Monday night had slouched along like the world’s slowest turtle. It ranked high on Jane’s list of the worst experiences of her life.
Even though she’d loved Ray since high school, she knew it wasn’t mutual. For him, it was nothing but business. And now, minutes into Tuesday daylight, Jane’s guilt for helping Ray remove his ankle bracelet Saturday afternoon overwhelmed her. What in the Hell had she been thinking? Her desire for sex had once again blinded her reason, her mind, and her moral judgment, to the point of stopping her from asking Ray two simple questions. Why? And where do you need to go?
That criminal conduct had gone far beyond Jane’s half-century faithfulness to conceal information and protect the man who used her like a cast-iron skillet. The worst part, the thought of which had been last night’s constant companion, had been the imagined scene of being locked behind steel bars in a cramped jail cell, not just for hacking Ray’s ankle monitor, but for whatever he may have done, and may still do. Jane considered calling Micaden Tanner right then to confess and learn just how legally entangled she was.
As Tuesday’s light inched along the outside edges of her bedroom shutters, and with her bed tossed and her body tired, she sat upright, looking toward the dresser mirror across the room. The figure approached the grotesque, displaying the head and shoulders outline of a homely and destitute creature, hair electrified and frizzled. Finally, Jane vomited a disgusted smile, recalling the unthinkable that had become possible only because of Stella Newsome’s 3:00 AM phone call.
The longtime friend and ICU nurse had said, without greeting of any kind, “Lillian’s now my patient, in a coma, from blunt force across the side of her head.” The words had seemed surreal. How could this happen to the wife of Boaz’s wealthiest man? Jane surmised the reason for Stella’s call. It was her memory of spoken snippets from a long line of midweek Bible studies, including Jane and Lillian’s oft-repeated heated exchanges.
At first, Jane had not connected the dots. She still didn’t know for sure, but it didn’t appear far-fetched to imagine Ray was involved. Even though he had not admitted it, Jane was convinced he was responsible for the Hunt House fire, especially given the information gathered from Kyla, and partly from her own serendipitous followings of Lee and Lillian. Two plus two equaled four. There was only one reasonable conclusion. Lillian was a threat to Ray’s freedom.
Jane stood and slipped into a camel-colored housecoat and matching house shoes. After peeing and washing her face, she walked to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, adding a teaspoon of instant coffee for an extra kick. She grabbed a notepad and pencil, sat at the kitchen table, and scribbled the names Rosa and Ray.
It seemed Jane had an endless supply of reasons to feel guilty. Rosa was near the top of the list. Jane had visited her at Bridgewood Gardens late Saturday afternoon, intending to take her to The Shack and grow the courage to inquire about a certain pistol that Rachel had left in the Roanoke cabin. Maybe this, at least a delicious meal in a happy setting, would, in some small way, provide Rosa with a respite from the sadness of losing Rob. However, as God often does (so Jane believed), Jane’s plans were thwarted. Rosa was too tired to leave the facility, plus she had already agreed to dine at the Gardens’ cafeteria with three of her friendly neighbors. Jane’s guilt was rooted in her unwillingness to disclose the exactness of her prayer request, choosing instead to tell Rosa she was facing a life-changing decision.
After leaving Rosa’s apartment, Jane dropped by The Shack and placed a to-go order. That’s when she had seen Ray enter the gift shop and walk across the dining room to a table along the back wall occupied by Ted King. Instead of heading home, she had eaten in the car after sequestering her ten-year-old Impala in the darkest corner of the near-full parking lot three rows behind Ray’s black Suburban.
It was a few minutes past 9:30 when Ray walked outside and to his Suburban. To Jane’s surprise, he quickly exited the parking lot and raced south on 431, making it more difficult for Jane to follow given the increasing rain and the fear triggered by an image of her parents losing their lives when their vehicle lost control that fateful July day.
Instead of turning right on Gaines Street to weave his way to Hwy. 205 and Skyhaven Drive, Ray continued another quarter mile and turned left on Cox Gap Road. The only thing Jane could think of was Ray was headed to Lillian’s place. But why? She abandoned her brainstorming when the black Suburban motored past Alexander Road and kept going, speeding haphazardly into an approaching curve. Jane slowed while Ray recovered.
She was even more puzzled a mile and a half later when Ray turned right onto Dogwood Trail as the downpour intensified. Jane slowed, allowing Ray’s vehicle to disappear. She knew it would be crazy to follow him down a dead-end road. Thoughts from half a century ago appeared: a secluded farm, an old barn, and a huge campfire the night of Rachel’s going-away party. It was in the middle of tenth grade, the day after Christmas, a Friday night. Cold wasn’t the right word to describe the weather that night so long ago.
Jane turned around and drove forward a hundred feet and saw a narrow drive to her right into a thick grove of oaks. She assumed Ray’s visit would be quick, so she backed her car deep enough to maintain a direct line of sight to Dogwood Trail. What on earth could Ray do in this weather?
