A Walk to Remember(初恋的回忆)

2024年2月5日发(作者：至高无什么成语)

A Walk to Remember《初恋的回忆》

In the prologue（序） to his latest novel, Nicholas Sparks makes the rather presumptuous（不客气的） pledge（表示，保证） "first you will smile, and then you will cry," but sure enough, he

delivers the goods. With his calculated ability to throw your heart around like a yo-yo (try out his

earlier Message in the Bottle or The Notebook if you really want to stick it to yourlf), Sparks

pulls us back to the perfect innocence（单纯） of a first love.

In 1958 Landon Carter is a shallow but well-meaning（善意的） teenager who spends most of

his time hanging out with his friends and trying hard to ignore the impending（即将面临的）

responsibilities of adulthood. Then Landon gets roped into acting the lead in the Christmas play

opposite the most renowned goody two-shoes in town: Jamie Sullivan. Against his best intentions

and the taunts of his buddies, Landon finds himlf falling for Jamie and learning some central

lessons in life.

Like John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany, Sparks maintains a delicate（精致优美的） and

rarely en balance of humor and ntiment. While the plot may not be the most original, this

boy-makes-good tearjerker（催泪剧） will certainly reel in the fans. Look for a movie starring

beautiful people or, better yet, snuggle under the covers with your tissues nearby and let your

inner sap run wild. --Nancy R.E. O'Brien

CONTENTS:

PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Prologue

When I was venteen, my life changed forever.

I know that there are people who wonder abou t me when I say this. They look at me

strangely as if trying to fathom what could have happened back then, though I ldom bother to

explain. Becau I‟ve lived here for most of my life, I don‟t feel that I have to unless it‟s on my

terms, and that would take more time than most people are willing to give me. My story can‟t be

summed up in two or three ntences; it can‟t be packaged into something neat and simple that

people would immediately understand. Despite the passage of forty years, the people still living

here who knew me that year accept my lack of explanation without question. My story in some

ways is their story becau it was something that all of us lived through.

It was I, however, who was clost to it. I‟m fifty-ven years old, but even now I can

remember everything from that year, down to the smallest details. I relive that year often in my

mind, bringing it back to life, and I realize that when I do, I always feel a strange combination of

sadness and joy. There are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the

sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone as well. So I take the

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memories as they come, accepting them all, letting them guide me whenever I can. This happens

more often than I let on.

It is April 12, in the last year before the millennium, and as I leave my hou, I glance around.

The sky is overcast and gray, but as I move down the street, I notice that the dogwoods and

azaleas are blooming. I zip my jacket just a little. The temperature is cool, though I know it‟s only a

matter of weeks before it will ttle in to something comfortable and the gray skies give way to the

kind of days that make North Carolina one of the most beautiful places in the world. With a sigh, I

feel it all coming back to me. I clo my eyes and the years begin to move in rever, slowly

ticking backward, like the hands of a clock rotating in the wrong direction. As if through someone

el‟s eyes, I watch mylf grow younger; I e my hair changing from gray to brown, I feel the

wrinkles around my eyes begin to smooth, my arms and legs grow sinewy. Lessons I‟ve learned

with age grow dimmer, and my innocence returns as that eventful year approaches. Then, like

me, the world begins to change: roads narrow and some become gravel, suburban sprawl has

been replaced with farmland, downtown streets teem with people, looking in windows as they

pass Sweeney‟s bakery and Palka‟s meat shop. Men wear hats, women wear dress. At the

courthou up the street, the bell tower rings. . . .

I open my eyes and pau. I am standing outside the Baptist church, and when I stare at the

gable, I know exactly who I am. My name is Landon Carter, and I‟m venteen years old.

This is my story; I promi to leave nothing out.

First you will smile, and then you will cry-don‟t say you haven‟t been warned.

Chapter 1

In 1958, Beaufort, North Carolina, which is located on the coast near Morehead City, was a

place like many other small southern towns. It was the kind of place where the humidity ro so

high in the summer that walking out to get the mail made a person feel as if he needed a shower,

and kids walked around barefoot from April through October beneath oak trees draped in Spanish

moss. People waved from their cars whenever they saw someone on the street whether they

knew him or not, and the air smelled of pine, salt, and a, a scent unique to the Carolinas. For

many of the people there, Fishing in the Pamlico Sound or crabbing in the Neu River was a way

of life, and boats were moored wherever you saw the Intracoastal Waterway. Only three channels

came in on the television, though television was never important to tho of us who grew up there.

