F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“Changes?”

Canney explained about Katie’s new look: boy’s clothes, short reddish hair.

“But here’s the best part. We canvassed the parking garage and the area around it and came up with somebody who saw a woman and a child fitting Poppy and Katie’s new descriptions climbing into a red panel truck. She noticed them because they were in an otherwise restricted church parking lot.”

Decker smacked a fist into his palm. “Great! You put the description out?”

“Just before I came here. Jersey State cops have it, all the local munis. Every major road is being covered. But I’m willing to bet they won’t come up with a damn thing.”

“Why not?” John said.

“Because she’s not on a major road. I’ll bet next year’s salary she’s heading into the pines. Home… to Sooy’s Boot.”

Decker was on his feet. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

John rose too. “I’m going with you.”

“No way,” Canney said.

“Damn right, no way,” John said. “No way you’re leaving me behind. If this Sooy’s Boot is where Katie is, then that’s where I belong. You don’t take me along, I’ll go on my own.”

“Look,” Canney said. “I’ve got a little girl too. I understand. But we can’t let you jeopardize a federal investigation.”

But John was concentrating on Decker. “You owe me, Bob.”

Decker hesitated, then nodded to Canney. “We’ll bring him along.”

Canney’s eye went wide. “What? We can’t—”

“We can discuss it later. Right now we’ve got some traveling to do.” He turned to John. “Pack up and we’ll—”

“To hell with packing. Nothing here I can’t do without. Let’s go.” The grief, the rage, the frustration of the past few hours had vanished. Suddenly John felt alive again.

Hang on, Katie. I’m on my way.

18

Poppy drove past the house three times before she had the nerve to stop.

“Is this where you grew up?” Katie said.

“No. This is my Uncle Luke’s house. He’s my father’s brother. They were like real close.” So close, she thought, that he probably won’t even speak to me.

She sat and stared at the mailbox: #528—LUKE MULLINER. Dad’s name was Mark, and he’d had five brothers: Matthew, Luke, John, Peter, and Paul. Yeah, Grandma Mulliner had been like real heavy into the Bible. All the Mulliner boys had been close, but Dad had always found Uncle Luke the most simpatico. He saw the most of Luke, and so naturally, Luke was the uncle she’d known the best. And loved the best.

She knew Luke had been royally pissed that she went and got knocked up and had to quit the basketball team—not for himself, but for what it had done to Dad’s dream’s of her going to college. And if he’d been so mad about that, would he ever like forgive her for running away and leaving Daddy alone? And for not showing up at his funeral?

I didn’t know he died! But that probably wouldn’t cut it. All the Mulliners tended to carry grudges to their grave. And Uncle Luke’s temper was like legendary.

She checked out the yard. The grass looked kind of weedy and scraggly, and would need cutting soon. An old Ford pickup sat in the driveway. Beyond it stood the tiny two-bedroom ranch Uncle Luke had called home for longer than Poppy had been alive. As far as she was concerned, it had been here like forever, nestled amid the close-packed scrub pines. And in all these years, no other homes had joined it. Uncle Luke’s was still the only house along this whole stretch of potholed and crumbling asphalt.

Even in the fading light she could see how the place needed some paint. So did the flaking propane tank peeking around the right rear corner.

She noticed how the toolshed in the backyard leaned to the left. And that made her kind of sad. Looked like Uncle Luke wasn’t keeping things up the way he used to. Not that he was too old. He couldn’t be fifty yet.

Maybe he was just lonely. His wife. Aunt Mary, had died not long after Mom, and his one son. Poppy’s cousin Luke Jr.—“Little Luke,” who surely wasn’t little anymore—was probably married and living on his own. So who was around for him to keep the place neat for?

A light came on in the front room.

“He’s home,” she said aloud. She didn’t see how she could put this off much longer. “Come on, honey bunch. Let’s see if Uncle Luke will take us in.” She lifted Katie in her arms and carried her up to the front door. She put her down on the stoop, took her hand, and reached out to knock… and hesitated.

She sent up a little prayer. If he’s gonna say no, please just let him say no. Don’t let him start yelling and screaming. Katie’s seen too much trouble already today. And I feel I’m about to break into like a million or two pieces.

She knocked. She waited but no one answered. As she was about to try again, the door swept open.

He was big, like her Dad had been, but older, heavier, grayer, with lots of new lines visible through the white three-day stubble on his cheeks.

But his heavy red-and black plaid shirt and green work pants were the same as they’d always been, and his blue eyes were as sharp as ever.

An ache started deep in her chest. Jesus, he reminded her of Dad.

He stared at her and said, “What do you want?”

“Uncle Luke? It’s me. Poppy.” His expression never changed. “Poppy who?” The ache grew as she wondered. Is this how he’s gonna play it? Like I don’t exist.

“Your… your niece. Poppy Mulliner. Mark’s little girl.”

He squinted at her. “You ain’t little. And you don’t look like no Poppy I ever knew.”

The ache deepened. Don’t do this to me. Uncle Luke. I got no place else to go.

“It’s me, Uncle Luke. I… I like need a place to stay.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “The Poppy I knew ran off and left her father alone. She as much as killed him. Then she didn’t even bother to show up for his funeral.”

“I didn’t—”

“I hope you’re not telling me you’re that Poppy.”

This wasn’t working. She knew she should go now. No sense trying to say any more to this stone-faced man. But she had to tell him…

“I guess I am that Poppy, and I guess I’m not. Not anymore. A lot’s happened since I left. Most of it bad. I need some help now. I thought I could like come back here. I thought maybe you’d…” The ache had moved up to her throat and was pulling it tight. Almost too tight to talk. He was turning her away; no more than she deserved. She should have known shouldn’t have even bothered coming here…

She just couldn’t believe how much this hurt.

She took one look last look at Uncle Luke before turning away, and thought she saw a softening in his eyes.

“That your kid?” he said, jutting his chin at Katie.

Poppy shook her head. Don’t ask me about Glory! She felt the tears welling in her eyes, spilling over. Her voice sounded like a gasp.

“No. She died… when she was three months.” He looked stricken.

“Dead?”

She couldn’t talk about Glory. She had to get away from here before she made a complete Appleton of herself.

“Sorry to bother you. Uncle Luke.” She couldn’t say any more. As she lifted Katie and took her first steps back to the truck, she heard a tortured sound. Almost like a… hiccup.

She looked back at Uncle Luke and saw him leaning against the doorjamb, his face all screwed up and his mouth turned way down at the corners.

Through her blurred eyes he looked just like the sad mask she’d seen outside theaters. His chest heaved and he made another sound—this was a sob.

And then he was motioning her toward him. She stepped back up on the stoop and he enfolded her in his arms, pressing her against him. She felt his chest begin to heave.