Arty was three blocks from home, pedaling into the dark with a rack full of papers, when he heard the familiar sound of his father blasting away on the horn. Six in the morning and most of the town still asleep, but his father didn’t care. He stiffened his heart and his right leg and pushed back on the brake, no sense pretending he didn’t hear.
At first he thought his father had discovered that he snuck out last night, but he shelved that thought as quickly as it came. He wouldn’t be coming after him in the truck if he was pissed. When his dad was pissed he couldn’t sleep till he hit something. He would have been waiting up if he knew Arty hadn’t been at home last night, belt in hand, and Arty would have felt its sting way before he would have folded paper one.
He put the kickstand down and rubbed his hands together against the cold. The pickup backfired as Bill Gibson downshifted and the tires chirped when his dad popped the clutch. Bill Gibson was never easy on anything or anyone, not clutches, wives-Arty’s mom was his dad’s fourth wife-or his son.
The pickup drew closer and Arty saw the shotgun in the gunrack behind his father. So he was going shooting today. That explained why he was up so early, but not why he had come chasing after him. It couldn’t be good, nothing his father ever did was good.
“ Hey, son,” Bill Gibson said.
“ Yeah, Dad?” Arty tensed. His father never called him son. It was almost friendly.
“ Can you give me some money? I’m a little flat and I need some shells.” Arty recognized the lie immediately. His father was too cheap to buy shells and he was too lazy to load his own. He had Arty do it, but Arty wasn’t about to mention it, because it would be like calling him a liar and that couldn’t be good.
“ How much?” It wasn’t fair. They had an unwritten rule. Arty’s paper route money was his. He bought his own clothes and paid for his own lunches at school. None of the other kids had to do that. He needed his money.
“ Twenty bucks.” His father had opened the door of the truck and the dome light came on, illuminating a two day stubble and a wicked mean look in his eyes. Arty shuddered as his father stepped down, spitting a cigarette in the street. He wanted to tell him no, but he knew the consequences and didn’t want to suffer them, especially not on the street at the beginning of his route.
“ That’s gonna leave me real short, Dad,” Arty said. He had three hundred and sixty dollars hidden in an envelope, taped behind his top dresser drawer, but he was hoping he would never have to use it, because he was saving up to run away.
“ I’ll pay you back,” Bill Gibson said, yawning and acting like he meant it, but Arty knew he’d never see the twenty again. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He sighed and took out the money, four fives and three ones.
“ Here you go, Dad.” He separated the fives from the ones and handed them toward his father.
“ That all you got?”
“ I had to pay for the new tires for the bike. I gave Mr. Wilkes the money yesterday, right after I got paid.”
“ Damn.”
“ But you said you only wanted twenty.”
“ I lied.” His father snatched the remaining three dollars from his other hand.
“ How am I gonna pay for lunch?”
“ Not my problem, boy.” Bill Gibson turned away from his son. He climbed back into the truck, settled behind the wheel, slapped a mosquito on the back of his neck, then popped a cigarette into his mouth.
Arty watched till the truck turned the corner at the end of the block and he was worried. If his father started taking his money on a regular basis, he would have to raid his stash, something he didn’t want to do. He would have to run away much sooner than he’d planned.
“ Arty and Carolina sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Arty heard the voice singing out of tune and turned to see Brad Peters coming up the walk behind them, wearing a black leather jacket over a white tee shirt. He hated that song. Why couldn’t Brad leave them alone?
“ Hurry,” Arty said, “he can’t bother us once we get inside.” He took her by the elbow and started pushing her at a faster pace toward the safety of the school doors. The last thing he wanted was trouble with Brad.
He wanted to look behind to see if Brad had sped up, but he continued on, like he hadn’t heard the bully behind. Sometimes that worked with his father, especially if he’d been drinking. But sometimes it only made him madder, and those were the times when he really lit into him.
