Travelers Rest (29 page)

“I wonder why.”

Truman shrugged. “Happens sometimes.”

Jane sighed. “And you didn’t bring your cell phone with you, right?”

“In my rush to get here, I forgot. Sorry, Jane.”

“That’s all right. But I need to let Jewel know. I’ll ask Laney if I can make a quick call on their phone in the office. I’ll pay her back for the long-distance charges.”

“I’m sure that’ll be fine. Though knowing Laney, she probably won’t let you pay her back.”

Jane stirred cream into her coffee. Accustomed to drinking coffee from a mug, she liked the way the spoon clinked against the delicate china. The dining room was empty except for her and Truman, who were sharing a late breakfast of bacon, fried eggs, and toast. “What would you like to do today, Truman?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” He stabbed at his eggs with the prongs of his fork so that a slow lava of yolk flowed out. “First, I’d like to take a little drive, see some of the old haunts. There’s one place I’d like to visit for sure before we leave tomorrow.”

When he didn’t go on, Jane paused with a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “Do you want to visit Maggie’s grave?”

Truman shook his head. “No. I’ll let her and Cyrus rest in peace. But I’d like to go back to the river, Jane, if you don’t mind taking me.”

“You mean where you found Tommy Lee Coleman?”

“Yes. I don’t know why exactly. Except that I used to love that river. Maybe a person sometimes has to make peace with a place.”

Jane nodded. “I’ll be glad to take you there, and anywhere else you want to go. The day is yours, Truman.”

———

The sky was cloudless, an open expanse of blue. If Jane’s car had been a convertible, she and Truman would have ridden with the top down. As it was, they elected to roll up the windows and turn on the AC against the hot and muggy air outside. Truman, in a short-sleeved shirt and slacks, hunkered down in the passenger seat with his cane at hand, ready for the nostalgic ride. His eyes were bright and he seemed on the verge of laughter. It made Jane happy simply to be with him.

“Where do we go first?” she said.

“Anywhere,” Truman answered with a wave of a hand. “Just drive around the town. Believe me, that won’t take long. Then we’ll head out toward the river. I can’t exactly remember how to get there, and I’m sure things have changed a bit over the years, but don’t worry, we’ll get there eventually.”

“I’m not worried. We have all day. I’ll top off the tank at the nearest gas station, and we’ll be set.”

“All right. And you got hold of Jewel, right?”

Jane nodded. “Yup, called her from the phone in the office. I told her my cell is dead but she can call me at the inn. I gave her the number.”

“How did she say Seth is doing?”

“That’s the best part, Truman. She said he’s doing better. He’s talking and eating a little. He says he’s hungry. Jewel’s hoping they can move him out of ICU in the next few days.”

Truman smiled broadly, his white teeth a flash of enthusiasm. “That’s great, Jane. I’m glad to hear it. It’ll be good to get him back up on five. He’s got a tournament to win, you know.”

Jane nodded and laughed. “Yeah, being up on five is the new normal. I can’t wait to get him back to normal. Winning the tournament would just be an added bonus at this point. But a nice one, of course.” She glanced at Truman and smiled before looking back to the road.

“So how are Jewel and Sid?”

“They’re holding their own, I think, though I know the whole thing’s wearing on them.”

“Of course it is.”

“Jewel said she’d call if there was a change and otherwise she’d see us Friday.”

When Truman didn’t respond, Jane glanced at him and said, “You
are
coming back with me tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes,” he replied. “Yes, I’m going back with you. Hey look, there’s a gas station up there on the left. Why don’t we stop and fill up.” He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out his credit card. “Then after that, turn right at the light up there, and I’ll show you where we lived when I was growing up. We can go on to the river from there.”

Jane pulled into the station and allowed Truman to gas up the car. After they rolled back onto the street, she turned right at the light. “Do you think you’ll ever live in Travelers Rest again, Truman?” she asked.

Truman squinted slightly as the corner of his mouth turned up. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

The house Truman grew up in was gone, razed to make room for a strip mall on the far outskirts of town. Truman took the change in stride, saying it wasn’t much of a house to begin with, and who knew but maybe it had even fallen down on its own.