Instead our lives were centered around the churches, of which there were eighteen within the

town limits alone. They went by names like the Fellowship Hall Christian Church, the Church of

the Forgiven People, the Church of Sunday Atonement, and then, of cour, there were the

Baptist churches. When I was growing up, it was far and away the most popular denomination

around, and there were Baptist churches on practically every corner of town, though each

considered itlf superior to the others. There were Baptist churches of every type-Freewill

Baptists, Southern Baptists, Congregational Baptists, Missionary Baptists, Independent

Baptists . . . well, you get the picture.

Back then, the big event of the year was sponsored by the Baptist church

downtown-Southern, if you really want to know-in conjunction with the local high school. Every

year they put on their Christmas pageant at the Beaufort Playhou, which was actually a play

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that had been written by Hegbert Sullivan, a minister who‟d been with the church since Mos

parted the Red Sea. Okay, maybe he wasn‟t that old, but he was old enough that you could

almost e through the guy‟s skin. It was sort of clammy all the time, and translucent-kids would

swear they actually saw the blood flowing through his veins-and his hair was as white as tho

bunnies you e in pet stores around Easter.

Anyway, he wrote this play called The Christmas Angel, becau he didn‟t want to keep on

performing that old Charles Dickens classic A Christmas Carol. In his mind Scrooge was a

heathen, who came to his redemption only becau he saw ghosts, not angels-and who was to

say whether they‟d been nt by God, anyway? And who was to say he wouldn‟t revert to his

sinful ways if they hadn‟t been nt directly from heaven? The play didn‟t exactly tell you in the

end-it sort of plays into faith and all-but Hegbert didn‟t trust ghosts if they weren‟t actually nt by

God, which wasn‟t explained in plain language, and this was his big problem with it. A few years

back he‟d changed the end of the play-sort of followed it up with his own version, complete with

old man Scrooge becoming a preacher and all, heading off to Jerusalem to find the place where

Jesus once taught the scribes. It didn‟t fly too well-not even to the congregation, who sat in the

audience staring wide-eyed at the spectacle-and the newspaper said things like “Though it was

certainly interesting, it wasn‟t exactly the play we‟ve all come to know and love. . . .”

So Hegbert decided to try his hand at writing his own play. He‟d written his own rmons his

whole life, and some of them, we had to admit, were actually interesting, especially when he

talked about the “wrath of God coming down on the fornicators” and all that good stuff. That really

got his blood boiling, I‟ll tell you, when he talked about the fornicators. That was his real hot spot.

When we were younger, my friends and I would hide behind the trees and shout, “Hegbert is a

fornicator!” when we saw him walking down the street, and we‟d giggle like idiots, like we were the

wittiest creatures ever to inhabit the planet. Old Hegbert, he‟d stop dead in his tracks and his

ears would perk up-I swear to God, they actually moved-and he‟d turn this bright shade of red, like

he‟d just drunk gasoline, and the big green veins in his neck would start sticking out all over, like

tho maps of the Amazon River that you e in National Geographic. He‟d peer from side to side,

his eyes narrowing into slits as he arched for us, and then, just as suddenly, he‟d start to go

pale again, back to that fishy skin, right before our eyes. Boy, it was something to watch, that‟s for

sure. So we‟d be hiding behind a tree and Hegbert (what kind of parents name their kid Hegbert,

anyway?) would stand there waiting for us to give ourlves up, as if he thought we‟d be that

stupid. We‟d put our hands over our mouths to keep from laughing out loud, but somehow he‟d

always zero in on us. He‟d be turning from side to side, and then he‟d stop, tho beady eyes

coming right at us, right through the tree. “I know who you are, Landon Carter,” he‟d say, “and the

Lord knows, too.” He‟d let that sink in for a minute or so, and then he‟d finally head off again, and

during the rmon that weekend he‟d stare right at us and say something like “God is merciful to

children, but the children must be worthy as well.” And we‟d sort of lower ourlves in the ats,

not from embarrassment, but to hide a new round of giggles. Hegbert didn‟t understand us at all,

which was really sort of strange, being that he had a kid and all. But then again, she was a girl.

More on that, though, later. Anyway, like I said, Hegbert wrote The Christmas Angel one year

and decided to put on that play instead. The play itlf wasn‟t bad, actually, which surprid

everyone the first year it was performed. It‟s basically the story of a man who had lost his wife a

few years back. This guy, Tom Thornton, ud to be real religious, but he had a crisis of faith after

his wife died during childbirth. He‟s raising this little girl all on his own, but he hasn‟t been the

greatest father, and what the little girl really wants for Christmas is a special music box with an

