One More Knight

interested in anything you’ve got to say. If Pop and Dobie want you back in their lives, that’s their business. I don’t want you in mine, okay? Can I make myself any clearer? And you can take that book with you-there’s nothin’ in there I need to see, nothing you can say I want to hear.” The young voice cracked. He hauled in a breath and pulled himself up, clutching desperately at his pride. “Now, I’d be obliged if you’d leave me alone.”

Listening to that, Troy felt a strange sensation, like a cold wind blowing through him, chilling his body, drowning thought. He had no real sense of how long it was before Charly finally turned around and started back toward him, walking as though the ground underneath her feet were rocky. He didn’t hear anything except for the rushing in his ears as he guided her to the truck with one hand on her elbow. He whistled for Bubba, opened up the door for him when he came running, and it never even occurred to him to mind the mud and water he was bringing in with him. Something primitive in him was wanting to kill the kid for doing this to the woman he loved, even while the reasoning part of him was telling him nobody in this world was hurtin’ any worse than that boy was right then.

Except, of course, for Charly.

Troy helped her into the passenger’s side of the Cherokee the way he would have if she’d been old, or disabled. He shut her door and went around to his side and got in and started up the engine and backed slowly out of the clearing. And all the while she didn’t say a word, didn’t make a sound.

He waited until he’d pulled out onto the highway, then cleared his throat and said, “Well, we probably should’ve expected somethin’ like this. It’s awful early yet. He’ll come around.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said softly, “he won’t. You saw his face.” Troy was getting ready to argue with her when she suddenly gave a sharp little laugh. “He’s got too much of me in him. Lord, it took me twenty years to forgive my father. And I’m expecting him to do it in two days?”

She looked down at the book in her hands, slowly shaking her head, her voice going soft again, tired and sad. “Look, I tried, okay? It’s no use beating my head against the wall. All I’m doing is hurting myself. I don’t need this. I don’t need it.” She caught herself, then went on in a whisper, “At least…I know now. I know he’s okay. And he’s with people who love him. That’s all I wanted…”

“Well,” said Troy, easing his own aching chest with a breath, “maybe what you should do is leave the diary with Dobrina. If anybody can bring that boy around, she-Hey, what are you doing?”

What Charly was doing was rolling her window down. And before he could even think about stopping her, she’d already done it. She’d thrown the diary out of the car.

Troy gasped as he watched the little green book go arcing through the air, over the side of the embankment, to land somewhere in the underbrush below.

“What’d you do that for?” he yelled as he tromped reflexively on the brake, looking wildly around for a place to pull over.

“Just…get me out of here,” she said tersely, rocking herself with her arms folded across her waist, as if she had a bad bellyache. She sounded like her jaws were wired together. “Just…get me away from this town. God…” She leaned back suddenly, lifting her hands to push her hair away from her face in a gesture that was becoming familiar to him, then gave her head that little shake that settled everything back into its proper place. He couldn’t help but think how symbolic that was. “I can’t wait,” she said in a voice that was rough with passion, “to get back to L.A. Back to civilization.”

“Lady,” Troy growled, “you’ve got a pretty peculiar idea of civilization.” He wasn’t sure whether he was mad at her for what she’d done-throwing her diary away-although he was still jangling from the shock of that, for sure. Or the people-the fates-that had hurt her so badly. Or whether it was just the accumulation of everything he’d had to deal with over the past few days. Either way, it had finally happened. He’d reached the end of his rope.

And Charly knew it. She felt the sudden coldness of fear-not of him, not of Troy, she knew he’d never hurt her, not in a million years-but of losing something she hadn’t known was hers until that moment.

“Okay, maybe that was a bad choice of words,” she said, glancing at him uneasily. “I just meant-you know, some place where life is a bit more sophisticated. All this soap-opera stuff is getting to me.”

