Bookmaker, The (18 page)

“Confession time: every now and then when I can’t sleep, in the small hours of the morning when I can’t shut off my brain, I almost feel bad about how Oswald was used by us and his subsequent fate. When I say fate, I’m not referring to that Sunday morning with Ruby in the police hallway on live television. I mean his legacy—second only to Hitler
, he has become the most reviled man in American history. When in actuality, he was what any good American should be: someone who has the awareness to question his government and the courage to act on his beliefs, however misguided and convoluted they were. He was a patriot built in the same mold as our own founding fathers, who questioned their government and had the balls to do something about it. And just think if they hadn’t, we’d all be speaking British right now.

“Ferrie and Banister would be dead within a couple years. About five years later, we had a bit of a scare when Garrison prosecuted Shaw for conspiracy to kill Kennedy. But Shaw skated, and we had nothing to worry about after that. It all seems like a dream now—a distant memory of an act committed by someone else.”

* * * * *

Preston stopped
, and as if we were talking about the weather, changed the subject. “We got about two hours ‘til kickoff. I can hear your phone buzzing away. I’ll get out of your hair. Meet me up on the balcony for the games and bring your three best plays with you.”

And with that he hobbled out the door. For the first time
, I was actually scared, scared of this feeble old man. It was one thing to claim he did it, but to hear the detailed story was intense. And if he could pull that off, how quickly could he do away with someone like me if I pissed him off? My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. It was Otto for the fourth time. I had to get it.

I woke up the next morning sick to my stomach. And it wasn’t from a hangover.
For the first time since I arrived, I thought about going home. Here I was, partying it up with a murderer who was so proud of his deeds he was paying me to document them. And didn’t that make me complicit somehow?

Before, I wouldn’t think about leaving because of Corynne, but now that she want
ed nothing to do with me, that was no longer a reason to stay—rather a reason to leave. No, I had other responsibilities now. I had dragged Jay and Dayla down here and had nowhere else to go; Jay and I had given up the rental back home. No, I had to stay. I had to finish the job I started with Preston. Hell, he’d already paid me. The real reason I couldn’t leave was I didn’t want to upset Preston. I now knew what he was capable of and leaving now with the privileged information I had could put me in a very precarious situation, one I wanted no part of. I was staying at least until he died.

The only thing that got me out of bed was to get enough food from the kitchen in the big house and bring it back to mine so I could hole up for a day or two. As soon as I stepped out the door
, I saw the note. Written in the familiar bubbly cursive, this time it had a lot more than just one word.

Dear Trent,

I am so sorry about how I reacted that day out in the field and also about my behavior these last few weeks; it does not represent my true feelings. When I’m scared and confused I crawl inside myself and keep things locked up.

Truth be told, I liked you the moment you got here. You are everything I could want in a guy: smart, funny, sensitive—we have so much in common. Wasn’t that day we spent in town fun? I can’t remember connecting with someone so fast. I wanted you to kiss me right there on the bench
underneath the courthouse. Why didn’t you?

If you meet me today at noon on that same bench, I will tell you why I acted the way I did, and trust me, it had nothing to do with you. My first reaction out in
the fields was my true feeling. I never wanted to stop kissing you. When you hear what I have to say, you’ll know why I’ve acted as I have.

Please come. I’ll bring lunch. I’ll be waiting there for you. And if you don’t come, I’ll understand; I’ve treated you unfairly to say the least.

See you there (hopefully)
.

Love, Corynne

I read it three times just to make sure it was real. This changed everything. No way was I leaving now. I had a shot at Corynne. There was no chance I’d miss this lunch. I wondered if she’d wear a sundress. It was 11:00am already—I had to down a few beers to shake off my hangover and get ready.

I hustled over to the garage—the convertible was gone, Corynne must have taken it. I used my key to open the key box and went with the Lincoln Town car, the same one Matador picked me up in. I sped into town and parked near the courthouse where I spotted Corynne sitting alone in a white frilly sundress with those same cork-soled shoes I like
d. She looked amazing! She saw me walking toward her and waved, the smile that lit up her face could have melted stone. She gave me a big long hug. I couldn’t help but feel her curvy, soft body underneath her dress. I had to end the hug before she found out how pleased I was to see her.