From there they traveled south of Travelers Rest to find the Saluda River. It took them awhile of driving and backtracking, but Truman eventually recognized the slight bend in the river where he and Maggie had set down their picnic basket on that long-ago day.

Jane parked by the side of the road, and the two of them got out of the car. She followed Truman a short distance until he stopped several yards from the water’s edge. He poked at the ground with his cane. He looked up the river and down until he was satisfied and then said, “This is it. This is the spot.”

The riverbank was shaded by a variety of leafy and pine trees. The river itself was narrow and rocky; bubbly in spots, quiet in others. The place was one of benign beauty, not particularly memorable, yet worthy of an afternoon for a young couple in love.

“This is where your whole life changed,” Jane said.

Truman nodded. “Yes.”

She tried to imagine the day: a young Truman and Maggie and a picnic basket on a blanket, the anticipation of a quiet afternoon together, and then the abrupt intrusion of gunfire, a car door slamming, an engine revving, and a man left bleeding in the grass. If only Truman had chosen another place, another time. If only.

“If you could do it all over again,” Jane asked, “do you think you would help Tommy Lee?”

Deep in thought, Truman’s eyes narrowed and his brow sagged. Finally he said, “I don’t have an answer to that. If I say I wished I’d done it differently, then I’d be living with regrets, and I don’t want that. My life turned on a dime and headed in a different direction, but who’s to say it was the wrong direction? In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m satisfied everything turned out the way it was supposed to. It’s been a good life and I can’t complain. Anyhow, you know what Maggie always said.” His eyes rolled toward Jane. “‘Life’s gearshift’s got no reverse—’”

“‘So you have to just keep moving forward,’” Jane finished. With that, they shared a smile.

Truman looked back out over the water and sighed deeply. It was a sigh, Jane knew, of contentment and not of longing. After a moment, Truman said, “You know, I think I could use a drink.”

Jane nodded. “We passed a Dairy Queen a few miles back. I bet they could mix you up a tall glass of chocolate milk.”

“Well, then”—Truman turned and headed toward the car—“what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

43

T
hey sat in the brown leather club chairs in the library, the small empty table between them. The clock on the mantel showed the hour to be near midnight. They’d put 154 miles on the Honda in their tour of the Upcountry. After the stop at Dairy Queen they’d driven well into the afternoon, catching lunch in a small café in Pelham, a postage stamp of a town somewhere between the larger cities of Greenville and Spartanburg, which they also visited. Now they were tired.

“What time do you want to head home tomorrow, Truman?” Jane asked, leaning her head against the cushioned chair.

“Not too early,” Truman replied. “These old bones are rather fond of sleeping in.”

“My bones feel the same way,” Jane said. “But listen, you don’t have to go back tomorrow, you know. Laney said you can stay as long as you want.”

“Hmm-huh,” Truman said. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to get rid of me?”

Jane lifted her head and looked at Truman. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’m just trying to . . . well, to give you some time, is all.”

“Time for what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. To be home again. To get a little better acquainted with Bess—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on, Truman, you know she’d like you to stay awhile. Or stay for good. I saw the way she was watching you at supper tonight. She’s brokenhearted because you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Truman looked down at his hands and shrugged. “My home’s in Asheville now. I’ve got to go back.”

“And what about Bess?”

“What
about
Bess?”

Jane feigned an exasperated sigh. “She’s attractive. She’s funny. She’s available. She’s Maggie’s little sister.”

“She’s not Maggie.”

“She doesn’t have to be, does she?”

Truman thought a moment. “No, she doesn’t have to be. But, Jane, I’m too old for all that now.”

“Don’t be silly, Truman. You’re never too old for love.”

Truman laughed lightly. “Well, young lady, just wait till you’re my age and see if you still believe that. Love’s not so easy when you’re falling apart.”

Jane leaned her head against the chair again. “You know something, Truman,” she said. “I don’t think love’s ever easy.”

Truman nodded, stuck out his lower lip. “I think you’re probably right about that.”

“I thought I was going to have a lifetime of it with Seth. Now I know there are no guarantees.”