A shocking answer came over two hours later. Jane first saw the headlights and wasn’t certain it was Ray. But when he turned right instead of left, she saw the black Suburban pulling a long flatbed trailer holding a muscular-looking blue pickup truck.
Jane had followed Ray down the mountain all the way to Attalla and the entrance ramp to I-59. That’s when she had called it quits and headed home.
Now, pouring another cup of coffee, Jane wished she hadn’t given up and had continued to follow Ray southward. After two quick sips, she sat aside her second cup and returned to the bathroom. She needed to shower and visit Lillian. Hopefully, Lee would be there, and she could share her once unthinkable decision.
***
I was finally in a deep sleep when my iPhone dinged. I glanced at Lillian. She didn’t budge and probably hadn’t since I’d zonked out around noon. That was two hours ago, and over sixteen since I’d returned to the ICU. The ding was notification that I’d received an email from Kent. Once opened, I saw “Linda Smith” typed in the subject line. I started not to read it, thinking I already knew what it would say. After all, a little over a week ago, I’d received an email from our former English teacher that included the complete manuscript of Kyle’s essay. Basically, the only thing I’d learned was that Kyle had included the fact the Albertville High School cheerleader (Babe 2) had disappeared. Some way I’d missed this in my initial phone call to Ms. Linda while preparing my Memorial service eulogy.
Since I was now wide awake and had nothing better to do, I read Kent’s email twice. Doing so reminded me of the time Kyle and I jumped off the pier into a near-freezing pond on New Year’s Day, 1969. It was bone-chilling. Although Kent shared what I already knew, Ms. Linda had disclosed additional information (to Kent, not me) that Kyle hadn’t included in his own essay assignment but had included in one he’d written for Ray (she referred to it as Essay 3; Kyle had also written Essay 2, but it was rather innocuous about Ray’s challenge to get a football scholarship at the University of Alabama). Also, Ms. Linda had shared events that weren’t included in any of the three essays.
It was the Monday after Thanksgiving. Teacher Linda had observed a heated argument between Rachel and Kyle while the two stood in the hallway in front of his locker during the mid-morning break. The next day, during Ms. Linda’s regular office hours, Kyle had dropped by to discuss his essay project (Essay #1). This wasn’t out of the ordinary. In previous meetings, Ms. Linda had learned a few things about Kyle’s situation and the two essays (Essays #2 and #3) he was drafting for an unnamed student. Later, she’d determined the Brute character was Ray Archer, and Babe was Rachel Kern. Until this office visit, Ms. Linda had been concerned about Ray’s bullying but was confident he and Kyle would reconcile. Ms. Linda had viewed her non-disclosure decision as an acceptable outcome and had decided she wouldn’t penalize Ray for not failing to complete his own assignment. Ms. Linda’s decision changed after Kyle disclosed the following.
After initially promising Kyle she would keep everything a secret, he revealed the contents of yesterday’s verbal assault by the girl he thought a dear friend. Kyle’s disclosure of an overheard conversation between Ray and his father triggered Rachel’s surprise anger. She had warned Kyle to keep his nose out of Ray’s business.
The overheard conversation had taken place ten days earlier, just after the final football playoff game between Hartselle and Boaz. Most everyone had already left the stadium, except Kyle, Ray, and a couple of older guys with metal detectors looking for coins and jewelry beneath the stadium’s bleachers. Kyle was hiding in the equipment room at the back of the field house, waiting for bully Ray to leave. Kyle heard voices and eased into the adjoining hallway. Ray’s father had come inside through the office entrance and was yelling at his son. It seemed Mr. Archer had spent the past several hours at the Marshall County Sheriff’s Department answering questions about his son’s whereabouts the day Sharon Teague had gone missing.
Although the cheerleader’s disappearance occurred several weeks earlier, Marshall County Detective Charles Darden was pursuing a new lead, thanks to a former boyfriend of Sharon’s, who’d now come forward after an agonizing time of silence. The boy, Nick Pearson, alleged Sharon had confided in him that a popular jock from Boaz had raped her and gotten her pregnant. He’d also mentioned the jock’s current girlfriend was harassing her to the point of threatening her life if she didn’t shut up or disappear.
Kyle had concluded his office visit by again having Linda swear her secrecy, and by revealing that Rachel was two, if not three, months pregnant. He also shared that Ray was trying to convince Rachel to have an abortion. Kyle’s last statements that day had been a declaration and a question: “For the first time in my life, I’m scared and don’t know what to do. Ms. Smith, do I go to the police or just keep my mouth shut and play dumb?”
Kent closed his email with the sad fact Ms. Smith, two days later, left town on a family emergency. Before flying to Washington State, she’d battled the dilemma posed by her promise but ultimately disclosed Kyle’s secrets to his mother.
When Ms. Linda returned to Boaz on Saturday, December 12th, she discovered Kyle had disappeared.
The Pencil Driven Life 