Forever Country (19 page)

With the murder of Megan Rose still unsolved,
and with the anonymous letter I received, I can’t help but worry.
I’d like to think everyone is snowed in and without phone service,
but the idea of something of the likes of what happened to Megan
Rose happening to Savannah Mae creeps into my head.

The storm hit Ohio and is slowly making its
way to the Northeast. It’s coming my way. I tried to get a flight
out of New York, but all flights into Columbus, Ohio have been
canceled. I want to get home and check on my parents, my brother
and Mia, and Savannah Mae and Jackson Sawyer. I’m worried, and I
don’t like the idea of not knowing what’s going on with any of
them.

The news has reported blizzard conditions
with sub-zero temperatures. Several deaths have been reported in
other counties from the storm. My mind replays the situation I left
the farm in. Was there enough food in the house for Momma and Pops?
Did I chop enough firewood? With that amount of snow, and with the
deeply sloped driveway, they’ll be stranded. I wish I had someone
to contact. I could call 911 for a well check, but I know that law
enforcement will be busy with more important things. But what’s
more important than the well-being of my family? Nothing.

I call 911 and wait for some news. They said
they’ll get out as soon as they can to check on Momma and Pops. I
wait, I pace, and I stare out the large floor-to-ceiling glass
window as the storm is making its way into the city. The snow is
falling and is quickly accumulating. With the snowstorm settling in
over the city, the people of New York aren’t even fazed. I watch
them down below going about their life like any other day. It’ll
take more than a snowstorm to stop New Yorkers.

I get a letter with no return address. I sign
for it and soon recognize the handwriting. It’s from the same
person who wrote me while I was in Rose Farm during the holidays. I
debate on opening it or just tossing it in the trash. I decide to
open it.

Abel Kennedy,

Consider this a warning.

Not a Fan

Just like the last letter, there’s nothing
else written on the note, and on the envelope is nothing but my
name and address. I refold the letter and place it back in the
envelope. I tap it on the table and try to think about every fight
I’ve ever had and won. There are too many to recall all of them in
any detail. Nothing and no one stands out in my head.

My phone rings and I rush to answer it. It’s
the Sheriff’s department telling me they were unable to make it up
the hill to make the well check on my parents. Even on foot, the
climb was impossible. I know they tried, but I still don’t feel any
better. I can’t fly home, and I certainly can’t drive home in these
conditions. I’m stuck until God knows when.

I decide to make a run to the store to get a
few must-have items. Coffee, beer, and more coffee and beer… maybe
some bread and lunchmeat, but definitely coffee and beer. Standing
outside is a woman panhandling. I reach into my wallet to give her
some money when I hear a baby cry.

She bounces up and down and the crying stops.
I hand her the $20.00 bill and ask, “You got a baby?”

“
He’s hungry. I need money
to feed him.”

“
Are you hungry,
too?”

“
Yes, sir. I haven’t eaten
today.”

I look around and see a small diner a few
buildings away. “I’ll be right back with some more money for
you.”

“
Thank you,
sir.”

I walk into the convenience store and buy a
couple baby bottles, a can of powdered formula, diapers, and baby
wipes, before leaving. I thank God when I see she is still standing
outside of the store. “Let’s go eat,” I say.

“
No sir. I don’t feel
comfortable leaving with you.” She bounces up and down and pats her
belly through the thick coat she’s wearing.

I look at her and I
understand and appreciate her concern for her and the baby’s
safety.
I’m a big guy and when women see me
walking toward them on the street, they sometimes cross the street
or duck into a store until I pass. On many occasions, I’ve slowed
down while walking so the woman walking ahead of me doesn’t think
I’m trying to catch up with her. I’ve also crossed the street so
that a woman going the same way I am doesn’t think that I’m
following her.

“
I bought some things for
your baby. The diner is right up the road. It looks busy enough and
I promise not to hurt you. I just wanna talk and buy you something
hot to eat.”