“Nope. No guarantees. You can’t place a warranty on something so fragile.”

“And yet the crazy thing is, Truman, we’re always . . .”

“Always what, Jane?”

She thought of the words of the poet. “We’re always crying after it, you know? We’re always crying after love. It’s such a fundamental desire, but there’s nothing to satisfy it, is there?”

“Well.” Truman looked up at the ceiling, offered a sigh. “Humanly speaking, probably not. Momentarily, maybe. Sometimes maybe for years. But not for a lifetime, no.”

“What then, Truman? Why are we always looking for something that isn’t there?”

While waiting for Truman to respond, Jane shut her eyes. That was the irony, she thought. Like everyone else, she was looking for fairy tales in a story of heartache, a dime-store-novel ending to what was one huge Shakespearean tragedy. Everything was doomed to fail. And yet, for Truman, there had been a sort of redemption, hadn’t there? Hadn’t the answer to his prayer meant something?

Truman was speaking, saying something . . . she wasn’t quite sure what. She should listen, would listen if her own thoughts weren’t weighing her down, lulling her toward sleep. She wanted to know his answer but . . .

———

Footsteps approached, moving down the long uncarpeted hall. Someone was coming. Jane opened her eyes, sat up straighter in the chair. Who was coming to the library at this hour? Laney, maybe, with tall glasses of sweet tea on a tray? Clapper, making the rounds, checking on doors and windows before bed?

The footsteps stopped in the doorway. Jane gasped at the figure captured in the hallway light.

“Seth!” Her heart thumped as her breath quickened. She wanted to jump from the chair and run to him, but her body wouldn’t respond. “Seth, I don’t understand. How . . . what are you . . . ?” She stopped, unable to find the words.

Seth made no move toward her. He lifted his hands, palms up, as though to show her he could do it. “I’m all right now,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“But how, Seth? How?”

“Look,” he said, “I can’t stay long, but I have something for you.”

“What?”

Seth nodded toward the table between Jane’s chair and Truman’s. On it was an open bottle of wine that Jane hadn’t noticed before. “Wine?” Jane asked.

Seth smiled. Jane thought of the Penlands’ cabinet, all the bottles lined up inside. “But I don’t want it, Seth. I’m sorry, but—”

“It isn’t wine, Jane.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. It’s what you’ve been looking for. It’s love.”

“Love?”

“Show her, Truman.”

Truman seemed at ease with what was happening, as though he were used to paralyzed men walking and wine appearing where there had been none. Serenely, he picked up the bottle and poured a small amount of wine into two miniature glasses. Setting the bottle back on the table, his hands moved to an uncut loaf of bread that lay beside it. Jane hadn’t noticed the loaf before either.

Truman tore off a piece and gripped it for a moment, his lips moving as though in prayer. Then he extended his hand to Jane, offering her the bread as he said, “This is His body . . .”

———

Before she could take it, a phone rang somewhere, knocking Jane into a dazed wakefulness. She stretched her cramped muscles, felt her skin rub against the cool leather of the club chair. She slowly became aware of birdsong and of dawn struggling to come in through the gauzy curtains covering the windows. She saw she was alone in the room, though in the next moment Laney was there, standing in the doorway in a white cotton robe, holding the cordless phone in both hands like it was a wounded bird. Before Jane was even fully awake, she knew that Seth was dead.

44

T
WO
W
EEKS
L
ATER

J
ane moved down the familiar hallway of the Community Living Center, made no less bland by the occasional cheap painting and other attempts at hominess. She thought for the hundredth time that Truman deserved to live out the rest of his life in a better place, a real home, maybe even a house in Travelers Rest.

She took a deep breath when she reached his room, paused at the door, knocked on the doorframe.

He greeted her with a smile and a wave. “Jane, come on in.”

“Hi, Truman.”

He was sitting in his chair, eating his lunch from a tray on the overbed table. He paused as Jane approached, his fork poised over the remains of a fish stick, a small mound of potatoes, and a few scattered peas. Beside the plate sat an untouched dinner roll and a pat of butter cradled in paper.