“ K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Brad repeated, too loud to be ignored, but they were almost to the steps and Arty decided to risk a glance behind to see how close he was. Turning his head, he saw that Brad was too far to catch them before they were inside the school and he felt a surge of warm relief. Now he could only hope that someone else would irritate Brad enough during the school day to take his mind off of whatever mischief he had planned for him.
“ Look!” Carolina grabbed onto Arty’s arm and pointed. “There!” Arty faced back forward, looked up and sighed, then stopped. In front of them, barring their way up the concrete steps, were Brad’s shadows, Ray Harpine and Steve Kerr, both dressed in Levi’s and white tee shirts, the standard uniform of Brad’s small gang. Only Brad wore the black leather mantel of leadership.
Arty’s first impulse was to run, but he was too fat and too slow and besides he would never leave Carolina alone. Even if the bullies would never hurt a girl, he couldn’t leave her. He quivered, but he stood his ground. They might tease him, but they would never thump him right in front of the school. That was too close to trouble, even for Brad.
“ First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Arty pushing a baby carriage.”
“ Funny, Brad, real funny,” Arty said. Arty hated to be embarrassed and embarrassing him was something Brad was good at, just like his father. He wished he knew how to fight. Sometimes he would stretch out in bed and dream that he was slim, tough and not afraid of anyone.
“ Got a girlfriend, Arty?” Ray came down the steps with Steve following behind. Both boys cast long early morning shadows and the sun reflecting off their pale white faces gave them a ghostly pallor. Steve cracked a knuckle and Ray farted.
“ Yeah, got a girlfriend?” Steve echoed. The bullies laughed.
But Arty wasn’t laughing. He wanted to clench his fists against his fear, but was afraid the bullies would take that as a sign of aggression. “I’m not hearing anything funny. Sorry guys.” He tried to sound calm, but couldn’t quite pull it off. He could never fool his bully of a father either.
“ He’s not hearing anything funny, guys,” Brad said through a false smile and hooded eyes. He was wearing his camouflaged duck hunting cap and he tilted it up.
Ray moved behind him, but Arty didn’t want to take his eyes off Brad. He reminded him of a zoo snake stuck in a glass cage.
“ Shoot any furry little animals lately, Brad?” Carolina said. Brad went hunting with his father every weekend.
“ What’s it to ya,” Brad said.
“ Must make you feel like a big man,” Carolina said.
“ We don’t just do it for fun. We eat what we kill,” Brad said, defending himself.
“ Most people buy their meat at the store,” she said.
“ Yeah, and most people eat meat.”
“ I don’t eat it because I like animals,” she said.
“ Yeah, and me and my dad go hunting because we like animals, too. We like to eat ’em. So there.”
Ray got down on his hands and knees behind Arty. Arty suspected something was wrong, because Brad’s fake smile turned into a real one and he seemed to be looking beyond them, but before he could turn his head to find out what was going on, Brad let out a loud laugh and said, “Hey, Arty guess what?”
“ What?” Arty answered without thinking.
“ This!” Brad planted a hand on Arty’s chest and shoved him backward. Arty’s knees met something and buckled. He screamed as he fell over the boy on his hands and knees behind him, throwing his arms up and sending Carolina’s books flying.
“ That’s not funny, Brad,” Carolina said. Her face went red, but she was wise enough to say no more.
“ Yes it is,” Brad laughed. “It’s as funny as you not eating meat.” He pretended to brush some lint off his leather jacket, turned and said, “Come on, guys.” Ray got up off the ground, also laughing and, along with Steve Kerr, followed Brad up the steps and into the school, leaving Arty humiliated among a throng of smiling and snickering students.
“ Let me help you up,” Carolina said.
“ I can do it.” He rolled from his back onto his stomach, pushed himself up into a crouch, then stood and brushed himself off as Carolina was picking up the books.
“ Are you okay?” Arty saw real concern in her eyes and appreciated it.
“ Boy, I hate them.” He reached into his hip pocket, took out a plastic comb and ran it through his hair with two quick strokes, then put it back.