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angel engraved on top, a picture of which she‟d cut out from an old catalog. The guy arches

long and hard to find the gift, but he can‟t find it anywhere. So it‟s Christmas Eve and he‟s still

arching, and while he‟s out looking through the stores, he comes across a strange woman he‟s

never en before, and she promis to help him find the gift for his daughter. First, though, they

help this Homeless person (back then they were called bums, by the way), then they stop at an

orphanage to e some kids, then visit a lonely old woman who just wanted some company on

Christmas Eve. At this point the mysterious woman asks Tom Thornton what he wants for

Christmas, and he says that he wants his wife back. She brings him to the city fountain and tells

him to look in the water and he‟ll find what he‟s looking for. When he looks in the water, he es

the face of his little girl, and he breaks down and cries right there. While he‟s sobbing, the

mysterious lady runs off, and Tom Thornton arches but can‟t find her anywhere. Eventually he

heads Home, the lessons from the evening playing in his mind. He walks into his little girl‟s room,

and her sleeping figure makes him realize that she‟s all he has left of his wife, and he starts to cry

again becau he knows he hasn‟t been a good enough father to her.

The next morning, magically, the music box is underneath the tree, and the angel that‟s

engraved on it looks exactly like the woman he‟d en the night before. So it wasn‟t that bad,

really. If truth be told, people cried buckets whenever they saw it. The play sold out every year it

was performed, and due to its popularity, Hegbert eventually had to move it from the church to the

Beaufort Playhou, which had a lot more ating. By the time I was a nior in high school, the

performances ran twice to packed hous, which, considering who actually performed it, was a

story in and of itlf.

You e, Hegbert wanted young people to perform the play-niors in high school, not the

theater group. I reckon he thought it would be a good learning experience before the niors

headed off to college and came face-to-face with all the fornicators. He was that kind of guy, you

know, always wanting to save us from temptation. He wanted us to know that God is out there

watching you, even when you‟re away from Home, and that if you put your trust in God, you‟ll be

all right in the end. It was a lesson that I would eventually learn in time, though it wasn‟t Hegbert

who taught me.

As I said before, Beaufort was fairly typical as far as southern towns went, though it did have

an interesting history. Blackbeard the pirate once owned a hou there, and his ship, Queen

Anne‟s Revenge, is suppodly buried somewhere in the sand just offshore. Recently some

archaeologists or oceanographers or whoever looks for stuff like that said they found it, but no

one‟s certain just yet, being that it sank over 250 years ago and you can‟t exactly reach into the

glove compartment and check the registration. Beaufort‟s come a long way since the 1950s, but

it‟s still not exactly a major metropolis or anything. Beaufort was, and always will be, on the

smallish side, but when I was growing up, it barely warranted a place on the map. To put it into

perspective, the congressional district that included Beaufort covered the entire eastern part of

the state-some twenty thousand square miles-and there wasn‟t a single town with more than

twenty-five thousand people. Even compared with tho towns, Beaufort was regarded as being

on the small side. Everything east of Raleigh and north of Wilmington, all the way to the Virginia

border, was the district my father reprented.

I suppo you‟ve heard of him. He‟s sort of a legend, even now. His name is Worth Carter,

and he was a congressman for almost thirty years. His slogan every other year during the election

ason was “Worth Carter reprents ---,” and the person was suppod to fill in the city name

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where he or she lived. I can remember, driving on trips when me and Mom had to make our

appearances to show the people he was a true family man, that we‟d e tho bumper stickers,

stenciled in with names like Otway and Chocawinity and Seven Springs. Nowadays stuff like that

wouldn‟t fly, but back then that was fairly sophisticated publicity. I imagine if he tried to do that now,

people opposing him would inrt all sorts of foul language in the blank space, but we never saw it

once. Okay, maybe once. A farmer from Duplin County once wrote the word shit in the blank

space, and when my mom saw it, she covered my eyes and said a prayer asking for forgiveness

for the poor ignorant bastard. She didn‟t say exactly tho words, but I got the gist of it.

So my father, Mr. Congressman, was a bigwig, and everyone but everyone knew it, including

old man Hegbert. Now, the two of them didn‟t get along, not at all, despite the fact that my father

went to Hegbert‟s church whenever he was in town, which to be frank wasn‟t all that often.

Hegbert, in addition to his belief that fornicators were destined to clean the urinals in hell, also

believed that communism was “a sickness that doomed mankind to heathenhood.” Even though

heathenhood wasn‟t a word-I can‟t find it in any dictionary-the congregation knew what he meant.

They also knew that he was directing his words specifically to my father, who would sit with his

eyes clod and pretend not to listen. My father was on one of the Hou committees that

oversaw the “Red influence” suppodly infiltrating every aspect of the country, including national

defen, higher education, and even tobacco farming. You have to remember that this was during

the cold war; tensions were running high, and we North Carolinians needed something to bring it

down to a more personal level. My father had consistently looked for facts, which were irrelevant

to people like Hegbert. Afterward, when my father would come Home after the rvice, he‟d say

something like “Reverend Sullivan was in rare form today. I hope you heard that part about the

Scripture where Jesus was talking about the poor. . . .”

