Close to the Broken Hearted Read online

  I didn’t rightly understand what she meant. All I knew was that she was taking me to the house of a man who killed the last kid he ever got close to, and this didn’t sit well with me. “Do you think bringin’ me with you is the best idea, Mom? He likes killin’ kids.”

  My mother hit the brakes, bringing the car to a stop on the side of Hunter Road. She turned and looked directly into my eyes. “Abe! I want to make sure we’re perfectly clear on this subject. First, Preacher Eli Brown doesn’t like killin’ kids. He killed Caleb Carson by accident. According to the court, he never meant to kill anyone that day, especially not poor little Caleb. Second, I would never put you in harm’s way. If I thought there was even a hint of a chance that you comin’ to his house was puttin’ you in danger, I would not be bringin’ you. Do you understand?”

  I just watched her, not knowing if she actually wanted a response from me at this point.

  “Do you understand?” she asked again.

  I nodded.

  “Good. Third, Eli Brown is no longer a criminal. Do not treat him like one. He is a member of society with the same rights as you and me. He is no better or worse in any way. Is that clear?”

  Quickly, I nodded again.

  “Good. Cuz you’re comin’ to the door with me, so you better be comfortable.”

  I swallowed. “Why? Why am I comin’ to the door?” This made no sense to me.

  “Cuz I want to see his reaction when I show up with you on the doorstep. I’m paying him a visit as an assessment, but I don’t want him to know that’s what I’m doin’. Please, Abe. Trust me. The man is old now. He was old when he went to prison. That was almost twenty years ago.”

  I thought all this over. After what I considered the proper length of time to consider it, I answered, “Okay, I trust you.”

  “Good.” My mother started the car and pulled back out onto Hunter Road. She drove onto the small wooden bridge over the springs until we came to a small run-down house on the left side of the road about another quarter mile up. It was painted brown with a black roof and nestled in a small clearing surrounded by pine and fir trees. The ground around it was mostly dirt. There was a rusted truck trailer beside the house and a dented station wagon parked on an angle out front. Farther back in the woods, I could make out a small barn or maybe a garage that was stained a deep red. The siding, like the boards on the house, was aged and in need of refinishing.

  “Come on,” my mother said, opening her door.

  I got out of my side. The air was thick with the smell of the pines, but a hint of an oil smell came along with it. I followed my mother’s lead up to the door and watched a monarch butterfly float across the hard-packed ground beside the steps while she knocked.

  Preacher Eli answered. A tall man, he was wearing a red-and-black-checkered shirt with sleeves that came down to his wrists. The sleeves were unbuttoned, but the shirt was done up to his neck and tucked into gray pants. He wore a black belt with a silver buckle. His pants went down into boots that looked remarkably similar to cowboy boots. He certainly didn’t look much like a preacher to me.

  His eyes went from my mother’s to mine. It was obvious he had no idea who we were.

  “Preacher Eli?” my mother asked.

  Eli Brown rubbed his nose. “Now there’s a name I haven’t gone by in quite some time. Who might you two be?” His voice sounded like someone had taken a chisel to it. He asked the question in what I considered to be a most suspicious manner.

  “My name’s Leah Teal. This here’s my son, Abe. I’m with the Alvin Police Department.”

  “You don’t look like no police I’ve ever seen.” His teeth were brown and crooked. There was a scar under his right eye as though he’d been slashed with a knife. It somehow reminded me of Dewey’s hand being hit by my sword.

  My mother pulled out her badge and flashed it. “I’m a detective.”

  Preacher Eli’s eyes narrowed. He gave me a long look that made me very uncomfortable. “That so,” he said, his eyes still lingering on me. “And what is it you is detectin’, Detective Teal?” I was happy his gaze drifted back up to my mother.

  My mother held up her palm. “I’m just here to ask you some routine questions, is all. Nothin’ for you to worry ’bout.”

