Not long after the Jehovah’s Witnesses came calling at Sadie’s place-this must have been early November, because I’d finished casting my version of Twelve Angry Men -I was out raking my lawn when someone said, “Hello, George, how’s it going?”
I turned around and saw Deke Simmons, now a widower for the second time. He had stayed in Mexico longer than anyone had thought he would, and just when folks began to believe he was going to remain there, he had come back. This was the first time I’d seen him. He was very brown, but far too thin. His clothes bagged on him, and his hair-iron-gray on the day of the wedding reception-was now almost all white and thinning on top.
I dropped my rake and hurried over to him. I meant to shake his hand, but hugged him instead. It startled him-in 1961, Real Men Don’t Hug-but then he laughed.
I held him at arm’s length. “You look great!”
“Nice try, George. But I feel better than I did. Meems dying…
I knew it was going to happen, but it still knocked me for a loop. Head could never get through to heart on that one, I reckon.”
“Come on in and have a cup of coffee.”
“I’d like that.”
We talked about his time in Mexico. We talked about school. We talked about the undefeated football team and the upcoming fall play. Then he put down his cup and said, “Ellen Dockerty asked me to pass on a word or two about you and Sadie Clayton.”
Uh-oh. And I’d thought we were doing so well.
“She goes by Dunhill now. It’s her maiden name.”
“I know all about her situation. Knew when we hired her. She’s a fine girl and you’re a fine man, George. Based on what Ellie tells me, the two of you are handling a difficult situation with a fair amount of grace.”
I relaxed a little.
“Ellie said she was pretty sure neither of you knew about Candlewood Bungalows just outside of Kileen. She didn’t feel right about telling you, so she asked if I would.”
“Candlewood Bungalows?”
“I used to take Meems there on a lot of Saturday nights.” He was fiddling at his coffee cup with hands that now looked too big for his body. “It’s run by a couple of retired schoolteachers from Arkansas or Alabama. One of those A -states, anyway. Retired men schoolteachers. If you know what I mean.”
“I think I’m following, yes.”
“They’re nice fellows, very quiet about their own relationship and about the relationships of some of their guests.” He looked up from his coffee cup. He was blushing a little, but also smiling. “This isn’t a hot-sheet joint, if that’s what you’re thinking. Farthest thing from it. The rooms are nice, the prices are reasonable, and the little restaurant down the road is a-country fare. Sometimes a gal needs a place like that. And maybe a man does, too. So they don’t have to be in such a hurry. And so they won’t feel cheap.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Very welcome. Mimi and I had many pleasant evenings at the Candlewood. Sometimes we only watched the TV in our pajamas and then went to bed, but that can be as good as anything else when you get to a certain age.” He smiled ruefully. “Or almost. We’d go to sleep listening to the crickets. Or sometimes a coyote would howl, very far away, out in the sage. At the moon, you know. They really do that. They howl at the moon.”
He took a handkerchief from his back pocket with an old man’s slowness and mopped his cheeks with it.
I offered my hand and Deke took hold.
“She liked you, although she never could figure out what to make of you. She said you reminded her of the way they used to show ghosts in those old movies from the thirties. ‘He’s bright and shiny, but not all here,’ she said.”
“I’m no ghost,” I said. “I promise you.”
He smiled. “No? I finally got around to checking your references. This was after you’d been subbing for us awhile and did such a bang-up job with the play. The ones from the Sarasota School District are fine, but beyond there…” He shook his head, still smiling. “And your degree is from a mill in Oklahoma.”
Clearing my throat did no good. I couldn’t speak at all.
“And what’s that to me, you ask? Not much. There was a time in this part of the world when if a man rode into town with a few books in his saddlebags, spectacles on his nose, and a tie around his neck, he could get hired on as schoolmaster and stay for twenty years. Wasn’t that long ago, either. You’re a damn fine teacher. The kids know it, I know it, and Meems knew it, too. And that’s a lot to me.”
“Does Ellen know I faked my other references?” Because Ellen Dockerty was acting principal, and once the schoolboard met in January, the job would be hers permanently. There were no other candidates.
“Nope, and she’s not going to. Not from me, at least. I feel like she doesn’t need to.” He stood up. “But there’s one person who does need to know the truth about where you’ve been and what you’ve done, and that’s a certain lady librarian. If you’re serious about her, that is. Are you?”
“Yes,” I said, and Deke nodded as if that took care of everything.
I only wished it did.
