They Call Me Crazy (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cass

I
n the movies, I’ve seen someone light a candle, turn on a gas stove and leave. Then, the house explodes in a flurry of bits. I have a kerosene lantern.

After I turn on the stove and blow out the pilot light, I throw the lantern into the bedroom. When I hear it crash next to the piles of clothes, I know that even if the stove doesn’t work, the kerosene will.

Clay and I drive down the hill. An explosion would be nice, but it doesn’t happen. I make him park on the other side of the gravel road. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that he knows. I’m getting to where I often know what Clay is thinking.

We sit there in the dark, talking, until it’s almost time for the sun to come up. I have my window down. A cool, moist breeze that signifies a coming storm blows through the cab. We talk a lot about when we were teenagers but not so much about the past fifteen years.

He doesn’t ask, but it’s time I tell him.

“The night before I killed Roland, he came home right after work. He wanted to talk to me. He was being real nice, too nice.”

Clay stares straight ahead, looking through the windshield, into the darkness.

“He told me he loved me and he was sorry for everything and that he wanted to make things better. He’d been saving money to build a house, but he changed his mind. He was going to use it to take me someplace where I could get real help and get better. Then he made love to me, the way he used to.”

Maybe I should have left that part out, because Clay’s mouth twitches, a small movement I can see even in the dim morning light. As strange as it may seem, I’m beginning to suspect Clay wants to be more than a friend. Even stranger, I like that idea. I touch his shoulder, and he turns his head toward me.

I put my hand back in my lap. “So the next morning, I killed him.”

“Cassie, I don’t understand.”

I sit back in my seat and lean my head back. The truck’s worn headliner is falling in places, reminding me of the cracks in the jail cell ceiling. “I didn’t believe him. I still don’t believe he meant it. He’d been so mean for so many years. How does someone go back so quickly? He wanted to take me far away, put me in some institution, and leave me there forever. I know that’s what he was going to do. I
know
it.”

“Did you try to talk to him?”

I laugh. “To Roland? You know how he was. Once his mind was made up, there was no talking. No one was ever right but him. Ever.”

Clay nods. Then he does something that I don’t expect at all. He reaches over, puts his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me to him. “I wish you would have called me.”

I wish I had, too. “How far back do you remember, Clay? Memories. When we were kids? Of your daddy?” I feel him flinch when I mention his daddy. I should have known better, but it’s too late now.

He ponders that for a minute then chuckles. “I couldn’t have been more than four years old. I stood in the doorway at our house, the one on Seventh Street, where we lived before we moved to the trailer. It was raining outside, and my mom was on the porch, pounding a plank into place with a hammer. She was hitting it so hard. I just stood there and watched: the rain, the hammer. Strange thing to remember, isn’t it?”

“I remember dirty feet.” That image always came back to me.

“Dirty feet?” he asked.

I swallow hard. I’ve never said it out loud. “I sat on the floor. I’d wet my pants. And my mama had dirty feet.”

He pulls me closer and kisses me on the forehead. I feel safe.

We sit for a long time, waiting for the storm. We both turn toward the house at the sound of glass breaking. Flames shoot out the front two windows, sending glass and aluminum foil flying across the porch. The house is slowly being eaten from the inside, the fire like a cancer.

Clay takes the back roads up through Springtown to the old highway. I guess if we drove right out to the new highway, it would be obvious to anyone who saw us that we started the fire. Not that I intend to lie about it.

We’re driving down the old highway when the first raindrops appear on the windshield. I figure the house is pretty much gone by now, and God is in a mood to help put out the fire. That’s okay, too.

We stop at Clay’s house. It’s small but just right for one, even two. The cedar siding shines in the rain. To the south is the pad where his mama’s mobile home used to stand when we were kids.

I make coffee while Clay hides all that cash. He sets the Mason jars out back so the rain can do the cleaning. He says they’ll come in handy for his worm business, if I don’t mind. I don’t. It’s a small price to pay for his help.

In Clay’s kitchen, an odd sense of peace falls over me. The room is all wood, paneled walls, pine cabinets, and hardwood floors. I begin to imagine I’m on vacation in a country lodge in the middle of a forest. It’s a comfortable place, and it seems very natural for me to be here. I want to make him breakfast then light a fire and sit and listen to the rain. But one fire is enough for tonight.

Clay feels it, too. When he comes in, he’s as giddy as a child. We laugh and drink coffee, then he takes a shower and changes out of his dirty clothes. I wash up at the kitchen sink.

We hear the fire sirens start at about the same time as the country roosters begin singing their wake-up song. Clay turns off all the lights and locks all the doors.