  “I think I’ll decide what I should or shouldn’t be worryin’ ’bout if it’s all the same to you.” His eyes cut to my waist. I realized I was still wearing my sword on my hip. I’d grown so used to it, I hadn’t even noticed it in the car. My hand automatically went to its handle.

  He looked back up to my mother.

  “Fine,” she said. “I understand you was just released from the Birmingham Work Release Center a couple weeks ago.”

  The preacher’s eyes narrowed again. “I don’t hear a question in there. And what makes all this routine?”

  “Just not very often we have someone like yourself return to the town where all their trouble started, is all. Just wanna make sure I understand your motivations.”

  Preacher Eli rubbed his chin. “I’m not so sure I’m obliged to discuss my motivations with the ‘town detective,’ to be right honest.”

  My mother swallowed. “No, you probably aren’t obliged, but in the nature of goodwill, I think it might be a good idea. Especially since Sylvie Carson still lives in this very town.”

  Preacher Eli stared off between my mother and me at something distant and far away, as if lost in memories. “Sylvie . . . ,” he said, more to himself than either of us. Then he glanced at me again. “That was the daughter, right?”

  “That’s right,” my mother said.

  “And how’s she after all these years?”

  “She’s holdin’ up.”

  “Good.” He looked at my mother expectantly. “Is this what you came to talk to me ’bout? Sylvie Carson?”

  “Have you been near her property since you got out of Birmingham, Mr. Brown?”

  I tensed up. I figured if any question was going to set Preacher Eli off, it was going to be one like this. It almost sounded like an accusation to me. I wasn’t all the way wrong, either. Only he didn’t set off with quite the fireworks I anticipated. Something flashed in the man’s eyes. I wondered if my mother saw it, too. “Hell no! Why would you ask me somethin’ like that?”

  Again, my mother’s palm came up. “Just an honest question.” She had her pad out and was taking notes. “Now you’re absolutely certain? You didn’t even happen to drive by one day?”

  “I don’t even know where the hell the girl lives!” Preacher Eli said. “What do you think? I got outta the joint just to finish a job I never meant to start in the first place? Have you even read the court records? I didn’t know that boy was sittin’ there. I’d . . . I’d . . .” He stopped, and for a second, I thought he was actually going to start crying, although I got the feeling they weren’t real tears. They were them crocodile ones my mother was always keepin’ on about. “I don’t need to talk to you about this.”

  He began closing the door, but my mother reached out and held it open. “Preacher Eli?” she said softly. “Listen. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I just came here to make certain you’re not a threat to anyone.”

  His eyes were wet. He looked like a lamb the way he gazed back at her. “A threat? Is that what you think? I have just spent almost eighteen years repentin’ every single day for the sins I have done. If I could go back in time, don’t you think I would give that boy back his life? I have thought ’bout him constantly. ’Bout birthdays missed. ’Bout graduations. ’Bout girlfriends. ’Bout him not gettin’ to have kids of his own. All missed. All cuz of me. And you think I’m a threat?”

  My mother looked down. “I’m sorry, Mr. Brown. I don’t know what I was thinkin’.”

  “The only thing I am a threat to is not bein’ able to live my life long enough to make up for the sins I committed eighteen years ago.” Now tears really did come to his eyes. I still didn’t trust those tears.

  “Look,” my mother said, “I really am so
rry. I didn’t come all the way up here to upset you. How ’bout your family? How’s that boy of yours?”

  Even through the tears, Preacher Eli managed a chuckle. “Boy. He ain’t no boy no more. He’s forty-one. While I was gone, time kept goin’ and he went ahead and grew on me. I got some catchin’ up to do with him.”

  “He came and saw you while you were . . . inside, though?” my mother asked.

  “Yeah, he did. Even more so after my Louise passed.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your wife.”

  “She’d stopped comin’ by so much anyway, after what happened on that ranch.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After they found them Carson folks dead. Especially when Tom showed up swingin’ from that tree . . .” He looked away and fell silent a moment. “She just stopped comin’ by so much.”

