Under the Mercy Trees (24 page)

Cappy's wasn't fancy. The bar gave out free peanuts. Martin's feet crunched empty shells as he walked across the concrete floor. The place smelled of stale beer and the melted Cheez Wiz the bartender kept on a hot plate behind the bar to dribble on nachos for the braver customers. Dim lighting kept the patrons from looking too bad.

Martin pulled a stool up to the bar. “Scotch. Neat.” He chatted with the bartender for the first hour, enjoying the smooth taste of the liquor after days of deprivation. Steven and Trina walked in as he was ordering his fourth drink. Steven smelled of cologne. He had put on a nice shirt. Trina had come as she was, in a jean jacket and tight white pants. Cappy's sold canned beer for a dollar. If you wanted a glass you had to ask. The Scotch wasn't so cheap. Steven and Trina ordered two cans of Budweiser apiece and followed Martin to a booth in the back. They sat on one side and Martin sat on the other, facing the door.

Steven leaned back and stretched. “I'm glad you called, Martin. It feels good to get out.”

Trina looked around. “I haven't been here in a while.”

The bar's only waitress passed by and gave them a bowl of peanuts, still in the shells. Martin took one, popping the warm shell with his fingers and dropping the nut in his mouth. It was hot as buckshot. He spit it out.

Over the bar's music system, the Oak Ridge Boys belted out “Elvira.” “I love this song.” Trina drummed her fingers on the edge of the table. “Ba dump bump.”

“I used to date a girl named Elvira,” Steven said.

“You did not,” Trina said.

“I don't tell you everything, sis. Hey, Martin, we had a lady from up your way in the shop today.”

“A New Yawker,” Trina said, imitating the unfortunate woman.

“Her car got dinged in the hotel parking lot. She brought it in this morning and asked me where she could get some breakfast. I pointed her to the lunch counter at the drugstore across the street for some eggs and grits. She asked me what grits was. When I told her, she said maybe she'd try one grit.”

“She wasn't the dumbest one we had this week, though,” Trina said. She and Steven told one tale after another about their customers. Steven was a natural storyteller, and Trina chimed in when he left out a good part. It was pleasant there in the bar, cool and dark. Country music played not too loud. Pool balls from a corner pool table knocked softly against each other. Once in a while a siren passed by outside.

Martin's glass was empty. He motioned to the waitress, and she headed for the bar to get him another. “Steven, tell Ivy I need to talk to her. I went down to the Register of Deeds today. It turns out all of us siblings own equal shares of the farm.”

Steven whistled. “That's great. Maybe Mama will get some money out of it. Lord knows she could use it.”

“She'll finally get something for being an Owenby. The family sure hasn't done much for her up to now,” Trina said.

“I don't know how much it would bring. And with Leon missing, it might be a while before we could sell it,” Martin said.

“Mama's waited this long. She can wait a little longer,” Steven said.

The waitress brought Martin's drink. The room was starting to swim, so he went ahead and paid her while he was still sober enough to count his money.

“Whose idea was it to go check out the property title?” Steven said.

“Bertie and James told us Bobby claimed to have a deed from Leon. The sheriff said Leon didn't own the property, so he couldn't convey it. It seemed wise to check it out.”

“You've got to be kidding me. That Bobby is about useless,” Steven said.

As he spoke, the door to the bar opened, and Bobby came in with a girl Martin assumed was Cherise. Cherise looked puffy. It was less than two weeks since she'd had the baby.

“Speak of the devil,” Martin said. Willoby County was too small for comfort sometimes.

Steven turned around to look. “Speak of the dumbass.”

Martin sipped his Scotch. It seemed like there was something he was supposed to be doing, but he couldn't remember what it was. Up at the bar, Bobby and Cherise ordered beers. The bartender put the cans down in front of them. Bobby popped his open and turned his back to the bar. He spotted them at the booth and headed their way. Cherise followed him.

“Is this a family reunion?” Bobby held out his hand for Martin to shake, snubbing Steven and Trina.

“Hi, Bobby.” Martin reached for his hand and missed completely.

“You're shit-faced, man,” Bobby said.

“I guess so,” Martin said.

“I hear Leon deeded you his property,” Steven said, straight-faced.

Bobby looked wary. “That's right. He did. His share of it, anyway. Enough to put a trailer on.”

“That was awfully nice of him,” Trina said.

“Awfully nice,” Steven said.

“We were the only ones cared about him. That's why he gave it to us,” Cherise said. The V-neck of her light blue body suit came down way too far. Her breasts, swollen from recent childbirth, fought with each other to see which one could escape first. The sight made Martin queasy.