“
You won’t hurt my baby or
me?”

“
I give you my word. I just
want to buy you something to eat.” I hand her the bag of baby items
and give her some more money. “I’m hungry,” I say. “If you want to
join me for a sandwich, I’ll be right there in the little
restaurant.” I don’t give her time to answer before I turn to
leave.

I walk into the well-lit diner and ask for a
booth. I order a coffee and stall on ordering my dinner. I hear the
bell over the door and I hope she’s decided to join me.

“
I need to change the baby.
Would you mind watching this for me?” she asks, handing me the sack
of things I just bought for the baby.

I smile. “No, I don’t mind at all. Do you
want me to order you something to drink?”

“
Can I have some hot
tea?”

“
You can have whatever you
want.” I watch as she removes her baby from a baby pouch beneath
her winter coat. The baby and she are clean and wearing clean
clothing. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. She and
her baby are not stereotypes. 

She later returns from the bathroom with the
baby. I offered to hold him while she fixes his bottle, but she
refused my help. I notice she’s very protective of her son,
something many homeless drug addicts aren’t. Something doesn’t add
up. Maybe she isn’t a homeless drug addict. She feeds him formula
and he eats eagerly. We both order salads, cheeseburgers, and
French fries for our dinner.

I try to get her to talk to me about her
circumstances and she refuses. I talk about myself, Momma, and
Pops. I figure she will get bored and tell me something just to
shut me up. I tell her about Savannah Mae and Sawyer Jackson, and
the small rural area we live. Rose Farm is enough to bore
anyone.

She says, “You don’t talk with a country
accent.”

I explain that I left home
years ago. I tell her I didn’t want to
stay
on a farm in the country. “I
never liked country life until I went back home. Then I saw what
I’ve been missing. Momma makes the best pie of anyone in Southeast
Ohio. She even won the “Perry County Best Pie Contest” three years
in a row,” I lie, proudly. She never entered that contest, but if
she did, she would win it every year, hands down,
as long as the contest is based on taste, not on
looks.

“
Now you sound all kinds of
country,” she says, laughing. I noticed her perfectly white,
straight teeth.

“
You can take the man out
of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the
man.”

“
It sounds like you’re
forever country.”

“
I guess I am.” I watch her
eat and I also watch her baby sleep. “What brings you to the
streets of New York?” I say, bluntly.

“
Finding my way. I wanted
better for myself and look where it got me.”

“
You live on the
streets?”

“
Not yet. I have a small
efficiency apartment down the road. I met the man of my wet dreams
and he left me as soon as he found out I was pregnant.”

“
I’m sorry.”

“
It’s not your fault.” She
takes the last bite of her sandwich. “I should have known he was
worthless. I don’t know anyone here and I refuse to leave my son
with people I don’t know to watch him while I work or find work.”
She thinks for a minute and says, “Makes it a little
— a lot — hard to work.”

“
Why don’t you go back
home?”

She looks at her sleeping
baby lying beside her on the bench. “Because
I’m too proud to admit I’m a failure. “Because
I’m too proud to ask for help from people I know.
Because I don’t want to hear Dad say, ‘I told you so.’”

We talk some more and we both order chocolate
cake for dessert. “If you had unlimited money, what would you
do?”

Her eyes get big. “I would get me a small
house in my hometown of Leo, Indiana. I would go back to
cosmetology school, I can do some hair like no other. You can’t
tell now, but my hair used to have highlights and was cut into a
cute bob. I used to do my own hair.” She sighs. “I really messed
up, didn’t I?”

“
I don’t think it’s so bad
that you can’t fix it.”

“
Really?”

I think for a minute about how I want to
approach this. “I’m leaving New York for good in a few days, let me
help you.”

“
Is this like
Pretty Woman
where you
put me up in a condo?” she says, laughing. Her laugh has no humor.
I watch her take a sip of her now warm tea.

“
No, not like
Pretty Woman
. It’ll be a
small house in your hometown and you have to promise to go
to
cosmetology school and cut my hair for
free whenever you see me.”

