Many Waters

  Chapter Five - Cody

  I stopped by to see Lisa at lunchtime a few days after I visited Brandon.

  I was already unhappy when I pulled in to the empty parking lot at the Dairy Dip, though I tried hard not to show it. The place was deserted after the lunch crowd, and I found her sitting in the corner booth just about to eat her own lunch. She smiled when she saw me, and in spite of my dark mood I couldn’t help smiling back.

  “Hey, stranger. What brings you to this neck of the woods?” she asked.

  “Aw, I heard there was a pretty girl in here who didn’t have a lunch date,” I said, sliding into the booth across from her.

  “Ha. Wrong on both counts,” she said, smiling a little.

  “So what’s for lunch?” I asked.

  “The special today was meatloaf and mashed potatoes; I saved you a plate over there if you’re hungry,” she said, nodding at the order window. I went to grab it and got myself a Coke before sitting back down at the booth.

  “Looks good,” I said appreciatively.

  “Thanks. Cooked it myself this morning. Anyway, did you get Buck home all right after church the other day? I wondered later, since I didn’t see a horse trailer hooked up to your truck,” she said.

  “Yeah, Cyrus took him home for me. He’s got a two-horse trailer, so we didn’t see any reason to haul them both out there separately,” I said.

  “That makes sense. It’s good you’ve got some friends like that,” she said.

  “Yeah, they’re the best. I don’t know how I’d ever get all the work done at Goliad if they didn’t pitch in sometimes. Me and Marcus usually manage to keep it all covered, but now and then we still need help, like when the peaches are ripe or things like that,” I said.

  “You never told me about the peaches before,” she said, taking a bite of her meatloaf.

  “Did I not? Yeah, twenty acres worth. It might not sound like a lot but believe me, it’s enough to load you down,” I said seriously.

  “I bet it is,” she agreed.

  “Especially at harvest time. You can smell peaches everywhere, then. All through the house and the fields, all over your clothes, every time the breeze blows. I used to like it when I was younger, but nowadays it mostly reminds me how much work I’ve got to do,” I said. That was really a half-truth; I love the smell of the peaches when they’re ripe, and I’ve never minded the work that goes along with them. They’re one of the things that means home in my mind, and I wouldn’t change that even if I could.

  “You sure do have a lot of different things going on out there,” she said.

  “Well, yeah, but you have to, you know. You can’t stick to just one thing because you never know what’ll happen with the prices every year. It’s safer to diversify a little bit,” I explained, and she laughed.

  “What’s funny?” I asked, mystified.

  “Oh, nothing. It just sounded funny to hear you use the word ‘diversify’, that’s all,” she said, looking embarrassed. I guess I could have been insulted if I’d wanted to, but it only amused me.

  “Is that so? Surely you’re not saying you think I’m too much of a yokel to know how to use big words, are you?” I teased, and she dissolved in giggles.

  “Nope, I’d never say that,” she promised, smiling.

  “Humph. Okay, then. Long as we got that straight,” I nodded, with mock seriousness.

  “Speaking of words, I listened to that disk you gave me. I meant to ask you if there was some special story behind Nebo’s Crossing. It seemed so much deeper than the rest of them,” she said.

  That was more of a personal question than it might seem, and it always makes me a little uncomfortable to talk about things like that. I’ve had more than my fair share of sorrow and loss in life, and I don’t relish the memories. But I figured it wouldn’t kill me to share at least a little bit.

  “Well. . . I wrote it for my dad. I got to thinking one day about how Moses never got to enter the Promised Land, but his people did. Sometimes you can’t have the things you want the most, even if it breaks your heart to give them up, you know. Sometimes you have to spend your life like he did, and sacrifice everything so the people you love can have happiness later,” I said, scuffing my boot on the floor.

  I glanced at Lisa, wondering what her reaction to all that might be. But she only nodded, seemingly mute, and I laughed to lighten the mood.

  “It’s kind of a double meaning, I guess you could say. Mount Nebo is the tallest mountain in the Land of Gilead, and that’s where Moses was buried after he looked out across the Jordan with his last sight. But if you think about it a little bit, Goliad sounds a lot like Gilead, doesn’t it? I think my Grandpa Reuben must’ve thought the same thing when he first settled the place, because there’s a big hill out there on the property that he named Mount Nebo, and that’s where my father is buried,” I said.

  “So why didn’t he just name the place Gilead, then? Seems like it would’ve been easier,” she said.

  “Oh, that. Well, he was a soldier in the Texas Revolution and fought at the battle of Goliad, way down there in south Texas. He was one of the only survivors, actually, so after the Republic was set up they granted him a thousand acres up here. We’ve still got a copy of the original land patent papers tucked away somewhere, I think. It’s been in the family ever since,” I said, with what I hoped was pardonable pride.

  “That’s awesome; I love things like that. Your family is so cool. I wish I knew some interesting stories like that to tell,” she said, shaking her head and taking another bite of her meatloaf.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’m the last one, though,” I said, and almost immediately regretted saying it. Lisa had a way of putting me at ease and loosening my tongue which nobody else could have matched. Much to my discomfiture, I might add.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, and I figured if she knew that much then she might as well know a little more.

