If Billy Dan was indeed fishing as Randolph suggested, he should have sought cover, probably in his house, when the storm erupted. She scrolled through her recent calls to Billy Dan’s number and called it again. Still no answer. He probably went into town for coffee.
Before she could put Cami into gear, an old man shuffled in front of her car, stopped, and placed a hand on the hood. He stood there, palm still on her car, staring at her through the windshield. Her heart pounded. The man seemed familiar. Or did he? A former customer? No, she didn’t know this guy. She threw open the door and got out, staying behind the big door for protection.
“Hey mister, I think you need to move. I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“Hello, Rhetta,” the old man said. His raspy voice tugged at dark recesses in her memory. She stared at the man coming toward her. He was much older now than he was in the only picture she had of him, the one with him smiling and an arm draped across her mother’s slender shoulders.
He stopped when he reached the door. She stared into the green eyes she’d inherited.
Her father.
Rhetta’s mouth went dry and her hands began to sweat.
“Do you know who I am?” her father asked, his hands dropping to his sides. He stood there, a shriveled old man in faded blue jeans and a tattered blue T-shirt. His thinning white hair stood askew from the gusts that swept through the garage.
The way he spoke, along with the realization that the man she most hated in the world was inexplicably standing in front of her car, made a long-buried fury rise from the depth of her bowels.
“I know exactly who you are. You’re the son of a bitch that walked out on us. Get the hell away from me.”
The old man reached a trembling hand into a shirt pocket and pulled something out. He walked to the driver’s door and offered it to her.
Rhetta didn’t look at it, didn’t take it.
“Get out of here. Get away from me!” She began pulling the car door closed. He touched the door. With surprising strength, her father held the heavy door firmly. “Please take this. It was your mother’s.”
Rhetta stared at his hand. In his palm nestled a gold, heart-shaped locket on a thin, gold chain. She reached for it and closed her hand over it.
“Where did you get this?” Rhetta popped the catch with her thumbnail. The heart split open, revealing a faded black-and-white picture of her beautiful mother holding a towheaded baby.
She stared at her beloved mother, smiling. Tears filled Rhetta’s eyes. Memories of her mother washed over her.
“I’m sorry, Rhetta.” The old man shook his head. “I know you can’t forgive me. I’m sorry I wasn’t part of your life.” He looked down at the concrete floor. “I loved you both.”
“Loved us? You had a peculiar way of showing your love, Daddy dear. What do you call that? Love by absence? Where the hell have you been all my life?” She trembled with long-buried fury that bubbled to life.
He shuffled from one foot to the other. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, like a man who smoked and drank too much. “When I came back from my first tour in ’Nam, your mother had taken up with someone else.” He let go of the car door and stepped back. “She told me never to see her or you again. My heart was broken, but I had to go back overseas. I got shot in my second tour and spent three years in and out of hospitals. After that, I gave up, hit the bottle, and did a lot of things I’m not proud of.”
“I don’t believe you. Mama never married anyone else. She told me you left us. And, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a long damn time since Vietnam.” Rhetta spat out the words, fervently wishing they were knife blades that would pierce his heart.
Rhetta shook, unable to think clearly. Why had her father searched her out? And what lies was he telling about her mother?
“Your mother and I never divorced, Rhetta. We were always married.”
That news hit Rhetta in the gut. She clearly didn’t know anything about what had happened between her mother and father, but how dare he stand there and lie to her?
It had to be about money. That must be why he was here now. Probably wanted her to give him money. “What do you want? You think there’s money since Mama’s gone? Well, think again, buster, ’cause there isn’t any. Mama was broke when she died.” Rhetta clutched the gold locket to her heart, her hands trembling. “And speaking of that, why didn’t you come to her funeral?”