Yeah, sure, Dad. . . .

My father tried to defu situations whenever possible. I think that‟s why he stayed in

Congress for so long. The guy could kiss the ugliest babies known to mankind and still come up

with something nice to say. “He‟s such a gentle child,” he‟d say when a baby had a giant head, or,

“I‟ll bet she‟s the sweetest girl in the world,” if she had a birthmark over her entire face. One time a

lady showed up with a kid in a wheelchair. My father took one look at him and said, “I‟ll bet you ten

to one that you‟re smartest kid in your class.” And he was! Yeah, my father was great at stuff like

that. He could fling it with the best of „em, that‟s for sure. And he wasn‟t such a bad guy, not really,

especially if you consider the fact that he didn‟t beat me or anything. But he wasn‟t there for me

growing up. I hate to say that becau nowadays people claim that sort of stuff even if their parent

was around and u it to excu their behavior. My dad . . . he didn‟t love me . . . that‟s why I

became a stripper and performed on The Jerry Springer Show. . . . I‟m not using it to excu the

person I‟ve become, I‟m simply saying it as a fact. My father was gone nine months of the year,

living out of town in a Washington, D.C., apartment three hundred miles away. My mother didn‟t

go with him becau both of them wanted me to grow up “the same way they had.”

Of cour, my father‟s father took him hunting and Fishing, taught him to play ball, showed up

for birthday parties, all that small stuff that adds up to quite a bit before adulthood. My father, on

the other hand, was a stranger, someone I barely knew at all. For the first five years of my life I

thought all fathers lived somewhere el. It wasn‟t until my best friend, Eric Hunter, asked me in

kindergarten who that guy was who showed up at my hou the night before that I realized

something wasn‟t quite right about the situation.

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“He‟s my father,” I said proudly.

“Oh,” Eric said as he rifled through my lunchbox, looking for my Milky Way, “I didn‟t know you

had a father.”

Talk about something whacking you straight in the face.

So, I grew up under the care of my mother. Now she was a nice lady, sweet and gentle, the

kind of mother most people dream about. But she wasn‟t, nor could she ever be, a manly

influence in my life, and that fact, coupled with my growing disillusionment with my father, made

me become something of a rebel, even at a young age. Not a bad one, mind you. Me and my

friends might sneak out late and soap up car windows now and then or eat boiled peanuts in the

graveyard behind the church, but in the fifties that was the kind of thing that made other parents

shake their heads and whisper to their children, “You don‟t want to be like that Carter boy. He‟s on

the fast track to prison.”

Me. A bad boy. For eating boiled peanuts in the graveyard. Go figure. Anyway, my father

and Hegbert didn‟t get along, but it wasn‟t only becau of politics. No, it ems that my father and

Hegbert knew each other from way back when. Hegbert was about twenty years older than my

father, and back before he was a minister, he ud to work for my father‟s father. My

grandfather-even though he spent lots of time with my father-was a true bastard if there ever was

one. He was the one, by the way, who made the family fortune, but I don‟t want you to imagine

him as the sort of man who slaved over his Business, working diligently and watching it grow,

prospering slowly over time. My grandfather was much shrewder than that. The way he made his

money was simple-he started as a bootlegger, accumulating wealth throughout Prohibition by

running rum up from Cuba. Then he began buying land and hiring sharecroppers to work it. He

took ninety percent of the money the sharecroppers made on their tobacco crop, then loaned

them money whenever they needed it at ridiculous interest rates. Of cour, he never intended to

collect the money-instead he would foreclo on any land or equipment they happened to own.

Then, in what he called “his moment of inspiration,” he started a bank called Carter Banking and

Loan. The only other bank in a two-county radius had mysteriously burned down, and with the

ont of the Depression, it never reopened. Though everyone knew what had really happened,

not a word was ever spoken for fear of retribution, and their fear was well placed. The bank

wasn‟t the only building that had mysteriously burned down. His interest rates were outrageous,

and little by little he began amassing more land and property as people defaulted on their loans.

When the Depression hit hardest, he foreclod on dozens of business throughout the county

while retaining the original owners to continue to work on salary, paying them just enough to keep

them where they were, becau they had nowhere el to go. He told them that when the

economy improved, he‟d ll their Business back to them, and people always believed him.

