Dark River Road Read online

  It was a cold walk from the school to Cinda’s house, but he was used to walking. He’d left school at the end of fifth period, cutting his last class to be able to see Cinda and still get to the vet clinic on time. Mama would probably be mad, but he still had a B average in Math even with the last test when he hadn’t done as well. He’d found out the trick to getting decent grades was always doing his homework and extra assignments, and if he kept up with classwork, a bad test score on occasion didn’t hurt too much.

  This area of Cane Creek was a world away from Sugarditch. St. Clair Road had sidewalks, and lawns that had grass and trees and pretty flowers even in the winter. He’d helped Dempsey plant pansies in some of these yards last fall, and those purple cabbages that bloomed in cold weather. It’d be time soon to rip them out and plant summer flowers. He didn’t think he’d be able to help Dempsey this year. Time was too short.

  Cinda’s house was the biggest on the street. It was a white Colonial-style, with a spacious front porch, columns, and a triple car garage out back. Being mayor must pay pretty well, but he doubted the Sheridans worried about that anyway. Cinda’s mama was a Quinton, Bert Quinton’s daughter, and her brother was Chris’s dad. They had plenty of money.

  He sat on the curb in front of Cinda’s house to wait, legs stuck straight out in front of him. The candy was inside his jacket. Not so much to protect it from the cold as to keep anyone else from seeing it. He’d never given a girl a gift before. Unless he counted Tansy. But she didn’t talk much to him anymore. He missed her. There were things he’d like to ask her. Stuff only a girl would know or tell.

  In a few minutes, he saw Cinda’s mom’s car coming down the street. It was a new gold and black Blazer. They’d bought it in Clarksdale instead of from Dale Ledbetter, but he guessed that was because Mayor Sheridan and Mr. Ledbetter didn’t get along that well since the last town meeting. Mama said Mr. Ledbetter opposed the new budget for county schools the mayor was trying to get the town council to pass. She agreed with Mr. Ledbetter, but mostly because he didn’t like wasting money on unnecessary things like fancy dinners for the school board. And she said the mayor only sent his daughter to public school just to get voted into office anyway, that he didn’t really care about the public education standards.

  He stood up, and saw Cinda look at him with surprise through the tinted glass window. A few feet into the driveway, the car stopped and she got out.

  “Hey,” she said, and shut the door and came to where he stood on the curb. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just . . .it, uh—Happy Valentine’s Day.” He thrust the candy toward her. The bow was a little flat from being under his jacket, but it still looked pretty.

  She smiled up at him, looking so pretty in her pink coat with the fake fur collar, her eyes shiny green with pleasure. “Chantry. I thought you’d forgot.”

  “I didn’t forget.”

  “Come inside. Mom stopped and got some pizza.”

  “I . . . uh . . . can’t. Gotta jet. Have to be at work soon.”

  She took his hand. “Well, you’ve got time for a piece of pizza before you go. We can take you to work so you won’t be late. Come on. Don’t say no. Please?”

  He wanted to stay here with her a little longer, but felt funny about going in her house. It wasn’t that her parents had ever been rude to him, but he got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t who they’d choose for their daughter to hang out with.

  He rocked back on his heels, hesitating, and she immediately pulled him a few feet up the drive with her. “You want to,” she teased, “I can see you do. Come on. Co-cola and pizza. Then a ride. It won’t take five minutes to get you there in the car.”

  “Your mom may not want to give me a ride.”

  “She’ll do it.”

  Mrs. Sheridan was polite, as he’d expected she’d be, but wasn’t overly enthusiastic to see him at her kitchen table. It was warm and bright in the kitchen, with big windows across the rear wall that looked out over the back yard. Everything gleamed like it’d just been polished.

  “How’s your mother, Chantry,” Cinda’s mom asked as she put out blue and white plates, napkins, and got out clean glasses and a big bottle of Coke. “And your brother?”

  “Fine, thank you for asking.” He sat awkwardly, watching Cinda pull the bow on the box of candy and lift the lid. She looked so pretty and pleased that he didn’t mind at all sitting there to watch her even if he felt so uncomfortable.

