Mammoth Secrets (12 page)

They ran under the freeway bridge, taking careful steps on the broken, root-rutted sidewalk. Just beyond, they passed over the gravel, graded entrance to the Cherokee Spring State Park.

Tulips reached for the heavens; broad-leafed green bushes hugged each side of the freshly painted redwood sign. Rita had done her best to keep the park tidy, neat, and ready for an expected bushel of visitors.

This was the only time of year that Mammoth saw more people stop than drive by. Those folks would probably get hungry—the smart ones would seek out a real meal close by, rather than deep fried food and funnel cakes. Had they prepared for enough extra stock at the diner? Probably not.
Have to remedy that when I get back,
she thought, calculating the order in her head.

Jake ran like he could go all day, keeping a pace that she had to work to match.

Something was bothering him other than his announcement at church. Cabin fever? A case of jangling nerves? Nothing cured that like a jog around one of the prettiest parks on earth.

They passed the squat, brick building of the park center, opting to jog on the dirt path edging the rushing water. Ducks flew off toward the lake as they tromped over the freshly stained redwood bridge. She matched his strides, grateful for the shade from broad-trunked oaks, leaves shimmering in the sunlight. The constant babble of water, pounding of feet, and steady breathing worked its magic. Muscles loose, thoughts free as the breeze on her skin.

Jake ran up and paused before the bronze plaque that explained the river head aquifer. The cross-section picture depicted water rising from a fissure in the earth, the natural river forced up through a crack to this stone-lined pool—the scientific explanation for the aquifer's presence, not nearly as elegant as the Native American legend on the next sign.

Jake swiped a hand across his perspiring brow. “A constant water temperature of fifty-eight degrees,” he read aloud with the wonder of a kid in school. “No matter what season?”

“That's what they say.” She wiped her own face with the corner of her t-shirt. “Cold is cold.”

He scanned the myth of the native chief. “Funny where ‘why' stories come from, isn't it?”

She shrugged, scanned the story. “A chief comes to bury his son, who died searching for water during a drought. The water comes out of the newly dug grave, never to go dry again. I always thought the myth kind of ironic.”

“I'd go more with tragic than ironic.” He stared back at the lake. “Seems this place was born in tragedy.”

“Kind of like Eden and me.” She kept her stare level, sure of what he was thinking.

He opened, and then closed his mouth. So he knew when to keep silent.

In the distance, a team of workers called orders and answered back to each other. The rides and freak shows would be in full swing by the end of the week.

“Hear that? Let's go check it out.” She turned and pushed on down the path, not waiting.

Lilah ran beyond playground swing sets, monkey bars, and scattered outbuildings, and into the dapple-lit forest. She went cross country star again, dodging limbs and rocky outcroppings. The pastor wanted to see the park, the spring, so she'd show him.
Mamma ran away, pregnant too young. Took her reasons to her grave
. Skidding on loose gravel, Lilah slid down the hill on her rump, scratches pierced thigh to knee.

“Lilah!”

Chewing back choice words, she stood, dusted off, and twisted to view the back of her leg. With a hiss, she touched raw skin. Bright dots of blood and two long scratches. Beautiful.

“Where's the fire?” Hand outstretched, Jake pulled her to stand. “You OK?”

“Yeah.” She judged her weight on the leg. “Nothing damaged. Except maybe my pride.”

“What was that about?” He placed a steadying hand on her arm. “You turned into a gazelle all of a sudden.”

“Just—felt good to run off track. I'm just not the sixteen-year-old cross country star anymore, you know?”

“Who is?” He released her.

“It's just this time of year. This place.” Lilah plucked a leaf from her shorts, the pain of her injury an ache to match her heart. The approaching anniversary of her mother's death and her birthday, as always, tied in a big messy bow. “Bad memories for all of us...”

“Bound to be hard on all of you.” He pulled her to stop. “Do you want to talk about this?”

“Not really, no.”

“So, we'll look at the field, then head to Earl's Kitchen. Dinner. On me?”

“On my day off?”

“Sure.”

“Only if we go Dutch. My papers aren't back yet.”

