1 Tobiel

“John’s time has come. Make sure he arrives safely.”

Tobiel bowed his head and turned, leaving the presence of the King. It had been a while since his last delivery, but the assignment was not new. Tobiel had made the journey countless times before, guiding men the way all must go. This one would be no different.

The beginning and the end are one and the same.

John Dusty Wilson was going to die.

2 Dusty

February 2005

Dusty sat in the office of the garage and held the phone to his ear, waiting for his mother to pick up. He knew she was probably home; she never went anywhere but church, the grocery store, and over to Mrs. J’s.  The phone could be in his mother’s hand and she’d still let it ring at least three times before picking up.

Finally, after the fifth ring, Virginia Carter answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey mama.”

“Hey son. Lisa called me already.”

“Oh. She told you then?”

“Yes, said she just wanted to let me know. You okay?”

It was Tuesday, February 15, the day after Lisa’s birthday. Every year, Dusty’s mother joked about his wife being born on Valentine’s, and how it meant more gifts for Lisa and more money spent for him. Virginia spared him the joke this morning. The Sunday before, Lisa had asked him to take the special day off from work and drive her to Nashville to shop at the big mall. Maybe sit down somewhere fancy to eat. She’d ended her request by whining about how he never did anything special for her anymore and how she was tired of it, among other things. Dusty paid her no mind and went to work yesterday morning as if the conversation never happened. He didn’t want his check to be short next week. On the way home, Dusty picked up a teddy bear and some chocolate from Walgreens, hoping it would count for something. When he took it out of the white plastic bag to give it to Lisa, she looked at his measly offering­––peanuts compared to gifts he’d given her early in their marriage­––and retreated to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Dusty wanted to follow her but was too tired for a fight, a reoccurring battle that neither of them ever won. Instead, he slipped off his shoes, plopped himself on the sofa and flipped through the television channels, finally settling on an old cartoon he used to watch as a kid. He could hear Lisa hustling around the bedroom as he put his feet up and eventually dozed off to sleep.

The sound of a honk and a car’s engine idling outside woke Dusty from his slumber. He sat up and peeked out the window at the headlights shining back on him from the dark; he didn’t know whether it was still nighttime or early morning.

“I’m leaving.”

Dusty turned toward the sound of his wife’s voice. Lisa stood in the open doorway, holding her coat, two overnight bags at her feet. He was still half-asleep as she made her proclamation, tears welling in her eyes: “I’m staying over Rachel’s…don’t wanna talk…please stay away.”

“Lisa,” he said, pinching his eyes closed with his fingers. When he opened them again, she was gone.

Now here he was at the shop, not knowing how to answer his mother’s question. His marriage to Lisa had never been perfect. They’d been together since high school and married for six years. When they would argue in their early years, Lisa, at the most, would roll her eyes at him or ignore him. Maybe not touch him or talk to him for a couple of days if she was really upset. But she had never left before, and lately Dusty noticed that she’d stopped complaining about some of the things that he knew bothered her: him spending all his time at the garage, hunting, or at the bar; ignoring her and watching too much TV when he was home; and leaving his clothes all over the house for her to pick up.  It was almost as if she didn’t care anymore. Maybe screwing up her twenty-sixth birthday was the last straw.

Dusty answered his mother. “I’m okay.”

“Well, stop by this afternoon and get you something to eat, okay?” she said.

“Alright. Thanks Mama.”

Dusty hung up the phone and peered out into the garage. He could see one of the old guys almost upside down under the hood of an Expedition, desperately trying to reach something. It was busy in the shop: four customers were waiting to drop off their vehicles when he unlocked the door this morning, in addition to the cars that were left overnight. It didn’t help when Chester called in sick; something about too much drinking with his old lady the night before, so they were down one tech. Being shorthanded on a busy day was the last thing he needed, but the controlled chaos in the garage provided a temporary relief from the problem waiting for him at home.