  “I’m the last McGrath, and Grandpa Reuben set it up in such a way that the land could never be divided or sold outside the family. So if anything happens to me or I don’t have any kids, then I’m not sure what’ll happen. There’s nobody else,” I explained.

  “That must be really hard for you,” she said sympathetically, and I looked deep into her eyes for a minute, searching for. . . something. I couldn’t decide what, exactly. Most people who hear that story tend to say something sarcastic like how they wish they had that kind of problem, or something like that. Not many people understand what a heavy responsibility it can be. I didn’t used to think of it that way at first, but gradually I came to understand how much this place meant not just to me but to all the people who ever lived there, or ever would. I feel the burden keenly sometimes.

  “Most people seem to think I’m a crybaby for mentioning it,” I said in a deliberate tone, wanting to see what she’d say to that.

  “I haven’t seen you crying about it. You’re doing what you have to do and trying your best to do what’s expected of you, that’s all. I know what it’s like to have to carry a heavy load on your shoulders when you feel like you never had a chance to live your own life first,” she said, poking at her mashed potatoes with a fork.

  I looked at her wonderingly; that was exactly how I felt sometimes. I almost told her everything then, dreams and curse and all. But I bit my tongue at the last second.

  “How do you do it?” I asked instead.

  “How do I do what?” she asked, looking mystified.

  “How do you always know exactly what I think and how I feel?” I asked, and she laughed.

  “Cody boy, I promise you, there are a lot of times when I don’t have a clue what you’re thinking or feeling,” she said.

  “It sure does seem like you do,” I said.

  “Sometimes I can guess pretty well, maybe, that’s all,” she said. I thought she was being overly modest, but I didn’t argue about it.

  “Well, you’re one of a
kind, Miss Lisa; I can say that much,” I said.

  “Why, naturally,” she agreed, laughing it off.

  “So what’s your story, then? What’s your burden to bear?” I asked, curious.

  “What do you mean?’ she asked.

  “You said you knew what it was like to have to carry a heavy load. Surely you had something particular on your mind, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Nothing as interesting as yours, I’m afraid,” she demurred.

  “No, really, tell me. I’m curious,” I persisted, and she glanced around like she wanted to make sure nobody was close enough to overhear us.

  “Well, I’ve always been the one who had to take care of everything, you know. It’s been worse since Mama had her stroke, because now I have to take care of her, too. Jenny tries to help, I think, but she’s kind of silly and irresponsible sometimes, to tell the truth. I don’t mind doing it, really; Mama was my best friend and she always encouraged me and taught me everything I know. I’d never turn my back on her when she needs me like this, but. . . it’s hard, sometimes,” she admitted, looking down at her plate.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s all right. Just hard sometimes, that’s all,” she said, and then there was a long pause while we both pretended to eat our food.

  “So. . . do you still like poetry?” I asked, grasping at memories. I knew she used to be a Shel Silverstein fanatic back in seventh grade, but it seemed like a good way to break the ice and keep the conversation going. She laughed.

  “I can’t believe you still remember that. Yeah, sometimes,” she agreed.

  “So what’s your favorite poem these days?” I asked.

  “Anything sweet and romantic, but I could never pick just one. I was reading Christopher Marlowe last night, if that tells you anything,” she said.

  “Never heard of him before,” I admitted, and she laughed a little again.

  “No, I didn’t think you would have,” she agreed.

  Her lunch break was over not long after that, and I reluctantly let her get back to work. As usual, she had a way of making me wonder how I could ever have worried about anything, at least for a little while.

  Later that evening I found myself alone in the barn for a while, working on the tractor and trying not to cuss the stupid thing. It had a short in the ignition system somewhere, and trying to trace down electrical shorts is hard, time-consuming work. It probably didn’t help that I was still thinking about Lisa instead of focusing on the wires like I ought to have been doing. But when the phone rang and I saw that it was her, I can’t deny I was glad for an excuse to get away from mechanicking and talk to her.

  “Hey, Lisa, what’s up?’ I asked.

  “Nothin’ much, just fixing some beans and cornbread for supper,” she said. I hadn’t realized it was so late already, and almost on cue, my stomach rumbled.

  “Well, hey, I’m glad you called. Are you busy tomorrow?” I asked.

  “No, not that I know of. Why do you ask?” she said.

  “Well, I thought it’d be cool if you came over for a while, if you want to. We could grill some brisket, hang out, things like that,” I said, not letting it slip how unusual of a question it was. I didn’t often have visitors, and certainly not girls.

  “I’d love to. What time?” she asked.

  “Um. . . maybe five or six would be good,” I said.

  “Yeah, that’ll work. If I get Jenny to run me out there, do you think you can give me a ride back home?” she asked, and the thought actually pleased me very much.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “How do you get out to y’alls place, exactly? I’ll have to tell Jen, and I’m not real familiar with that area,” she said.

  “Well, you know how to get to Linden, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  “Head out that way, and then turn right on the third gravel road on the right after you get out of Avinger. Go down that road for a couple miles till you get to a white wood rail fence, and then you’ll come to the gate. You can’t miss it,” I said.

  “Sounds pretty easy,” she agreed.

  “If you happen to get lost, just call me and I’ll come find you,” I told her.

  “Okay, see you then,” she said, and that was that.