Southern Fried Sushi (12 page)

Green Hill Cemetery. And appropriately named. It was a cemetery. It was green. It was on a hill.

We stood in the middle of a meadow, surrounded by forest, and my eyes focused, uncomprehending, on Mom’s name on a flower wreath:
Ellen Amelia Jacobs
.

The pastor opened his Bible and spoke as we gathered around those awful chrysanthemums in the breeze, trembling in their colorful stands and bunches. The ugly green canopy. Gaping brown earth. The casket. The pastor prayed, and people sang, and then I saw myself unlocking my car, fumbling with the keys.

Faye was speaking to me earnestly, begging me again to go to her house or to go eat at the church. She pleaded and reached for my hand.

I shook my head no. I needed to be alone, to shake the cotton out of my head. To collect my thoughts.

When she stepped away for a second to speak to someone, I left. Just like that. Turned the key in the ignition and drove. And didn’t look back.

T
he map fell on the floor of the car, but I didn’t stop.

I thought somehow I could end up back at the hotel, but instead the roads turned more and more unfamiliar. Narrower and more remote, lined with ancient barns, grasses, and thin, twisted trees. A red light glimmered from my dashboard, but I kept on driving.

I barely noticed when my speedometer slowed. I pressed the accelerator, but my speed still decreased.

The red warning light. I gazed at it, unblinking.

Just around the grassy bend snaked a deserted road with an even more deserted church, and I pulled the steering wheel hard and let the car coast into the gravel driveway and expire. I just sat there. Took the keys out of the ignition and rolled down the window. Then got out and leaned against the hood of the car.

I didn’t cry at the funeral. I wouldn’t cry now. But my throat swelled so tight I could hardly breathe.

The swelling whisper of cicadas drifted from fragrant locust and birch trees: soft, comforting, summery. The sun hid behind a silver cloud, and a puff of wind lifted my hair and cooled my sweaty neck and forehead. A horse in a nearby pasture chewed and snorted at me, swishing its tail.

I was really lost. And out of gas. I had no idea how I’d gotten here.

“God?” I whispered. I meant it as an accusation, a request, a question, and a plea for relief from my pain, all rolled into one. I couldn’t pray. I didn’t even know if I believed in Him. But my lips moved, and His name was all that came out.

In Japan I radiated strength and confidence. I could do anything. My power fizzled here, leaving me helpless. Like a fragile morning glory on the pasture fence, quivering in the breeze.

Leaves shivered across the meadow, soothing and soft. I smelled wild mint, rain, and grass.

I came partially to my senses and pulled the expensive international calling card from my wallet. Tried information again and made up some last names, but no dice. Dug through my purse again.

Kyoko might answer if I called, but that wouldn’t do any good. Besides, it was four in the morning there, and she’d yell at me for driving off. Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Forty.

I sorted through the cup holder and ash tray for Faye’s number, even though I knew they were empty. Felt a little bit hungry for the first time all day and genuinely worried. I didn’t know a soul in Virginia.

I sat helplessly in my car until my eyes lighted on the crumpled map, still on the floor. In desperation I dialed the number for the gardener.

“Hello?”

My heart leaped with relief when he answered. “Hi. This is Shiloh … the girl from the hotel. You gave me directions this morning.”

“Sure. Did you find everything okay?”

“Yes, but actually, I’m lost now.” My voice sounded smalland pathetic. I couldn’t bring myself to explain why I was sitting in front of an empty church with no gas.

“You’re lost?”

“I took some wrong roads on my way back. And … I think my car ran out of gas.” I felt incredibly stupid. How could I have taken leave of my senses and gotten myself into this mess?

“Out of gas? Did the gas light come on?”

“Yes,” I quavered. “And it just stopped running.”

An odd silence. “Well, lack of gas does that. Can you … um … describe where you’re at?” Something roared like a motor behind him, and I pressed my other ear closed to hear.

“Well, there are some trees. And … and a horse.”

“Okay …” He cleared his throat, obviously trying hard.

