Jimmy (8 page)

He took off his hat, revealing a square head and short dark hair cut like a soldier's. He removed his sunglasses. Jimmy grew serious. He knew what he needed to do.

“I'm sorry I didn't help you clean your car this morning,” he began. “Mama and Daddy didn't think I should come today because Sheriff Brinson is mad at me for talking in court. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Get in the car,” the deputy said. “Buster too.”

His head hanging down, Jimmy walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Buster jumped in and curled up on the floorboard.

On the seat beside Deputy Askew lay a folded copy of the Saturday edition of the
Piney Grove Press
, the local newspaper printed on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. The deputy pointed at the paper.

“Have you seen today's paper?” he asked.

“No, sir. I don't read the paper. I've been with my grandpa.”

“There is an article on the front page about your testimony at the Garner trial.”

Jimmy swallowed hard. “Are you mad at me too?”

“No, of course not,” the deputy said. “I just wanted to talk to you. I had no idea you could remember everything you hear.”

“I don't remember everything,” Jimmy responded. “If I could do that I would be in the smart class at school.”

“Well, I think you're smart in a lot of ways,” Deputy Askew replied. “And if anyone says differently, tell them to come to me. But I'm curious about your testimony. Can you repeat what you said in court?”

“Will I get in more trouble?”

“No.”

“Do you promise?” Jimmy's palms were slick.

Deputy Askew turned in his seat. “I promise.”

Jimmy looked into the deputy's eyes.

“Okay. What part? I had to talk a lot.”

“The conversation between the sheriff and Detective Milligan about Jake Garner.”

Jimmy looked straight ahead out the window and repeated the words he heard in the jailhouse parking lot. When he finished, he looked over at Deputy Askew. The officer's eyes were wide open.

“That beats all,” he said. “I could almost hear the sheriff's voice.”

“Me too,” Jimmy replied.

Deputy Askew refolded the paper and placed in on the seat.

“Are there other conversations you remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does it happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

“Can you tell me another example?”

“Of what?”

“A conversation you remember.”

Jimmy reached down and patted Buster on the head. “Uncle Bart promised Aunt Jill that he would take her to Panama City. That one got me into trouble too.”

“Why?”

“Because I repeated the promise. He made it when we were eating dinner at their house before Christmas. He told her that if she got him a piece of apple pie with ice cream on it, he'd take her to Panama City.”

“Did he admit it after you reminded him of the conversation?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he say you were right?”

“Yes, sir. And Mama told me yesterday that Uncle Bart, Aunt Jill, and my cousin Walt are going to Panama City for a week as soon as school is out for the summer.”

Deputy Askew chuckled. “Do you remember what we talked about last week when I took you to get an ice cream at the Stop-n-Go?”

“No, sir, but I ate a banana Popsicle, and you ate an ice-cream bar. I told you ‘thank you' because you paid for it.”

“That's right. We talked about fishing for carp at Webb's Pond. You wouldn't tell me the bait mixture your grandpa uses when he's fishing in tournaments.”

Buster put his front paws on the seat and looked up at Jimmy. “I don't remember about the bait because he uses different kinds. When can I come back to the jail and help wash cars?”

Deputy Askew shook his head. “I'm sorry, Jimmy, but your parents are right. It's better for you to wait until we find out what's going to happen with Sheriff Brinson.”

Jimmy's sadness felt worse than it had that morning. “See, I wish I'd kept my mouth shut and not gone to court.”

“No, you needed to tell what you heard. Not enough people come forward and tell the truth.”

“But what about washing the cars?”

“I promise to let you know as soon as it's okay to come back. You do a great job on my car. You don't think I want to lose that, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“Good. I'll give you and Buster a ride home.”

When they pulled into the Mitchell driveway, Jimmy opened the door, and Buster jumped out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride,” Jimmy said.

“You bet.” The deputy paused. “Here, turn on the siren for a second.”

