The Backwoods Part 5

"Yeah. Nice set of wheels."

A snappy, late-model Cadillac coup was cruising along past them, a ragtop, with a deep, rich paint job the color of red wine. The driver obviously spotted the two police watching her, and slowed down a bit.

Trey squinted. "Looks like some dandy tail drivin' it, too. Looks hiiiiiigh-cla.s.s."

"Yeah, too high-cla.s.s for this town, now that ya mention it," Sutter considered. "Bet that car runs eighty grand outta the showroom, Trey. What the h.e.l.l's a rich gal like that doin' in Agan's Point?"

"Red-hairt, too," Trey could see. "Ah-oooooo-gah! Bet she's got red carpet to match those red drapes." He elbowed Sutter. "Looks like she's doin' about five over the limit, Chief. What say we pull her over, see what she's got to gander?"

Sutter frowned. "Git your mind outta the sewer, Trey." But it wasn't that bad an idea. Cops worked hard. They needed a perk now and again.

Then, as the car flashed by, the driver waved and honked.

Both men looked behind them. Trey scratched his head. "She wavin' at us?"

That was when the red hair and upscale look clicked. "Ah, I know who that is, and so do you."

"Huh?"

"Patricia, Judy Parker's sister."

Trey stared off after the vanis.h.i.+ng car. "Ya don't say? Ain't seen her around here in-"

"About five years. Looks different 'cos she cut her hair. Came back for Judy's marriage to that sc.u.mbag Dwayne, and now it looks like she's here again-"

"-for the sc.u.mbag's funeral."

A silence pa.s.sed between them. The Cadillac disappeared around the road's bend.

"Too bad about her, ya know?" Trey said.

Sutter nodded at the words. "I remember Patricia since she was tiny-s.h.i.+t, I wasn't but twelve or thirteen myself when she was born. Fiery, chatty little kid, she was. Full a' life, always happy."

"Yeah. Then she just turned cold. Bet I didn't hear her say two words before she ran off to college and law school."

Sutter jingled his keys. He remembered. "Poor girl never was the same," he said, "after the rape. . . ."

Three.

(I).

An instant reminder: the odd knocker on the center stile of the front door. I've always hated the knocker, Patricia thought. She had parked the Caddy in the cul-de-sac, and had sat a while looking up at the house she grew up in. The great wooden edifice went back to pre-Civil War days, and had been refurbished incrementally over the decades. It looked the part: a Virginia plantation house with a high, sloping roof and awnings, and a screened porch that defined the entire circ.u.mference of the lower level. A grand house. There were plenty of ghost stories dating back to the days of slavery, when previous owners often executed unruly workers and buried them around the foundation to fertilize the hedges and flower beds. It made for excited talk, but in the eighteen years Patricia had lived here, she'd never seen a ghost.

She did now, though.

The door knocker. It was an eyesore and it was just plain peculiar: an oval of tarnished bronze depicting a morose half-formed face. Just two eyes, no mouth, no other features. In those last two years here before college, the knocker's expression had reflected her own.

In truth, however, she had to admit that Judy had kept the place up beautifully, and were it not for the bad memories, Patricia would see the house as a gorgeous abode.

It was just getting dark. I forgot, she thought. Another cicada season. They had so many varieties down here; there were more seasons with them than without. The unique sound in the dark, surrounding her on the porch. She'd looked forward to that sound as a child, but now the throbbing drone served only as another jolting memory.

The summer she'd been raped had been a cicada season, too.

Soft lights lit the front bay windows, but there was only Judy's car in the court. She shouldn't be alone. . . . It was too soon. Patricia's younger sister was a Rock of Gibraltar when in her element, but she was also terribly codependent. With Dwayne gone-abusive as he'd been-Judy would be unstable, flighty, and off-track. She knows I'm coming today, Patricia thought. Knowing her sister as she did, it was surprising that Judy wasn't pacing the foyer with the front door open.

Can't stand on the porch all night . . . Patricia winced, raising her hand to the unsightly knocker, but then saw that the door stood open a crack. The house is half-mine, she reminded herself, and stepped in.

The pendulum clock ticked to her left, and to her right stood a long walnut table containing knickknacks and candles, centered by an old framed photo of their parents as newlyweds. For a moment she imagined her father frowning in the frame, as though he disapproved of her arrival. "Judy?" she called out. Only silence returned her call. The interior seemed smaller than she remembered, cramped. Pictures on the walls seemed to hang lower, and had the wallpaper been changed? Everything looks different, but I know Judy would never change a thing.

She turned into the sitting room and stopped cold. A breath caught in her chest and wouldn't come out.

Judy lay slumped on the old scroll-footed sofa.

