A Life for a Life by Lynda McDaniel (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📖

A crowd filed into the small Episcopal church, even more than I’d expected. Father Max caught my eye and shook his head. It was hard not to be cynical when you saw the likes of Roger Turpin, a tie tight around his bulging neck and tucked behind his Sunday-best overalls. He sat sprawled across the end of the pew, where delicate carvings seemed to cower under the weight of his thighs. Or Wayne Burnett sitting in the front of a church—probably the first church he’d been in since he was baptized. For them, I imagined the service wasn’t much different from the Saturday night auction behind Junior’s Automotive: a spectacle not to be missed.

I took a seat next to Abit and his parents, nodding hello. I almost didn’t recognize Abit—he looked so grownup in his shirt and tie, his hair slicked down with Brylcreem. I was worried I’d been short with him earlier in the day when he’d asked if I needed help with any chores that week. He was beside himself with enthusiasm, looking forward to having honest work, but I just couldn’t talk about the store at that moment.

Billie and her brood were in the row in front of us, and from the row behind, Cleva patted me on the back with that reassuring way of hers. I’d been in the church only three or four times, most of those since The Day, three weeks ago. Of course, the topic of church had been broached ever since I’d moved to the area, whenever I met someone for the first time. In these parts, there were two seasonal questions: “How’s your garden?” (summer) and “Do you have plenty of wood?” (winter) and two perennial questions: “Do you have good water?” and “Where do you go to church?”

Invariably, I’d stumble and stutter until someone said, “Well, you’ll just have to come to Bethany with us” (a Baptist church ten miles south) or “We’ve got the friendliest congregation at New Hope” (a Church of God group that met in the local VFW Hall and seemed to hate everyone, in all likelihood even one another). A couple of times I gave in, but found the sermons and announcements disturbing and decided I was better off staying home with Jake.

As the church filled, someone edged his way into our pew, scrunching in next to me. To make room, I scooted over closer to Abit and gave him a hug to ease any hurt feelings. He gave me that crooked smile that just killed me.

“Della?” the man who’d just settled next to me whispered, placing a hand on my arm.

I turned, then jerked my arm back as though it had been burned. I leaned so close to Abit I was practically in his lap. At first Abit thought I was playing around, but he looked at my face and knew something was wrong. I didn’t dare look over at Mildred. 

“What is it, Della?” Abit asked. I shook my head.

I panicked. I couldn’t get out, I was so squeezed into the pew. I turned back to the man and growled, “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you. Rotten luck finding the girl.”

“How did you even know about the girl, er, young woman? Or this service?”

He shrugged. “I started a subscription to the Mountain Weekly after you moved here.”

God, it was just like him. Alex Covington, my ex-husband, Mr. Hotshot at the Post, once upon a time. I thought about our local rag and felt embarrassed, but he’d had the good grace not to comment. (And I hoped he didn’t know about its wicked moniker). I was getting madder by the moment until I noticed Abit craning his neck so hard he was about to need traction. I almost laughed.

“Abit, meet Alex. Alex, meet Abit. Abit is my best friend at the store.” Abit’s face blushed as he stuck out his hand to shake. He had better manners than the educated prick next to me. The music stopped and Father Max stepped to the pulpit.

I barely heard the service. I kept thinking about Alex showing up, stealing my focus. Just like him to take over. I’d let him do that in our life together—and he was having a go at it in our life apart.

It still stung to think about how critical of me and my writing he’d always been. He became so toxic that I quit showing him my writing and ignored his comments once my articles were published. Eventually, his status was shot all to hell, but that just created new problems. When he started drowning his troubles with drink and other women, I moved out. Alex thought I was being “rash,” which only reminded me of the one I got thanks to his indiscretions.

Lost in my thoughts, I felt Abit nudging me. “It’s over Della. Let’s get out of here and go back to the store,” he said, tugging at his tie. I heard the Doxology. Time to go deal with the living.