  Cinda talked about school, music, then what she was wearing to the upcoming dance. She looked at Chantry expectantly. He swallowed his pizza and cut a quick glance at her mother. Mrs. Sheridan had a little frown right between her brows, as if she wasn’t happy.

  “You’ll look pretty,” he said finally, and Cinda gave him a look that said plainly it wasn’t the right answer. He rubbed his hands on his pants, then remembered the napkin he’d been given to use. It was cloth, not paper, and felt too soft to be used to wipe pizza juice on.

  “Well?” Cinda said after a moment. “Are you going to ask me to the dance or not?”

  “Uh, sure. I mean . . . if you want to be there with me.”

  “Cinda dear,” Mrs. Sheridan said quickly, “you know you’re too young to date. And it’s impolite to put Chantry on the spot like that, demanding he ask you to the dance.”

  “No,” he said fast before Cinda could speak up, “I want to ask her. It’s just that I can’t be there early. I don’t get off work until six and the dance starts at seven. And it wouldn’t be a date. We’d just . . . hang out some.”

  The last sounded really lame, and he felt Mrs. Sheridan’s disapproval from across the room by the sink where she stood with a glass of Coke in her hand. She had long red fingernails and the blonde hair that all the Quintons seemed to have, and he guessed she was pretty enough but it was hard to tell when she kept her face so stiff all the time.

  Cinda smiled at him. “That’s okay. I’ll wait for you.”

  Mrs. Sheridan cleared her throat. He thought she intended to say she couldn’t, but then she just said that if Chantry was ready to go, she’d be glad to take him now. Cinda jumped up from her chair and reached for her pink coat, but her mother said she needed to stay home since she’d not done well on her last English test and should study.

  “So you can go to the dance,” she reminded with a smile. “I’ll take Chantry. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

  He didn’t want to talk to Mrs. Sheridan, but there really wasn’t much he could do about it so he got up to follow her outside to the gold Blazer. Cinda came with him, tucking her hand into his and squeezing it. She leaned close.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”

  He shot her a quick look that must have been funny because she laughed, mouth all turned up at the corners so that her dimples cut deep. “Chicken,” she said, and gave his hand another squeeze before letting go. “See you Friday night.”

  Mrs. Sheridan didn’t say anything much until they got to the end of the street and turned onto the road that led to Highway 1. Then she said abruptly, “Cinda is far too young to know her own mind, Chantry. I hope you don’t mind my speaking frankly, but I feel it’s important that I tell you how her father and I feel about her seeing any one boy too much. Cinda is very strong-willed and wouldn’t take kindly to my saying anything like that to her, however. She’d do it just to show us she could. I know her. It’s a Quinton trait to be determined. You seem a nice enough boy, and I know you’re more . . . mature than most young men your age. Therefore, I know you’ll understand if I ask you not to continue a friendship with my daughter that can only be detrimental to her future happiness.”

  He did understand. A lot more than Mrs. Sheridan said, too. It wasn’t a shock that she’d not approve of him being with Cinda. He’d expected it. He looked out the window and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound stupid or betray his sick disappointment, but she wasn’t through.

  “And I’d appreciate it, Ch
antry, if you’d not let Cinda know we had this little conversation. She would be . . . rebellious, I believe. If you truly care about her welfare, you’ll keep this between us.”

  He knew what she meant. She didn’t want any of the blame, just results. Typical Quinton.

  “I get it,” he said after a moment, and she slid him a quick glance that he met steadily. She got a little color in her cheeks that let him know she realized he wasn’t fooled by her real reason for not wanting Cinda to know what she’d said.

  Neither of them said anything else until she pulled into the parking lot in front of the Cane Creek Animal Clinic. Then he just said, “Thanks for the ride,” and got out and shut the door and went inside.