“You say you're the only ones cared about him?” Steven squeezed his beer can. It dented with a loud pop.

Martin could feel the conversation going bad, but he didn't know how to stop it.

“That's what Leon thought, anyway,” Cherise said. “Plus he knew we were planning a family.”

“Planning? That's a good one,” Trina said.

A cackle escaped Martin's lips. He put a hand up to cut it off.

Cherise glared at Trina. “Yes, planning. Just because we aren't married yet doesn't mean we didn't plan it. Y'all ought to know that. Your mama never bothered marrying any of your daddies.”

“Leave our mama out of it,” Steven said.

“It's the truth,” Cherise said.

Trina smiled sweetly at Cherise. “Slut.”

“What did you say?” Cherise puffed out her chest. Her breasts loomed so close Martin could see the acne in her cleavage. He reached for his Scotch to fight off nausea.

“I said you were a slut,” Trina said, speaking loudly and clearly enough for a slow hearer to understand.

Cherise set her beer can down on the table. “Come over here and say that.”

Trina clambered over Steven to get out of the booth. The two women faced each other, a foot apart. Trina came up to Cherise's shoulder and weighed half as much.

“You were a little bitch in high school, and you're a worse one now,” Cherise said, looking down at Trina.

Trina didn't bother to answer. She reached up and grabbed a fistful of Cherise's starched bangs and yanked. Martin winced. Cherise screamed. Trina opened her hand and hairs floated down onto the table. Cherise grabbed her forehead with one hand and flailed at Trina with the other, spilling beer all over the table. Trina kicked Cherise in the shins. Steven was up now, going for Bobby. The bartender headed their way. Martin shrank back into the corner of the booth and held his drink up out of the way to protect it. Steven drew back to punch Bobby in the face, but the bartender had arrived. He grabbed Steven's arm. “Cut it out! One more move and I'm calling the cops. Get the hell out of my bar.” He pointed to Bobby and Cherise. “You two first. You get a thirty-second head start.”

Bobby and Cherise headed for the door, fast.

“You
better
run,” Steven called.

“Now you two,” the bartender said to Steven and Trina. He looked over at Martin, cowering in the corner of the booth. “You can stay, Martin. You weren't hurting anybody.”

Steven reached for his wallet and threw a couple of singles on the wet table for the waitress. He grinned. “Most fun I've had in a while, Martin. We'll let you know how it turns out.” He and Trina took off. Outside Bobby's truck tires screeched as he and Cherise pulled away from the curb.

The bartender went back to his place behind the bar. The table was covered with beer. Martin tried mopping it up with the thin cocktail napkin that came with his drink. It disintegrated into soggy shreds. He reached in his breast pocket for a handkerchief and started to sop up the mess, then realized he was wiping the table with Mary Lacy Morgan's poems. Round Courier letters bled off the page. Her carefully typed fish swam in a pool of Budweiser.

He left the poems where they lay and made his careful, balanced way to a drier booth.

32

Liza

Liza kept her sweater on the back of the chair next to her to save Martin's place during the orchestra warm-up and through the first twenty minutes of the performance, then put it in her lap. She would not allow herself to be hurt by something so predictable.

When the performance was over she was first out of the auditorium so she could escape the parking lot before the crowd. She drove to downtown Whelan, knowing Martin would be at Cappy's, one of the few bars in Willoby County that sold both liquor and beer. She had seen his green truck there a few times since he'd come back, once at two o'clock in the afternoon. The truck was there now, sitting comfortably in the loading zone in front of Cappy's. She parked across the street and went into the bar.

By this time of night a cigarette haze hung over the room, making her eyes water. The bartender, Jason, was a former student of hers. He looked surprised to see her, but gave a wave from behind the bar. She walked toward the back.

Martin was drunk. He listed to the right in a booth, arm outstretched, clinging to his Scotch glass to anchor himself. When he sensed her standing there, it took great effort for him to raise his eyes enough to see who it was. “Liza,” he managed. “Liza, Liza.” She could see his brain slowly working, trying to remember. “Was I s'posed to . . .” He put his head down in the crook of his elbow.

“The symphony,” she said.

“Ah, shit,” he slurred. “Sympomy. Shit.” He lifted his head and tried to sit up straight. “I forgot. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” The words were an echo. She wondered how many times he had uttered them drunk to how many people. And how many, like her, couldn't help but forgive him.

“I'll give you a ride home,” she said.

“I can drive.” He patted his blazer randomly, couldn't find a pocket, much less his keys.

“Better let me.” She looked around to see who could help her get him outside. Jason was watching them from behind the bar. She motioned him over. “My truck is across the street. You take one arm, I'll take the other.”