He knows there’s a chance he may not be back for a while, but he’s okay with that. And so am I.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Benny

“W
hat do you mean you don’t know where the hell she is?” I stand on the porch of Babe Shatner’s house, surrounded by plants and other things. God only knows what she uses them for.

She answered the door in a wrinkled nightdress and ragged house slippers. She didn’t bother to put on a robe or fix the rat’s nest on top of her head. Hands on her hips, she says, “Now you watch your mouth, Benny Cloud. I knew your grandma, and she wouldn’t appreciate hearing that kind of talk from you. God rest her soul.”

The rain is coming in sheets, and I can barely hear her over the din. I try to control my tone, but it’s difficult. “Where is she, Ms. Shatner? Her shack up on that hill is burning to the ground, and she’s nowhere to be found. You don’t find that odd?”

She opens the door wider and motions for me to go inside. In the small living room, a musty smell of unidentified fragrances fills the air. Five tall white candles stand on the coffee table, arranged in a star pattern, wax dripping down the sides onto paper plates.

“As I said, I don’t know where she is. She ain’t in her bedroom, but she was when I went to bed last night.” She picks up the rotary phone on the side table and dials with a crooked index finger. “I’m calling the Travelodge to ask Richard and Lola.” After very calmly explaining the situation, she replaces the phone on the cradle and turns back to me, the light of the candles reflecting in her eyes. “They haven’t seen hide nor hair. They’re getting dressed and will be over in a bit.”

She sits on the couch, smooths her nightdress, and picks at a piece of imaginary lint. I feel awkward standing and know I should probably be putting out an all-points for Cass Adams. Instead, I use my cell phone to call the station and ask about the fire.

“It’s contained,” I say when I hang up, as if Babe cares. “Ain’t nothin’ left of the house. Those old shacks go up pretty fast. Good thing the storm came up, or it could have been much worse.”

She stares straight ahead. Then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and smiles. “Cass will be here in a minute.”

I barely hear the truck door slam over the sound of the rain. I look out the front window and see Cass running through the rain with her arms crossed over her head, giggling like a schoolgirl. Clay Adams is right behind her.

They don’t seem surprised that I’m waiting for them in her grandma’s living room. They aren’t upset at all when I tell them the house is on fire. And when I tell them they have to come to the station with me, there’s no complaint. Clay just stands tall with his chin out. With a wide-eyed, innocent expression that I know is all for play, Cass asks if she can change into some dry clothes first.

Babe goes to the kitchen to get coffee. When she returns, she offers cups to me and Clay while Cass gets ready. It’s all very social. I decline, and when Cass comes back, I lead them outside and put them into the back of my cruiser, the same place they had been together just three nights ago.

I don’t ask.

I don’t need to.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maryanne

“W
hat were you thinking?” I want to control my voice, but I’m tired, angry, and hurt. And the last thing I need this morning is to be sitting in the visitation room of Benny’s jail.

I didn’t sleep well last night, alone in my bed, and the entire house seemed cold. After Clay left, Shaylene was very distant, and my efforts to try to explain things to her were in vain. Eventually, she locked herself in her room, and I decided to let her have a few days. We both needed time.

Clay wanted me to tell Cass, but I just couldn’t. I knew she’d find out anyway, so I didn’t see the point. He wanted me to punish myself, and I wasn’t about to do that. After all, I was the one who lost. I loved Roland. Always had. And I didn’t kill him. Screw her, I thought, and screw Clay as well.

Word reached me about Clay being arrested through the town gossip vine. He didn’t call me. He didn’t call Shaylene, either. According to Benny, he didn’t call anyone. And that hurt.

“Are you listening to me?” I asked.

The green jailhouse scrubs are tight on Clay’s muscular frame, and I picture him bursting out of them like David Banner. He’s leaning slightly forward, his arms spread wide, palms down on the table. He grins. “It’s not a big deal, Maryanne. I took her out there to get a few of her things. The fire was an accident. That’s all.”

It isn’t normal for Clay to lie, but I can tell he is. It doesn’t make sense.

“She killed your brother. She is
not
your friend. She’s dangerous, and you have a daughter to consider.”

He laughs. “You know, it’s funny that you only bring Shaylene up when you think you can get me to agree with you. Sorry. I always think of Shaylene. Maybe I should be the one reminding you now and again.”

In the past few days, Clay has changed. I begin to wonder if maybe Cass does have some kind of witchy power and is using her influence on Clay.

Clay sits back. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I didn’t do anything wrong. Benny didn’t know what to do with me this morning, so he locked me up. I suggested it, actually. I felt sorry for him.”