Never once, however, did he keep his promi. In the end he controlled a vast portion of the

county‟s economy, and he abud his clout in every way imaginable. I‟d like to tell you he

eventually went to a terrible death, but he didn‟t. He died at a ripe-old age while sleeping with his

mistress on his yacht off the Cayman Islands. He‟d outlived both his wives and his only son.

Some end for a guy like that, huh?

life, I‟ve learned, is never fair. If people teach anything in school, that should be it. But back

to the story. . . . Hegbert, once he realized what a bastard my grandfather really was, quit working

for him and went into the ministry, then came back to Beaufort and started ministering in the same

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church we attended. He spent his first few years perfecting his fire-and-brimstone act with monthly

rmons on the evils of the greedy, and this left him scant time for anything el. He was

forty-three before he ever got married; he was fifty-five when his daughter, Jamie Sullivan, was

born. His wife, a wispy little thing twenty years younger than he, went through six miscarriages

before Jamie was born, and in the end she died in childbirth, making Hegbert a widower who had

to rai a daughter on his own. Hence, of cour, the story behind the play.

People knew the story even before the play was first performed. It was one of tho stories

that made its rounds whenever Hegbert had to baptize a baby or attend a funeral. Everyone knew

about it, and that‟s why, I think, so many people got emotional whenever they saw the Christmas

play. They knew it was bad on something that happened in real life, which gave it special

meaning. Jamie Sullivan was a nior in high school, just like me, and she‟d already been

chon to play the angel, not that anyone el even had a chance. This, of cour, made the play

extra special that year. It was going to be a big deal, maybe the biggest ever-at least in Miss

Garber‟s mind. She was the drama teacher, and she was already glowing about the possibilities

the first time I met her in class. Now, I hadn‟t really planned on taking drama that year. I really

hadn‟t, but it was either that or chemistry II. The thing was, I thought it would be a blow-off class,

especially when compared with my other option. No papers, no tests, no tables where I‟d have to

memorize protons and neutrons and combine elements in their proper formulas . . . what could

possibly be better for a high school nior? It emed like a sure thing, and when I signed up for it,

I thought I‟d just be able to sleep through most every class, which, considering my late night

peanut eating, was fairly important at the time.

On the first day of class I was one of the last to arrive, coming in just a few conds before

the bell rang, and I took a at in the back of the room. Miss Garber had her back turned to the

class, and she was busy writing her name in big cursive letters, as if we didn‟t know who she was.

Everyone knew her-it was impossible not to. She was big, at least six feet two, with flaming red

hair and pale skin that showed her freckles well into her forties. She was also overweight-I‟d say

honestly she pushed two fifty-and she had a fondness for wearing flower-patterned muumuus.

She had thick, dark, horn-rimmed glass, and she greeted every one with, “Helloooooo,” sort of

singing the last syllable. Miss Garber was one of a kind, that‟s for sure, and she was single, which

made it even wor. A guy, no matter how old, couldn‟t help but feel sorry for a gal like her.

Beneath her name she wrote the goals she wanted to accomplish that year. “Selfconfidence”

was number one, followed by “Self-awareness” and, third, “Selffulfillment.” Miss Garber was big

into the “lf” stuff, which put her really ahead of the curve as far as psychotherapy is concerned,

though she probably didn‟t realize it at the time. Miss Garber was a pioneer in that field. Maybe it

had something to do with the way she looked; maybe she was just trying to feel better about

herlf. But I digress.

It wasn‟t until the class started that I noticed something unusual. Though Beaufort High

School wasn‟t large, I knew for a fact that it was pretty much split fifty-fifty between males and

females, which was why I was surprid when I saw that this class was at least ninety percent

female. There was only one other male in the class, which to my thinking was a good thing, and

for a moment I felt flush with a “look out world, here I come” kind of feeling. Girls, girls, girls . . . I

couldn‟t help but think. Girls and girls and no tests in sight.

Okay, so I wasn‟t the most forward-thinking guy on the block.

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So Miss Garber brings up the Christmas play and tells everyone that Jamie Sullivan is going

to be the angel that year. Miss Garber started clapping right away-she was a member of the

church, too-and there were a lot of people who thought she was gunning for Hegbert in a romantic

sort of way. The first time I heard it, I remember thinking that it was a good thing they were too old

to have children, if they ever did get together. Imagine-translucent with freckles? The very thought

gave everyone shudders, but of cour, no one ever said anything about it, at least within hearing

distance of Miss Garber and Hegbert. Gossip is one thing, hurtful gossip is completely another,

and even in high school we weren‟t that mean. Miss Garber kept on clapping, all alone for a

while, until all of us finally joined in, becau it was obvious that was what she wanted. “Stand up,

Jamie,” she said. So Jamie stood up and turned around, and Miss Garber started clapping even

faster, as if she were standing in the prence of a bona fide movie star. Now Jamie Sullivan

was a nice girl. She really was. Beaufort was small enough that it had only one elementary school,

so we‟d been in the same class our entire lives, and I‟d be lying if I said I never talked to her.