“I can walk,” Martin insisted. He slid out of the booth, missing the six-inch step down. His reaction time was too slow to get a foot out to catch himself, and he sprawled on the cement floor, facedown. He rolled over, peanut shells sticking to his hair and clothes. “I renounce,” he said.

Jason looked at her. She could imagine the word getting around town—Miz Barnard in a bar late at night, lugging a crazy drunk man to her truck. “On second thought, I think I'll call my husband. Can you keep an eye on him, Jason?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Jason didn't bother trying to get Martin off the floor. Liza walked to the entrance to call Raby on the pay phone. Behind her, Martin's mantra grew louder. “I renounce. I renounce.”

Raby answered on the first ring.

“It's me,” she said.

“You all right?”

“Yes, I'm downtown. I'm fine. Is Sandra still up?”

“She's right here. What do you need?”

“Martin's down here at Cappy's, too drunk to drive. If you bring Sandra with you, we can get him and his truck back to Hodge's.”

“Better just to bring him here,” Raby said. Her fine husband. He didn't ask why she and Martin were at a bar instead of at the symphony.

“Be there in fifteen minutes.” Raby hung up. She went back to where Martin lay on the floor. Jason was glad to be relieved. The few other customers in the bar were staring, though some of them looked as impaired as Martin.

“We've had a time with the Owenbys here tonight, Miz Barnard,” Jason said. “You should've seen them earlier. Steven and his sister on one side, and Bobby and Cherise on the other. I guess we'll learn tomorrow who got the best of who.”

“Whom,” Liza said automatically.

“Whom. Glad they took it somewhere else. We don't need the trouble.” He went back to the bar.

Martin had gone to sleep on the floor. Liza stepped over him and sat down at the booth to wait. She found a spot on the table that wasn't sticky and set her purse down.

“Liza.”

She looked down. Martin's eyes were still closed, but he was conscious.

“What, sweetie?”

“Why do you put up with me?”

“I'm not sure.”

He didn't say anything else.

When Raby and Sandra walked in the door, Liza's daughter had a big grin on her face. It wasn't often she got to come pick up her mother and her mother's old boyfriend at a bar at midnight. Raby had a protective hand on Sandra's back. He was already sizing up the situation.

“So this is your old beau, Mom?” Sandra said.

“Don't start,” Liza warned.

Raby bent down over Martin and put his hand on his shoulder. “You awake, Martin?”

“No,” Martin said, eyes still closed.

“Help me out,” Raby told him, hefting him up by the arm. Martin groaned, but managed to stand up flat-footed. Raby put one of Martin's arms over his shoulder, and Liza took the other one.

“Sucker's heavy for a skinny boy,” Raby said. They walked Martin toward the door. Sandra picked up Liza's pocketbook and followed behind. Jason got the door for them, then left them on their own.

“My truck's across the street,” Liza said.

“He's riding with me,” Raby said. “Sandra, you drive my truck. Me and Mr. Owenby here will follow y'all in that green thing.” Raby had parked behind Martin in the loading zone. They leaned Martin against his truck, and Raby fished in Martin's pockets until he found Martin's keys. They wrestled him into the truck, tucking in loose arms and legs, then Raby went around to the driver's side and found it wired shut with a coat hanger.

“Piece of crap.” Raby came back around and somehow managed to get his big body around Martin's prone one and fall into the driver's seat. “We're going to laugh about this one day.” He put Martin's key in the ignition. “Let me see y'all get in your trucks.”

Liza closed the passenger side door and went across the street to her truck. Sandra got in Raby's truck. They let Sandra pull out first, then Liza, then Raby followed with a roar. Liza kept an eye on him in her rearview mirror, in case Martin's Chevy gave up and died on the way. They drove in a convoy until they pulled into the front yard of Liza's house. The green truck throbbed to a stop beside hers. They turned off three sets of headlights. Liza got out and opened the passenger door of Martin's truck. Raby crawled around Martin and got Martin up the front porch steps and into the house without her help.

Sandra handed Liza the keys to Raby's truck. “I'm going to bed.”

“Thanks for the help.” Liza followed Sandra inside. Sandra went down the hall to her room. Liza could hear Raby tucking Martin into bed in the front guest room, shoes hitting the floor. Raby came out and closed the door behind him.

“So,” he said.

She looked at him, waiting for any smart remark he might care to make. He was within his rights, but he passed.

“What are you going to do with the boy?” He didn't mean just tonight.

“I have no idea.”

Raby stepped close. He reached a hand up, pushing his fingers gently into her hair, his palm warm against the side of her face, then dropped his hand and led her by her fingertips down the hall to bed.

Her husband was the sexiest man in the county.