dinner. Under ideal conditions, the trip from Lumberton to Charlotte takes two hours. At that time of day I was looking at a minimum of three.
“Have you something to ask me, sir?”
“You gonna tell me what you saw in that coffin?”
“I’m sorry. I’m duty bound to keep my observations confidential for now.”
I thought Lowery would leave. Instead he just stood there. Moments passed, then he nodded tautly, as though arriving at a difficult decision.
“I ain’t much for words. Don’t talk ’less I need to. Don’t talk ’less I know who’s on the other end of what I’m saying.”
The old man wiped both palms on his jeans.
“O’Hare’s using my troubles to get his name in the paper. Guipone’s a moron. The army’s got a dog in the fight. I ain’t a churching man, so I can’t ask the Lord who’s upright and who ain’t. I gotta go with my gut.”
Lowery swallowed. His discomfort was painful to watch.
“I listened to what you said back at the cemetery. To what you said just now. My gut’s telling me I can trust you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’d appreciate you listening to what I got to say.”
“Shall we talk in my car?”
As I wheep-wheeped my door locks and cranked the AC, Lowery retrieved something from the dashboard of his truck. When he dropped into my passenger seat, a wave of cheap cologne and stale sweat rolled my way.
Not pleasant, but it beat the odors I’d just left behind.
Lowery pressed a gilt-edged album to his chest. Eyes fixed on something outside the windshield, he drummed callused thumbs on its red leather cover.
Seconds passed. A full minute.
Finally, he spoke.
“My mama give me a cracker of a name. Plato. You can imagine the jokes.”
“I hear you.” I tapped my chest. “Temperance. People think I’m a movement to reinstate prohibition.”
“So I picked good solid names for my boys.”
“Hard to go wrong with John,” I said, wondering at Lowery’s use of the plural.
“John wasn’t but five when he started collecting spiders. Lined ’em up in jars on his windowsill. Red ones, speckled ones, big hairy black ones. Got so his mama dreaded going into his room.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“Soon’s he could read, John took to borrowing at the mobile library.” The i in mobile was pronounced as in spider. “That’s all he talked about. Spiders this and spiders that. What they ate, where they lived, how they made young ’uns. Librarian got him every book she could lay hands on. I wasn’t working much, couldn’t buy.”
Lowery paused, gaze still on something outside the car, perhaps outside that moment in time.
“Folks took to calling him Spider. Nickname stuck like gum on a shoe. Before long, no one remembered nothing about John. Even his schoolteachers called him Spider.”
Again, Lowery fell silent. I didn’t push.
“Wasn’t just spiders. John loved animals. Brought home all kinda strays. His mama let most of ’em stay.”
Lowery turned toward me but kept his eyes lowered.
“Harriet. She passed five years back. Kidneys finally give out. Harriet was always poorly, even after the transplant.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Spider offered his mama one of his very own kidneys. That’s how generous that boy was.” Lowery’s voice dropped. “Didn’t work out.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“Spider had a twin brother, Thomas. John and Tom. Good, solid names. Tom’s passed, too. Killed on a tractor in two thousand three. Losing both her boys just took the wind out of Harriet’s sails.”
“Grief has consequences not fully understood.”
Lowery’s eyes rose to mine. In them I saw the anguish of resurrected pain.
“You find a jar in that coffin, miss?”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“I put that there.” He paused, perhaps embarrassed, perhaps regretting his disclosure. “Foolishness.” With a tight shake of his head, Lowery turned away. “I went out and caught a spider and tucked it in with my boy.”
“That was a very kind
“Have you something to ask me, sir?”
“You gonna tell me what you saw in that coffin?”
“I’m sorry. I’m duty bound to keep my observations confidential for now.”
I thought Lowery would leave. Instead he just stood there. Moments passed, then he nodded tautly, as though arriving at a difficult decision.
“I ain’t much for words. Don’t talk ’less I need to. Don’t talk ’less I know who’s on the other end of what I’m saying.”
The old man wiped both palms on his jeans.
“O’Hare’s using my troubles to get his name in the paper. Guipone’s a moron. The army’s got a dog in the fight. I ain’t a churching man, so I can’t ask the Lord who’s upright and who ain’t. I gotta go with my gut.”
Lowery swallowed. His discomfort was painful to watch.
“I listened to what you said back at the cemetery. To what you said just now. My gut’s telling me I can trust you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’d appreciate you listening to what I got to say.”
“Shall we talk in my car?”
As I wheep-wheeped my door locks and cranked the AC, Lowery retrieved something from the dashboard of his truck. When he dropped into my passenger seat, a wave of cheap cologne and stale sweat rolled my way.
Not pleasant, but it beat the odors I’d just left behind.
Lowery pressed a gilt-edged album to his chest. Eyes fixed on something outside the windshield, he drummed callused thumbs on its red leather cover.
Seconds passed. A full minute.
Finally, he spoke.
“My mama give me a cracker of a name. Plato. You can imagine the jokes.”
“I hear you.” I tapped my chest. “Temperance. People think I’m a movement to reinstate prohibition.”
“So I picked good solid names for my boys.”
“Hard to go wrong with John,” I said, wondering at Lowery’s use of the plural.
“John wasn’t but five when he started collecting spiders. Lined ’em up in jars on his windowsill. Red ones, speckled ones, big hairy black ones. Got so his mama dreaded going into his room.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“Soon’s he could read, John took to borrowing at the mobile library.” The i in mobile was pronounced as in spider. “That’s all he talked about. Spiders this and spiders that. What they ate, where they lived, how they made young ’uns. Librarian got him every book she could lay hands on. I wasn’t working much, couldn’t buy.”
Lowery paused, gaze still on something outside the car, perhaps outside that moment in time.
“Folks took to calling him Spider. Nickname stuck like gum on a shoe. Before long, no one remembered nothing about John. Even his schoolteachers called him Spider.”
Again, Lowery fell silent. I didn’t push.
“Wasn’t just spiders. John loved animals. Brought home all kinda strays. His mama let most of ’em stay.”
Lowery turned toward me but kept his eyes lowered.
“Harriet. She passed five years back. Kidneys finally give out. Harriet was always poorly, even after the transplant.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Spider offered his mama one of his very own kidneys. That’s how generous that boy was.” Lowery’s voice dropped. “Didn’t work out.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“Spider had a twin brother, Thomas. John and Tom. Good, solid names. Tom’s passed, too. Killed on a tractor in two thousand three. Losing both her boys just took the wind out of Harriet’s sails.”
“Grief has consequences not fully understood.”
Lowery’s eyes rose to mine. In them I saw the anguish of resurrected pain.
“You find a jar in that coffin, miss?”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“I put that there.” He paused, perhaps embarrassed, perhaps regretting his disclosure. “Foolishness.” With a tight shake of his head, Lowery turned away. “I went out and caught a spider and tucked it in with my boy.”
“That was a very kind
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