She motioned for me to sit down next to her on the bench. “Trent, thank you so much for coming. I need to apologize for the way I treated you with the cold-shoulder routine and all, I was just scared.”

“Scared? Scared of what?”

She looked at me with wet eyes, then down at the basket she brought. “How about some food first, you hungry?”

“What do you got to drink?”

“I got some cold beers, just for you
, Trenty.”

“You shouldn’t have…”

I sat quietly drinking; I’d let her talk, this was her idea.

“I never told you about Tucker’s father,” she said
, putting her hand on my knee. “He was a good guy—you and he were actually a lot alike. Just goes to show you…I’m consistent with the guys I like.”

It l
ooked like I was finally gonna get some dirt on this guy, I thought.

She went on
. “Do you want to know how I met Trigger?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Trigger was the first you…”

“The first me? What does that mean?”

“It means Papa hired him to write his story first, he was the first you—football-loving, hard-drinking, handsome young man.”

“No shit?” I said
, feeling somewhat hurt that I wasn’t the first choice, but then I realized how stupid that was.

“It’s no accident he picked you guys; he wants half a writer and half a playmate.”

I lit up a Camel. “I appreciate you telling me this, but it still doesn’t explain why you acted the way you did.”

She had me light up one of her American Spirits
and then gave a sad look. “I think the reason Trigger took off was because something happened in the process of taking down his story. Papa wasn’t as sick as he is now; he had the luxury of time to find someone else. But Duane was right when he said it wasn’t like Trigger to just leave like that, something happened and I’m afraid to find out what.”

“Are you sure he didn’t up and leave because the prospect of fatherhood was too daunting for him to take?” I said
, hoping I was right.

“Anything is possible, but I get the feeling Papa did something to scare him off, either for getting me pregnant or did Trigger know something he wasn’t supposed to, I don’t know.”

“Guys get freaked out, Corynne. He probably couldn’t handle the pressure. I know I’d be a wreck if I got a girl pregnant as young as he was.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled it into her lap
. “I was just scared it would be the whole thing all over again. I fall for the guy Papa hires to write his memoirs and again he disappears. I didn’t want to get hurt again, I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to fall for you, but I did. And when you confessed how you felt, I can’t tell you how happy I was. Then it hit me—I became overwhelmed with the thought that this was the same exact scenario I was in before, and that’s why I freaked out. Can you understand?”

The tears were welling up in her eyes, one dropped on her cheek and I gently wiped it away. “God
, you’re beautiful,” I said, which made her put her head down in disagreement.

She looked back up at me
, tears now falling. “Can we just start over? I’d like to try this…me and you?”

I kissed her deeply and didn’t care we were in public
—neither did she.

The plan was for a controlled burn—something had to be done about the black fungus spreading to the healthy plants. Matador and Jay put their heads together and decided to start over from scratch. They had the seeds to do it, but the soil needed to be cleansed
and fire was the decision—their very own scorched-earth policy. Jay had returned from his successful sales trip throughout the southeast, and Dayla, who was visiting her estranged mother in Metairie, Louisiana, had made it back as well. Preston wanted to make an event of it. The fire was planned for Thursday night at sundown.

Corynne and I had been inseparable ever since that day on the courthouse lawn, although we were taking it slow in the intimacy department, which was cool with me. The excitement of just being with her was enough for now, but her innocent sexiness was driving me to many a cold shower. We kept our union
just between us at first but decided the fire would be a good time for a coming-out party.

We wanted to arrive early to watch the sun go down—fallen leaves crunched underfoot as we walked through the dirt path. When we hit the clearing we spotted Matador and Jay dressed in dirty overalls spraying the sagging crops with gasoline. They pointed to a makeshift half-circle sitting area they’d set
up earlier using some lawn chairs and oak logs. Then they both stopped when they noticed us holding hands and grasped the obviousness of our new arrangement.

They put the gas cans down and walked towards us, Jay was the first to speak. “Well look at you two crazy kids, I was pulling for ya. Trent
, you’re a lucky man. Corynne, I think you’ve officially lost it.”