The old man’s eyes welled and he slapped away the tear that threatened to fall. “I don’t want any money, Rhetta. I just came to say goodbye.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t make your mother’s funeral because they wouldn’t let me out to come,” he said, his bloodshot eyes staring into Rhetta’s. “The only reason I’m here now is because I’m gonna die.” His mordant laugh changed into a deep cough. He sucked in a wheezy breath before continuing. “Prisons are too crowded. They need the space. They let me out. Compassionate discharge, they call it. They kicked me out to die.”
Anger flooded into Rhetta, washing away any pity that may have remained. “Get the hell away from me, old man.”
Slamming the car door, she dropped the locket into her purse and sat, shaking. She stared at him, the tears blurring her focus until her simmering rage exploded. She threw Cami into gear, and took off. An unholy urge compelled her to turn around. She u-turned and aimed straight for the old man—her father, a man she hated all her life. He stood silently, a specimen of vermin that didn’t deserve to live another day. Cami’s brakes squealed. Smoke spiraled around the hood as Rhetta came to her senses in time to skid to a stop a scant foot in front of him. She threw open the door. Jumping out, she found her trembling legs unable to support her. She slumped back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.
“Go ahead and finish it, Rhetta, you’d be doing me a favor,” her father said, unflinchingly. He remained riveted to the spot.
“You aren’t worth getting my car dirty.” She spat the words at him as she shifted Cami into reverse and spun out backward with tires squealing. She swerved around him and raced down the ramp into the street.
* * *
Torrential rain pounded the roof of her car, then cascaded down the windshield. Rhetta sat, staring at watery images of swans paddling around the park pond as happily as if the sun were shining.
When she left the hospital garage, she was too upset to drive, much less head out in the raging storm. Instead, she pulled into the park across the street and parked, turned off the engine, and stared out the window. Gradually, she stopped shaking as the fury drained.
Hatred had nearly overcome her. She wanted badly to run over the detestable old man who called himself her father. Her hands still trembled. She gripped Cami’s steering wheel and tossed her head back and forth in an effort to shake the entire terrible scene from her head.
Her purse lay on the passenger seat. Pulling it to her, she fished around until she found the precious locket. Holding it against her cheek, she let the tears flow unchecked.
Her father. The only person in the world she hated. He was there. He told her things. Were they true? Who was her mother? The strong woman that had raised her, who had worked nights, who’d saved up enough money to buy a new Camaro, who’d taught her daughter to be independent. Was it all phony? And, who was Rhetta herself? A crazy woman who’d just wanted to run over her own father.
Rhetta wept for her mother, for her father, and for herself.
She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.
Kissing the locket, she tucked it securely into a zippered pocket inside her purse. Closing her eyes, she swayed slowly from side to side, willing her emotions to drain, and her nerves to calm. She breathed deeply, the way she learned in a yoga class.
Her senses and her life came back into focus. Randolph. She had to get to Billy Dan’s.
Hatred had to wait until another day.
CHAPTER 32
Rhetta eased Cami into first gear, rolling slowly along the narrow one-way park road in the rain. A
t the intersection, she stopped, facing the hospital. She blew a kiss toward the building, directing it to sail upward to her husband. Then she merged into the slow moving traffic along William Street.
The golden arches of McDonalds beckoned to her just as her stomach growled. She realized she was famished, and swung a quick turn through the drive-thru. She came out with a Big Mac, fries and a chocolate shake.
After gulping down most of the sandwich, all of the fries and slurping up the last bubbles of milky ice cream at the bottom of the shake, she made her way quickly across town and soon found herself on Highway 34, the two-lane highway leading to Marble Hill. She also calculated how many miles she’d have to run to work off her dietary splurge.
The fierce summer storm must have discouraged most of the Saturday drivers; she didn’t spot any other cars. She throttled Cami as much as she dared on the slick, curvy roadway. In an effort to keep the images of her father from creeping back into her head, she switched on the oldies station. The sun always shines in radio land.
A quick glance skyward through her windshield revealed a threatening sky as dark as night, even though it was barely 2:30. She located the knob for the driving lights and pulled them on since Cami wasn’t equipped with automatic headlights. She knew every inch of her car and didn’t need to take her eyes off the road to locate the switch.
