“Lee, Lee, wake up.” It was Mom, and we were in Panama City. My twelve-year-old self had been at the beach outside our hotel, lying on my stomach for hours. Mom, Dad, Kyla, and Lillian had gone to a mall and left me alone. “You need to take this.”
I opened my eyes and wondered why Kyla looked so old, and why I needed the pill and glass of water she was holding. “Sunburned?” I knew that’s what it was because I’d already seen myself in bed in this very room for a week after we’d returned from vacation. How was I still on the beach and why was Kyla’s hair streaked with gray?
“Lee, you’re dreaming. Sit up and take this.” The old Kyla raised her voice. She set the pill and the glass on my nightstand and started tugging at my tee shirt. She forgot my shoulder.
“Shit.” 2020 rushed inside my old bedroom like a wave at high tide. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” It was then I noticed Kyla’s face matched that of a ghost. She had some sort of white cream smeared everywhere there weren’t eyeballs or a mouth. Her night gown reminded me of Mother. “Your prescription says you can take one pill every four to six hours as needed for pain. You’ve been groaning and moaning ever since Lillian left.”
That last fact was confusing. It wasn’t connected to anything else I knew other than Lillian had delivered me home. Painfully, I sat against the headboard and realized I was nearly naked. Underwear and a tee-shirt. The weird thing is I had no memory of undressing and crawling into bed. Heck, I didn’t recall walking inside Kyla’s house at all. I swallowed the pill. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
Typical Kyla. “Why start now?” Without missing a beat, sis continued. “Mark it down in your little book. Tomorrow we’re going to have a talk about what’s going on. You hear?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“If Lillian’s theory is correct, you’re fighting a losing battle and a mild head wound and a bruised shoulder are the least of your troubles.”
I was in no mood for this conversation, but ‘theory’ had my attention. “What did Lillian say?”
“Later. You get some rest. I’m headed upstairs but here’s a whistle if you need me.” Kyla left. I inched my body back horizontally.
I was asleep before she was halfway up the stairs. The Vicodin kicked in soon afterwards, followed by a speed of light return to 1970. During the next several hours, I experienced a virtual replay of my last two years of high school.
Lillian was the first girl I ever saw naked. In person. It was New Year’s Day 1970. Until that experience, I had always viewed my sister’s best friend as just a member of our household, like Mom, Dad, Kyla, and Kyle. She was part of the family, just another sister. I think it was my infatuation with Rachel that had blinded me to the metamorphosis happening right before my eyes.
Our pond froze six inches deep. According to Dad, it was the worst ice storm since March 1960. Lillian and Kyle had already spent two nights at Harding Hillside. After a big breakfast on the first day of the new year, Mom suggested we bundle up and get some exercise. That seemed to connect with Lillian and Kyla. They quickly raced from the kitchen to her upstairs bedroom. Mom asked me to grab her camera from her desk. Years earlier, she’d fashioned an office of sorts from an upstairs closet.
When I entered the hallway, Kyla’s door was open, and I heard laughing and singing but continued. It didn’t take a minute to find Mom’s camera. I tiptoed back to Kyla’s room, planning on executing one of my best scare tactics. When I peeked my head around the door frame, the most unbelievably gorgeous site of my young life met me. Apparently, Kyla was changing inside her walk-in closet, but there stood Lillian facing away, towards Kyla’s bed and the room’s sole window. I even recall how the incoming light created a shadow on the floor that matched Lillian’s hour-glass figure.
She must have heard my mind revving like a car engine. She turned and saw me, doing nothing except slipping inside the thermal top she was holding. I’ll never forget her smile and her boobs, not to mention anything else. That day, I learned Lillian was a young goddess. She might have a teenage mind and a queen-size Southern drawl, but her body was the epitome of a Playboy’s luscious centerfold.
My dreaming, hallucinating was more like it, had continued nonstop until 4:37 a.m. according to the digital clock/radio on my nightstand.
It might have been a hard fall on the ice that morning that changed the directory of my life and my Vicodin adventures. It wasn’t my head slamming against the pond’s concrete surface when I was showing out for who? No, not Mom and Dad. Instead, it was the unplanned and totally unexpected experience of seeing the naked Lillian that changed the trajectory of my life. At least for the next two years.
I doubt if I would have ever had the courage to ask Lillian for a date. I was more of a nerd; no way am I a narcissist. That was my understanding of what a guy had to be to have the courage to ask out the prettiest girl in the universe. Yes, that’s how star struck I was. Fortunately, I didn’t have to conjure up the courage or attempt the impossible transformation toward loving myself to the extreme. On the twentieth day of January, Lillian asked me to the Valentine’s Dance.
It seemed like a five-minute fight to crawl out of bed. There were four of us entangled, me, of course, along with a sheet, a thermal blanket, and a quilt. The latter was one of Mother’s beautiful designs. I wondered why I was sweating.
At 4:59, I exited my bedroom and inched toward the kitchen. Exhausted, but proud. Somehow, I’d been able to slip inside the sweat-suit Kyla had left hanging over my rocker, not to mention my bathroom adventure of off-loading pee, washing my face, and brushing my teeth.
***
Kyla was sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee and reading Chambers, her since-middle-school devotional. Kyla’s faith had always been a strong flame. I’d also read Oswald Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest. That daily practice stopped when Rachel killed herself. My faith had weakened since my youth, flickered after her overdose, and slithered away to hide under the proverbial basket after she hung herself. That eventually prompted my research into the overwhelming facts of pain and suffering. Ultimately, the truth of reality doused my faith forever.
“Fresh coffee.” Sis said without raising her eyes.
“Thanks.”
“Why are you up so early?” I poured a cup and wondered if Kyla was wishing I hadn’t disturbed her.
“Too tired and worn out to sleep.”
