No Way Home (3 page)

Lillie decided to change the subject. “I hope the lawbreakers give you a rest today,” she said, “so you can enjoy the festivities.”

“Oh, I guarantee you I’ll be busy tonight. I’ll have every bunk at the county jail filled with drunk and disorderlies. People get to celebrating a little too hard,” Royce said dryly.

“I suppose so,” said Lillie.

“I can’t get over that boy of mine,” Pink interjected, tearing his eyes away from Gray, who had been soundly thumped on the back and had his hand pumped by every teammate. “If it was just baseball you could understand it, but I’m telling you, it’s every sport he plays. And it’s not just sports, either. He’s got the brains too. Way to go, Grayson,” Pink cried as the boy caught his eye and waved. “There is nothing that boy can’t do, isn’t that so, honey?”

“His daddy’s pride and joy,” Lillie said, almost apologetically, to Royce.

“He’s got a right to be proud,” said Royce. “Grayson’s a fine boy.”

“Mom, Mom, I need the keys to the car.”

Lillie turned and saw Michele coming toward them, trailing her gown through the dusty grass. “Hello, Sheriff Ansley,” she said politely.

“Hello, Michele.”

“What do you want the car keys for?”

“To get my clothes. They’re in that bag in the trunk.”

“Oh, all right. Pink—”

“Hmmm…” Pink turned around. “Oh, there’s the belle of the ball. You did real good in the pageant, honey.”

“Thanks, Dad. I need to get in the trunk.”

Pink handed her the car keys. “Bring ‘em right back,” he said. “You should have got here sooner. You missed it. Grayson just hit a homer.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Michele said in a bored voice. She was used to her brother’s accomplishments, and was even proud of them, but Pink’s excess of enthusiasm always affected her adversely, so that she acted indifferent. She turned to the sheriff. “Is Tyler here?” she asked casually.

“He was supposed to play,” said the sheriff.

“Oh, there he is, Royce,” Lillie said. As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back. Tyler was in uniform, but the shirt hung out of the back of his pants and the uniform looked as if he had rolled in the dirt in it. Tyler leaned over to select a bat, and when he stood up he staggered a little before he could catch himself. The coach came up to him and held his arm, speaking to him with a serious expression on his face, but Tyler waved him away with a limp hand and walked carefully toward the plate. He leaned over into his stance and licked his lips as he tried to focus his eyes on the pitcher. Tyler was a tall, well-built boy, nearly his father’s size, with long dark hair and a fleshy, sensuous face that was usually creased into a scowl.

Tyler jerked his chin at the pitcher to indicate that he should go ahead. The pitcher wound up and sent one flying across the plate. Tyler swung wildly after the ball was already in the catcher’s mitt, and nearly lost his balance. The coach came out to the plate, calling out, “That’s enough.” He grabbed Tyler by the arm and spoke quickly into his ear.

“He must be sick,” said Michele.

Lillie held her breath. She could see the muscles in Royce’s jaw working furiously as Tyler protested and tried to shrug off the coach. A couple of other players came up and surrounded Tyler, who was shaking his head with his eyes closed. Two of the boys took him by the arms, but Tyler angrily shook them off and walked unsteadily off the baseline.

“That’s not fair,” said Michele. “They won’t even give him a chance.”

Lillie marveled a little at her daughter’s naivete. It was clear to everyone from the silence in the bleachers that Tyler was high on something. But to Michele he was just another underdog to root for. It was Michele’s natural tendency, Lillie thought fondly. Any runt of the litter, any stray cat, was her daughter’s natural ally. She cried at the news reports on the poor and, to Pink’s complete annoyance, wore black armbands whenever there was a prison execution. The troubled Tyler Ansley was a cause made to order for Michele.

Lillie did not want to look at Royce. She knew he would be pale from the disgrace of it. She wished she could make the whole incident disappear for him. The next batter got up and started for the plate. Lillie was trying to think what to say when she was saved by Wallace Reynolds, Sheriff Ansley’s deputy, running up to the diamond with a grim expression on his face.

“Sheriff,” Wallace said in a low, anxious voice, “you better get back to your car. Francis has been trying to reach you on the radio. There’s been a break at the county jail.”

A murmur went up from the people nearby and then a loud buzz as the news was passed down the bleachers. Lillie and Pink exchanged a glance of surprise, and Lillie put a hand on Michele’s shoulder.

“All right, Wallace. You follow me up there,” said Royce. Without another word he turned and hurried in the direction of his patrol car.

“What happened?” Pink asked as the deputy hesitated a moment to catch his breath. A group of people left their seats and had gathered around them.