She recalled the recently enacted law proclaiming headlights on was mandatory while driving in the rain. More specifically, the law stated that lights were “mandatory while using windshield wipers.” Did that mean that if anyone was dumb enough not to turn on wipers in the rain, they weren’t required to turn on their headlights? Just how does that law get enforced? Does the windshield-wiper enforcement brigade lie in the road ditches, waiting for an offender to slosh by?
The heavy rain runneling down her windshield taxed her wipers and snapped her attention back to the slick roadway. She turned off the radio. She could focus better in the quiet. She could also think better. Why did her father show up at the hospital? She was so angry, she hadn’t even asked how he’d found her. Didn’t he say he’d kept up with her over the years? How did he do that? She regretted now that she let her anger overwhelm her. Not that she wanted anything to do with her father, but he told her some strange things. What if they were true? It would turn her memories of her mother upside down.
She forced her thoughts back to Billy Dan. He’d seen the schematic and talked to Randolph. Snaking her hand across to the passenger seat for her phone, she held it aloft, stole a glance at it, then tapped the last number she’d called. Billy Dan still didn’t answer. Just as she did, she spotted flashing lights ahead and braked. Her rear-wheel drive Camaro began fishtailing across both lanes. Sliding her foot from the brake to the gas pedal, she accelerated into the direction of the swerve until Cami straightened. With a death grip on the wheel, she steered back to her own side of the road.
She sucked in a breath then tapped the brake pedal. This time her Camaro slowed evenly.
I’m going to get antilock brakes. Her friend and mechanic, Ricky (short for Victoria) Lane had advised Rhetta to get antilock disc brakes when they had first bought the car. It was equipped with the factory drum brakes in the rear, with disc brakes only in the front. Drum brakes weren’t as reliable as disc brakes.
Rhetta vowed to get hold of Ricky and take care of changing out the brakes.
Of the two women, Rhetta was usually the fashionista, while Ricky tended to look as though she’d crawled out from under a car, which was normally the case. Although a real estate agent by trade, Ricky, divorced and still single, lived to mechanic and fix up muscle cars. The friendly redhead usually tucked her long hair under a ball cap and wore magnifying safety glasses when she worked on cars. Whenever it was time to show houses, she popped in her green contact lenses and let her shoulder-length hair fall loose.
Rhetta eased past a van with its emergency lights flashing that had pulled over onto the shoulder. The right front end squatted low to the ground, a sure sign of a flat tire. As she passed, she glanced around for the van’s driver, but spotted no one. Once safely past, Rhetta sped up. Her stomach was in a full-blown cramp from her near wreck.
Thank God, no one was on the other side of the road.
Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead in spite of the air conditioning. That, she knew, was due entirely to fear.
CHAPTER 33
By the time she arrived at the four-way stop in Marble Hill, the rain had quit. The menacing storm clouds were beginning to part, revealing a smattering of the sun’s rays.
The city limit sign both welcomed her and warned of a twenty-five mile per hour speed limit. She drove agonizingly slow along the main street. The highway went straight through town, effectively splitting it, so she had no choice but to drive through town to continue west to Billy Dan’s. Randolph had warned that the second generation Camaro would attract enough attention on its own merit without roaring through town. She eased up on the accelerator, not wanting the Flowmaster exhaust system to turn a cop’s head.
Merc’s sat directly ahead on the right. She pulled in. She needed to know if Billy Dan had shown up yet at his “office.” Also, she badly needed to find a ladies’ room.
She’d just parked Cami when four leather-clad bikers on Harleys rolled in. They parked in two slots alongside of her. One of the riders, a large man sporting a black leather vest over a hairy chest, jerked his thumb toward her car, grinned, and gave her a two-thumbs-up salute.
