Jeff Abbott: Promises of Home

“Jordy, is there a problem?” Gretehen’s interference I didn’t need right now.

“No, Gretchen, there’s not. Thank you, though, for asking.” I stepped around the counter and the Kinnards, glaring down at Trey. My hands closed around the handles of Trey’s wheelchair and I steered it toward the door. “Gretchen, would you please get Scott his card? And if you’d be kind enough to show him where the science-fiction books are-he’s a Frank Herbert fan.”

“Trey?” Nola’s voice trembled, not sounding nearly as confident as before.

“It’s all right, Nola. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to talk to Jordy in private.” I didn’t give him another chance to talk; I began pushing the chair rapidly toward the doors. For one awful moment I thought of shoving him through the glass, possibly one of the meanest fantasies I’d ever had, and I swallowed at the cruelty of it. Instead, of course, I opened the doors, left them propped open, and wheeled Trey outside. I shut the doors behind me. When I turned back, Trey had moved over to a stone bench in the shade of an ancient live oak.

The cooling wind that hinted at a coming blue norther chilled me as I crossed my arms and sat on the bench. The clouded sky was the color of old pewter. The scent of approaching rain and thunder rode the air, smelling like pennies stuck too long in a pocket. I didn’t speak, waiting for two elderly ladies to navigate their careworn way past us, smiling a greeting, and go into the library.

I turned to Trey. He stared into my face and lit a cigarette, shielding the flame from the November breeze. He didn’t look like his lungs could inhale half a puff.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you it was good to see you, Plum,” he said softly.

“Don’t you call me that,” I snapped. My grandparents had nicknamed me Plum when I was young, and Sister still reverted to it when she was feeling particularly tender toward me. Trey’d used it on me when he’d married Sister, first to tease me, but then out of real affection. Or so I had thought. A sour taste was in my mouth and I wanted to spit.

“Sorry. I guess I’m more glad to see you than you are to see me.” He blew smoke out, away from me. I watched it dissipate.

“Why are you back, Trey? I thought you were never going to come back to Mirabeau.”

“God, Jordy, ain’t it obvious?” He gestured at his legs, at the cold chrome of the chair. “I got hurt. Bull messed me up good. I can’t ride no more. Can’t walk.”

I knew I should commiserate with him. I knew it, but I couldn’t. He’d done his share of hurting the Poteets and I wasn’t in a forgiving frame of mind.

“Are you moving back? With those two?” I pointed to the library. Through the glass I could see Nola Kinnard anxiously watching us. She saw me see her and she moved away. “Who are they supposed to be, Trey? Sister and Mark’s stunt doubles? Or just another passing fancy?”

“I know you’re mad at me. Why don’t you just punch me out and be done with it, Jordy?” Trey said through gritted teeth.

“I’m not going to hit you.” I didn’t eliminate shoving the chair into traffic, though. I rested my face in my hands, my fingers sore from clenching. I’d never felt such acrid, burning anger. I wanted to slap the cigarette out of his mouth. God, this couldn’t be happening. I looked up at him; he looked miserable. “I take it you have not seen your ex-wife and son?”

“We only struck town yesterday morning.”

“So Arlene doesn’t even know you’re here?” My voice rose.

“No, she don’t. I thought I’d call her later today-”

“Call her? You’ll do no such thing!” I grabbed the chair and stuck my face close to his. “You have made her suffer enough, Trey. You aren’t going to hurt her or Mark anymore.”

“I don’t want to hurt Arlene-”

“You don’t? How do you think she and Mark are going to feel when they see you gallivanting around town with your shiny new family? Did that ever occur to you?”

His hands clenched over my wrists. “What are you doing back in town, anyway? You get fired from your highfalutin job up North?”

“No!” I snapped back. “I came back here because my mother’s dying of Alzheimer’s.” His face crumpled; he’d always liked Mama. That didn’t earn any mercy from me. “Of course, you couldn’t know that since you haven’t bothered to stay in touch. Since you abandoned my sister, you asshole, she needed my help.” I took a long, calming breath. “There’s this thing called family, Trey. It matters. You make sacrifices because your family needs you. Because you love them. I know that’s a foreign concept to you, but-”

“I don’t need a lecture from you!” he yelled. “I don’t need you judging me! Look at me! Don’t you think I’ve paid enough for my mistakes?” His voice cracked.

I stepped back. “Is that your ploy? Is that what you’re planning to use on my sister and my nephew? Oh, let’s feel bad for Trey-he got hurt off playing cowboy. Well, I felt sorry for you long before you ever got stomped by a bull. You had the best woman and the best boy in the world, and you gave them up for a bunch of dumb animals. I hope it was worth it, you moron.”

“Are you done?” Trey asked, his voice cutting cold like the wind.

“Yes, I am.”

“Fine. I’m glad you’ve gotten your usual tantrum out of your system, Jordan.” He lowered his voice. “You don’t know the facts. I may have left Arlene, but I never abandoned her. I sent her money every month for Mark-”

“Don’t lie!” I shouted, but he ignored me.

“-and I left town for my own reasons, which, contrary to what you think, had nothing to do with Arlene and Mark.”

“I don’t care. Just keep your distance. Better yet, why don’t you leave town again?”

“Because Nola’s got family here. Her uncle’s Dwight Kinnard. He used to work with my daddy, and he’s offered to put us up for a while.”

“I can believe you were stupid enough to leave Arlene. I can’t believe you’re rotten enough to come back. Steer clear of my family, Trey.” I couldn’t resist twisting the knife. “You know, she did get over you. She’s dating Junebug now, and he’s our police chief. Maybe they’ll even get married. She’s got a real man this time.”

He looked away quickly, but not before I saw the pain in his eyes. He didn’t offer a reply, so I turned and went back into the library. I felt vaguely ill. Letting him have it hadn’t made me feel better.

Nola and Scott stood by the front counter, watching us. Scott held a stack of books, clutching them protectively to his chest. Gretchen hovered between the Kinnards and the checkout counter.

Nola grabbed my arm with a strong hand. “What did you say to him, you asshole? How can you be cruel to a man who’s suffered like he has?”

“Cruel, lady?” I pulled my arm free. “That man invented the word. But maybe he’ll treat you and your boy better than he did my sister and her child. I hope so.” Nola gave me a hard stare and shoved the door open. Scott, glaring at me, suddenly threw his stack of novels at me; they scattered at my feet.

“You can’t say anything bad about Trey!” Scott yelled. “He’s a good man, better than you are!” That boy believed in Trey; desperation tinged his words. The anger seeped out of me.

“I’d have given anything if he was better than me, son,” I said. “It would have saved folks I love a lot of grief.”

Nola pulled Scott out the door, ignoring his tossed books. I watched her bend over Trey, hugging him, while Scott grasped the handles of the chair and maneuvered it to a decrepit blue Ford Escort. They loaded Trey in, Nola lifting his legs for him and tucking them in the car. I turned away and stalked back to my office, ignoring the character voices that Miss Ludey provided for the children. There’d been a momentary pause in the narrative when Scott had screamed at me, but Miss Ludey was, if anything, a trooper.