Cars were Dusty’s first love, and he easily lost himself in them every day working at Reynold’s Automotive. Cars of all types, colors and sizes, but under the hood, all the same. The bodies and the speed is what first caught his eye. But it was high school shop class, where he learned that a series of tiny explosions is what gave a car life, and a puzzle of interconnected parts is what made a car work, that lured him in for good. Every day working on a vehicle was a game, finding and replacing the part that was broken and getting his customers’ moving again. His uncle Ross always reminded him that he picked up the habit from his brother John, Dusty’s father whom he was named after. John could fix any car, Ross would say. Dusty wouldn’t know; John had left Cedar, Alabama when his son was only four years old. He never came back, and Dusty never answered anyone who called him by his God-given name.

Even if his father were around, no one could not help him now. Ross had never married, and his grandfather Bo couldn’t talk about his life with Dusty’s deceased grandmother Rosa Lee without starting to cry. He had to find the damaged part on his own.

She’ll come back, he thought, picking up his safety glasses from the desk. Lisa loved him; that he knew. She wouldn’t stay gone long. He just had to make it through the day.

The temperature dropped slowly as Dusty’s ‘72 Cheyenne rattled down the highway toward his mother’s house. The heater didn’t work, so he’d been freezing all winter. Today had been pleasant for February, sixty-eight degrees, but the little warmth had made its getaway with the sun two hours ago. Dusty made a right turn into his mother’s driveway just as the porch light switched on. Across the yard, a black Cadillac Escalade EXT with temporary tags was pulled up to the Howards’ front steps. Nice truck, he thought, hopping out of the Chevy. He could appreciate luxury vehicles, but he was too smart to ever buy one––or maybe too cheap. He loved cars, but they weren’t good investments. No way would he ever spend the same amount of money he’d paid for his home on a vehicle.

The smell of fried pork chops and something sweet hit Dusty as he stepped through his mother’s front door. Voices and laughter echoed from the kitchen; hopefully just his mother’s and Mrs. J’s. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone outside of family.

“That fool Ross was about to cause all kind of problems in that store, Virginia,” Janet said between giggles. “I told the clerk, ‘Sweetie, the best thing you can do is give him his ten dollars back in a hurry and let him get out of here.’ By then, the manager saw who it was causing the commotion and came running.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Virginia said. “Last thing I need is Brother cutting up in the grocery store. I’d never be able to show my face again.”

Dusty stepped into the kitchen. “Hey there.”

“Hey Dusty,” Ms. Janet answered.

“Let me fix you a plate.” His mother rose from the table.

Dusty took the empty seat between the mothers. “What happened with Uncle Ross?”

Janet answered first. “We were in line at the Bi-Rite and some poor girl shorted him some change. Two more minutes and Ross was gonna tear up the place.”

Dusty chuckled at the thought of his uncle raising hell in the Bi-Rite. Ross was a handful, a drinking man who kept to himself and didn’t take kindly to silliness. Mostly everyone except his family and drinking buddies steered clear of him. The cashier at the grocery store must have missed the memo.

Virginia set a plate full of food in front of Dusty: pork chops with black-eyed peas, rice and gravy, and hot-water cornbread. He drowned the pork chop in syrup and dug in. A baking dish full of blackberry cobbler sat on the stove.

“How was work today, son?” his mother asked.

“Busy,” Dusty mumbled, mouth full of food.

“Well, that’s good I suppose. Have you talked to Lisa?”

Dusty shook his head and kept eating, steeling his eyes to his plate. He’d tried to call his wife on his lunch break, but got no answer. He sent her a few text messages in hopes that she would respond.

Can we talk?

I’m sorry for messing up your birthday.

Will you please answer?

I love you.

When lunch was over, he left his phone in the truck where it stayed while he worked, and hoped to have a missed call or a text from Lisa when he clocked out. Finding neither when he pulled out of the parking lot for the day only added to the cold.

“Well, try not to worry,” Janet said. “Everything will work out. I’m praying for y’all.”

“Thanks Mrs. J.”

“You’re welcome. You let me know if you need anything.”

“What he needs is a new truck.”

Dusty lifted his eyes, knowing the voice but not quite believing he’d heard it. Brooklyn stood leaning in the doorway behind him. “Woman,” Dusty dropped his fork and rose out of his chair, enveloping Brooklyn in a tight hug as his mother and Mrs. J laughed at the secret they’d been hiding. “What are you doing home?”