Wallace shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What did Francis say?” asked a man seated in front of Lillie. Francis Dunham, as everyone knew, was the dispatcher at the county jail, and had been for about twenty years. “Who was it?”

“I told you,” Wallace said, “I don’t know what happened. I got to get up there myself.” Wallace began to shoulder his way through the crowd and was pelted with anxious questions, which he waved away.

“Folks, folks, the game,” pleaded the coach, who had jogged over. The players, unaware of the cause of all the excitement, watched the knot of buzzing spectators in bewilderment.

“He’s right,” said a woman in red toreador pants. “The sheriff will get ‘em. Nothing we can do about it.” There were nods all around as the group of people dispersed and resumed their seats. The next batter stepped up to the plate.

Lillie looked across the diamond and saw that Tyler Ansley was gone. That was lucky timing for him, she thought. Saved by the bell. She turned her attention back to the game as Michele went off toward the car to retrieve her clothes.

The day’s festivities went on without further incident, although the sheriff and his deputy did not reappear at the picnic. Various contradictory reports filtered back about who, what, and how many were involved in the jailbreak. Somewhere between the time that the Felton team captured the county championship from Welbyville and the women started serving up the plates of cornbread, ribs, and chicken, the sky darkened threateningly and then a wave of cool breezes began breaking over the picnickers, and the air cleared. The crowd, already cheerful, became buoyant. Everyone helped clean up, agreeing that the food was better than it had ever been. Then, since night was falling, a country band began to set up inside the grand ballroom, and the floor was cleared of chairs for dancing. As soon as the band struck up its first tune, Pink tugged Lillie by the arm.

“I think it’s time we got on home, honey. I’ve got property to show tomorrow.” He looked suspiciously at Lillie’s tapping toe. “You don’t want to stay, do you?”

Lillie watched the band for a minute and then looked away. “No, not really. You think it’s safe to leave the kids with those convicts running around loose?”

“Sheriff’s probably caught up with them by now. Anyway, they’re not going to come around here, with all these people,” said Pink.

“You’re right,” Lillie said. “We best tell them we’re leaving though.”

They did not have to look far for Grayson. He was already out on the dance floor, guiding an animated Allene Starnes in the country swing. Pink caught his eye and the boy came over, still holding Allene by the hand.

“Your mother and I are going home now, son.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“Not too late. Be home by eleven,” said Lillie.

“Eleven-thirty,” said Gray.

“All right,” said Pink, beaming up at Grayson, whose blond hair was haloed by the light from the electric candles glowing in sconces all around the old ballroom.

“Walk home with your sister,” Lillie said. “I don’t want you walking home alone, either of you.”

“Mom, don’t worry,” Gray said. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to go find her,” Lillie replied.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” said Pink.

Lillie wandered through the crowd still outside the ballroom doors. She saw Brenda, who had arrived in time to share supper with them full of tales of a wild evening with the musician in Nashville the night before. Brenda was talking now with Bill Mosher, a pudgy guy who worked at the bank. Lillie could tell by the glazed expression on her friend’s face and her static smile that Brenda was getting ready to bolt for home to sit by that phone. Lillie smiled and moved on, knowing she would hear all about it tomorrow.

She caught sight of her daughter, standing alone and sipping a Coke.

“Michele,” she said, “you all by yourself?”

“I’m waiting for Cherie. She’s inside, in the ladies’ room.”

“Well, Dad and I are leaving now. Do you want a ride?”

“Nah. I’m going to stay. I put my dress in the car. Will you take it in for me?”

“Sure. Are you gonna dance?”

Michele shrugged. “Probably just watch. We’re meeting Debbie and Bonnie inside.”

“All right,” said Lillie. “Have fun. But be home by eleven-thirty. Find Grayson and walk home with him. Or call us for a ride.”

“Mom, I’m not a baby, for heaven’s sakes. Here comes Cherie back.”

“I’ll bet some nice fellas are going to get you girls out there dancing,” said Lillie.

Michele cocked an eyebrow at her friend Cherie. “Miracles do happen,” she said. They both started to laugh.

Lillie had the impulse to hug her, but she didn’t want to embarrass her in front of Cherie. “See you at home,” she said.

“Bye, Mom.”

Lillie walked slowly back to the car, savoring the cool, idle evening breeze brushing her face, riffling her hair. Pink already had the motor running and the air-conditioning on. The car was positively chilly. They drove home in silence. As they pulled in the driveway and got out of the car, Lillie could hear the strains of the Tennessee Waltz wafting up from Briar Hill. She gathered up the rustling skirts of Michele’s costume from the backseat.

“Well, it turned out real nice this year,” said Lillie, standing on the front lawn in the moonlight. “Thank heavens that storm didn’t come.”