Once, in cond grade, she‟d sat in the at right next to me for the whole year, and we‟d even

had a few conversations, but it didn‟t mean that I spent a lot of time hanging out with her in my

spare time, even back then. Who I saw in school was one thing; who I saw after school was

something completely different, and Jamie had never been on my social calendar.

It‟s not that Jamie was unattractive-don‟t get me wrong. She wasn‟t hideous or anything like

that. Fortunately she‟d taken after her mother, who, bad on the pictures I‟d en, wasn‟t

half-bad, especially considering who she ended up marrying. But Jamie wasn‟t exactly what I

considered attractive, either. Despite the fact that she was thin, with honey blond hair and soft

blue eyes, most of the time she looked sort of . . . plain, and that was when you noticed her at all.

Jamie didn‟t care much about outward appearances, becau she was always looking for things

like “inner beauty,” and I suppo that‟s part of the reason she looked the way she did. For as long

as I‟d known her-and this was going way back, remember-she‟d always worn her hair in a tight

bun, almost like a spinster, without a stitch of makeup on her face. Coupled with her usual brown

cardigan and plaid skirt, she always looked as though she were on her way to interview for a job

at the library. We ud to think it was just a pha and that she‟d eventually grow out of it, but

she never had. Even through our first three years of high school, she hadn‟t changed at all. The

only thing that had changed was the size of her clothes. But it wasn‟t just the way Jamie looked

that made her different; it was also the way she acted. Jamie didn‟t spend any time hanging out at

Cecil‟s Diner or going to slumber parties with other girls, and I knew for a fact that she‟d never had

a boyfriend her entire life. Old Hegbert would probably have had a heart attack if she had. But

even if by some odd turn of events Hegbert had allowed it, it still wouldn‟t have mattered. Jamie

carried her Bible wherever she went, and if her looks and Hegbert didn‟t keep the boys away, the

Bible sure as heck did. Now, I liked the Bible as much as the next teenage boy, but Jamie emed

to enjoy it in a way that was completely foreign to me. Not only did she go to vacation Bible school

every August, but she would read the Bible during lunch break at school. In my mind that just

wasn‟t normal, even if she was the minister‟s daughter. No matter how you sliced it, reading

Paul‟s letters to the Ephesians wasn‟t nearly as much fun as flirting, if you know what I mean.

But Jamie didn‟t stop there. Becau of all her Bible reading, or maybe becau of Hegbert‟s

influence, Jamie believed it was important to help others, and helping others is exactly what she

did. I knew she volunteered at the orphanage in Morehead City, but for her that simply wasn‟t

enough. She was always in charge of one fund-rair or another, helping everyone from the Boy

Scouts to the Indian Princess, and I know that when she was fourteen, she spent part of her

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summer painting the outside of an elderly neighbor‟s hou. Jamie was the kind of girl who would

pull weeds in someone‟s garden without being asked or stop traffic to help little kids cross the

road. She‟d save her allowance to buy a new basketball for the orphans, or she‟d turn around and

drop the money into the church basket on Sunday. She was, in other words, the kind of girl who

made the rest of us look bad, and whenever she glanced my way, I couldn‟t help but feel guilty,

even though I hadn‟t done anything wrong.

Nor did Jamie limit her good deeds to people. If she ever came across a wounded animal, for

instance, she‟d try to help it, too. Opossums, squirrels, dogs, cats, frogs . . . it didn‟t matter to her.

Dr. Rawlings, the vet, knew her by sight, and he‟d shake his head whenever he saw her walking

up to the door carrying a cardboard box with yet another critter inside. He‟d take off his

eyeglass and wipe them with his handkerchief while Jamie explained how she‟d found the poor

creature and what had happened to it. “He was hit by a car, Dr. Rawlings. I think it was in the

Lord‟s plan to have me find him and try to save him. You‟ll help me, won‟t you?” With Jamie,

everything was in the Lord‟s plan. That was another thing. She always mentioned the Lord‟s plan

whenever you talked to her, no matter what the subject. The baball game‟s rained out? Must

be the Lord‟s plan to prevent something wor from happening. A surpri trigonometry quiz that

everyone in class fails? Must be in the Lord‟s plan to give us challenges. Anyway, you get the

picture. Then, of cour, there was the whole Hegbert situation, and this didn‟t help her at all.

