Godfrey was my shift mate down at the plant when I was laid off. He got moved to nights, but then he had to leave out of Salisbury to go be with his folks. Nice enough fella—”
They both turned at the sound of Nana’s voice, calling from downstairs.
“Sam! You had better come now. It’s James!”
Dylan emerged from Mr. Thompson’s house just ahead of his dad. Nana stood on the porch, her apron front splotched where she’d wiped her hands hurriedly. Sam started to speak, then saw the Crane Ridge Township police car idling in front of their house. Two uniformed police stood talking at the front of the car. A shadowy figure was hunched in the back seat. Dylan guessed it was James.
Dylan started down the sidewalk.
“Child, why don’t you give me a quick tour around Mr. Thompson’s kitchen? We’ll see if there’s anything we want for a keepsake.”
Dylan looked at Nana, puzzled.
“There might be something we want to remember Elmore by. He was good to us,” she said, her eyes fixed on the scene across the street.
Dylan glanced again at the police car. He reckoned he would learn soon enough what mischief his brother had gotten into. He looked at his father, who was rubbing his chin, his other hand on his hip, frowning. Gazing across the street, his dad said, “I’ll see you back at the house shortly, mother.” He hitched up his pants and headed down the sidewalk.
***
Dylan raced up the stairs to his room. At the top landing, he stopped at the sight of James sitting on one tucked leg on the sill of the dormer window. James turned, his chin resting on his fist, and gave Dylan a cold look. He swiveled his gaze back out the window. Before James had turned away, Dylan saw something in his eyes that was frightening. It was a kind of sadness, almost like grief. Dylan realized he had missed whatever James had said.
“Pardon?”
“You and Sam must have had quite a chat about things.”
Dylan stood by the stair top, trying to remember what he’d come for, and puzzled by the statement.
“Me and Sam? He invited me to go over to Mr. Thompson’s with him. Did you know Mr. Thompson was in the war? A soldier?”
“Didn’t know. Don’t care. What I want to know is what you told Sam about me sneaking out.” James’s head swung slow to face Dylan. Dylan saw that James’s eyes were red and watery. This was the scariest. James never cried. Dylan took a step back. He tried to look thoughtful, but what he felt was a fear. He didn’t trust himself not to shake, so he leaned against his desk. Dylan didn’t ever remember being afraid of his older brother before.
“Is that why the police came for you?”
James swiveled to turn his back on Dylan, gazing down on Nash Street. He didn’t answer.
“He asked what time you left out this morning. That’s all.”
James turned back, his jaw set, lips thin. His gaze burned. “What did you tell him?”
“I said I didn’t know!” Dylan heard his voice slip on the last word, like an inexperienced skater.
James’s look softened a fraction. “They don’t arrest people for sneaking out. Something happened down to Wilson’s Store last night. They think I had something to do with it. But I didn’t.”
Dylan waited. Finally, he said, “All right. I believe you. But why does anybody think it was you?”
“I picked up something I shouldn’t have, and it makes it look bad for me. That’s all.”
“Well,” Dylan said lamely, “I’m sure it will all work out okay. Going to the fireworks tonight?”
James flashed a brief smile and turned back to the window. “One way or another, I’ll be there,” he said quietly.
11 / Anne
The black sky exploded in a pinwheel of bright green twinkles. Delighted screams and laughter bubbled from the throng arrayed on the shore of the Wicomico. James squeezed Anne’s waist, stroking her new red, white, and blue tee shirt. She turned, her face aglow for an instant in the gleam of the fireworks. She glanced around, and kissed him, soft and possessive, as the darkness enveloped them again.
The crowd was relaxed, smoke wafting the air from a thousand cigarettes, tips glowing in the dark. The threadbare pasture of the fairgrounds transformed with the arrival of the Cook Brothers Circus, the centerpiece of the Crane Landing Fourth of July. Along with the fireworks, of course. The town paused in its labors at the dock and the fields to celebrate, and neighbor reacquainted with neighbor over watermelon and smoking grills. The Lions Club had its booth with the roulette wheel. The Methodist Church was selling something this year called tie dye tee shirts—multicolored, whimsical splashes created on a plain white tee shirt, no two patterns the same.
Back in May, there was a good deal of discussion about selling the shirts, at the annual planning meeting, according to Ryan, who heard it from his mom. She, like most of the parents, thought the shirts were too flashy. But the newly installed minister, a Michael Dennis from the mainland, convinced parents that red and blue die on a white background was a fine means to encourage patriotism among the young people.
James glanced around at his neighbors, gathered in family clusters or couplings of sweethearts on old blankets covered with picnic remnants. His dark mood was in contrast to their smiles and carefree comments. Anne seemed to sense his turmoil and turned again, gazing seriously at him.
“I told you, my mom never comes to the fireworks ‘cuz of the noise, and my dad won’t leave her home by herself. Relax, would ya?” She kissed him again, lightly, and pressed back to him.
“It’s not that. I just… I’m thinking of leaving for awhile.” Under his fingers, he felt Anne stiffen. The crowd stilled again with the muffled whoosh, signaling a canister launch. High above the river, a great explosion of blue and red sparkles preceded a series of concussions, gasps, and scattered applause. From the fairgrounds, the raspy hawking from the Volunteer Fire Department’s dunking booth echoed faintly.
“But why? Where would you go?” she whispered. “How long before you come back to Crane Ridge?”
James drew a deep breath. “My dad said my mom was living in a little town called—” A screeching whistle interrupted him, and they both turned to gaze out over the river.
The crowd oohed and aahed, and James turned back to Anne, his mouth close to her ear. “She was living in a town in Texas.” He smiled. “Sugar Land. That would be my mother.”
Anne hugged him and kissed his cheek. “What makes you say that, James?”
He kissed her soft, in the glow of a blossoming rocket. “Before…she was so full of life. So happy and so much fun to be with. Not like a mother, really.” He dropped his gaze. “Imagine how crushed a woman would have to be, to…” he shuddered and she gripped him tightly.
“I’ve been thinking of her lately.” He laughed softly, as a thwump signaled another launch. “That’s not right. I’ve never stopped thinking about her.”
In
