The Scent of Rain and Lightning

  She had learned to take Jody with her wherever she went, partly to get the child to do something besides follow her around in the house all day, but also for the selfish reason of manipulating people’s reactions. Only the crass would risk talking about Hugh-Jay or Laurie around their orphan. To protect Jody, Annabelle felt no qualms about saying firmly to people, with a reminding glance down at the dark top of her small head, “Let’s change the subject, shall we?” She couldn’t easily say that for herself, alone, but she could get the words out in defense of her granddaughter—even though she was the person who put Jody in the position to hear such words. But taking Jody along also solved the problem they were having with the child being afraid to stay anywhere without a member of her family near her. Babysitters were still out of the question. The child who hadn’t been afraid of much of anything, seemed now to be frightened of everything. Nothing upset her as much as thunderstorms, though, and it didn’t take a child psychiatrist to understand that she associated them with the loss of her parents.

  Annabelle thought that was desperately sad.

  She wanted the child back who clapped her hands at thunder and lightning.

  “She’s afraid of God,” she had told her husband. “She’s afraid of God because Laurie made her say that awful prayer every night. You know the one: ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.’” Annabelle had thought it was a bad idea to begin with, because good grief, what a thing to put into a child’s head that she might die in her sleep! But it turned out to be bad for an unforeseen reason—nobody had warned the child that it was her parents who might die while she slept. Jody didn’t trust God anymore. She thought he’d been tricky. He’d distracted her into praying for herself while he sneaked in and stole her parents away.

  Tricky ol’ God, Annabelle thought bitterly as she helped Jody out of the backseat. The child has a point, you know, she said silently, with a sardonic glance to the sky. You ought to be ashamed of Yourself. She heard a deep voice in her mind retort: I never told anybody to say that stupid prayer, and she laughed a little at her own ridiculous fancies.

  “What’s funny, Grandma?”

  “Nothing, honey.” Absolutely nothing anymore.

  This trip to the store was going to be extra challenging.

  It was a Saturday, when the store was usually the most crowded.

  Valentine Crosby worked on this day, at this hour.

  Until now Annabelle had avoided seeing Val.

  WHEN ANNABELLE and Jody walked into George’s Fresh Food & Deli, a rolling silence fell over the store, starting with the first people to see them up front. Then the woman closest to them smiled, someone else gave them a little wave, and business went on as usual—except for the feeling Annabelle had that the two of them were being covertly watched by people who were curious or concerned and trying not to show it.

  The smell of cooking food nearly gagged Annabelle.

  She swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.

  This time she was going to attempt to walk up to the meat counter where the bloody fresh cuts were and ask for a whole fryer. The smell and the sight of blood had kept her away from the back of the store before now, but she was determined to change that on this trip.

  “George” wasn’t a man’s first name, but rather the last name of the couple who owned the store. Livia George, the wife, came hurrying up, smiling too brightly. “Hello, Annabelle! Is it okay if Jody has some C-A-N-D-Y?”

  Jody grabbed Annabelle’s right leg and clung to it.

  Annabelle looked down at her and gently asked, “Would you like Mrs. George to give you a piece of candy?”

  “No,” Jody said, edging partly behind her grandmother. Annabelle wanted to remind her to add Thank you, but didn’t have the heart to chide her. They could deal with manners later. For now, just getting the child to step six inches away in a public place would be enough.

  The store owner bent down closer to Jody. “It’s choc-o-late!”

  “Another time,” Annabelle said, stepping fully in front of her granddaughter. “Thank you, Livia. That’s very kind of you.”

  When they got a grocery cart, Jody held onto both of them, grandmother and cart.

  With slow progress they managed to pick up fresh fruit and vegetables, cereal, milk, and other staples that Annabelle wouldn’t want to cook and nobody would want to eat. Every time she spotted something that her eldest son had loved, or that her youngest son had preferred, her throat closed and she prayed that nobody would pick that moment to ask, “How are you?” Not good, that’s how. That’s how they all were. The Linders were not good at all, including Annabelle’s son in Army Basic Training, to judge by Bobby’s lack of letters or phone calls home.

  Fresh chicken wasn’t actually her main goal today.

  Even when she successfully took it wrapped from Byron George’s hands, she felt no accomplishment yet.

  Her main reason for coming waited at one of the front checkout counters.

  When she reached the two counters, she saw there were ten people waiting for one of them, and only one customer standing across the moving belt from Val Crosby. Annabelle pushed her cart in behind the single customer, with Jody holding onto her skirt behind her. The customer, a woman she knew only slightly, looked up, saw who was behind her in line, and looked flustered. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, although it wasn’t clear why. In the same sardonic inner tone with which she tended to address God lately, Annabelle wondered if the woman was offering her condolences or her apologies for failing to snub Valentine Crosby as the other shoppers were doing.

  When it was Annabelle’s turn, she stood in front of Billy’s wife.

  “Hello, Valentine.”

  The girl flinched when she saw who it was. She looked wretched. She had already been thin—scrawny, as Annabelle’s sons might have said—but now she looked gaunt, all eyes and bones. She also looked as if she was either going to cry or run away at the sight of the grandmother and child in her checkout line.