Jimmy's eyes opened wide. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It's my way of showing you that I'm not mad at you.”

Jimmy flicked the switch, and the car wailed. It sounded strange so close to his house.

“I'll call you as soon as it's okay to come back,” the deputy added.

Jimmy got out of the car and leaned over. “And I promise to do a better job on the inside of your car.”

Jimmy shut the door, and the deputy backed out of the driveway. Jimmy waved.

“J
IMMY
L
EE
M
ITCHELL
! G
ET UP HERE THIS SECOND
!”

Jimmy turned and saw Mama standing on the front porch with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. He ran toward the porch. Buster joined him and jumped up the steps beside him.

“Why on earth did someone from the sheriff's department bring you home and turn on the siren? I didn't know what had happened to you. I knew I shouldn't have let you walk over to your grandparents' house by yourself.”

Mama paused for a breath.

“It was Deputy Askew,” Jimmy began.

“I would have thought your grandpa would bring you home in his truck.”

“He was soaking his feet in water.”

“That's what towels are for. Where did the deputy find you?”

Jimmy hesitated, then took Mama by the hand. She initially pulled away but then allowed him to guide her down the steps.

“What are you doing now?” she asked in frustration.

“I'm going to show you.”

Jimmy held on to her hand until they reached the sidewalk, then he pointed down the street to the stop sign in the distance.

“I was at that stop sign. I looked both ways before crossing the street, and Deputy Askew drove up and told me to get in the car. You told me to obey policemen.”

“Were you lost?”

“No, ma'am, and Buster wasn't either.”

“But the siren.”

“He let me turn it on to show that he's not mad at me.” Jimmy paused. “Why are you mad at me?”

Mama sighed and shook her head. “I was worried, and then I heard the siren.”

“I don't understand.”

Mama hugged him. “It's my mistake. Come into the house and have a snack.”

D
ADDY SAID THAT
S
UNDAY MORNING WAS THE QUIETEST TIME
of the week in Piney Grove. No buzz of lawn mower engines announced the new day. Grass could be cut on six days, but on the seventh it grew without fear of a whirling blade. Neither the thud of hammers nor the buzz of electric saws awakened those who wanted to sleep late, because household chores not finished by Saturday night were postponed until another day. Traffic, even on the main streets, remained sparse until shortly before the time for Sunday school to start.

The Mitchell household had a Sunday routine different from any other day of the week. Daddy rose early and drank two cups of coffee while he read the Sunday edition of the
Atlanta Journal Constitution
. He never finished the paper before church but read enough not to be caught off guard by any discussion that cropped up between Sunday school and the morning worship service.

Mama didn't go to the beauty parlor every Saturday like Grandma, but she spent extra time getting ready. Jimmy rarely saw her until Daddy called upstairs in a loud voice that it was time to go. Even on the hottest days, Mama always looked fresh and cool in the colorful dresses she wore on Sundays. Like most women in Piney Grove, she didn't leave the house on Sunday morning without making sure that she looked her best for everyone in church, and God too.

The Mitchell family attended the First Baptist Church of Piney Grove. Daddy said Baptists were the only denomination mentioned in the Holy Bible and proved it by reading about a cousin of Jesus named John the Baptist. Jimmy couldn't understand why everyone wasn't a Baptist.
He didn't think badly of other Christians, but it puzzled him why anyone would go to a different kind of church.

Grandpa didn't go to church, but Grandma had taken Daddy to First Baptist since he was born. Mama was also a Baptist whose father had been a minister in Georgia.

Jimmy slept later than usual on Sundays. When he got out of bed, he kept his pajamas on until after breakfast. He didn't want to risk spilling orange juice or cereal on his church clothes. While eating, he sat with Daddy and looked at the pictures in the paper. Jimmy could read many of the words on the page but didn't always understand the meaning of the articles. And when Daddy was reading, Jimmy knew better than to ask questions.