“Sophisticated.” He said the word, then snorted. “You know, Mirabella says that about you-‘Charly’s so confident, so funny and smart. So cool and sophisticated’-like it was a compliment. Well, hell, lady-let me ask you this-What does that mean, anyway? Can you tell me that?” He threw her a look, but she didn’t reply, and he went back to watching the road while she sat hunched and cold, watching a muscle work in the side of his jaw.

After a while he went on, in the slow, measured way people do when they aren’t used to making speeches. “All I know is, folks who live in small towns, particularly Southern small towns, are supposed to be unsophisticated. And folks who live in big cities are supposed to be sophisticated. So, what is it? Huh? You tell me. Some kind of dress thing? Knowin’ what wine to order? Bein’ in on who’s hip, who’s hot and who’s not? Does it mean big-city folks know more’n small-town folks?”

He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I’ll tell you somethin’, lady-when you live in a small town you learn more about human nature and the dirty little secrets people carry around with them, and what makes for good and evil, than anybody. You oughta know that.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind when she saw he was only thinking, and hadn’t finished yet. She swallowed instead, and it sounded loud in the silence.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment, tilting his head a little to one side, “that’s what sophistication means. Not how much you know, but whether or not you give a rip. Tell me somethin‘-in L.A. when you hear a siren, what do you think about? Do you even notice? Does anybody? In a small town, when folks hear a siren, let me tell you, they notice. They stop what they’re doin’ and they listen, and they’re tryin’ to figure out what kind of siren it is, and where it’s going. And if it comes down their street, they run out on their porches and front lawns to see it, and their hearts are pounding, and they’re wonderin’ who it’s for, which one of their neighbors is in trouble. And after it goes by, five minutes later they’re on the phone to their neighbors, askin’ who is it? What’s wrong? Is everybody okay? Can I help? And if it’s anybody they’re connected to even a little bit, the next day they’re goin’ up the walk with a covered casserole dish in their hands. And come Sunday, you can bet they’re gonna be mentioning those people in their prayers.

“Do they make mistakes sometimes? Do they rush to judgment? Do they gossip and find fault? Act mean and petty sometimes? You bet they do. But they care. Maybe that’s not very sophisticated, but you know what? I don’t care. Because that’s the kind of place I want to live in, where people care about one another, warts and all. And that’s the kind of place I want my kids to grow up in. You can go on back to your sophisticated city folks, lady. Tell you somethin’-peopte live like that because they don’t want the burdens that come from caring, and that’s the truth. And to make themselves feel better about it, less lonely, maybe, they call themselves sophisticated.”

On the last word the Cherokee jerked to a stop. Charly looked up, surprised to see that they were back at the Mourning Springs Motel, parked in front of room 10. Her vision blurred and shimmered.

“Here’s the key,” Troy said in a harsh and gravel-filled voice. “You’re paid up for tonight, if you need it.”

She could only stare at him, cold inside with fear and shock, unable to believe she could have blown it so badly. So suddenly.

His eyes…his beautiful eyes gazed back at her, dark with disappointment and pain. What do you want from me? She knew the answer to that question now-maybe she always had. Something she hadn’t been able to give him, then. Maybe she still couldn’t. But, dear God-had she lost any chance she might have had to try?

“You’re leaving already?” she mumbled. Her lips felt stiff and numb. Please, Troy…please don’t give up on me.

“Time I headed on back.” He was mumbling, too. “Need to get at that nursery job for Mirabella.”

“What about your bag? It’s inside.”

“You can bring it to me when you come. I expect we’ll be seein’ each other. At the wedding…”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Okay…sure, I’ll do that.” He was holding out his hand, giving her the room key. What could she do but take it? And after that…

She groped blindly for the door handle. Jeez. she was thinking, all I’ve done since I got to this damn town is cry. She found it finally and pulled it open. “Well,” she said, “thanks for everything. I really do appreciate all your help.”

“No problem,” said Troy abruptly. “Glad to do it. Listen-” she turned to look at him, and he nodded at her “-I hope everything works out for you. And you let me know how your daddy’s doin’, y’hear?”