  Byron George came hurrying up and said, “Annabelle, we can make room for you in the other line if you’d like to use it.”

  She shook her head. “This will be fine, Byron.”

  Annabelle straightened her back, took a deep breath and prayed that the frightened-looking young woman standing across from her wouldn’t burst into tears, as she looked as if she might. She had something to say to Val. She had practiced it at home, in front of Hugh Senior, and now she desperately tried to remember what came next. At first her mind went blank and she thought she might be the one to cry. But then it came back to her and the words burst out. “My husband and I want you to know that we are always thinking of you and wishing the best for you.” She raised the volume a little so she would be sure to be overheard by a number of people, all of whom she was positive were furtively, understandably, watching or eavesdropping. “I hope people are treating you all right, Valentine.”

  Annabelle knew they weren’t. That’s why she was here.

  The girl’s eyes filled and her lips trembled.

  Annabelle reached across and took her hand, and as she did, she looked up at the store’s owner. “Byron, I’m sure Valentine is an excellent employee and that you will treat her well, as you do everyone who works for you.” He looked startled, confused, but then he nodded in a way that looked like a vow rather than just an affirmation. “That’s good of you, Byron,” Annabelle said.

  She turned to look at Valentine Crosby again. “I think we’ve got everything we came for, if you want to check us out now, Val.”

  She squeezed the pale, trembling hand and released it.

  Val hurried to do her job, taking in an audible breath as she picked up the first item. She could barely ring them on the cash register. She dropped things, which Annabelle picked up and handed back to her. Byron George hovered over them as if he didn’t know what to do next.

  “I’ll call you in a few days, Valenti
ne,” Annabelle said in the same clear, loud voice that she intended for as many people as possible to hear, “to see if you need anything. I hope your neighbors and everybody at your church are helping you out while Billy’s gone. I hope everyone is being kind and thoughtful to you.” She had thought she might say, That’s what my son would have wanted, but at the last minute she couldn’t get the painful words out, and she was also afraid they might wound Valentine terribly. It was better for both of them not to say it.

  Annabelle knew how formal and stiff she sounded, and regretted it.

  But she couldn’t help it. Getting the words out at all was a victory.

  She had wept while rehearsing them with Hugh Senior.

  He had encouraged her, coached her, cried with her.

  They’d heard of meanness in town, of Valentine and her boy being snubbed, or worse, and they had talked about it and decided mutually that they were the only ones who could put a stop to it.

  Valentine broke down and began to cry.

  Seeing her, Annabelle did, too.

  The two women—wife of a convict, mother of a victim—leaned toward each other over the milk and cereal and embraced. Annabelle whispered in her ear, “You have to eat, Valentine. You’re too thin. You have to keep up your strength for the sake of your son.”

  Valentine whispered back, sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mrs. Linder, I’m so so sorry,” while they held onto each other for dear life.

  It was then that Annabelle realized that Jody wasn’t clinging to her anymore.

  Annabelle broke away and looked around, but didn’t see her granddaughter.

  Though she knew it was absurd, she panicked. “Jody!”

  And then she heard it: a little girl’s giggle. It was the most beautiful noise she’d heard in weeks, and her eyes welled up with tears again at the precious sound of it. She looked in that direction and spotted Jody standing in a corner of the store beside a card table where a boy was showing her something in a book. Jody pointed to a page and they both giggled.

  “Who is that child?”

  Valentine turned to see, and she gasped. “Collin!” She abandoned her post and ran toward the children. “Collin, come here!”

  The boy and Jody both looked up with surprise on their faces as Valentine grabbed her son’s arm, and pulled him off his chair and away from Jody. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Annabelle as she came back to her counter with her son in tow. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Linder. He doesn’t know who she—”

  Byron George shook a finger in Collin’s face.

  “Stay away from that girl,” he said. “You just stay away from her.”

  Annabelle was horrified by their good intentions. The boy—a handsome, dark-haired child who reminded her sickeningly of his father—appeared stunned by the grown-ups’ actions and words. He looked back to where Jody was still standing. She wasn’t smiling or laughing anymore. She looked scared, and ready to cry, too. Annabelle saw the two of them look briefly at each other. Then the boy turned back around quickly and stared at the floor without saying anything.

  “Please,” Annabelle said, patting the air. “It’s all right.”

  She smiled—or tried to—at the child.

  He looked at her with wide, somber eyes.

  “Byron,” she said, “maybe Livia would like to give Valentine’s son that piece of candy that my granddaughter didn’t want.” Then, as quickly as she could manage it, she completed her transaction with Valentine Crosby, refused Byron George’s offer to carry the bag to her car for her, and gathered up Jody to go.

  Grabbing Jody’s hand, she fled from the grocery store.

  OUTSIDE ON THE SIDEWALK, they ran into a friend of hers.

  “Why does she stay here?” Phyllis Boren said in her blunt way as she pointed into the grocery store. “Doesn’t she know that none of us want her here?”

  “This is her home now, Phyllis.”

  Her friend looked at her with surprise at her tone.