“I’m back for a while. Had to get out of the city.”

“Yeah? Everything okay?”

“Everything’s everything, man.” Brooklyn’s proper accent was thick as she swiped the hat from his head and pushed it into his chest. She never let him get away with anything, including wearing a cap indoors. He loved her for it, and so did Lisa: she often times ended arguments with a sarcastic “You need to call Brooklyn.” His wife knew Brooklyn was a straight shooter and wouldn’t hesitate to say so if Dusty was wrong. Brooklyn had been his best friend since grade school, when his grandfather built Virginia a house next door to Les and Janet Howard when he was eight years old. The day they moved in, Brooklyn, who was just visiting the Howards herself, invited him over to play basketball. He wasn’t very good—baseball was his favorite sport—and Brooklyn beat him soundly in a game of HORSE.

“Wanna do something else?” she asked.

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching tadpoles swim in a big mud puddle in the front yard.

Dusty took to Brooklyn, and through the years Brooklyn had no qualms about hanging out with a him either, even when they hit puberty and her girlfriends began begging her to hook them up with “the fine white boy,” giggling quietly whenever Dusty would pay for Brooklyn’s snack or pass them in the school hallway. It annoyed Brooklyn. Dusty found it funny. The two made for an odd pair in Cedar over the years, and now Brooklyn felt more like his sister than his friend.

Dusty gave Brooklyn a once over and saw that not much had changed since she’d been away: a black t-shirt, blue jeans and brown Polo boots loosely hugged her frame. He hadn’t seen her in over a year; she was eyeing him back. “Look at you, man. What’s this?” Brooklyn patted the paunch above his waistline.

“Beer belly,” Dusty admitted with a smile.

“You want something to eat, Brooklyn?” Virginia asked.

“Ms. Virginia, you know I came for some cobbler.”

Dusty, Brooklyn, Janet and Virginia all sat around the table eating his mother’s cobbler and talking about old times. Seeing the treat on the stove should have given away his friend’s arrival: it was Brooklyn’s favorite, and his mother hardly made it anymore unless she was home. Brooklyn’s younger sister Robbie dropped in to say hello, but didn’t stay. She’d had a long day at the elementary school, where she was a first year Kindergarten teacher.

By nine p.m, the group had dispersed to the yard to say goodnight. Mrs. Janet patted Dusty on the back and walked to her house, leaving Brooklyn and him standing in the cool Alabama air. For the last hour he’d forgotten about Lisa, caught up in the excitement of Brooklyn being home and the reminiscing around the table. Now it was time to go home. Maybe she’ll be there, he thought.

Brooklyn read his mind. “Hey, Grandmother told me about Lisa. You okay?”

“I’m alright.” Dusty didn’t know if he really believed his words or was just saying them to make himself feel better. “That your truck?”

“Yeah, that’s me” she said. “Grandmother had my Pops get it for me from the auction in B’ham”

“Drug dealer’s car,” Dusty joked.

“I know. Hey, that reminds me: I wanna throw some chrome rims on it. Can you help me get a deal on some and put ‘em on for me?”

“I got you.”

“Cool. Aight family,” Brooklyn said, tapping him on his chest with an open hand. “I’m going to bed. I gotta go talk to Mr. Starks in the morning down at the yard.”

“Yeah?” Dusty was surprised. “You gonna work there?”

“I’ma see what they got for me.” Brooklyn rolled over a rock with her foot. “Of course Grandmother doesn’t want me to.” Les, Brooklyn’s grandfather and Janet’s husband, no longer worked at Southern Rail but had several friends who did. Mr. Les himself drove long haul trucks for a living, transporting goods 250 miles to Louisville and back every week night.  Everyone who worked at Southern made good money, but some of the jobs could be dangerous.

Dusty said goodnight to Brooklyn and drove home, a tight feeling in his chest, wondering how his marriage got to this point and wishing he didn’t have to deal with it. It didn’t take long to arrive since he lived around the corner, about a three-minute drive away from his mother’s. He was ready to get out of the cold and rid himself of the anticipation.