Being the minister‟s daughter couldn‟t have been easy, but she made it em as if it were the

most natural thing in the world and that she was lucky to have been blesd in that way. That‟s

how she ud to say it, too. “I‟ve been so blesd to have a father like mine.” Whenever she said it,

all we could do was shake our heads and wonder what planet she actually came from. Despite

all the other strikes, though, the one thing that really drove me crazy about her was the fact that

she was always so damn cheerful, no matter what was happening around her. I swear, that girl

never said a bad thing about anything or anyone, even to tho of us who weren‟t that nice to her.

She would hum to herlf as she walked down the street, she would wave to strangers driving by

in their cars. Sometimes ladies would come running out of their hou if they saw her walking by,

offering her pumpkin bread if they‟d been baking all day or lemonade if the sun was high in the sky.

It emed as if every adult in town adored her. “She‟s such a nice young lady,” they‟d say

whenever Jamie‟s name came up. “The world would be a better place if there were more people

like her.” But my friends and I didn‟t quite e it that way. In our minds, one Jamie Sullivan was

plenty.

I was thinking about all this while Jamie stood in front of us on the first day of drama class,

and I admit that I wasn‟t much interested in eing her. But strangely, when Jamie turned to face

us, I kind of got a shock, like I was sitting on a loo wire or something. She wore a plaid skirt with

a white blou under the same brown cardigan sweater I‟d en a million times, but there were

two new bumps on her chest that the sweater couldn‟t hide that I swore hadn‟t been there just

three months earlier. She‟d never worn makeup and she still didn‟t, but she had a tan, probably

from Bible school, and for the first time she looked-well, almost pretty. Of cour, I dismisd that

thought right away, but as she looked around the room, she stopped and smiled right at me,

obviously glad to e that I was in the class. It wasn‟t until later that I would learn the reason why.

Chapter 2

9

After high school I planned to go to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. My father

wanted me to go to Harvard or Princeton like some of the sons of other congressmen did, but with

my grades it wasn‟t possible. Not that I was a bad student. I just didn‟t focus on my studies, and

my grades weren‟t exactly up to snuff for the Ivy Leagues. By my nior year it was pretty much

touch and go whether I‟d even get accepted at UNC, and this was my father‟s alma mater, a place

where he could pull some strings. During one of his few weekends home, my father came up with

the plan to put me over the top. I‟d just finished my first week of school and we were sitting down

for dinner. He was Home for three days on account of Labor Day weekend. “I think you should run

for student body president,” he said. “You‟ll be graduating in June, and I think it would look good

on your record. Your mother thinks so, too, by the way.”

My mother nodded as she chewed a mouthful of peas. She didn‟t speak much when my

father had the floor, though she winked at me. Sometimes I think my mother liked to e me

squirm, even though she was sweet. “I don‟t think I‟d have a chance at winning,” I said. Though I

was probably the richest kid in school, I was by no means the most popular. That honor belonged

to Eric Hunter, my best friend. He could throw a baball at almost ninety miles an hour, and he‟d

led the football team to back-to-back state titles as the star quarterback. He was a stud. Even his

name sounded cool. “Of cour you can win,” my father said quickly. “We Carters always win.”

That‟s another one of the reasons I didn‟t like spending time with my father. During tho few

times he was Home, I think he wanted to mold me into a miniature version of himlf. Since I‟d

grown up pretty much without him, I‟d come to rent having him around. This was the first

conversation we‟d had in weeks. He rarely talked to me on the phone.

“But what if I don‟t want to?”

My father put down his fork, a bite of his pork chop still on the tines. He looked at me crossly,

giving me the once-over. He was wearing a suit even though it was over eighty degrees in the

hou, and it made him even more intimidating. My father always wore a suit, by the way.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that it would be a good idea.” I knew that when he talked that way

the issue was ttled. That‟s the way it was in my family. My father‟s word was law. But the fact

was, even after I agreed, I didn‟t want to do it. I didn‟t want to waste my afternoons meeting with

teachers after school-after school!-every week for the rest of the year, dreaming up themes for

school dances or trying to decide what colors the streamers should be. That‟s really all the class

presidents did, at least back when I was in high school. It wasn‟t like students had the power to

actually decide anything meaningful.

But then again, I knew my father had a point. If I wanted to go to UNC, I had to do something.

I didn‟t play football or basketball, I didn‟t play an instrument, I wasn‟t in the chess club or the

bowling club or anything el. I didn‟t excel in the classroom hell, I didn‟t excel at much of anything.

