“Why?” Like Keeper, I’m yearning something bad to see Miss Lydia. I am craving a VISITATION with my mama.
Clever yanks on my shirttail to get my attention. “Billy’s right, ya know. Didn’t occur to me back at the cottage, but anybody with half a brain could figure out that Wonders is the first place we’d head.”
“Thanks, Kid. That was a real thoughtful thing to say.”
“Shoot. Ya know I didn’t mean it like that.”
We’re all quiet for a bit while trying to negotiate the place in the path that’ll let ya slip into the lake before ya know it.
“Would Browntown be an appropriate place to hide?” I ask Billy.
“Probably not with the way they’re so worked up.”
“But
Keeper sneezes in threes. We smell it then, too. Winding its way through the woods. Smoke.
When we get farther down the trail, we can see flaming fingers tickling at the belly of the sky.
“Oh, my sweet Jesus,” Clever says. When I turn, she’s bent over at the waist, steadying herself against a coffee tree.
“What is it?” Billy asks, coming up next to her.
“Don’t know. I’m feelin’ puny.” Clever reaches for my hand. Hers feels like a chicken gizzard.
For my ears only, Billy says, “She needs to rest. If we don’t lay her down for a bit, her baby might come ’fore it’s ready.”
We can’t go forward on account of the fire and we can’t go back to the cottage because of the sheriff and Willard. “We’re surrounded,” I whisper.
By the trapped look on his face, I can tell Billy has pieced that together, too.
“Caroool,” Willard starts up again.
“The only reason they’re huntin’ us down is they think we still got the map, right?” I ask Billy. “Let’s just tell them what happened.That we got ambushed by Sneaky Tim Ray and Cooter, and that they’re the ones they oughta be chasin’, not us.”
“Ya sure you wanna take that chance? Ya know how the sheriff can get,” Billy cautions.
He’s right. LeRoy Johnson gets a heap of pleasure from hurting others. ’Specially brown-skinned ones, but not limited to.
I cup my hand over Clever’s mouth, too late. A groan escapes her lips.
“Ya hear that?” LeRoy says off to our right.
“What?” Willard says.
They’re statue-still. We’re statue-still.
Until the sheriff cracks the silence wide open. “Sumbitch! You smell that? Somethin’s burning in Browntown. I gotta get over there right quick.”
“But what about the map?” Willard keens. “If we don’t get it back, they’re gonna figure out what we’re up to.”
By how far off they sound, I can tell they’ve already turned back toward town, the sheriff’s voice trailing off with, “… ya damn carpetbagger.”
Sweeping Clever up in his arms, Billy says, “The best place for us would be up at the cave.”
“All right,” I say, giving Keep a kiss on his noggin. “Ya know a lot more about hidin’ out than me.”
I’m sorry I said that the minute it comes outta my mouth, because that made Billy remember Vietnam even more than he was, so he shrinks a bit. But then, I don’t know, he seems to get a little straighter, bolder, after he makes the turn down the path that’ll take us to Blackstone Cave. The smoke is billowing and smelling of… burnin’ rubber? Clever has gone quiet, which is not at all like her.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t take her to the hospital?” I ask him, getting so ascared as we draw closer to the flames. Billy doesn’t answer me, just keeps missioning his way, not giving me much choice but to follow, and think while I’m doing so, the coloreds don’t like white people anymore and here we are.
We could almost reach out and touch Browntown.
The Hideout
Billy’s just the opposite of me. A person who DOES NOT need stimulation of any kind. When he’s far off from the hustle and bustle of life, hugged up secure by Mother Nature, he feels less perturbed. He’s done a nice job of housekeeping Blackstone Cave. Even though he won’t move outta his tent down at the creek and back up here ’til first frost, his larder is ordered and well stocked. The floor swept clean like you’d expect from an army man. This was a good choice as a hideout, sitting like it does at the top of a hill where you can see down to both Browntown and Land of a Hundred Wonders. Which is probably one of the reasons he chose it as his winter home in the first place. Nothing can sneak up on him here.
Clever’s snores are bouncing off the cave walls. She curled up on a sleeping bag right after we filled our bellies with cowboy beans. I rubbed her back and sang that “Hush Little Baby” lullaby while Billy went and scouted what’s goin’ on in Browntown. That was so brave of him. When he came back up the hill, lookin’ sooty, he told me, “You can quit your worryin’. It’s not Miss Florida’s house or Mamie’s or any of your other favorite places that’s burnin’. It’s the dump. That’s why it smells so bad and the smoke’s so thick. It’s all them tires.”
“The dump’s on fire?” I asked, picturing that swell of trash that welcomes ya to Browntown.
“And a couple of those shacks sit next to it.”
“Are they workin’ on puttin’ it out?”
Billy sets his head to shakin’. “It’s the damnedest thing, Gib. The coloreds… they’re all dancin’ and drinkin’ round that fire. Like they’re celebratin’.”
“WHAT?”
“I think they set the fire themselves.”
“Oh, Billy, that’s silly!” He must be havin’ another one of his confused spells. “Why would they do somethin’ like that?”
He didn’t have an answer.
Now I’m locked on what’s looming behind him. Our names slashed across the big black boulder that sits outside the mouth of the cave. GIBBY and BILLY are lassoed by a heart of red paint. We’re lying side by side, but not touching, on a blanket in front of the campfire.
Noticing my gaze, Billy says softly, “The rock’s the reason I kept askin’ ya to come up here with me. I heard that if a person who’s lost their memory is shown something familiar, something real important to them, that sometimes it
Tossing a kindling stick into the campfire, I ask him, “We used to be more than just friends?”
If he had a hat, it’d be in his hands. “Ya could say that.”
I look back up at the boulder. CLEVER is painted off to one side, opposite GEORGIE. Down at the bottom is COOTER. It’s funny how our names still shine so bright, the moonlight glancing off them. You’d think life woulda worn them down some. Like it did us. None of us are what we were back then. Most of all-Georgie.
Billy’s so desperate for me to remember. He’s running the tip of his tongue over his lush lips.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Nuthin’ seems to be comin’ back.”
“It’s all right,” he says with a downhearted smile. “Maybe it takes a little time, is all.”
