Hearts Left Behind (19 page)

My heart raced as I reflected on the origins of the
ritual.  I looked around me and noticed the Easter banners that still had
not yet been taken down.  Hanging on the walls like neon signs flashing
down from Heaven.

He Died For You

He Is Risen

Did he?  Did he really?

One by one, the congregation stepped forward to
partake, each in their own way. 
Some with prayer,
embracing it with a strong spirit.
  Others in humility as if they
were unworthy, not even
slowing to savor
the taste.  Some took great big pieces, as if the bigger the bite the
bigger the blessing.  Others took tiny morsels as if to say this is all it
takes or perhaps this is all that I deserve or please don't notice me.  I
silently prayed.

Fill me with the body and the blood.  Let it
soak into my bones and stay with me.  Amen.

I took a tiny morsel of body and soaked it in
blood.  I savored the taste.  I felt its goodness, prayed again that
it might make me holy.

“The body and blood of Christ offered to you this day,
Tucker.”

“Amen,” I said and returned to my seat, the taste of
the blood still sweet in my tongue.

I asked Tammy to go up to Mustang’s with me and she
surprised me with a yes.  We tucked Tory into bed and left her in the care
of her great grandfather, then walked up town to Mustang’s.  Son was back
behind the bar and there were a few more patrons than I had come to
expect.  I sat Tammy down at a table by the window and went up to get us
drinks. 
“Hey, Son.
 
A
draft and a Malibu and pineapple.”

I must have said it quietly because Son cupped a hand
over his mouth and loudly whispered back at me, “
It’s
okay.  It’ll be our little secret.”

Laughing, I said, “No, it’s for my wife,” and made a
head motion to the table by the window.

Son took a peek over at Tammy who waved to us. 
“Huh.  Where’s the dog?”

“What?”

“You
know,
the dog that helps
her cross the street and stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah.
  Just get
the drinks, huh?”

“
Bring’em
right over,” he
said, still laughing at himself.

As I walked away, he called out to me.  “Hey,
Tuck-”

“You’re welcome, Son.”

Son brought the drinks to our table and made like he
was doing it for his old buddy and not just to get a better look at
Tammy.  He put the Malibu and pineapple in front of me and acted surprised
when I slid it across to Tammy and told him the beer was for me. 
Quite the charmer, that Son.

“First round’s on the house,” he said when I held out
the cash for the drinks. 

I introduced the two of them and made small talk just
long enough that I thought it might get the second round on the house,
too.  When he left, I told Tammy some of my Son Settles’ stories,
including our most recent one at the playground with Son’s daughter.

“So I guess you’re not enemies anymore, huh?”

“Ah, it sounds worse than it was.”  And that was
the truth.  We’d had our run-ins, sure, but hell, we managed to co-exist
in the same small town for 10-plus years together.  Ninety-nine percent of
the time, we were just two guys without much in common who got along just fine.

Tammy stared down at the table and smiled.

“What?  What’s so funny?” I asked.

Looking up at me she said, “Not funny. 
Nice.  This has been nice.”

I surveyed the tavern and its patrons. 
Dark and smoky, dirty and outdated.
  “Yeah, nothing but
the best for my baby,” I said.

“You know what I mean,
it’s
nice being together like this.  It’s been nice being here with you.”

I reached over and grabbed her hand.  “Tam,
it’s
nice being anywhere with you.”

“Well, I’m glad that you talked me into coming
here.  It’s been good for Tory, too.  She was really missing
you.  She needs her daddy.”

“Her daddy needs her.  I’m glad you guys
came.  I didn’t really think you would.”

“Tell the truth,” she said.  “Part of you didn’t
want us to, did you?”

“
Oh, I don’t
know.  Maybe that part of me that likes to get drunk and feel sorry for
himself
.”

“It’s okay.  I’ve got a part of me that likes to
pull the blankets over my head and cry in bed all day.”

“Yeah, but you don’t, do you?  Hell, you
couldn’t.  Not with me around.  You had to take care of Tory.”

Tammy and I both know I’m selfish.  She left it
unsaid.  “Has it helped?  Being here, I mean,” she asked.

It was a good question.  Saying yes would justify
coming here, but was it true?  I was still drinking.  I didn’t miss
Ethan any less. 
Yet, the memories of the town.
 
Of my childhood.
  There were moments in the day
where my mind went places without Ethan.  The memories of Katie Cooper and
Slim Jim gave me something different to be sad about, which I welcomed. 
Seeing old friends and swapping stories.  Seeing old places and retracing
childhood footsteps.

“Yeah, it’s helped,” I said.  “Some.  I’m no
less sad, but maybe a little happier – you know?”

As we sat there and got drunk together, I told Tammy
everything that had been walking through me in the days since I had returned to
Willow Grove.  I had told her years ago the story of Katie Cooper and Slim
Jim, but I had told it with the detached objectivity of a court report.  A
detective assigned to the case –
just
the facts,
mam
. 
But this night, I told the story in a voice that cracked and creaked like
Grandpa and Grandma’s front porch.  I told her all
the
me
-and-Katie stories I could remember – our secret spot, the pennies on
the tracks, the flowers I had given her – all of it.  I had cared deeply
for that little girl.  As was her way, Tammy sat quietly and just listened
to me.  I could see that she was learning to love Katie herself – through
me.

T
hen I told her
about my exchange of letters with Mr. Innocent and my plan to go to the
cemetery that next morning and stake him out, which concerned her.

