thought better of the idea. He closed the door slowly and turned to see Alice standing in the hall.