My eyes scanned the list differently these days. I felt anticipation rather than the gripping control of the past. Sometimes, I purposely sought out people, and others just stumbled up under my feet. In most cases, I preferred to be anonymous. I watched in the shadows as I paid restaurant bills for random tables. I had bought high-end Nike’s for an impoverished school. I never saw the faces of the kids, but I already knew how good it felt to wiggle your toes inside a pair that actually fit and marked off school shoes from the list.
One night before Christmas, I tipped a waitress five thousand dollars at a diner just outside of Fort Worth. Concealed in the safe darkness of my car, I had watched through the window as she approached the table. Her expression had made my chest clench. I bit down hard on my lip to fight back the tears. Her tired, old face collapsed into the red cushioned seat. Without a single word between us, I saw the relief etched in the lines around her mouth. She needed a break. She hoped for a break. She wished for a break. That tip was just enough to get her there. That night I had crossed Christmas present money off the list.
One afternoon, I had waited to get my oil changed and overheard a desperate man getting the bad news on his truck. I caught a glimpse at the most pathetic piece of rusted up metal sitting next to the curb. I left my warm seat and crossed over to the new car side of the dealership.
Whipping out my checkbook, I pointed at the white double cab sitting on the show room floor. I didn’t need to see any piece of the inside to know the fancy truck had the best of the best. An hour later, I sat in my Tahoe as the man drove out the showroom doors. He wiped a tear across his plaid shirt sleeve. I ducked as his wild eyes searched around the parking lot but I made sure he never saw who or what or where the gift came from that day. Pulling out a sheet of paper, I had marked through white diamond truck for my dad.
I had also kept my art studio in Arlis, but I gave free lessons to anyone willing to spend the time to learn. After every new student, I put a tally mark next to fancy lessons with Pascal. This had been my life for over a year. I thought the little bursts of excitement would fade. If anything, it grew stronger and hit deeper. I owned that list; it no longer owned me.
This trip to Dallas had set the ground work for my most personal endeavor to date. The Anna House. Close to my old neighborhood, I bought a Victorian style, two-story house. It was roughly four thousand square feet. The carpenter said the building had the potential of being divided into three living quarters. In honor of my mother, I could house three families who needed a place to stay while visiting loved ones in the hospital. Once completed, I would mark off, the farmhouse at Sprayberry. I planned to build one in Arlis too. Dr. Mason and I had even talked about the possible linkage of the hospice ward to The Anna House.
I looked one last time at the kids playing skeet ball. Time to go home. Time to see Jess. My lips curled up in a smile as I thought about what I planned to tell him. I almost told him last night, but I wanted to see his blue eyes in person as I said the words. Taking out my phone, I dialed his number. It went straight to voice mail as it often did when he was out on the ranch. Stuffing the black box down in my purse, I turned up the radio listening to Brad Paisley. I was in a good mood as I drove from Dallas back to Sprayberry.
Jess wasn’t at the house when I arrived. I sat on the porch, watching the sun go down across the meadow. The sounds of crickets picked up as my feet moved back and forth with the porch swing. I called Jess again, but it went straight to voice mail.
I counted back and realized I’d called three times today without talking to him, which was not that unusual when I traveled at the same time the ranch worked cattle. I was ready for him to get home. It had been almost twenty-four hours since I’d last heard his voice.
I knew it might be a long night. The ranch could change like the wind; one minute everything was fine and the next, an all-out crisis. Jess could be tied up indefinitely. I’m sure he was at the barn, knee deep in something disgusting. My stomach twisted thinking of the awful smell and I choked down a dry heave.
I heard a truck pull up on the front side of the house. I waited, hearing the footsteps against the wrap-around porch. I couldn’t wait to see his sweet face. My heart beat fast as I thought about telling him what I found out in Dallas.
“Hey.”
“Oh, hey Dad. I thought you were Jess.”
“He probably won’t be home until late. I think the boys had a rough day out there. I heard something about it at the store.”
“Did Gunther get tired of spouting shit at the feed store and move on over to you?”
“Alex!”
I laughed at his frown. “Sorry.”
“You get the contractor set up?”
“Yeah. I think it will turn out good. It’s about five miles from our old house.”
“You go by and see it?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I wanted to, but I don’t know if I can.”
Maybe someday I would go by and see the little house with the garden. I worried it would look different than I imagined in my mind. It might be painted pink at this point, or the old tree could be bulldozed to the ground. I hated the idea of that place being something different than the picture in my memory. The sound of my phone interrupted my thoughts. I pulled it out, expecting to see Jess's face laughing on the screen. Instead, I saw Bobby scrawled across the top. “Hey, Bobby.”
“Alex…” His words disappeared in the stillness of the sun. I dropped the little box, hearing a thud on the beautiful porch overlooking our place on the meadow. I ran out past the stump. Sinking to my knees, I vomited the pizza across the grass and front legs of my jeans. No. This wasn’t happening. No. A large pair of arms lifted me up from behind. No…no…no!
“Come on, Pumpkin. Get in the truck.”
Clammy chill bumps covered my skin as I bounced around in the passenger seat. My father drove faster than I knew his truck should go over the meadow. I didn’t know who else followed, nor did I care. A dark cloud scooped over my fingers and wrapped in a vice grip across my shoulders. It coated me like a black cape concealing me within its elements. I fought hard to feel Jess, but that internal connection came back empty.
We reached the side of the ravine before anyone else he called. Bobby stood next to the edge, his clothes covered with dirt. I flung open the door before the truck ever came to a stop.
Some thirty feet down, I saw a horse and what I assumed was Jess. Skeeter perched next to them in the jagged area cut out by a creek. We’d ridden past it hundreds of times through the years, but never ventured into belly of the devil.
“Wait, Alex.” Bobby tried to pull me back. I slung an elbow straight into his eye, not caring if it hurt. I slipped and rolled all the way down; blood poured from my knee, soaking my jeans. I clipped my forehead on a rock right above my eye. The gash dripped down, blocking my vision. I wiped the wetness away on my sleeve.
Coming to a stop against the flesh of a tan horse, I recognized the soft coat of Katarina’s Revenge. The breeder had named her after some stupid divorce dispute. That horse had the temperament of a debutant bitch. Jess always thought she was so damn pretty with her light, tan skin the color of butterscotch. She had never listened when I tried to ride her. I had hated every smug little noise she fired in my direction.
Skeeter reached over to help me crawl around to the other side of her silent body.
I screamed.
I screamed loud and shrill, like a dying animal howling into the sunset. My stomach twisted as I reached forward to touch him. My beautiful, blue-eyed boy no longer had a face.