“Uh?” Kyla said, laying Chambers face down on the table.
“The bananas were too ripe.” Why couldn’t we siblings have a normal conversation, absent the jokes, digs, and sarcasm? Before she responded, other than giving me her best quizzical look, I leaned back against the kitchen sink and shared street slang for Vicodin and Dr. Claburn’s hilarious story.
I thought about sharing a few of my late-night hallucinations but concluded that was off-limits for brother-sister talks. Kyla motioned me to join her at the table. “Promise me you won’t be mad if I tell you I snooped inside your briefcase.”
My mind had slowed a million degrees since last night’s light speed wanderings. Briefcase? It was on the back seat of the Explorer. It’s still in the Walmart parking lot. “Uh?” Kyla and I learned this word when we were quite young.
“After Lillian and I got you in bed.” Sis stopped and released her trademark yelp. It only appeared in those rare foot-in-mouth moments. “Man, did that sound sexual.”
“I understand. The two of you stripped me down. I don’t remember being gratified.”
“Ugh, that’s a mental picture I’ll burn. Listen, big brother. After you zoned out, Lillian suggested she return to Walmart and secure your vehicle. She had seen your briefcase lying in the seat. Also, she worried about the back door. It’s badly damaged. It doesn’t fully close.”
“So, the two of you preyed on my vulnerability, concocting a scheme to steal my money?” The Harding siblings are far from normal.
“Shut up and play civil. It was an innocent mistake. Well, mostly. When she grabbed the briefcase’s handle, the contents went flying. Apparently, you hadn’t snapped it shut the last time you used it. Long story short is that Lillian couldn’t help but see Rachel’s diary and a receipt from Micaden Tanner’s office. After she returned, the two of us talked, even engaged in a little speculation.” Kyla walked to the coffeemaker and refilled her cup. “Want more?”
“No. So, I might as well be interested in the story you two thieves have conjured.” My phrasing was still off.
“Lee, where in heck did you get a gun and why did you give it to Micaden Tanner?” Kyla’s question wasn’t bad. She’d already reasoned I could not have cleared airline security with a pistol in tow. But, not to credit smart sister too much, it appears she hadn’t connected the Hunt House to the mystery gun.
Oh well, I might as well take in some new partners. Over the next half-hour, I painted Kyla a rough picture of what I’d pieced together since finding Rachel’s basement-concealed diaries. This included search and discovery at the Hunt House Friday night. I started not to mention Rachel’s pregnancy and abortion, but these were the moon, the mountain, and the merciless ocean of the landscape I was painting. After relaying that Ray Archer must have killed Kyle Bennett, I warned Kyla about discussing these details with Lillian. I also promised to fabricate a story about the pistol.
“Big brother, I know you’re a little slow but hear me out before you write off your first lover.”
I wanted to lasso that calf and tie it up, neck and legs (the Vicodin?), but shook my head sideways instead. Kyla could be wrong on so many levels. “I assume we’re speaking of Lillian.”
“Well, duh, who else? Okay, let’s move along. The married woman who’s always had your back left here a little before midnight. While you were tossing and turning, moaning and groaning, she was a dog after a bone.”
“Did she find it?” At most, I guessed Lillian had followed up with the Boaz Police officer who had dropped by the ER. The sharp pain erupted from my shoulder when I made too-quick-a-reach for the sugar bowl. I hoped Lillian had not broken her promise to stay mum. My mind was still several thousand degrees below optimum processing.
“She did. With some help. Lillian is not dumb, nor is she untrustworthy. She called and got her investigator out of bed, and he awakened one of his contacts. You can read the email she sent about an hour ago.” Kyla pointed to the couch. Until now, I hadn’t noticed her laptop.
“Investigator?” Why would Lillian need an investigator? A couple of vague reasons started revealing themselves.
“Oh, sorry. Lillian said not to give you any of her personal information. She didn’t know if she could trust you.”
“Uh?”
“I’m kidding, you dote.” Kyla stood and retrieved her laptop. “Do you want to know the name, address, and phone number of the owner of a 2014 blue Chevrolet Silverado?”
“Shit, Lillian doesn’t fool around.” Five thousand degrees.
“Let’s not go there. Derrick Hart’s your man. Well, he’s the owner of tag number ‘USA4GOD.’” Kyla turned her laptop screen so I could see. Lillian’s email was open.
I scanned the three short paragraphs and then reread them more closely. Two things caught my attention. The first was the name of Lillian’s investigator: Connor Ford. Interesting that she was using the same guy Micaden had recommended I use. The second was Lillian’s admonition to Kyla for her to keep quiet about anything related to the tag number. I liked her last statement: “Lee will know what to do. Remember, he plays chess; we play checkers.” The Vicodin almost triggered another hallucination.
I looked over the laptop’s screen at Kyla. She was shaking her head sideways. “Do I want to know what you’re thinking?” She and Rachel had always said I over-think everything. “You need to give this information to the police. They can hunt him down and charge him with attempted murder. Right?”
I wasn’t interested in Kyla’s question. What I needed to know was something far more personal. “Sis, this might be uncomfortable for you, but I have to know. So, be honest. How long have you known about Rachel’s high school pregnancy and abortion?”
I wasn’t expecting such a quick and hurtful response. “Since eleventh grade.” Kyla’s eyes teared as she mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
“One last question, for now. I know you have things to do.” Today was Thanksgiving, and Kyla had volunteered to help with the community meal at the church. She used a napkin to wipe her eyes. “To your knowledge, who else was aware of Rachel’s situation?”
This time she paused, like she was alphabetizing a long list of names. “Jane, Lillian, and me. Ray and Rachel, of course, and their parents.”
“Kyle Bennett?”
Kyla shook her head. “Not that I know.”
The Pencil-Driven Life 