"Judy? It's me."

Her head tilted aside, her mouth agape. She looked pallid and years older. Patricia's heart tightened up when she noticed an open bottle of pills on the old tea table next to the couch. She rushed forward, then sighed in relief. just a bottle of vitamins . . .

But there was an irreducible instant when she'd believed that her sister was dead. She certainly looked it, lying there as if dropped amongst the ta.s.seled pillows.

Judy stirred in her sleep, mouthing something unintelligible, but then real words formed: "His head," she whispered. "My G.o.d, his head . . ."

Patricia leaned over and gave several firm nudges. "Judy, wake up, wake up. I'm here."

It was like looking at a countrified clone of herself; Patricia and Judy had near-identical faces, possessed similar figures and the same plenteous bosom. But Judy's hair lacked the bright red fire of Patricia's, and instead of being short and straight, it lay long and thick, with high bangs that their mother always called "kitchen-curtain hair." Five stress-laden years with Dwayne as a husband had streaked her hair with some gray and had blanched the once-vibrant color from her cheeks.

"Judy? Wake up."

The crow's-feet at the comers of Judy's eyes began to twitch. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose quickly once; then she gasped herself out of sleep and was finally looking up at Patricia.

"Hi, Judy."

No recognition at first, just a puzzled stare; then Judy's arms shot forward and she hugged her sister for dear life. "Oh, G.o.d, thank G.o.d. I thought . . . Oh, Jesus, I was dreaming-a terrible dream."

Patricia sat down and put her arm around Judy's shoulder. "It was just a dream, and it's over now. Everything's fine."

Judy actually shuddered in her sister's arms. "Thank you for coming. I've just . . . I feel like I'm falling apart. I sleep all the time; I've just been so tired. The house is a mess; I haven't even had the energy to pick up."

"The house looks fine, Judy," Patricia a.s.sured her. "You've been under a lot of stress, but things will get better."

"I hope so. . . ."

Patricia could smell alcohol; whenever Judy got depressed, she drank, which only worsened matters. "Come on; you're exhausted. Let's get you up to bed."

Judy offered no objection. She trudged up the carpeted stairs, clinging to her sister. She's lost weight, too, Patricia observed. She felt thin, bony. Patricia helped her down the dark hall, pa.s.sing more framed pictures that should seem familiar but somehow didn't. The house was too quiet, save for when floorboards creaked, then the keening hinge of the bedroom door.

"I'm sorry I'm so out of it," Judy finally said. "I shouldn't have had that wine. I'm just so lonely now. . . . Doesn't that sound pathetic?"

"Of course it doesn't. You've suffered a loss. It takes time to work through it. But what you need more than anything tonight is a good night's sleep."

An exhausted nod. Patricia got Judy out of her housedress, then saw just how thin her sister had grown in her despair. Her ribs showed beneath the bra. She looked like she'd lost a cup size, too. She also had tears in her eyes. This is going to take a while, Patricia realized. She's failling apart. She got her into bed and under the covers, then sat down beside her and held her hand. "You want me to get you something, some warm milk, water?"

Judy looked back at her very wanly, but she finally managed a smile. "No, I'm fine now that you're here. I guess I'm not dealing well with being alone."

You never did. "But where's Ernie?" Patricia asked after the family yardman and housekeeper. "Don't tell me he's not working for you anymore. I can't imagine him anywhere else."

"He just keeps the yard in order now. Dwayne never liked him, so since the wedding Ernie's stayed outside, never does anything in the house anymore."

"Well, that can change now, can't it? This is a big place, Judy. You can't keep it up on the inside all by yourself, not with the crab company too."

"I know, and it will change." The tired smile even brightened then. "But when I saw Ernie this morning, I told him to make sure the yard was cut, 'cos I didn't want it all s.h.a.ggy for you comin'. You shoulda seen the way his face lit up when I told him you'd be comin' back for a spell."

Patricia nearly blushed. Ernie Gooder had been her "boyfriend," back in seventh grade. They'd stuck together like glue all through childhood, but as middle-school years faded-and her body ripened early-she'd lost interest in Ernie and potential sweetheart romances. Ernie was a tried-and-true local, would never think of leaving Agan's Point, and, like most of the men in these rural areas, he was also a tried-and-true hayseed. He'd dropped out of school early to work his father's farm and stagnate like so many who'd grown up here. They don't know they can move somewhere else and make their lives better, she thought, but maybe she was being pretentious. There was nothing wrong with staying close to one's roots and working the land, but it just seemed so shallow to Patricia, that or maybe she was just more adventuresome than everyone else. At any rate, Ernie's crush on Patricia had never died, and he'd been disheartened when she'd left for college.