“ Me, too.” She tucked her books under her arm.
“ Let’s go.” He led off, with her following, up the steps and down the hall, toward their classroom.
“ I’m gonna start taking karate lessons,” he said, turning toward her.
“ What? Where?”
“ Parks and Recreation are starting karate lessons in Tampico. Four o’clock on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”
“ How are you going to get there?” She brushed hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.
“ Bus. It leaves from school at three-twenty.” He stopped walking and faced her. “I’m tired of those guys pushing me around. I wanna be able to fight back.”
“ How much does it cost?”
“ Parks and Recreation don’t charge. It’s free.”
“ Can I come, too?”
“ Sure,” he said with a wide smile lighting up his face. “I was hoping you would. I’d hate to go there all by myself.”
“ I can hardly wait.” She seemed excited.
“ There’s just one small problem.”
“ What?”
“ My parents would never let me do something like that, so I had to lie to them.”
“ What did you tell them?”
“ I told them I was going there to take Spanish lessons, so I guess I gotta learn that, too.”
“ Excellent,” she said. “I’ll tell my mom the same thing. We’ll buy some tapes and study on Tuesdays and Thursdays when we don’t have karate lessons. No one will ever know.”
“ My parents will never let me study with a girl. I’ll have to lie about that, too.”
“ So, lie,” she said.
“ I will,” he smiled.
Sarah opened the top drawer of her teacher’s desk without looking at the class. She took out a framed photograph, glanced at the clock, then lowered her eyes back to the photograph. She looked so happy, he did too. They were staring out of the photograph, arm in arm, both in bathing suits, her hair wet, her smile real-now she wondered about his.
She flexed her fingers and bit herself on the inside of her cheek to hold back the tears. Another quick glance at the clock told her she had a minute left. She wasn’t smiling or frowning as she pulled the picture out from the glass frame and dumped it in the wastebasket.
The bell rang.
She stood, faced the flag and put her hand over her heart.
“ I pledge allegiance to the flag,” the children’s voices rang out, but for the first time since she’d begun her teaching career she wasn’t listening. Her thoughts were about last night and early this morning and the suitcase in the trunk of her car.
He ran.
He’d left her.
He had every right to be afraid. Lord knows she’d been afraid. But she didn’t run when she had the chance. She couldn’t, not when John Coffee had that knife at his throat. His life was as precious to her as her own.
“ Of the United States of America.”
How could he do such a thing? A man that would do that, run away and leave his wife, ranks right down there with child molesters and pornographers. How could she have been so fooled by him?
Well it was over now.
Now she would have to face her friends.
It was going to be so humiliating.
“ And the republic for which it stands.”
But infinitely better than getting up in the morning with him beside her. To have to look over at his beautiful face as the sun blessed it with its morning glow and to know it was a coward’s face.
The true blue eyes that lied when he said he’d die for her that day on the river. The honest smile that lied when he said she was the most important thing in his life that day when they were holding hands in the park. The square Dick Tracy jaw that should have shored up the face of a strong man, but instead hung on to the bottom of a liar’s.
All lies.
The only thing he cared about was himself.
“ One nation indivisible.”
Indivisible, was that like, till death do us part? Because if it was, then the nation was in trouble. But something did die when he opened that door. Her respect for him. And she couldn’t love a man she didn’t respect. But this morning, looking down at his beautiful face while he slept, and he was beautiful, handsome didn’t describe him, she wavered. She’d thought with time she could gain that love back. She could make him be a better man than he was.
“ Under God.”
She’d resolved to make her new marriage work, and got out of bed to make the morning tea. She’d always liked coffee, one of the many things she’d given up to please him, but she’d learned to appreciate a good cup of tea with milk. She was dipping the tea bag for the fifth and final time, he liked his tea just so, when he came into the kitchen wearing his jogging sweats.
“ Morning,” she had said.
“ It was your fault,” he’d said. His blue eyes were hard, his square jaw was set.