Mama laid out Jimmy's Sunday clothes before she went to bed on Saturday night. Every male twelve years and older who attended First Baptist wore a coat and tie. Little boys could get by with nice shorts in the summertime, but the men and teenage boys wore a suit jacket even when the temperature and humidity topped ninety. Fortunately, the deacons at the church made sure there was plenty of cool air blowing through the vents.

Jimmy held his comb underneath the faucet in the bathroom sink and then carefully combed his hair. He worked hard to persuade a few stubborn strands of his cowlick to lie down and behave. Next, he carefully buttoned his shirt, matching each button with the correct hole. Many times he hurried and realized too late that he had an extra button when he reached his collar and had to start all over.

After slipping on his pants and shoes, he stood in front of a long mirror in his bedroom and added a tie. Jimmy didn't know how to tie a necktie, but he had two clip-ons: one covered with squiggly creatures that Mama told him were paisleys, and the other decorated with multiple images of the scowling bulldog who was the mascot for the University of Georgia. Jimmy liked the bulldog tie better, but Mama usually told him to wear the paisley one.

Ready for inspection, Jimmy came downstairs. Daddy, dressed in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and striped tie, was sitting in the foyer and reading the business section. Daddy had a long row of suits in his closet, but they all looked alike and weren't nearly as interesting as Jimmy's hats.

“How do I look?” Jimmy asked, standing straight.

Daddy looked him up and down. “Fine, except you forgot to put on a belt.”

Jimmy felt the empty loops and ran back upstairs to find the thin black belt he wore on Sundays. It wasn't on its hook in his closet. He stepped out of the closet and looked around his room. Mama had taught him to ask a simple question when something was lost.

“Where are you hiding?” he spoke into the empty room.

He looked underneath his bed and on the shelves where he kept the different-colored rocks he collected. There was no sign of the belt.

“Where would I put a belt?” he asked next.

He pressed his lips together to help him think. He glanced back in his closet and saw a pair of pants with a dark tail hanging down. He took out the pants and found his belt in the loops of a pair of pants he'd worn to a special assembly at school. In triumph, he pulled it out. He met Mama in the hallway as he left his room. She was wearing a dress with a lot of green and yellow in it. Her shoes made her taller than usual.

“You look like sunshine in the woods this morning,” he said brightly.

She smiled and kissed the top of his head. “And you are a very handsome young man with his cowlick under control.”

They walked downstairs together. Daddy stood.

“I found my belt,” Jimmy announced.

“Good,” Daddy said, opening the front door for Mama.

“Where are we eating dinner today?” Jimmy asked.

“With Uncle Bart and Aunt Jill,” Daddy said.

Jimmy slowed his steps, and the smile left his face. “Will Walt be there?”

“Of course,” Mama answered as she walked down the steps.

—
Six
—

T
he First Baptist Church boasted a large red brick sanctuary and high portico held aloft by four massive white columns. The church didn't have to advertise its presence in Piney Grove. Anyone passing through town would see it. Next to the sanctuary was a long, two-story educational building.

The church buildings occupied a whole block on the south side of Hathaway Street. Parking lots stretched all the way to a narrow alley. Basketball goals stood at the end of each parking lot. Because the church buildings were used only a few hours a week, the parking lots served as community basketball courts. Bright lights came on every evening at dusk and burned until midnight so that the youth of Piney Grove could play basketball. Vandalism in the parking lots wasn't a problem—the sheriff's office and jail were on the next block and provided twenty-four-hour security at taxpayer expense.

Daddy parked in the lot behind the educational building. His usual place was taken, and he had to move farther away.

“Why is it so crowded?” he asked.

“A missionary from Papua New Guinea is the guest speaker in the couples' class,” Mama replied. “She's a Bible translator.”

“I bet she'll have a few worm-and-grub stories.” Daddy grunted as he pulled into a parking space.

“What kind of stories?” Jimmy asked.

“She's been living in a very poor country,” Mama answered.