"He's still got that torch burnin' for you," Judy said. "And he's still as handsome as ever."

"I'm sure he is," Patricia played along, "but my husband's still got all my bases covered."

"Oh, I know, and I'm so glad you're happy with Byron. How is he, by the way?"

"He's fine . . . and you're exhausted, so . . ." Patricia snapped off the bedside lamp. "You go to sleep, and we'll have a big breakfast together in the morning." She kissed her sister's forehead, then stood back up. Judy wouldn't let go of her hand.

"Oh, Patricia," came the whisper. "You don't know how much it means to me that you come all this way to be with me."

"You're my sister and I love you. Now go to sleep!"

But Judy's eyes kept staring up. "I-I never told you . . ."

"Never told me what?"

"How . . . Dwayne died."

"Of course you did." Patricia bent the truth. Actually, her sister had never elaborated. "An accident, you said."

Judy's voice piped up like a child's. "His head was cut off, and n.o.body knows how it happened."

Patricia stood in a silent shock. She's serious. . . . She had no idea what to say in response.

"And the head was never found," Judy groaned out the rest.

Murder, not an accident. What condolence could she add now? But when Patricia looked again, Judy had already fallen asleep.

My G.o.d . . .

The windows stood open at the end of the hall, letting in the cicada sounds, and the house's deep, old Colonial decor made her feel a thousand miles away from her condo in D.C. She stepped into her bedroom, felt odd at once, then backed out. Sleeping there would just remind her of more childhood memories, but she couldn't stay in her parents' old room, either-that would just be worse. One of the guest rooms downstairs, she decided, then drifted back down the stairs to go out and get her bags from the Caddy. The macabre distraction was sidetracking her: Dwayne's head. Did she mean that somebody cut off Dwayne's head?

She stopped midway down the step. How the heck did- Her suitcases sat neatly stacked at the bottom of the steps.

"Didn't know where ya'd wanna be sleepin'. . . ."

Ernie Gooder stepped from behind her baggage, looking up.

"We was expectin' ya much earlier," he said next, "like about noon." He glanced to the window. "Looks like ya barely beat sundown."

Patricia felt a shock: Judy wasn't kidding. . . . Ernie had always been attractive: well contoured, strong arms, broad-backed. Dark eyes glittered in an appearance of youth that should've disappeared a decade ago. If anything he looked late twenties instead of mid-forties. The only difference, now, was his hair. For all the years she'd known him, Ernie had had a nearly military cut, but now he'd grown it out shoulder-length. When she finally found words, she blurted, "Your hair!"

He looked sheepish. "Yeah, I growed it out fer the h.e.l.l of it; now everybody likes it, so I guess it's here to stay."

She came down the stairs and gave him a hug. "Ernie, did you find the fountain of youth somewhere out in the woods?"

"Huh?"

"You look the same as you did years ago. You look great."

The remark embarra.s.sed him; he almost blushed. "Aw, well, thanks, Patricia. You look really fantastic your own self. I like your hair shorter that way; ain't never seen ya with it like that."

"It makes me look more like a lawyer, I guess." Then she remembered his first comments. "And, yeah, I did plan on getting here this afternoon, but I wound up dillydallying. Had breakfast in Richmond, lunch in Norfolk. I burned the whole day driving around."

He seemed instantly uncomfortable. "Well, yeah, that sure is understandable-that you wouldn't be in any hurry to get here. This old backwards town's gotta remind ya of . . . well . . . you know."

His stilted compa.s.sion was sweet, the way he awkwardly talked around her obvious motive. Naturally she hadn't been in any hurry to get back to the place that made for the worst memory of her life. It didn't bother her, though, which seemed strange. Nor was she bothered by the obvious difficulty that Ernie was having in keeping his eyes from roaming her obviously braless bosom. He'd always had a thing for her. Always. The silliest thought occurred to her then: Maybe I subconsciously didn't wear a bra because I knew it would rile Ernie up. . . .

But that was ridiculous.

If anything, his darting eyes flattered her, even caused her to want to tease him a little. No harm in that. The poor lug is probably still nuts about me.

"So how's yer, uh, yer husband?"

"Oh, he's fine, Ernie. He was going to come down with me but he's busy with his job. What about you? You must be married by now."

More embarra.s.sment. "Aw, no, never did tie the knot with no one. One day maybe." But as he spoke he kept looking down. Still as shy as ever, Patricia thought. Like a little boy.

"Anyway, it's good to see ya, Patricia," he went on, shuffling his feet in place. "Well, not like this, a' course, but . . . you know what I mean."

"Sure I do, Ernie. A funeral is always the worst occasion to see old friends."