Matador moved towards me and began poking at my chest harder than necessary. “You better be good to her, I know where you live. Oh, and don’t get her pregnant.” A smile broke across his face, his stern father routine now over. With that gesture, it occurred to me that Corynne was just as much Matador’s granddaughter as Preston’s.

“Where’s the beer?” I asked.

Matador pointed to a large overflowing cooler. “There’s a bunch of cold ones over there, help yourselves
.” I opened a couple bottles, and Corynne and I sat down on the largest log, watching them spray down the rest of the field.

With the sharp glare of the setting sun
, it was hard to make out the odd-shaped caravan approaching us. When a large oak provided some shade, we could see it was Delotta pushing Preston, with Tucker in his lap, down the dirt path toward us. Corynne squeezed my hand, telling me what I already knew—this had to be killing him being in his wheelchair—but by the time he reached us, his cheery demeanor belied his situation –he was now beyond being proud and moving toward practicality.

Delotta parked him right next to us, being careful not to spill the scotch he was holding. Tucker jumped out of his lap into his mother’s arms.

“My word,” Delotta said, taking turns hugging us both, “are you two together? I think that’s wonderful.”

Preston handed me his scotch and grabbed my arm to leverage himself out of his chair and move to the closest lawn chair
. “Trent, you better take care of my little girl here, she and little Tucker here are all I got left in this fucked-up world.”

“Quit it
, Papa, you know that’s not true,” Corynne said, hugging him.

“You kids be careful
, I don’t want happened last time to—”

Delotta stopped him
. “You knock it off, you old fuddy-duddy. Can’t you see how good they are together? Good for you two, but do be careful.”

She picked up a squirming Tucker
. “Now, I’m gonna take this little one off to bed, y’all have fun out here. Now be mindful of the fire them two’s cooking up, it could be dangerous,” she said, carrying a crying Tucker away.

Jay left to fetch Dayla, and Matador grabbed a beer and joined us. We waited until Jay and Dayla returned before burning the fields. Once they arrived, Jay fetched us all fresh beers while Dayla gave Corynne and I congratulatory hugs as if we’d accomplished something difficult.
Matador, the master of this ceremony, announced, “Let this fire cleanse our past, leaving a clean slate for our future—it is up to us people, the future’s in our hands.” He set his beer down, scratched a match on the bottom of his shoe and threw it into the crops. The fire lit in an organized procession, razing the fields up one row, down another.

We sat huddled in our half-circle
, glowing from the blaze: three couples together in the fire-enhanced night; each sitting close, needing the other to breathe; hands held, heads on shoulders, unspoken bonds both old and new rekindled in the primeval woods. There was no place I would’ve rather been, and I could’ve vouched for everyone in the circle that they felt the same way.

The fire overtook the field, the flames worked fast. I glanced over at Preston
, who was watching the destruction with a dark grin. The fire reflected in his eyes—shadows moved across his face, illuminating the deep creases as he gazed ahead with great conviction. He looked evil. Was he evil? God knew he’d done evil. Or was he simply a man…a man who thought he was doing the right thing, merely reacting to situations and conditions that were thrust upon him? Each man is the protagonist of his own life. Always right in their mind—altruistic and correct, no matter what society deems acceptable. Nobody thinks they're evil. Nobody thinks they’re a bad person. All deeds, no matter how harmful or offensive to others, can be rationalized in the perpetrator’s mind; perhaps this is the definition of evil? I looked away, who was I to judge? I didn’t have the theological qualifications or the clean track record to deem anyone evil, he was just a man. I focused back on the inferno.

Watching the fire spark and dance
, forming grinning malevolent shapes, I thought of the ancient Celtics when they’d set their world on fire with their Samhain bonfires—their unholy pagan ritual for summer’s end. That sacred night when the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest. The night of the great sacrifice. Blue-red flames licked the sky, crackling and hissing their macabre cleansing cacophony that drew our unblinking stares and didn’t let go, it had us, it made us watch. Corynne clutched me close, her breathing was soft and warm; the air was beginning to cool. October was coming.