  “How come?” my mother asked. I had no idea what either of them were talking about. I’d never heard of either of the Carson folks swinging from a tree. It sounded funny for someone to be described that way.

  Eli shrugged. “Dunno. You’d have to ask her. But that won’t be happenin’ anytime soon.”

  My mother let this information digest. I didn’t rightly know what it was that had her so lost in thought. “And . . . you have a grandson now, too, isn’t that right?”

  Another chuckle came through Eli’s tears. I knew I shouldn’t be trusting those tears. “What did you do, check up on everything you could about me ’fore comin’ out?” he asked.

  “Just bein’ polite is all.”

  “Yeah, I got a grandson. Lives up north in Alabaster, ’bout twenty miles this side of Birmingham. Haven’t seen him for a long time. I hope that changes soon.”

  “I hope so too, for your sake.”

  “Well,” Preacher Eli said, “I’m gonna go now. I trust I’ve answered all your questions and you won’t be back botherin’ me no more?”

  “Wait,” my mother said as he was closing the door. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

  “What?” he asked through the narrow space left between the door and the edge of the frame.

  “Why did you return to Alvin?”

  He didn’t even think about that one. His answer came right away. “Because Alvin’s where this all started and Alvin’s where it has to be finished. I need to preach again and I need to preach from here. The only way I will ever find peace is through redemption and it’s only here that I can find that. You can tell Sylvie Carson she is safe from the crazy preacher man. In fact, you can tell her he is so sorry for what he did to her brother and her life and that he knows he can never make up for it and for that reason he will not be in contact with her. Because any contact would just belittle such a thing. It would make it all seem too . . . what’s the word? Trite, I guess. Now, please leave me alone.”

  With that, Preacher Eli clicked his front door closed. I felt relieved to have the conversation over. Something about the man didn’t sit right in my soul. Whenever he had looked at me, I felt like a chicken on its way to the chopping block. I was very happy to be on our way back to my mother’s car.

  “Well, that settles that,” my mother said as she backed her vehicle out of Preacher Eli’s driveway and headed back south down Hunter Road.

  “What settles what?”

  “I can safely say Eli Brown is not a risk to Miss Sylvie or anyone else.”

  I didn’t say a word, even though I wondered how my mother had arrived at that conclusion. To me, the whole encounter had been unsettling and, if anything, put Preacher Eli right on my radar of crazy people to watch out for. I couldn’t believe this convicted killer was in my hometown, living right here in Blackberry Springs. Now, after meeting him, not only did I think Miss Sylvie might be unsafe, even I felt more unsafe on account of him knowing about me.

  But then, my mother and I had a history of disagreeing over such things.

  CHAPTER 10

  One Saturday morning, once my mother had finished with breakfast and had all the pots and pans put away and the kitchen cleaned up, I finally asked her the question that had been bothering me for weeks. Well, actually, there were a number of questions nagging at me, but this one was especially bad, because to me it seemed like it shouldn’t be a question at all.

  “Aren’t you gonna call that number?” I was still in my pajamas and my bare feet were cold on the kitchen floor, even though the rest of the room was hot—not only from breakfast but on account of the weather. It had been pounding down sunshine for well over a week now. And anyone can tell you, when the sun wants to fry up Alvin in late July, it can do a pretty darn good job of it. That’s something Officer Jackson liked to say, although the way he said it was slightly different and contained a cuss word I wasn’t allowed to use.

  “What number?” my mother asked.

  I couldn’t believe she didn’t know what I was talking about. “The number on the paper I gave you that belongs to my aunt.” I turned my palms up in exasperation. “She told me to tell you to phone it. That was weeks ago.”

  My mother sat at the kitchen table, relaxing and enjoying a cup of coffee while reading the newest issue of Cosmopolitan, which I was almost sure belonged to Carry. When she heard my response, she hardly even looked up. She just slowly turned to the next page of her magazine and said, “We have no idea that woman is your aunt, Abe. I thought we’ve been through this.”