He nodded. “Any word on that happening soon?”

“Just a waiting game.”

“Dutch.” Jake stuffed hands in pockets as they re-found the trail to town. “Let's stay on the path this time.”

They walked the rest of the way, side by side, to the field reserved for the Cherokee Spring congregation's annual Revival.

She couldn't tell which was worse—her own or her mother's bad choices.

 

 

 

 

16

 

“Thanks for dinner.” Jake smiled.

Lilah mirrored his slow blooming happiness, as she hesitated in the door frame. She glanced at the two teens in the corner booth. “You sure you're OK to close?”

“Fine. Go on now and stay out of trouble, you two.” Eden corralled her twin in a hug

Lilah followed Jake out the door, up the hill, with only Riverview Drive to separate them.

Eden was alone with her miserable throbbing feet, two more customers, and a night full of worry. Returning to the office, she slipped off a silver sequined tennis shoe. “Why'd I ever think these were a good idea?”

“Because you can't resist the bling.” Ray laughed, snapped behind her knee with the towel. “Who cares if they feel like boards strapped to your feet, right?”

“Funny.” She perched on the counter and rubbed out the ache at the ball of her foot. “And true. I wanna go home.”

“So tell Andy and Charla to leave.” Raymond dragged his bandanna off, turned to the mirror by the back door and swept a hand through his dark hair. “But you won't, will you?”

“Nah. They can finish their sodas.” Eden switched feet and rubbed the other one. “Turn up the radio for them, will you? Where else do these two kids have to go?”

Raymond obliged.

The singer begged a boy to see that he belonged with her. The words set Eden's own heart to tugging.

“Where'd you go when you were that age?” Raymond squirted soda in two glasses and passed one to Eden.

“Charla's what, now? A year younger than you?”

He nodded. “Seventeen.”

Her mind drifted back to senior year. She'd been on the cheerleading squad, up for homecoming queen. Lilah's big cross-country race. The talk of three counties, even a nod from the local paper—small town twin sisters with big aspirations.

When forced to choose between staying to win the crown or watching Lilah in the cross-country tournament, there'd been no contest. Eden conceded in order to cheer for her sister, and Charla's perfect mother, Emma, wore the crown. That was fine with Eden. She had different ideas of what happily ever after looked like. At the time, it looked like Marty.

“Spill, Eden.” Raymond sat, arms resting on the chair back. “That far-off look tells me you got a great story.”

Eden's memories bloomed so big they wouldn't stay inside. “Marty graduated the year before.” She described the boy who'd cheered next to her on the bleachers and then stole her heart. “He'd never paid me much mind, though we'd practically grown up together. You know the type. Not tall, but cut in the best of ways. Muscles out to here.” She gestured, laughed. “Oh, it felt so good to be held in those arms. So warm. So safe. As if nothing in the world would ever touch me.”

“Oh, this is getting good.” Ray tilted his head back in a laugh. “So what happened to Mr. Perfect Marty? Where is he now?”

“He only had a few days' leave, in town to see his family before heading–well,” Eden slow blinked, “before heading to war.”

“Always you with the soldiers.”

“Hmm.” Eden's eyes darted closed in memory. “He was the first. The one. I knew it the first time he kissed me. We wrote. So many letters we had to number them when mailing. No email or cellphones back then, you know. Or texting.” She muffled a laugh at the horrified wonder on Raymond's face. “Life just poured out of both of us, and longing for the future. Marty signed up for another tour of duty. He wanted to buy us a house on the GI Bill, give me a proper wedding. I had big dreams and went on and on about them. Never thought how hard he worked, how much he sacrificed to try and give me what I wanted.”

Raymond stayed stock-still, hands curled around the backrest, eyes wide and waiting. Both pretended not to hear his cellphone buzzing in his pocket. He waved a circle. “Go on.”

“Marty came back six months later.” She chewed her lip. “We buried him in the Mammoth cemetery, next to his grandparents. His mama never was the same. They moved away, said it was too painful to stay. She did give me this, though...”

Eden dragged the long chain from around her neck, fished out the band of gold, the bright and shining trio of diamonds. “He'd told me he had something special made just for me.”