“I’m in front of some church, too. The sign says Jerusalem Chapel something.”

“Oh, Jerusalem Chapel. I know where it is.”

“Can you just tell me how to get to the main road?”

“You go left, past …” He sighed. “It’s kind of complicated.” I heard some muffled voices behind him, and he told me to wait a minute. “Hello?”

“I’m here.” Where else could I go?

“I’ll go out there, but it’ll take me about twenty to thirty minutes. Can you wait that long?”

“What? You don’t have to come all the way out here!” I sputtered.

“Well.” I guess he wondered why I’d called him. “Do you know anyone else who can get there faster?”

I bit my lip, thinking hard for a miracle. “Um … no.”

“Then I’ll bring you some gas.”

“No! You’ve got stuff to do. I don’t know why I called. I just … don’t have anybody else here. In the whole state.” That was the honest truth.

“Well then, let me bring you some gas, and I’ll get you back to the hotel.”

I hung my head in humiliation. What other alternatives did I have? I didn’t see a tow truck turning into the church driveway.

“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Just sit tight.”

“I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“No, it’s my fault,” I repeated miserably. “I shouldn’t have driven off like I did.”

“What are we going to do, leave you there for the wolves?”

“Starlings,” I corrected, my throat tightening. I wasn’t meaning to be funny.

“I warned you. Bye.”

I gloomily hung up the phone, feeling like the dumbest girl in the world. And more lost and alone than I’d ever felt in my entire life.

W
hile I waited for the gardener, I fed grass to the horse.

Yanked big handfuls and offered it to him. He snorted and wanted more. Showed me his yellow teeth. It was therapeutic somehow, all that ripping and chewing.

Two cars had come by, one blasting country music. Something peacock-like crowed in the distance. The breeze stirred.

Then a little green sedan crunched into the parking lot. Instead of the baseball-capped gardener, a smiling blond girl poked her head out of the window. Not particularly pretty, but she sparkled like her insides glowed.

“Ya outta gas?” she called in a thick country accent.

I dumped the grass over the fence and trotted over. “How did you know?”

“Adam called me! I live jest up the way.” She got out of the car. “I don’t got no gas, but he’ll bring some.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“He said I should keep ya comp’ny till he gets here!” She smiled that infectious smile again. The poor girl looked like she’d walked out of a 1980s country-western store: jeans, jean jacket, flowered shirt, white tennis shoes, white socks, big bangs. I had the urge to take a picture.

“My name’s Becky Donaldson. And you?”

“Shiloh Jacobs.” I felt strange talking to some country girl I didn’t know in a place I didn’t know.

“Wow, what an amazin’ name! It’s a battlefield, ya know. From the Civil War.”

“And a place in Israel.”

“I’m just plain ol’ Becky.” She laughed.

“Yeah, well, Becky is easy to say in Japanese.” I stirred the gravel with my foot. “Sorry to trouble you. I didn’t pay attention to the gas light, and here I am.”

“Shucks! It’s nothin’. I done that before. Once it happened in the snow on the way ta school. Had ta push it over to the side a the road an’ walk ‘bout a mile up to get help. Or was that the oil? I cain’t remember.”

She said oil like uhl. It rhymed with pull. I thought of whipping out my reporter’s notebook, but it would be rude. Kyoko would have done it anyway.

“So how do you know Adam?” I asked, just trying to make conversation. We leaned against the back of my car together.

“Adam? We been friends since I was a kid,” she said with a giggle, showing slightly bucky front teeth. “He’s kinda like my brother, only I don’t got no brother. I’m a only child. I always tell him we was separated at birth. Went to the same high school, same church, ev’rything. Stuffed his locker top to bottom with them packing peanuts one time!” Becky tittered. “He built a snow fort ‘round my car so I couldn’t git it outta the driveway. That kinda stuff. But we’ve always stuck together.” She smiled a distant smile.

“Just friends?” I smiled, too, but for a different reason.