He only had to turn into the yard to know that Lisa wasn’t there. The front blinds were open and their home was completely dark, just as he’d left it that morning.

3 Brooklyn

Brooklyn Shea Mosley stared out the window at the grain cars in the distance and wondered how she ended up back in Alabama. She’d left for Chicago eight years ago, deciding that it would be a very long time before she’d ever find her way back home for good. While she was away, the winter holidays provided perfectly measured opportunities for her to drop in, say hello, and spend time with her family. But each time, after a few days of being home, the city would call to her, boasting of its anonymity and freedom and reminding Brooklyn of why she left in the first place. She could go to the grocery store in Chicago and no one would know her name, constrain her with their remembrances and expectations. She could wake up a different Brooklyn every day and no one would think it strange. Yet, here she was, her permanent sabbatical done in by other people’s memories of her dead mother, a failed relationship, and a bribe by her grandmother. The truck was nice, she admitted, but she would have turned it down had things been different in Chicago. It simply wouldn’t have been enough to make her leave.

Brooklyn finished the last bite of her sandwich and gathered the trash from her table at the barbecue spot down the street from the yard. It was just after noon and swamped with Southern Rail workers. Her interview with Mr. Starks, her grandfather’s friend and Masonic brother, had gone well, and she’d pretty much decided to take the job at the railroad. She would be one of the few females on the yard, but she was already familiar with some of the men who worked there and knew they’d look out for her. And it was good money, something she could not pass up. Her grandmother wouldn’t be happy about it, having convinced Les to leave the yard after Brooklyn’s mother Tenelle died. At first, her grandfather had resisted his wife’s pleas, praying that Janet’s irrational worrying would go away with more space and time between losing their only daughter. One tragic event in a person’s life would not beget another. But Janet had been praying too, and when Les watched a train car roll over one of his co-worker’s one rainy afternoon, and his mother’s cry cut short––like someone had snatched it out of the air––and her body go limp in the parking lot when they confirmed what she’d heard from a neighbor only twenty minutes before, he drove to work the next day and asked his supervisor for retirement papers.

Brooklyn shared her grandparents’ loss, but still possessed the stubbornness of youth that they’d long abandoned. Janet would get over it. As long as Brooklyn did a good job and stayed safe, she’d be fine.

Brooklyn took a plate of ribs to the school for Robbie and spent the rest of the afternoon driving around Huntsville and shopping at Madison Square Mall. She stopped by the lounge to say hello to her father, and by the time she got back to Cedar, it was almost nine. She was down the street from her house when flashing blue lights exploded in her rearview mirror. “Really?” she said to herself.

Brooklyn was so lost in her own thoughts and the music blasting from the speakers that she didn’t know for sure how long the cop had been trailing her. I haven’t even been here a week, she thought, pulling the truck over on the loose gravel lining the road. Through the trees, she could see the porch lights of her house a football field away. Brooklyn watched the officer in her side mirror close his door and walk toward her, staring at the back of her truck. My tags. She hit the button to let down her window just as the officer arrived by her side. “How you doin’, ma’am?” he said.

“I’m good. Be better after I know why you pulled me over,” Brooklyn said, faking a smile.

“You’re missing tags on your truck.”

The voice was familiar to Brooklyn as she tried to get a good look at his face in the headlights. Freckles dotted the cheeks and nose of his pale skin. “Red?” she said.

The officer stared back. “Brooks?”

Garrett’s flowing red hair was missing as Brooklyn recognized her old classmate. Dusty told her he’d cut if off after becoming a sheriff’s deputy, but she hadn’t seen him enough since then to recognize him. He’d done the same as her: left Alabama after high school for a seemingly better life. But after a couple of years of trade school in Indianapolis, Garrett decided that Cedar wasn’t all that bad and found his way back down I-65.

Brooklyn was a little relieved, but still irritated. “My temporary tags are in the window, Red.”

Red didn’t look to see if she was telling the truth. “I’m sorry, Brooks. I thought you were someone else.”