It wasn’t unusual to attract a crowd whenever she and Cami cruised into the small towns around Southeast Missouri. Whenever she and Randolph had first restored the Camaro, she seldom drove it, limiting her excursions to a few area car shows and hot rod cruise-ins at the local drive-in restaurants. When Ricky replaced the original stock 350 motor with a tuned port injection LS1 Corvette motor, Rhetta turned Cami into her daily spring, summer, and fall ride.
The rainstorm had apparently discouraged many of the local fishermen from going to the ponds and creeks. Several pickup trucks with johnboats in tow parked along the back edge of Merc’s parking lot. Swirling leaves that had blown from the tall sycamores still littered the asphalt lot. The clean, fresh smell of summer rain teased her nostrils.
She held the door to Merc’s open for two older women, then followed them in.
One of the blue-haired matrons easing her way in slowly behind an aluminum walker said, “Nice ride, young lady.”
“Thanks,” Rhetta said and smiled. That elderly woman may have required a walker, but she clearly kept up with the current vernacular.
Inside Merc’s, she spotted dozens of overall-clad men sipping coffee and klatching around several large circular tables. Billy Dan was not among them.
Using one hip, Krista pushed open the swinging door from the kitchen and emerged holding a coffee pot in each hand. One pot was filled with decaf and bore a green stripe, while the other contained regular, if one was to believe the orange stripe. “Hi, Mrs. McCarter,” Krista called out as she sailed by. “You can sit anywhere.”
“Thanks, Krista, I’m not staying.”
When Krista paused to refill coffee mugs held up by a half-dozen men at the nearby table, Rhetta asked, “Has Billy Dan been in since I called?”
“Why, no, he hasn’t,” Krista said, stopping and gazing around the restaurant. Turning to a table of overall-wearers, she shouted, “Have any of you boys seen Billy Dan today?” Several heads shook. A few gents muttered, “Nope,” and continued their conversation.
“Thanks,” Rhetta said and headed to the rest room. Feeling better after using the facilities and applying some cool water to her face, she made her way through the many tables and headed for the door. On her way, she caught snatches of the old boys’ banter—mostly colorful assessments of current political candidates.
Once outside, she tried Billy Dan again. Still no answer. She hiked her purse up her shoulder and trotted to Cami. The hairs prickled on the back of her nec
k.
It wasn’t from static electricity.
CHAPTER 34
Once outside the city limits on the west side of town, Rhetta floored it. Cami hugged the road, the speedometer chased 70. She glanced at the dash clock—not quite 4:00.
The sun’s rays broke decisively through the cloudy sky to dry the soaked pavement. Only a scattering of puddles remained along the sides of the narrow state highway. Traffic was light. She met a smattering of cars as she raced westward. Glancing at her speedometer, Rhetta prayed one of them wouldn’t be a highway patrol officer.
Instead of finding five bars and a big “3G” when she again picked up her cell phone, she glimpsed an unsteady two bars followed by the letter E. She groaned. She’d soon be running out of cell service. Then she brightened. If there’s no service out here, maybe that’s why I can’t reach Billy Dan on his cell.
Mental head slap when she reminded herself that she’d also tried Billy Dan’s house phone.
Up ahead, on the left she recognized an old country store bearing a hand-lettered sign above the front door. The words Green’s Grocery were barely decipherable on the weather-beaten board. The square, wood slat store building was topped by a corrugated steel roof. A sagging front porch awaited the customers who came through the front and only door. The old place was reminiscent of a tavern in a western movie set.
She knew from past visits that the porch was sturdy. She and Randolph had stopped there to buy night crawlers the last time they’d been out to Billy Dan’s to fish. They also discovered Green’s Grocery made the best fried bologna sandwiches in the universe.
Remembering that the road to Billy Dan’s would appear quickly on the left after passing Green’s Grocery, Rhetta slowed in anticipation. Ahead, partially hidden by the boughs of a tall cedar, she spotted a crooked green sign with three white numerals, 1, 4, 0. The space in front of the first “1” was a darker green. Probably where the other numeral “1” had been when it had completed the 1-1-4-0. It must have recently fallen off the sign.