“Yes, it was nice,” Pink said. “And that was some game today. How about that boy of ours? He played like he was in the majors.”

“He’s a real good player,” Lillie said. “But, Pink, you shouldn’t be telling him all the time. He’s going to get conceited.”

“I can’t help it.” Pink sighed. “I just want everyone to know that’s my boy out there. He’s so darn good at everything. I tell you, honey, he’s gonna have the world on a string someday. There were always a few boys like that in high school, or wherever you went. I used to always envy boys like that.”

“You did all right for yourself,” Lillie said loyally.

Pink sniffed. “Yeah, well. I don’t kid myself. I do okay. I make a living for us.”

“Come on, Pink. You’re a respected businessman in this town. Why, I remember when you first started calling on me, how impressed I was with you in that jacket and tie, always on the go. Making one deal after another.”

“I had a lot of dreams in those days,” Pink said wistfully. “It’s just that things haven’t changed all that much since then.”

“Why don’t we sit up on the porch for a little while? We can still hear the music from the park,” Lillie said gently.

Pink roused himself and shook his head. “Oh, I believe I’ll go in the house and have a cold beer. The beer down there at Briar Hill wasn’t cold enough to suit me. Warm as piss, if you must know. Besides,” he said, “I wouldn’t sit in those old rockers of your grandmother’s on principle.”

Lillie yawned and giggled at the same time, readying herself for the familiar tirade.

“They ruin the whole appearance of the front of the house. Here I buy you a house you could be proud of if you plunked it right down in the center of Nashville, and you put out these rickety old rockers that makes it look—”

“Like a bunch of country bumpkins live here. I know,” she said.

Pink smiled ruefully. “You’re used to me.”

Lillie sat herself down in one of the rockers and let out a sigh of relaxation. “I guess I am,” she said. “I’ll be in in a few minutes. Will you take this dress in, Pink?”

Pink nodded and took it from her as he went inside. She heard the TV come on in the living room and she put her head back in the chair. The air smelled uncommonly sweet to her, and the night was still, except for the faraway sounds of the band. The long day in the sun made her feel tired all over. She closed her eyes and felt herself drifting off as she rocked. In a few minutes she was asleep.

She was awakened by Pink, shaking her on the shoulder.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “I’m going after those kids.”

Lillie bolted up in the rocker, clutching the arms, disoriented and alarmed. “What time is it?”

“It’s after eleven,” said Pink.

“But we told them eleven-thirty,” Lillie said.

“Well, I’m going anyway. I just heard on the news they haven’t got that guy yet who broke out this afternoon. And he’s a bad apple. Ronnie Lee Partin. Those kids have got no business wandering around at this hour. Especially Michele.”

“No, you’re right,” said Lillie. She tried to force her foggy brain to focus. “Ronnie Lee Partin. Was he the one that held up that restaurant on Route 31…”

“…and pistol-whipped the manager and shot the cashier. Right, that’s the one,” Pink said. “Besides, I just want to get them back in this house so I can go to bed in peace.” He jangled the car keys.

Lillie knew from long experience that Pink was an alarmist when it came to the children. But it was a quality that endeared him to her. She realized that the night was silent, that the music had stopped from the park. “You’re right,” she said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. You stay here in case one of them calls. Michele may have gone to a girlfriend’s house. I’ll be back soon.”

Lillie watched her husband get into his car and drive off in the direction of Briar Hill. The kids will be fuming, she thought, when he shows up before their curfew, but it wouldn’t be the first time. She opened the front door and went into the house. The TV was still on. She shut it off and sat down in her corner of the sofa. A stack of magazines were piled up in a basket beside her. It seemed as good a time as any to go through them. She and Brenda regularly culled recipes from women’s magazines for the business. They were always looking for a good new casserole or dessert to try on their customers. Lillie put a stack in her lap, picked up the scissors from the end table, and began flipping and clipping. Her eyes roved restlessly over the pages until they lit, accidentally, on an article called “Soap Opera Dreamboats” in a woman’s magazine she bought regularly at the supermarket checkout. Jordan Hill, “who plays Paul Manville on Secret Lives,” smiled out of the page, his deep-brown eyes still bright, although a little weary after all these years. She had read the article hastily when it first came out. An article about Jordan was always news in Felton. And people were quick to make sure she knew about it. She could see them looking for her reaction. Lillie stared down at the picture, her fingers poised to turn the page if Pink appeared at the door. There was gray at Jordan’s temples now, and he had long ago grown a thick, well-groomed mustache, but he still looked young and careless to her. She looked up at the mantelpiece at Michele’s picture, Grayson framed beside her, just as the clock on the mantel struck twelve.