“What….yo, you profiled me?”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Garrett relaxed, leaning against the car. “I’m sorry. What are you doing here anyway, visiting your family?”

Brooklyn got the sense that she didn’t come home often enough, based on everyone asking why she was here. Or maybe it was confirmation that she didn’t belong here. Either way, she was here, and the sooner she got over it, the better. “Nah, I moved back. Mama called,” she said, winking at her old buddy.

“Mama called huh. We got y’all again this year.”

“Yeah, we sucked.” The Alabama football team, Dusty and Brooklyn’s favorite, finished the last season with a 6-6 record, and had lost to Red’s favorite Tennessee two years in a row.

“Hey,” Red said, “Dusty alright? I haven’t had time to call him yet.”

Brooklyn shrugged. “He’s maintaining. Call him. We good here, though?”

“Yes ma’am. Get your tags on.” Brooklyn rolled her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, tapping her door as she pulled back onto the road.

Brooklyn turned into her driveway and caught her grandmother in the headlights, gathering groceries from the back seat of her car. “Hey lady,” Brooklyn called through the still rolled down window.

“Hey baby,” Janet turned her head to the side and smiled. “Was that you pulled over?”

The amber streetlight that marked the boundary between their yard and Ms. Virginia’s lit up her grandmother’s thick hourglass figure that she’d somehow managed to maintain well into her sixties. Tenelle had been beautiful too, and now everyone fawned over Robbie, always remarking about how she looked just like their mother did twenty years ago. The only thing Brooklyn seemed to inherit from her mother was her low, throaty voice; every other feature, likeness, and mannerism came directly from her father, Otis. Robbie had already been on one date since Brooklyn arrived, and she could tell by taking one look at the guy that eventually, her and Robbie would have to chat.

“Yeah,” she said. “It was Red, though. Didn’t see my temp tags.”

“Now Garrett knew I wouldn’t let you ride around with no tags.” Janet worked at Cedar’s Clerk’s office.

Brooklyn grabbed the rest of the grocery bags and followed her grandmother into the house. She set the bags down on the kitchen table and glanced down the dark hallway. Her sister’s car was parked outside, but the house was empty. “Where’s Robbie?”

“She’s out with Eric.”

“That same cat from last week?”

“Yep, that’s him.”

“Mmh.” Brooklyn sat down and picked up Janet’s sunglasses from the table, putting them on.

“What, Brooklyn.” Janet said.

“Nothing.” The talk with her sister was going to come sooner than later.

Janet slid a jug of milk into the refrigerator. “Everybody don’t have super high standards like you,” she said.

“Really, Grandmother? That’s what you’re teaching Robbie, not to have high standards?”

“I taught Robbie that no one is perfect, just like I taught you.”

“So what am I supposed to do, just sit here and let any old bum take her out? Robbie’s beautiful, Ma.” Brooklyn took off the glasses. “And naïve. She’s gonna attract a lot of jerks. I had to check all my boys when she came to visit me last year,” she said. “And they’re all jerks.”

Janet laughed as she placed cans goods in the cabinet over the microwave. “Well, your sister’s about to be twenty-two, Brooklyn. You’re gonna have to start letting go of that leash. Just a little.”

“We’ll see.” Brooklyn grabbed an orange from a bowl of fruit in the middle of the table and began pressing it against the table. “I talked with Mr. Starks today.”

“Oh yeah?” Her grandmother’s playful tone was gone, just that fast. “How’s Ron doing?”

“He’s aight, looks good.” Brooklyn didn’t pause, thinking it better to get it out and over with. “I’m gonna take the job working for him. I got some paperwork to fill out, but once it’s official, I’ll have to go to Atlanta for training. I already called Papa and told him.”

“What?” Janet turned to face Brooklyn. “For how long?”

“Three weeks.”