As we filed out, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face—or more to the point, an arm. The same tattoo that had peeked beneath the hem of his Madras shirtsleeve in the woods on The Day. He’d cut his hair and shaved his beard, but he was the same guy. I started forcing my way into the crowd, struggling to get through the maze of people. They were pulling back and glaring at me, and I didn’t blame them. I must have looked crazed after seeing Alex, suffering through a funeral, and pushing my way toward Madras Man, aka Tattoo Man. But by the time I got to the front door, he was gone.

Chapter 16: Abit

I didn’t know what to make of that Alex guy. And I couldn’t figure out how Della felt about him, either. Her face looked like one of them flip books Mama oncet gave me for Christmas—changing from sad to glad to mad in a flash. I knew one thing: he sure had a cool car. Didn’t see many like that round here. I wanted to steal one of his hubcaps, but Della would’ve known who done it.

His plates said D.C., so she probably knew him from up there. When she first moved here, I overhead a phone call one day. Della was upset so her voice really carried (plus I had my ear to the door). Seemed like he’d been drinking a bunch after losing his job, and then she caught him in bed with someone he worked with. Sounded like one of Mama’s soaps on TV. Della almost started crying on the phone. I knew ‘cause she was talking the way I did when I was trying not to cry.

That sure confused me after the service, the way she ran out of the church. I thought she was chasing Alex, but then I saw him standing beside the pew, looking lost. I was working my way out—the crowd was just standing in the aisles, making it hard—and by the time I finally got outside, she was walking to her car. Alex must’ve pushed harder’n me, ‘cause he’d caught up with her, and they talked some. Then they both headed off, like I weren’t even there. But I was used to that—though I had to admit, this time my feelings were hurt. 

And he spent the night! I’d already fallen asleep when I heard Jake barking, so I got outa bed to see what was goin’ on. The moon was really bright, and I could see them standing round outside while Jake romped in the back meadow. The next morning, Della and Alex musta been down in the store early on, because I saw them head back upstairs just as I was coming down to sit in my chair, ready for another day of watching other people’s lives.

Chapter 17: Della

As Alex took off in his noisy Mercedes, I couldn’t help thinking how stupid that car looked in our hardscrabble community. Add in the diesel racket, and it was embarrassing. Abit, of course, thought it was a marvelous car. Ever since Alex arrived, I felt him watching my every move, trying to pick up signals about how any given detail might affect his world.

He was sitting in his chair, taking in the farewell scene. “Howdy, Mister,” I said, ruffling his hair. It was a little sticky from the Brylcreem his mother made him use yesterday. 

“Howdy. How was your evening?”

I laughed. “You’ve been waiting all morning to ask me that.” I unlocked the door and went inside.

Abit could be as transparent as that plate-glass window he was looking through. I waved for him to come in—he was developing a taste for coffee, and I couldn’t wait to get it brewing. Abit looked up at his house and shook his head. I got the day’s cash out of the empty tub of chocolate ice cream in the freezer, flipped on the lights, and brought the sandwich board to the door.

“I’ll trade you coffee for putting this out next to the road.”

“Done!”

I watched him drag the heavy sign to the road and felt happy to know him. He was different, and not in the derisive way some people meant that. He had something special going on inside that head of his. Once he placed the sign near the driveway and turned back, he gave me a smile and wave, as though we hadn’t just spoken.

“I’ll get you that coffee,” I whispered, just in case Mildred had ears as keen as her eyes. She probably didn’t approve of his drinking coffee, but who knew? Country kids grew up fast, which was why I wanted to talk with him that morning. He was weaned on gossip and soap operas and had likely drawn the wrong conclusion. 

When I handed him a half cup of coffee, I told him. “Abit, Alex is my ex-husband. I was surprised by his visit, as I believe you already realized. And he slept on my couch.”

His neck turned red first, then it crawled up to his face. His freckles even disappeared. He carefully sipped the hot coffee, stalling for time to compose an answer. “I hope he wudn’t mean to you,” he finally said.

“No, not last night,” I said, smiling at my loyal friend. But I didn’t want to discuss Alex, so I headed back inside. 

After Lucy’s service, Alex had asked for a tour of my store and apartment. The day had turned sunny, and bright light streamed in my upstairs windows. The trees waved at us with their new green leaves while the mountain vista rolled on forever. I could tell Alex was impressed.

“That looks like the