“I don’t know.  Are you sure that’s wise?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s say you do catch this guy and let’s say
it turns out he did kill Katie.  You really want to be alone at the
cemetery with a murderer?”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem likely, does it?  Anyway,
he’d probably just deny everything.  I mean, you think he’s going to
confess to murder just because I catch him picking an envelope up off the
ground at the cemetery?”

“I don’t know, Tucker.  It just doesn’t seem too
safe.”

“Tell you what, I’ll bring my cell phone and I’ll tell
him that I called Sheriff Buck when I saw him pick up the letter.  Okay?”

“How ‘bout you actually do call him.”

“Fine,” I lied, and we
clinked
our glasses together.

Suddenly, a familiar
lispy
taunt from behind me.
 
“Hey,
thathafrath
.
 
I
thure
hope you’re in a
better mood tonight.”

Edie Dales stood at the front door, a big gummy smile
on his face.  I turned back around without saying a word in return.

“I take it that’s the guy you were telling me
about?  The one you got in a fight with the other night?”

“Gee, how’d you guess?”

“Let’s just get out of here, Tucker.”  Tammy
grabbed her purse and put it over her shoulder.

“I’m going to finish my drink,” I said.

“
Thay
, no
hard feelings about the other night.
  Things
jutht
got a little
outta
control, right? 
Bethides
, you threw the
firtht
punch.”

Still not facing
him, I took another sip of my drink and said nothing.

He raised his voice and repeated, “Hey! 
I
thaid
no hard
feelingth
.
 
I’m offering my hand.”

Still I did not respond and I could hear Edie move
across the floor toward me.

“Maybe you’re not hearing
tho
good tonight,
thathafrath
,” Edie said, clutching down
hard on my shoulder.  Before he could spin me around to face him, though,
another hand grabbed hold of Edie’s wrist.

“Let go of him, Andrew,” Son said.  “Just let it
go.”

I looked over my shoulder at Son.  His eyes were
tender - not
just for me, but for,
too.  Edie looked at those same eyes and saw weakness.  He gave a
wheezy, breathy laugh, the fetid stench from his rotten mouth filling the
air.  “Go to hell, Thon.”

He took a wild swing at Son with his free hand, but
Son dodged the blow and struck Edie squarely in the nose with a right jab that
dropped Edie to the floor.  Out cold. 

Son looked over and gave a cowboy tip of his Dodger
cap.  I finished my drink and then headed to the door with Tammy, stepping
over Edie on our way.

Tammy and Tory went to Glidden to visit Grandma and
after that to lunch and a matinee. 

With Grandpa in the garage working on his broken down
Wheel Horse, I packed a paper sack full of potato chips, two bologna sandwiches,
two bottles of water, and a book.  I headed out for the cemetery, prepared
to stay until sundown if necessary. 
Determined to catch
Mr. Innocent retrieving my letter.
 
If, that is,
my letter was
even still there.

It was.

I set up camp again in the bushes.  I checked my
watch - 10 a.m.  I pulled a bottle of water and a sandwich out of my lunch
sack.  I was only two bites into my sandwich when my first visitor arrived.

Edie Dales.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered through a mouthful of
bologna.

He crossed right in front of me, arms at his side,
hands clenched into fists, which is how Edie had always faced the world. 
Made me think of Tory’s book about the angry ladybug always looking for a fight.

He walked slow, heels hitting ground first, toes last
like he was wearing cowboy boots.  His arms didn’t sway at all when he
walked.  As if the clenched fingers on both hands were wrapped around
something heavy, something he had to carry everywhere he went.  Maybe it
was having
to lug all that invisible weight around that made
him so angry all the time.

Edie carried his heavy weights around the corner of
the utility shed and out of sight.  I waited a couple seconds then quietly
stood up and peeked around the corner.  He walked to a headstone in the
far corner of the cemetery, stopped, and put his hands in his pockets. 
Something in the way he stood there, hands in pockets, head tilted down, that
told me it must be his father’s grave.  He was saying something, but I
couldn’t hear what.  Whatever the message, he delivered it with a lot of
shoulder shrugs and head tilts, like he was apologizing or
perhaps confessing.

After a few minutes, Edie pulled his hands out of his
pockets, picked up his invisible weights and started walking back toward me. 
I sat down and waited.  He turned the corner into my line of sight and
after a couple of steps, stopped in his tracks and put his hands in his pockets
again.  He scanned the horizon, took in a deep breath - almost sniffing,
like some animal in the wild picking up the scent of prey.  That’s when he
spotted the
Grave Letter at the foot of
the headstone in front of him.  He glanced around the rest of the bone
yard at the other letters.  His eyes snapped sharply from one to the next,
before locking on the yellow envelope by James Johnson.  After a quick
look over each shoulder, he reached for the letter.

My heart jumped like I’d just felt a tug on my line
and saw my bobber go under.  I moved the bushes in front of my face to get
a clearer view.  As I did, Edie stopped in his tracks –I had been too loud.

I froze, suddenly mindful of my
Adam’s
Apple
and how loud I swallow. 
Intensely aware of
the itchy, drippy, sweat that covered my face.
  Air made a wheezy
sound as it passed through my nostrils so I opened my mouth, but it was no
quieter.

But then something else, a different
noise.
 
One
that was not coming from me, thankfully.
 
The
rumble of a lawn mower in the distance.
  My eyes went to the long
grass in the cemetery lawn.  Old Man Keller was on his way, which was good
and bad news.  On the one hand, Edie hadn’t caught me.  On the other,
I hadn’t caught him either.

Edie looked down at the envelope, pulled his hands out
of his pocket and made his way back out of the cemetery.  He and Keller
nodded at each other as they passed.