Scott Wittenburg - See Tom Run

“Not very long, I’m afraid. She has a two-hour stopover in Columbus on her way to New York-apparently her flight is all messed up. Anyway, I’m going to drive out to the airport and have lunch with her.”

“Sounds like fun. Be sure to tell her I said hi,” Tom said.

“I will. How’s the museum?”

Tom thought he took too long to answer. “Great! Lots of cool stuff here.”

“And are you and Frank behaving yourselves?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you may want to consider coming back soon. They’re forecasting another snowstorm heading our way.”

Peg’s voice was starting to cut out. Tom looked at the signal strength indicator on his cell: two bars. His battery strength was down to a single bar, and it dawned on him that he’d forgotten to charge the thing before heading out of the house.

“I’m sorry, dear. What did you say about a storm?”

“It’s going to snow again. They’re predicting three to four inches by late evening.”

Shit, he thought, he was going to have to get a move on with this and get back on the road ASAP.

“That’s not good news at all,” he said. “We’ll probably head back in an hour or so.”

“Okay. Well, be careful on the highway. I should be home when you get here.”

“I’ll see you then, Peg. And have a nice time with Maggie.”

“See you later.”

Tom disconnected and continued staring out the windshield. He noticed that the wind was really picking up and dark gray clouds were blowing in from the west. He glanced at the phone in his hand, wondering if it had been ten minutes yet. Deciding it had been long enough, he tapped in Floyd Gossett’s number.

“Hi, Mr. Gossett, it’s Tom Grayson again. Were you able to reach Mindy?”

“Yep, sure did.”

“What did she say?”

“Well, can’t say as she was real thrilled with the idear of meeting up with you. In fact, she didn’t seem to know who you were when I mentioned yer name. But then I repeated it for her and a light bulb lit up, I reckon.”

“Will she let me see her?” Tom asked, wondering how much Floyd Gossett had butchered his name before Mindy finally realized who he was talking about.

“I reckon she’s okay with it. She told me to give you her phone number so you could call her.”

“That’s great-what is it, Mr. Gossett?”

He read the number to Tom, who in turn punched it into his cell.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Gossett,” Tom said sincerely.

“No problem, boy. Just don’t let me hear that you’ve done anything wrong by Mindy or I’ll personally see that you regret it!” the old man growled.

“Oh, don’t worry about that-I just want a few words with her.”

“All right then. I reckon I’ll be going now.”

“Thanks again, Mr. Gossett.”

“Uh-huh.”

Click.

Tom stared at the number Floyd Gossett had given him and realized that the exchange was the one used for the west side-way out in the boonies. He took a deep breath and a swig of water then pushed the “send” button.

Mindy Conkel answered after two rings.

“Hello.”

“Hi, is this Mindy?” Tom asked, trying to sound as relaxed as he could despite the fact that the last time he’d talked to this woman was nearly twenty years ago and his nerves were frayed.

“Yes, and who might this be?”

“It’s Tom Grayson. Long time no see, eh?”

“I don’t believe it! When my ex-father-in-law called and told me you were trying to find me, I about flipped out. So what have you been up to?”

Tom was both surprised and pleased that she seemed so receptive. This was a good thing.

“Oh, where do I begin? I lived in New York for a few years then moved to Columbus. I’m teaching art history at Capital State, married with a wife and two kids and that’s basically it in a nutshell. What about yourself?”

“My life hasn’t been quite as exciting or glamorous as yours, I’m afraid. Just doing hair at a salon and living in this crappy town. That’s really about it.”

“C’mon, there’s got to be more than that! You make it sound like this is the most boring place on earth!

“And you would disagree?”

Tom chuckled. “You got me there, I have to admit. Anyway, I was wondering if we could get together for a drink or something. I know it sounds sort of weird and on short notice but it’s really important.”

“Sure. But I can’t leave home-my kids are here and I can’t trust them by themselves. Why don’t you just come out to my home?”

“Great!” Tom said. “How do I get there?”

“Just take Route 52 west until you’re almost to the Adams County line then take a right on Slow Possum Hollow. I’m about three miles from the highway in a white mobile home. You can’t miss it.”

“That sounds easy enough. Is it okay if I come now? There’s supposed to be a storm blowing in and I have to get back to Columbus soon.”

“Sure. I’m not doing anything but the laundry.”

“Great. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you, Tom.”

Tom was thrilled-it had almost been too easy. He was surprised that Mindy would be so willing to see him after all these years. Especially after what had happened so long ago.

He closed the phone and started the engine. He was already headed in the direction of the west side so he pulled out and proceeded along Second Street until he reached the bridge crossing the Scioto River. Glancing at the dashboard clock, he estimated that he would reach the Adams County line in about thirty minutes. That would make it around 2:40. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to stay long to get his answers. That storm wasn’t going to hold out forever.

As he drove, Tom flashed back to Mindy Conkel and his one- night stand with her twenty years ago. She would have been around twenty or so at the time, making her about forty now. He wondered how much she had aged since then. She would probably be overweight with an outrageously outdated hairstyle, he thought, like the majority of the women around this hillbilly town. There was a unique quality of Smithtown that set it apart from any place he’d ever seen: the place was in an eternal time warp. Whatever was happening in the rest of the country would be about ten years ahead of where Smithtown was at that time, socially and politically. It was as though the little river town was an eternal time capsule, reflecting the way the world had been ten years past.

Tom spotted the first flurry about ten miles from the Adams County line. In another five minutes, it began spitting snow. He checked the clock nervously, realizing that this would indeed have to be a brief encounter with Mindy Conkel Gossett. Not only did he want to avoid driving in a snowstorm, he didn’t want Peg to be calling him endlessly, worrying about his making it home safely.

He sped up to sixty-five, hoping the highway patrol hadn’t set any speed traps up ahead. In another few minutes, he spotted the sign for Slow Possum Road as he whizzed by the tiny two-lane road. Cursing, he continued until he reached the first driveway he could find, pulled into it, backed out and backtracked to Slow Possum.

The road was incredibly rough-a mixture of dirt, gravel and decaying asphalt. Dodging crater-sized potholes, he carefully negotiated the winding road that ran parallel to a swift running creek. He realized that he was actually in Shawnee State Forest when he spotted one of the familiar wooden marker signs along the way, indicating a specific trail. He passed a two-room shack that blatantly reminded him that he was on the fringe of Appalachia, where the ugliness of poverty still prevailed amidst the enchanting beauty of the forest.

Just as he was about to glance at his odometer, he spotted a white mobile home on his right. It was at the end of a dirt road that forked off then ran over a small, ramshackle bridge before dead-ending ten yards to the east of the trailer.