“ I don’t understand?” She’d said, searching for some softness in his face.
“ I told you we shouldn’t have stopped,” he’d said.
“ With liberty and justice for all.”
“ It’s over,” she had said, gaining back the precious liberty she had surrendered to him when she obviously should have know better.
“ What about my Volvo?” was his only response.
“ You can report it stolen tomorrow,” she’d said, giving John Coffee an extra day to do what he had to do.
“ Easy for you to say, you still have your car.”
“ It’s not my fault.”
“ What if I want to call the police now, today?”
“ I think he’d probably come for you,” she’d lied.
“ Yeah, well, if you think it’s best, I’ll call the police and the insurance tomorrow.”
“ I do.”
“ Have it your way,” he’d said, going out the door.
She was packed and gone before he’d returned.
“ Miss Sadler,” it was Carolina’s voice, she looked up. “The pledge is over.”
“ Sorry, I had my mind somewhere else.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “I have some news for you,” she said. “I’ve never lied to you. I think it’s important to always tell the truth.”
She was wringing her hands as she talked, glancing from student to student, trying to take them all in, but she was having a hard time this morning.
“ I’m getting a divorce.”
The class was whisper silent, even Brad Peters. People got divorced, sure. But not less than a week after they got married. Something must have happened. And they all wanted to know what. She had their attention like she’d never had it before.
“ I’ve got some good news and some bad news. I asked for my job back, but it’s already been taken.”
A few of the kids sighed, Arty and Carolina among them.
“ That’s the bad news. The good news is that I’ll be teaching at the junior high, next year, homeroom and social studies.”
Then Arty did something completely out of character, he started clapping. Carolina joined in followed by Lynda Bingham, then by another kid, then another, till the whole class was clapping, even Brad Peters.
“ Thank you class. She wiped the tears away and after the applause died down she took in the whole class with the special way she had and smiled. “There is one thing, though. The first person to call me Mrs. Chase gets an F for the semester, and in case you’re wondering, Mr. Peters, you have the lowest grade in my book and it’s a C.”
“ Alright,” Brad said. “Thank you Miss Sadler.”
“ I’ll only be with you till noon today, then Miss Weber will take over for the rest of the week, while I take care of some personal business, but don’t panic and don’t despair,” she said with a little laugh, “I’ll be back first thing next Monday morning as usual and I’ll remain till the end of the term.” She smiled and looked over her class.
“ Now, for today’s first lesson,” she said, sounding like her old self. And she felt like her old self. Her life wasn’t over, it was just beginning.
During the course of the morning she studied Carolina, but the girl was behaving as she always did. She was alert, attentive and eager, a delightful child. She certainly showed no sign of any undue stress in her life. She wished she could ask her about the dark brooding man that was her father, but she didn’t want to be the bearer of sadness to the child.
As the morning wound down she found herself wondering if she was doing the right thing by taking the time off. But something strange had happened last night and she was determined to find out what it was and she wanted to know more about the man who called himself a thief.
Sarah wiped the sweat off her brow as she made her way to her yellow VW Beetle in the parking lot. She had changed in the teacher’s lounge and was wearing tight fitting Levi jeans and a loose fitting Levi jacket. She was warm, despite the overcast sky, and she walked with a brisk pace, her worn leather cowboy boots clicking on the pavement, her new hiking shoes and socks in the bag under her arm. She usually took a hike in the woods during lunch hour, but today she was just too depressed and the only thing that seemed to perk her up was thinking about the mysterious John Coffee.
There were only two places he could be staying. The Tampico Motel across the way, or the Pine Tree Motel by the highway. She didn’t think he’d be staying in town, not with Miles’ Volvo. Besides he’d said he wanted to go out to the highway, so she figured he was out at the Pine Tree.
She unlocked the driver’s door and flicked one of the three bells she had safety pinned to the headliner. She liked the soft music they made on bumpy roads, quick turns and going in and out of driveways. Getting in, she reached over to the passenger side and flicked another, then she started the car and flicked the third. Three tinkling rings for good luck, a ritual she never started the car without.
