Lila.”
“You’re not going to bring that up again, are you?”
“Not what we talked about last night, no. Just that I knowed Lila’s brother. The one that died. Named Malcolm. Pale as a sheet most of the time. People called him Puker. ’Cause he was always throwing up. At work. In church. Hell, nobody would sit next to him. TB, people said. TB got him. This was before Lila was born, ofcourse. Speaking of dying, what happened to that man up there? That Spivey feller?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
He looked at me doubtfully. “You ain’t got no idea at all?”
“There was a gun next to him. And there was blood on his face and mouth.”
He suddenly grew very still. “Lila know him?”
“I suppose she did. He lived on her land.”
“They wasn’t related, was they?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then how come you went up to her house?” “That was Lonnie’s idea.”
The mention of his name seemed to fill my father’s mind with an odd suspicion. “What’d he say? About going up to Lila’s house?”
“Just that Spivey lived alone. On Lila’s land and so she—”
“-Must have something to do with that feller being dead.”
I shook my head. “Lonnie didn’t give any indication of—”
“Snooping after dirt,” my father interrupted. “His old man was always up in Waylord doing the same thing. Snooping for dirt on people just like Lonnie’s trying to get dirt on Lila.”
“Why would Lonnie want to ‘get dirt’ on Lila?” I asked.
“Them Porterfields don’t need a reason to go after somebody.”
“He was just doing his job, Dad,” I said, eager to dropthe subject and thereby sidestep the enmity that seemed the very bedrock of my father’s life.
“Lonnie’s going after Lila,” my father said with absolute certainty. “You better go see Lila. Let her know what Porterfield’s up to.”
“You don’t have any evidence that Lonnie’s up to anything,” I reminded him.
“Maybe so, Roy, but it wouldn’t hurt, you going up to have a word with Lila.”
“What’s on your mind, Dad? What’s this business of me going up to see Lila all about?”
He appeared to search for a lie into which he could retreat but found none, and so perhaps answered with the truth. “I just figured maybe you two could start up again. You’d like to do that, wouldn’t you, Roy? I mean, you ain’t never really give up on her, have you?”
What had never ceased to amaze me was how right my father could be, how clearly he could see the mark, hit it with a word or look. He had read a thought I’d barely perceived myself, that I’d never wholly given up on Lila. But I’d also learned that fruitless love is just another added ache, and so I’d learned to think of Lila like a character in a book, distant and unreal. In an instant, my father had seen all of that, how carefully I had worked to rid myself of Lila, and how fully I had failed to do it.
“It ain’t too late for you or her to … get together,” he said.
“Yes, it is, Dad. I’m not going to get involved with Lila Cutler. I’m not going to marry her somewhere down the line. I’m going to teach school in California,live alone in a small apartment. That’s my future. I know you don’t like it, but you might as well accept it.”
My father’s eyes lowered slightly, and he released a soft breath. “Okay,” he said. “I just figured she probably still loved you, that’s all. In that way, I mean, that you do just once.”
“I’m not sure she ever loved me like that.”
“Seemed to,” my father said. “From the way she looked at you.”
He meant the night I’d brought her to meet him, the only time he’d ever seen us together.
“Bet she cried her eyes out when you left for college,” he added now.
“Why can’t you let this go, Dad? About Lila and me.”
He looked vaguely insulted by my question. “Because I’m your father, and it’s my job to make a difference. To maybe say that you don’t have to
“You’re not going to bring that up again, are you?”
“Not what we talked about last night, no. Just that I knowed Lila’s brother. The one that died. Named Malcolm. Pale as a sheet most of the time. People called him Puker. ’Cause he was always throwing up. At work. In church. Hell, nobody would sit next to him. TB, people said. TB got him. This was before Lila was born, ofcourse. Speaking of dying, what happened to that man up there? That Spivey feller?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
He looked at me doubtfully. “You ain’t got no idea at all?”
“There was a gun next to him. And there was blood on his face and mouth.”
He suddenly grew very still. “Lila know him?”
“I suppose she did. He lived on her land.”
“They wasn’t related, was they?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then how come you went up to her house?” “That was Lonnie’s idea.”
The mention of his name seemed to fill my father’s mind with an odd suspicion. “What’d he say? About going up to Lila’s house?”
“Just that Spivey lived alone. On Lila’s land and so she—”
“-Must have something to do with that feller being dead.”
I shook my head. “Lonnie didn’t give any indication of—”
“Snooping after dirt,” my father interrupted. “His old man was always up in Waylord doing the same thing. Snooping for dirt on people just like Lonnie’s trying to get dirt on Lila.”
“Why would Lonnie want to ‘get dirt’ on Lila?” I asked.
“Them Porterfields don’t need a reason to go after somebody.”
“He was just doing his job, Dad,” I said, eager to dropthe subject and thereby sidestep the enmity that seemed the very bedrock of my father’s life.
“Lonnie’s going after Lila,” my father said with absolute certainty. “You better go see Lila. Let her know what Porterfield’s up to.”
“You don’t have any evidence that Lonnie’s up to anything,” I reminded him.
“Maybe so, Roy, but it wouldn’t hurt, you going up to have a word with Lila.”
“What’s on your mind, Dad? What’s this business of me going up to see Lila all about?”
He appeared to search for a lie into which he could retreat but found none, and so perhaps answered with the truth. “I just figured maybe you two could start up again. You’d like to do that, wouldn’t you, Roy? I mean, you ain’t never really give up on her, have you?”
What had never ceased to amaze me was how right my father could be, how clearly he could see the mark, hit it with a word or look. He had read a thought I’d barely perceived myself, that I’d never wholly given up on Lila. But I’d also learned that fruitless love is just another added ache, and so I’d learned to think of Lila like a character in a book, distant and unreal. In an instant, my father had seen all of that, how carefully I had worked to rid myself of Lila, and how fully I had failed to do it.
“It ain’t too late for you or her to … get together,” he said.
“Yes, it is, Dad. I’m not going to get involved with Lila Cutler. I’m not going to marry her somewhere down the line. I’m going to teach school in California,live alone in a small apartment. That’s my future. I know you don’t like it, but you might as well accept it.”
My father’s eyes lowered slightly, and he released a soft breath. “Okay,” he said. “I just figured she probably still loved you, that’s all. In that way, I mean, that you do just once.”
“I’m not sure she ever loved me like that.”
“Seemed to,” my father said. “From the way she looked at you.”
He meant the night I’d brought her to meet him, the only time he’d ever seen us together.
“Bet she cried her eyes out when you left for college,” he added now.
“Why can’t you let this go, Dad? About Lila and me.”
He looked vaguely insulted by my question. “Because I’m your father, and it’s my job to make a difference. To maybe say that you don’t have to
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