“You suggested it? You are flirting with danger here.”

He stands and calls for the guard. “Don’t worry about it. Go home. Tell Shaylene I love her and I’ll talk to her soon.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Clay

I
saved my phone call in case I’m here more than a day so that I can call Daze and have him check on the worms. The weather has been unpredictable lately. One day it’s hot, and the next, it’s raining so hard it floods. I have to make sure the worms are taken care of.

Jail isn’t so bad. Luckily for me, R.T. got bailed out this morning. The wife he’s been beating on apparently couldn’t live another day without him. I’m glad he’s gone so I don’t have to take top bunk. Cassie is right across from me in the second cell, and when the doors at the top of the stairs are closed, we talk. She’s been telling me all about the Nabateans of Petra and how they were big agriculturists. It’s interesting to hear her tell the story because she skips the boring stuff. I’m glad she enjoyed the book.

She’s also been coaching me about being in jail. I swear, for someone who was only in for a day, she seems to have picked up on a lot. The first thing is not to say anything to them about what we did last night. She said that I should tell them to talk to my lawyer. That drives Benny a little batty because I don’t have a lawyer. I guess I’ll get a public defender.
Fine.

Next, she told me that when they bring lunch, I should always ask for more bread. Then when they bring that, ask for more salt. There isn’t a real reason, other than that it’s fun to watch them run up and down the stairs, fetching all the extras.

We were up all night, and she’s been trying to catch some sleep in between visitors this morning. Babe was here, and of course, Lola and Richard came. Cassie said that fancy doctor from Springfield was coming back down today, and she seems happy about that. I’m glad she has someone to talk to.

“You awake, Cassie?”

“You don’t have to whisper. They can’t hear us unless we yell.” Cass does a lot of that. But she’s never yelled at me.

“It’s kind of peaceful down here, don’t you think?” I say.

I can hear faint footsteps above us, muffled voices, and the occasional door being shut too hard. But for the most part, all I hear is the rain outside, a thunderclap every now and then, and the sounds of our breathing.

“It reminds me of that time when we went in the cave out by the river.”

I smile. I remember that, too. Cassie and Maryanne were maybe twelve, Roland was fourteen, and I was fifteen. We were out by the Trolley Car Bridge, throwing rocks in the water. Cassie and Maryanne made a big show of poking their fingers with a needle and becoming blood sisters. Then and there, we decided to walk along the opposite bank, on the rocks, and see who the first to fall in would be. We went maybe a quarter of a mile upstream and came to a cave on an outcropping above us.

Roland and Maryanne didn’t want to go inside it. They said there was no telling what lived in there. But Cassie was already climbing the rocks. I was older and wasn’t supposed to be scared, and I couldn’t just let her go by herself. If anything happened, my mother would have tanned my hide. So I followed her, and the two of us went in the cave together.

The inside was dark, but we had the sunlight at the mouth, and we only wandered back as far as where we could still see the light. There wasn’t much to it, just a cold, dark cave.

Then Cassie looked at me and smiled. She put one finger to her mouth and started screaming, “Oh, no! Clay, don’t let it get you. No!” She followed that with a bunch of loud gurgling sounds then cut that off in the middle.

Maryanne and Roland went crazy down below. They started yelling our names. Maryanne tried to convince Roland to check on us, but he wasn’t about to. We stayed quiet, covering our mouths to keep from laughing, until we heard Maryanne begin to cry.

Cassie let out a long sigh and walked to the mouth of the cave. “We’re just playin’. There ain’t nothin’ up here. But down there are a couple of chickens.”

That’s the way it always was with me and Cassie. She loved my brother—there’s no doubting that—but she and I always seemed to share a secret.

“So how long do you think we’ll be here?” I’m glad to say this is my first time ever in a jail cell. I don’t know much about how it all works.

“Not long. Richard said they can’t hold us. He’s talking to Benny and the judge this afternoon. He says he knows all kinds of tricks and just wants to line everything up before he talks to them.”

I think about Shaylene and figure she’ll be up to visit later. I don’t really want her to see me in here. She’s had enough going on the past couple of days, and I’ve always been the stable one in her life. Seeing me in jail, even if it isn’t going to be for long, can’t be good for her.

“Cassie, thanks for not making a big deal over that money at the bank. I promise Maryanne won’t get a dime of it. Shaylene will be eighteen next month, and I’ll make sure she gets that money.”

“It isn’t Shaylene’s fault. She’s kind of like you and me, stuck in the middle, figuring stuff out day by day,” Cassie says. “Besides, she’s your daughter.”

I smile.
My
daughter. Not Roland’s.