  From the living room, I could hear the television set. Carry had run in there as soon as breakfast was over and planted herself in front of it. If this was like most Saturday mornings, she wouldn’t be moving until my mother demanded she go and get dressed and do something with the day. I think that girl could watch TV forever if nobody stopped her.

  “I thought we got a background check spyin’ on Pa that said she was my aunt,” I told my mother.

  Now she looked up. “First, we wasn’t spyin’ on nobody. And second, the background check simply said he had a sister. It doesn’t necessarily mean the woman you met is her.”

  I raised one of my eyebrows. “You’re scared of callin’ her.” I knew I was on shaky ground with this, but I felt it was the truth and my mother always told me I’d never get in trouble for telling the truth.

  She laughed. “What would I possibly be scared of?”

  “I dunno, but there’s a reason you ain’t callin’, and it ain’t because you don’t think she’s tellin’ the truth. If that was all it was, you’d call just to check and see. You’re scared she is tellin’ the truth. You don’t want to meet Pa’s sister.”

  I saw her bite her lower lip and I wasn’t sure if she was holding back yelling at me for something I said or if it was something else she was doing. But something I had told her made her go quiet. She didn’t say anything for a long while. When she finally did, she actually surprised me.

  “You know what?” she asked, closing the magazine and looking straight into my eyes. “I think you might be right. I think maybe I am scared. Maybe I don’t want to meet your pa’s family.”

  “Why?” I asked softly. This made no sense to me. I was overjoyed at having suddenly discovered new members of my family. I couldn’t see why anyone wouldn’t be.

  “Because, Abe . . .” She started and then stopped. “It’s . . . you wouldn’t understand. There’s just so many memories. Things I don’t want to . . . things I would rather have stay in the past.”

  I frowned. “You’re afraid of the past.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You never want to talk about Pa. You never want to think about him.”

  “Why would I want to think about what happened? It was horrible.”

  “Not about what happened. I mean about anythin’. It’s like you would rather pretend he didn’t exist than have to think about what happened to him. Well, that’s not what I want. I want to know who my pa was.” I realized I was starting to get loud and sounding like a baby. My mother was probably on the verge of sending me to my room.

  “You don�
��t even remember him,” she said, almost as though she were talking to the walls. “You were so young. You can’t possibly even remember what he looked like.”

  “I remember,” I said, looking at the floor. “I have a picture of him I carry round with me.”

  Both our heads rose and our eyes met. It was the first time I’d told anyone about the picture, and the last person I thought I’d ever tell was my mother. After all, I sort of stole it from her. I searched her eyes. They were wet. Tears were coming to them. “Where did you—”

  “Your closet,” I said. “I found it in a shoe box. I hope you’re not mad. I was lookin’ for some wrappin’ paper for somethin’ I made you at school.”

  “My closet... ,” she mouthed.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Where do you keep it?”

  “The picture?” I asked. “In the drawer beside my bed. That’s when it’s not in my pocket. Usually it’s in my pocket. It brings me good luck.” Then, I repeated myself. “Are you mad?”

  “Oh, no, Abe, I’m not mad. Come here.” She opened her arms and I walked over and let her wrap me in a big hug. I felt her tears on the side of my cheek. “I’ve been so selfish,” she said.

  I didn’t quite understand how she thought she’d been selfish, but I was sure glad she wasn’t angry I took the picture from her closet. I was even gladder she wasn’t going to make me give it back.

  When she finally let go of me, she wiped her eyes and said, “Tell you what. I’ll make that call. How does that sound?”

  I beamed. “Really?”

  “Really. But I’m not promisin’ anythin’ else will come of it.”

  “That’s okay. I just want you to talk to her.”

  I saw my mother’s chest heave as she took a deep breath and let out a big sigh. “Okay, well, I may as well get this over with.”

  I stood right beside my mother as she made the call from the kitchen telephone. Luckily for me, the woman I met on the street, Addison? She had one of those voices you could hear from the other end of the phone without even having your ear near it. I figured it probably had something to do with her being from Boston and all.