She jingled out of the parking lot and thought about putting in a tape, but decided against it, instead deciding to roll down the window and listen to the sound of the surf as she drove along Across the Way Road toward Tampico. She drove straight through the town, not even thinking about Miles as she headed for Solitude River Road, that twisty, curvy road that sometimes followed the river to Highway 1.
She sat back and relaxed once she was clear of the town. She’d driven the road so many times that the car knew the way. She loved the drive through the forest. It was so quiet and peaceful. She felt like every tree was her friend, their branches, arms waving in the breeze. It was a rare occasion that she drove straight through. What took the average driver fifteen or twenty minutes usually took her an hour or more. She loved to stop and get out of the car and inhale the forest, but today she planned on making the drive in average time.
She was reliving the night before, telling herself that there had to be a logical explanation for the crazy things that had happened, when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Something out of place. Something that didn’t belong among her tree friends. She glanced right, but it was gone.
Another day she might have stopped to investigate, but she was taking no foolish chances after last night. No more than the big one she was already taking. Last night John Coffee told her to leave town. She had ignored him, thinking he had to be over exaggerating, hoping he was over exaggerating.
Then she saw the wolf, standing by the side of the road as she came around a turn. Not threatening, just there. She was past it before she had time to be afraid, but she tensed her grip on the wheel and inched the accelerator down a bit, allowing the speed to climb from twenty-five to thirty-five, until she was far enough ahead of it so that it posed no danger to her.
She eased off the gas as she rounded another turn and saw it again. This time she felt a shiver and drove over to the left, on the wrong side of the road, to put as much distance between herself and it as she went past, and once again she put her foot down on the gas, only this time she put it to the floor.
A horn blared and she forgot the wolf as she jerked the wheel back to the right. The roar of the tanker’s horn, mingled with the sound of its mammoth engine, shot through her and she felt the blast of wind as the truck-beast roared by, missing her car by a margin too thin to mention.
She hung on to the wheel and slowed down, continuing on toward the highway. She heard a wolf howl in the distance when she rounded the next turn. She rolled her window up, keeping her eyes glued to the road as she let the speedometer creep up to fifty, faster than she had ever driven on the winding road before.
Ten minutes later she jingled up the driveway into the parking lot of the Pine Tree Motel. She didn’t expect to see the Volvo backed up to one of the rooms pointing out her quarry, so she was surprised when she did. The front end didn’t seem to be damaged and that surprised her, because the force and sound of the impact when she hit the wolf had been violent and loud.
She parked her car at the far end of the lot, not sure what to do. Should she brazenly walk up to the door pointed out by the Volvo’s rear end and knock, or sit in her car and wait. She couldn’t sit alone in the parking lot for long. She’d be noticed and someone would call the manager. She wondered how the police staked out a suspect without being seen. Surely they didn’t sit in their cars in broad daylight and wait for them to make a move.
She didn’t have to wonder long, because the door behind the Volvo opened and John Coffee came out. He walked to the car, like it was his, unlocking the door with his head down. She would have expected him to be casting furtive glances around the parking lot, but instead he acted like he was doing nothing wrong.
He eased himself into the car, supporting himself by holding one hand onto the back of the seat and the other on the door. She could tell it was a struggle and she winced with sympathy pains as he arranged himself behind the wheel. He was taking his time. He wasn’t concerned about being followed.
He was wearing sunglasses, but they couldn’t hide the bruised and scabbed over face. She put a hand up to her cheek and felt her heart go out to him. He could be miles away by now, but he wasn’t. He had trusted her, believed her when she said she wouldn’t call the police. He had put his life in her hands. She wanted to know more.
But when he drove out of the parking lot, she knew it would be useless to try and follow. She couldn’t keep up with the Volvo in her old VW Beetle, so she decided to do something for herself for once. She glanced at her watch. She had plenty of time.