“For shore! We might be rednecks in Virginia, but thinkin’ a your so-called brother that way is just weird. Shucks, I’m married!” She laughed and showed me her wedding ring and tiny diamond engagement band, both old-fashioned yellow gold. “To Tim. We been married four years now. Ain’t it sweet?”

“Four years?” I gaped at her. “Aren’t you pretty young?”

“Twenty-five,” she said proudly. “Tim’s twenty-seven.”

“Wow. Congratulations!”

“Thanks!” She beamed. “I cain’t imagine bein’ married to nobody else!”

“How did you meet?” I tried to hide my own diamond, but she was too quick for me.

“Mercy!” She grabbed my hand and turned my ring in the light. “That’s some rock! Wow! What’s his name?”

The large, ice-clear diamond and exquisite cut still stunned me. I had to admit, Carlos had impeccable taste. “Carlos. From Argentina.”

“A Latin lover,” sighed Becky dreamily. “Wale, that’s jest won’erful! Did ya meet him in Argentina?”

“No, in Japan. Where I live.”

“You live there? Where, in To-kee-o?” We Americans tended to add an extra syllable in the middle.

“Yes. I’m a reporter.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Is it real differ’nt?”

“Well, yes, I guess so. When I first moved to Tokyo I felt some culture shock. But every place is different, if you think about it.”

“I reckon. But some’s gotta be more’n others.” Becky reached down and plucked a yellow dandelion sprouting up through slate-blue pebbles. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

Somehow this revelation didn’t surprise me.

“But ya know somethin’? I don’t think I could be happier. Tim’s just the most fabulous husband ever, and I wanna have kids somethin’ awful! We’re jest waitin’ on the Lord’s timing.”

“I can’t imagine having kids.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud. “They’re cute at first, but then they turn into messy little brats. I’d just rather get a dog.”

Becky stared at me and then laughed, something innocentand sweet in her eyes. I liked her in spite of myself, the way I’d liked Faye. “Aw, shucks, Shah-loh.” Even the way her accent rolled my name. “I reckon that’ll change when you get married, don’t ya reckon?”

“I don’t think so.”

Carlos echoed my sentiment. “Money grubbers,” he called kids. Said they interfered with life and fun.

“I cain’t wait to have kids! I’ll teach ‘em ‘bout God, how to read the Bible, and about snowflakes an’ fall leaves, an’ how ta tie them Boy Scout knots … tha way to pet a dawg and hold an old person’s hand …” She looked like she might cry. “I just wanna see somethin’ good in this old world full o’ sin. Somethin’ honorin’ to God that me and Tim can be proud of.”

I cleared my throat, strangely moved.

“This hair’ll turn white one day.” Becky held out a blond strand. “Better do what I ken with the life I got!”

I didn’t know what to say. I thought suddenly of Mom, and looked down at my black clothes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Becky gasped, as if remembering herself. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

“For what?”

“You just come from a funeral. Adam said so. And me runnin’ off at the mouth like that! I’m so sorry.”

I waved it away. “I needed something to get my mind off it anyway. I’m glad you came.” Somehow I meant it. Becky lent a sort of clean-scrubbedness to my dark mood—an aura of simplicity and belief that life really could be good after all.

Becky rubbed her feet in the gravel and looked down. “Did ya lose somebody close?”

“Well, yes and no.”

She gave me space and didn’t comment. Just nodded.

“My mom.” I cleared my throat, which for some inexplicable reason felt tight again. Scratchy. Maybe I’d gotten a cold from the plane.

Becky’s eyes welled up, and her face turned blotchy red. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what I’d do if my mama … mercy, Shah-loh! I had no idea.”

It struck me as odd that tears streamed down her cheeks and not mine.

“It’s okay. We didn’t have … uh … a close relationship.”

Becky wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled.

“No?”

“Not for a long time. She wasn’t … well, the easiest person to live with. We’d been apart for years.”

“That’s a shame. Family ken be so wonderful, ya know?”

“I guess.” What a lousy answer, and an untrue one at that. Family had drained the life out of me as far back as I could remember.