  “I don’t think she has anyplace else to go,” Annabelle added, hoping Phyllis either wouldn’t notice her tearstained face or was so used to seeing her that way that she wouldn’t remark on it. “From what I understand, her family in Scott City won’t have her back. And I doubt she has the money to move even if she wants to.”

  “We could solve that problem, Annabelle. You and Hugh Senior just say the word, and I guarantee you I’ll personally come up with her bus fare. It would be better for her,” she added in a virtuous, vigorous tone, “and certainly better for the boy if they started over somewhere.”

  “How far away would she need to move, do you think?”

  Phyllis didn’t catch the sharp tone in her friend’s voice.

  “Far enough that you can’t run into her at the grocery store, Annabelle. Far enough that Hugh will never be tempted to take on Billy’s demon offspring as one of his rehabilitation projects—”

  “Demon offspring? Phyllis, he’s just a little boy.”

  “He’s Billy Crosby’s little boy, and you know what they say about apples and how far they fall from trees. If none of that convinces you, then let me say this. Val Crosby needs to move far enough away so that her kid and Jody will never cross paths in the same schools.”

  Annabelle felt startled, having not thought of that probability before.

  “That could happen—”

  “Sure. He’s only four years ahead of her. When she enters kindergarten, he’ll be in fourth grade.”

  Annabelle glanced down at Jody and saw that she was staring in the window at Collin Crosby, who was back at his corner table, his face determinedly pointed at his book.

  “They’re just children,” she said softly.

  “Well, you think about what I said, Annabelle.”

  “I appreciate your good wishes for us, Phyllis.” She straightened her spine, which it seemed she’d had to do a great deal lately. “But I hope you will spare some kind wishes for that poor young woman and her son as well.”

  Grandmother and granddaughter turned without saying goodbye.

  They walked back to the Caddy to stow the groceries that nobody in their family would feel like eating.

  COLLIN PEEKED UP from his books and saw the little girl was staring in at him from the fancy black car as it pulled away from the curb. He wanted to raise his hand and wave at her, but he didn’t dare cause another fuss. This was where his mom worked. Everything depended on if she kept her job here, because probably nobody else would hire her because of his dad.

  Collin felt horrible because of what had just happened in the store.

  He hadn’t recognized the little girl, hadn’t known, didn’t mean to—

  His sensitive antennae picked up a new conversation going on between the man and woman who were his mother’s bosses, Mr. and Mrs. George. They were talking softer than they usually did when they discussed his father around him, but Collin listened hard and heard most of it anyway.

  “That poor child,” the woman said, and for a moment Collin thought she meant him. But of course she didn’t—she was talking about the little girl who’d just been in, the Linder granddaughter, as people called her now. “She used to be so friendly and happy, and now she acts like a chocolate bar would scare her to death.”

  “She’ll feel safer with him in prison,” Mr. George said with an air of authority.

  “Like we all do,” his wife said, and Collin heard a shudder in her voice.

  “They should have killed him.”

  “But then he’d never tell where Laurie is.”

  “I’d like to get hold of him. He’d tell then.”

  “He dumped her body somewhere, and we’ll never know where,” Mrs. George said in the same tone of voice that Collin had heard people talking about scary movies. “Not unless he talks, and why would he? If he admits he killed her, he’s in trouble all over again. Lord! Imagine being her child and having to grow up with that question hanging over you all of your life.”

  “He’s a real son of a
bitch, that one. Cold. Heartless.”

  “Well, he’ll never do any more harm around here, that’s one good thing.”

  “The only one.”

  Their voices stopped. Collin heard their footsteps going in different directions, one of them to Produce, the other to Dairy.

  He looked over at his mom at work at the checkout counter—where a few more people than usual were lined up now.

  It was his dad they were talking about.

  It was his dad who was the reason that little girl was so scared and sad.

  Collin felt as if he was going to throw up right there in the store.

  WHEN HE AND HIS MOM walked home that night after her shift, Collin was the first to notice something different about their home.

  “Mom, look!”

  Valentine turned her head quickly, expecting the worst.

  Instead, she saw, as Collin already had, that somebody had mowed their grass. The yard had been springing up in weeds because their hand mower was broken and they didn’t have enough money to get it fixed, much less buy a new one. Collin had felt embarrassed that their overgrown lawn called even more attention to their house and made them look like even worse people than folks already thought they were, and he knew it made his mom feel terrible, too.

  “Who would do that?” she said, sounding stunned.

  Collin looked around and spotted a neighbor down the street just putting his mower away. The neighbor looked up at the same time and, after a moment of hesitation, waved.

  Collin waved back, a big wave, a thank-you wave.

  “Mom, I think it was that guy.”

  When she looked, the neighbor gave her a wave, too, and then hurried on into his garage, pushing his mower in front of him.

  “Why’d he mow our grass?” Collin asked his mom.

  “Because of Mrs. Linder,” she told him, sounding on the verge of tears again, but this time for nicer reasons.

  THINGS BEGAN TO CHANGE at Collin’s school, too.

  At recess the following Monday two boys approached Collin to ask if he wanted to kick a ball around. He’d never really noticed them all that much before, but now they looked like the best people he’d ever seen in his whole life.