  He didn’t go to the Valentine’s dance. He left work late and Doc dropped him off at the end of Liberty Road well after dark. The dance would have started by now, and Cinda would be looking for him. He should have told her he wasn’t coming. He’d started to stop her at school and tell her, or write her a note, or call her, but he just didn’t. He didn’t know why. Maybe because he knew she’d ask questions and he didn’t have any answers. None that he could tell her, anyway.

  Mama met him at the door, and he could tell by looking at her face that something was up. His first thought was Rainey had done something bad, but then Mama smiled at him and he knew it couldn’t be too terrible.

  “Good news, Chantry.”

  He looked at her warily. “Good news for who?”

  “All of us.” Mama took a deep breath, and then said, “Doctors down in Jackson say they will fix the hole in Mikey’s heart if we take him down there to University Hospital.”

  “What about the money?”

  “They have a fund that will pay most of it. Like St. Jude’s up in Memphis. I just had to get the doctors here to put him on the list.” She put her hands up to her face, fingers pressing against her mouth and her eyes glistening with what looked like tears but could be just happiness. “There is just the paperwork to complete, and then they will set a date. Mr. Quinton said I should be at his office tomorrow afternoon to finalize everything.”

  “What’s he got to do with it? He’s not a doctor.”

  “No, but since he subsidizes our hospital and is on the board, his signature is required on some of the papers. Nothing for you to worry about. Oh, this is so wonderful. I just cannot believe this will soon be over and Mikey will be well. Doctors do amazing things these days, and while there’s always a little danger anytime a person goes under anesthesia, the doctors say Mikey is amazingly strong for all he has been through. Chantry—he is going to be well.”

  He wanted to believe it, too. Mama looked so happy, and if Mikey got well, then maybe it would all be okay. When Mama gave him a big hug he hugged her back so tight it lifted her off the kitchen floor and she laughed, looking beautiful and happy.

  They celebrated with Coke floats. Mikey sat at the kitchen table swinging his legs so hard his braces beat against the chair rungs with a loud clack and Mama didn’t even say anything. It hadn’t started out being a good night, but Chantry guessed it’d turned out pretty good after all.

  After Mikey went to bed, he went outside on the front porch to stand in the cold air by himself for a while. Mama was humming a light tune and Rainey was down at the Tap Room, and he didn’t feel like watching any television or sitting inside. He leaned against the porch post and stared at the dark, empty field across the road. It’d been freshly tilled and he could smell the raw dirt that lay in long furrows. Light gleamed across the way in Dempsey’s house, and he wondered if Tansy was at the Valentine’s dance with Leon Smith.

  Things had definitely changed with her. She wasn’t mean or anything, but never had time for him anymore. He didn’t have to be hit with a brick to figure it out. She’d moved on. She had her own thing going on and there wasn’t time or room for him in her life now. He didn’t blame her, but he did miss her. A lot. They’d been friends ever since he could remember.

  He wished he could tell her about Cinda. It was hard not having anyone to tell him he was being a dumbass like Tansy always did. She’d know if he was screwing up. Maybe it was stupid to just not see Cinda anymore. Not without telling her why, anyway.

  Lights swung onto the gravel road from the blacktop. Traffic didn’t come down Liberty Road unless they were coming to his house or Dempsey’s house since the Albertsons had moved a long time ago. They’d gone off and left their house sitting empty. He watched, and an older model Ford sped down the road like the driver intended to hit the dead end at full speed. Then it braked to a sudden halt, gravel shooting out like bullets. A car door opened, light flashed on in the interior to silhouette the occupants, then the door slammed shut. He heard Tansy shout something just before the car spun around and took off again, roaring back up the road to screech onto the asphalt and take off into the night.

  Maybe things weren’t going so good for Tansy in the boyfriend department, either. As he watched, she just stood at the edge of her yard, staring down the road like she was waiting on the car to come back. It didn’t. She stood there a long time, with the light from the house behind her.

  After a few more minutes, he pushed away from the porch post and walked down the road toward her. He half-expected her to turn around and go inside when she saw him, but she didn’t. She stood there with her hands jammed into her coat pockets and looked at him.

  “Hey Tansy.”

  “Hey Chantry.”