Raymond's gaze washed with emotion as he clasped her hand. “Girl, that's not the story I expected from you.”

“Yeah.” She forced a wooden smile, pressing back tears. “T-telling, I know.”

“So that's why you write to those boys in Afghanistan?”

“No.” She dropped the chain back into her shirt. “Marty has nothing to do with that.”

“You can't tell me you're not thinking of him every time you put pen to paper.” Raymond dazzled a confiding grin. “Are you writing to them? Or are you writing to Marty?”

The song switched to the lonesome croon of another country singer.

“Time to close.” Eden put her shoe back on, hopped off the counter, and leaned around the corner. “Charla! You let Andy walk you straight home, and I mean it. No long-cuts through the park!”

“Yes, Miss Dale.” Charla grinned, her fingers knit through Andy's as they stepped into the night.

“Kids.” Eden checked her reflection in the pie case window, swiped frosty-pink lipstick across, and smacked her lips. “You go on, Ray. I'll close up.”

“You sure?”

“Don't you have a date or something?”

“Band practice.” Raymond tossed his apron into the laundry bin. He kissed her on the cheek, brotherly, sweet, and flipped the closed sign. “G'night, Eden.”

She turned to clear the table. The band of gold whispered against the chain at her neck as she stacked dishes to wash. She paused at the song on the radio, a man singing how his dear friend walked with Jesus, sayin', “Don't worry about me...”

“Really?” She cast a watery glare at the ceiling. The dam broke. Tears spilled. For Marty, for what they'd missed, for the shattered dreams and box of letters under her bed, tied with a ruby string. Eden quaked with a fresh rush of grief. She clutched the counter.

Somehow, she got through the song. She finished her chores as the West Plains station went to commercial. Restaurant dark and locked, she set towards home beneath the stars. In the distance, a storm cloud lit with electricity. Eden hummed as she made the trek uphill, from one amber streetlight to the next, singing near-forgotten words. How many nights had she and Marty trained their eyes up to those constellations, drawn the pictures and picked their stars that they could each see—drawing comfort in knowing that the same stars shone on them both.

But now she was alone.

 

 

 

 

 

17

 

With the house scented with flavors of butter, baking, and warm fruit, Lilah plunged her hands into soapy water. She was still scrubbing when the door slammed. One thump, two, her twin sister shucked shoes and padded down the hall toward the bathroom. Water pipes rattled.

“Must've been a long day.” Lilah hefted cobbler to counter, steam rising. Maybe she should take it over to the church now, a pick-me-up for the volunteers transporting supplies to the Revival tents. The volunteers were her friends now. She should let the cobbler cool, along with whatever intentions she wasn't admitting. “Did you see any cars over at the church?”

“No.” Water splashed. “Go look yourself, if you're so curious.”

Darting a look through the front window showed no action, but the handful of envelopes peeking out of Eden's purse caught her attention. Still sealed. Usually those letters came and Edie would rip into them, devour each word, and then reread the good parts aloud, following Lilah around with them until she wanted to scream. What was with Edie's sudden emotional jag? There was only one thing possible. Yet Eden hadn't spoken of it in ages. Marty. Heart jogging, she knew Eden needed cobbler and company more than Jake did.

“You gonna be in there long?” Lilah rapped a knuckle to the door.

“Go away.”

“It's a one bathroom house, Eden.” She leaned on the wood door. “You can't stay in there forever.”

“Try me.”

“I've got fresh triple berry cobbler, cold milk, and a shoulder.” Lilah pressed her forehead on the wood frame. “Come out when you're ready.”

Thirty minutes later, Lilah flipped magazine pages in her usual place on the couch.

Eden wandered in, plate of cobbler in hand, white terry cloth robe wrapped around her body, hair in a towel-turban. Washed clean of makeup, she mirrored Lilah's skin tone, shape of face, and blonde lashes.

“You want to talk about it?” Lilah asked.

“Nope.” Eden swallowed, speared another bite. “I thought this was for the church?”

“There's another in the oven.” Lilah dragged her plate from the trunk-turned coffee table. “Don't think they'll notice.”