Janet crumpled the white plastic bag in her hand and leaned against the counter. The last time Brooklyn saw the same look on her grandmother’s face, she was seventeen and had just told Janet she’d been accepted into DePaul University. Even though her father was from Chicago and Brooklyn would be close to all of his family, Janet was not having it, unwilling to let Brooklyn go alone to the city that had claimed her only child. Otis, who lived in Huntsville and had never returned to Chicago after his wife’s death, didn’t like the idea either, but said it was her decision. Surprisingly, it was her grandfather who stood on her side, clearing the way for Brooklyn to leave Alabama in August of 1998. Four years later, Robbie spared everyone the additional worry and chose to go to school at Miles College, only an hour and a half away from Cedar.

Now, here they were again. “Are you sure, Brooklyn?” Janet said. “You know there’s an opening down at the Clerk’s office you would be great at. Or I could call Gary in Huntsville and see if there’s anything at the station—“

“You know I can’t be cooped up inside looking at you all day.” Brooklyn smiled at her, hoping the rib would lighten the tension. “I’ma work at the yard. I already know some of Papa’s friends down there, and it’s good money. I’ll be safe.”

“You don’t need the money, Brooklyn. You don’t have any bills here.”

“I can’t live off of you and Papa for the rest of my life.”

“Brooklyn, I just­—“

“Grandmother, I know. But you asked me to come back here, and I came. I can’t sit around here doing nothing. And I need to do something I will enjoy.”

Janet placed the last can in the cabinet and shut it a little harder than usual, the loud clap breaking through the silence. Brooklyn’s eyes followed her grandmother as she walked to the sink behind her, purposely not making eye contact with her only child’s first born. After twenty years, Janet’s pain was still tender, an old wound that hurt the most when you pressed it in its center.

Brooklyn stood up and placed a hand on her grandmother’s shoulder. “Ma…”

Janet dried her hands with a towel and met Brooklyn’s eyes.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

The hot water battering Brooklyn’s skin was a relief, washing away the tension of the conversation with her grandmother. Afterwards, Brooklyn slipped back into her bedroom and look around. Everything was the same as she left it eight years earlier. Basketball posters still hung on every wall. Old photos from high school lined the edges of the dresser mirror. Her old clothes and shoes still hung in the closet; tomorrow she would sort through them and donate most of it to the thrift store. And grab an apartment guide from the Bi-Rite. It was safe and convenient being back at the house, but with four grown people living under one roof, Brooklyn knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d want her own place again.

Brooklyn pulled back the comforter and sheet on her bed, dropped to her knees and said the Lord’s Prayer, then mumbled words to God that only the two of them could hear.

“Father, Thank You for everything…”

Brooklyn ran her hands through her hair, her wet curls dripping water on the bedspread. She hadn’t had to think about upkeep in a long time. She’d have to ask Robbie for advice.

“…Please protect me and Papa, and keep us so that Grandmother will be okay…”

Sometimes, when her mother was still here, they would pack food and drive up to the yard to eat lunch with Papa. Brooklyn and Les would sit on the hood of Otis’s El Camino and eat sandwiches as the cars moved in and out of the yard, Les testing Brooklyn’s memory of each part of the train. When he quit, Brooklyn had missed seeing the iron beasts up close and hearing the clank of the cars coupling together. The yard was like a maze, a puzzle where she couldn’t afford to get lost in her own thoughts. She was looking forward to being around again.

“…be with Dusty and Lisa…”

She couldn’t imagine what Dusty had done bad enough to make Lisa leave. Not her brother. But just when you think you know a person is when they surprise you the most.

“I love you. Thank You for loving me.”

Brooklyn climbed into bed and switched off the lamp. A gap in the window curtain allowed a sliver of brown light to cut through the darkness, starting on the door and ending on her feet under the bed covers. As a teenager, Brooklyn would sleep with the curtains and window completely open, letting the light and sounds from outside flood her room. She’d stare directly at the streetlight, listening to crickets chirp and cars pass by on the street until she fell asleep.

A single beep and a short buzz sounded from the nightstand just as Brooklyn dozed off. She reached for the phone without looking and adjusted her eyes to the bright background of the text message from a 312 area code, a number she’d erased from her phone but still knew by heart.

I still love you.

Brooklyn tossed the phone to the side and pulled the comforter over her head, inviting sleep to overtake her once again.