She laughs loudly and I just watch her. When
I don’t laugh, she says, “You’re serious?”

“
Yes, I want to do
this.”

“
You must be a drug dealer
to have that kind of money. A small house in Indiana will cost you
$60,000, maybe more.” She puts her coat on and reaches for her
baby.

“
No wait, I’m not a drug
dealer. I made some money as a boxer and I banked most of it.
Please, let me help you and your son.” She reminds me of Savannah
Mae with her long blond hair, but I don’t tell her that.

I remove my checkbook from the inside of my
coat pocket. “What’s your name?”

“
It’s Anna Harris,” she
whispers.

I write her a check and place it on the table
upside down so she can’t see the amount. I settle up our dinner
check and say, “Anna Harris, when you become a cosmetologist, call
me. I’ll be expecting a haircut, and I may even want some
highlights, too.” I smile. I push the check towards her and add,
“Thank you for having dinner with me. I hope to see you, and your
son again, soon.” I stand to leave and she doesn’t say a word.

As I walk to buy my coffee
and beer, I think about the word “cosmetology,” which is based on
the word “cosmos.” All of us know that the cosmos arose out of
chaos; many people, including me, believe that God made order out
of that chaos. I guess that a cosmetologist also makes order out of
chaos.
Maybe my check will help make order
out of the chaos of her life. 

Savannah Mae

It’s been ten days since I’ve been home. The
storm has passed and people are finally gettin’ dug out from
beneath the blizzard. We lost power at Mom and Daddy’s and I have
never been so grateful for the stockpile of food and necessities
that Mom insisted on havin’ for such times as these. Sawyer Jackson
and I wouldn’t have been able to survive the storm on our own. We
lack food and firewood. I make a mental note to get a storm kit
made up for us. Water, batteries, candles, and a radio, to name a
few items.

Every day that passed I worried about
everyone. Mia and Levi, Bud and Nelly, and the people from the
church. I wanted to call Abel Lee but wasn’t able to, since I
forgot the cell phone at the house. With no electricity, everyone’s
cell phone died and they weren’t able to recharge them. Same thing
with laptops, for those who have them.

Today is the first day that
the temperatures are above zero. Daddy says, “We’re havin’ a
heatwave.” I laugh. It’s still bitter cold and it’s hardly a
heatwave. I look out the window and I have to squint my eyes from
the bright snow and sunshine. Many neighbors are out shovelin’
their cars out from under several feet of snow. It looks like a
winter wonderland. You can’t tell where the road ends and the
sidewalk begins because it’s just a sheet of snow and ice.
Maybe drivers don’t think it’s a winter
wonderland.

I check with Samantha Marie to see if she’ll
watch Sawyer Jackson for me. If it were warmer, I think Sawyer
Jackson would be able to walk home with me. I need to go home and
get us some clean clothes and my cell phone. I went a year without
a cell phone, but suddenly, I have the need for one. I want to
check on the safety of my friends.

I dress warmly and prepare
myself for the onslaught of bitterly
cold
air as soon as I open the door. Daddy is outside, talkin’ to a
deputy sheriff. I pray it’s not about Nelly and Bud. They live on
top of an impossible hill to go up in bad weather.

I close my eyes and try to breathe through
the cold. It burns my face so I wrap my scarf tighter around my
mouth and nose. I walk up to Daddy and the deputy, and Daddy says,
“I hate to hear that.”

“
What’s goin’ on?” I
ask.

“
Do you remember Larry from
the community supper?” Daddy asks.

“
Yeah, of course. He always
makes Sawyer Jackson something out of balloons.”

“
Deputy Miller was just
tellin’ me that Larry was found dead yesterday.”

I fall against the
snow-covered car. “What happened?”
I think
for a minute and get another chill that runs through my body.
“Omigod, it isn’t related to Megan Rose’s murder, is it?”
What if we have a serial killer in
town.