  “You okay?”

  “No. But what else is new.”

  “Yeah. I know. Guess that was Leon?”

  She didn’t answer, just gave him a look that told him to butt out, and he shrugged. “Look, I know we haven’t talked in a while. It’s my fault. I . . . I’m sorry.”

  After a moment she said, “It’s not your fault, Chantry. It’s just . . . I’ve been kinda busy and stuff and just hangin’, ya know?”

  “Sure.” It felt really awkward with her. And kinda sad. She rocked back and forth on her heels a little bit.

  “So,” she said suddenly, “you’re not at the dance. I thought you’d be with Cinda.”

  There was an edge to her tone that told him to be careful. He hesitated then said bluntly, “I guess I won’t be seeing her anymore.”

  Tansy eyed him, light slanting across her face so subtly she looked mysterious and exotic. “She broke up with you? She must be crazy.”

  That made him feel a little better. He shook his head. “No, her mother broke up with me.”

  Tansy stared for a second, then burst into laughter. “Jesus, Chantry, you gotta be kidding me.”

  “Nope.” Somehow it didn’t seem so bad when he was telling it to Tansy, and by the time he told her everything Mrs. Sheridan had said, they were both laughing. They’d walked a ways down the road while talking, and went to sit on the sagging porch steps of the empty house. It sat back from the street in a little patch of high brush, and looked out over the blacktop road several yards away. It was off by itself, and with the bushes left uncut, felt private.

  “I can’t believe she said all that to you,” Tansy said when they stopped laughing. “Like she thinks she’s so much better. I hate it when people do that. It’s not right.”

  They sat quietly for a moment, just like they used to do, knowing what each other was thinking without having to say it. It felt really good to be with her again. She leaned back.

  “So, are you gonna say something to Cinda? Or just gonna let her mama do all the talking?”

  “No, I guess I’ll say something. I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing, you know? I’m not real good at saying stuff.”

  “I think you are.” Tansy nudged him with her elbow and he looked at her, barely able to see her in the dim light. “You can always say the right thing when you mean it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If you still want to be with Cinda, then tell her that.”

  Chantry reached out to strip a leaf from one of the evergreen bushes. “I don’t know. What if
her mama’s right and it just causes trouble? Even if she doesn’t blame me at first, she will later.”

  “Know what your problem is? You think too much, Chantry. You should just let yourself feel things sometimes.”

  “I feel things.”

  “Not so’s anyone else can tell.”

  He didn’t have an argument for that. It was true.

  “Guess you figure it’s too risky to let people know how you really feel, huh, Chantry. And I guess you’d be right if you do. Sometimes I feel the same way. But when it gets all tight inside me so that I can hardly breathe, so that all the feelings just start rolling around so fast that it hurts, I have to let ’em out.”

  “How do you do that?” he asked after a moment.

  “Me, I put what I feel in music. Songs. It doesn’t matter if I wrote them or someone else did, if the feeling’s the same.”

  “I don’t listen much to music. I got a boom box for Christmas, but the only time I have to listen to it is at night, and then it wakes up Mikey.”

  “Don’t you ever hear music in your head?”

  “Looney tunes, maybe.” He smiled when she shoved him with her shoulder.

  “You got no soul, Chantry Callahan. We got to get you some soul.”

  “Right. Guess we’ll find that at Kmart. In the shoe department.”

  “Oh, that was bad. Really bad. You’re still an asshole, you know that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tansy gave him another shove. He shoved her back, and they started wrestling just like they had since they were little kids. He let her get the better of him for a few minutes, then he pinned her down easily, grinning when she finally said she gave up. He shook his head.

  “Uh huh. I don’t trust you. If I let you up, do you quit?”

  “Sure.”

  Right. He held her a moment longer, and the instant he released her he jumped up from the porch and cleared the steps in a single leap. She was right on his heels, as he’d known she’d be. Tansy had never been able to beat him in a race, but he kept his pace slow enough to let her think she might win, reaching the end of the gravel road and turning around to laugh at her.