Growing despondent, I started listing the things I actually could do, but to be honest, there really

wasn‟t that much. I could tie eight different types of sailing knots, I could walk barefoot across hot

asphalt farther than anyone I knew, I could balance a pencil vertically on my finger for thirty

conds . . . but I didn‟t think that any of tho things would really stand out on a college

application. So there I was, lying in bed all night long, slowly coming to the sinking realization that

I was a lor. Thanks, Dad. The next morning I went to the principal‟s office and added my name

to the list of candidates. There were two other people running-John Foreman and Maggie Brown.

Now, John didn‟t stand a chance, I knew that right off. He was the kind of guy who‟d pick lint off

10

your clothes while he talked to you. But he was a good student. He sat in the front row and raid

his hand every time the teacher asked a question. If he was called to give the answer, he would

almost always give the right one, and he‟d turn his head from side to side with a smug look on his

face, as if proving how superior his intellect was when compared with tho of the other peons in

the room. Eric and I ud to shoot spitballs at him when the teacher‟s back was turned.

Maggie Brown was another matter. She was a good student as well. She‟d rved on the

student council for the first three years and had been the junior class president the year before.

The only real strike against her was the fact that she wasn‟t very attractive, and she‟d put on

twenty pounds that summer. I knew that not a single guy would vote for her.

After eing the competition, I figured that I might have a chance after all. My entire future

was on the line here, so I formulated my strategy. Eric was the first to agree. “Sure, I‟ll get all the

guys on the team to vote for you, no problem. If that‟s what you really want.”

“How about their girlfriends, too?” I asked.

That was pretty much my entire campaign. Of cour, I went to the debates like I was

suppod to, and I pasd out tho dorky “What I‟ll do if I‟m elected president” fliers, but in the

end it was Eric Hunter who probably got me where I needed to be. Beaufort High School had only

about four hundred students, so getting the athletic vote was critical, and most of the jocks didn‟t

give a hoot who they voted for anyway. In the end it worked out just the way I planned. I was

voted student body president with a fairly large majority of the vote. I had no idea what trouble it

would eventually lead me to.

When I was a junior I went steady with a girl named Angela Clark. She was my first real

girlfriend, though it lasted for only a few months. Just before school let out for the summer, she

dumped me for a guy named Lew who was twenty years old and worked as a mechanic in his

father‟s garage. His primary attribute, as far as I could tell, was that he had a really nice car. He

always wore a white T-shirt with a pack of Camels folded into the sleeve, and he‟d lean against

the hood of his Thunderbird, looking back and forth, saying things like “Hey, baby” whenever a girl

walked by. He was a real winner, if you know what I mean.

Well, anyway, the homecoming dance was coming up, and becau of the whole Angela

situation, I still didn‟t have a date. Everyone on the student council had to attend-it was mandatory.

I had to help decorate the gym and clean up the next day-and besides, it was usually a pretty

good time. I called a couple of girls I knew, but they already had dates, so I called a few more.

They had dates, too. By the final week the pickings were getting pretty slim. The pool was down to

the kinds of girls who had thick glass and talked with lisps. Beaufort was never exactly a hotbed

for beauties anyway, but then again I had to find somebody. I didn‟t want to go to the dance

without a date-what would that look like? I‟d be the only student body president ever to attend the

Homecoming dance alone. I‟d end up being the guy scooping punch all night long or mopping up

the barf in the bathroom. That‟s what people without dates usually did.

Growing sort of panicky, I pulled out the yearbook from the year before and started flipping

through the pages one by one, looking for anyone who might not have a date. First I looked

through the pages with the niors. Though a lot of them were off at college, a few of them were

still around town. Even though I didn‟t think I had much of a chance with them, I called anyway,

and sure enough, I was proven right. I couldn‟t find anyone, at least not anyone who would go

11

with me. I was getting pretty good at handling rejection, I‟ll tell you, though that‟s not the sort of

thing you brag about to your grandkids. My mom knew what I was going through, and she finally

came into my room and sat on the bed beside me. “If you can‟t get a date, I‟ll be happy to go

with you,” she said.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said dejectedly.

When she left the room, I felt even wor than I had before. Even my mom didn‟t think I could

find somebody. And if I showed up with her? If I lived a hundred years, I‟d never live that down.

There was another guy in my boat, by the way. Carey Dennison had been elected treasurer,

and he still didn‟t have a date, either. Carey was the kind of guy no one wanted to spend time with

at all, and the only reason he‟d been elected was becau he‟d run unoppod. Even then I think

the vote was fairly clo. He played the tuba in the marching band, and his body looked all out of

proportion, as if he‟d stopped growing halfway through puberty. He had a great big stomach and

gangly arms and legs, like the Hoos in Hooville, if you know what I mean. He also had a

high-pitched way of talking-it‟s what made him such a good tuba player, I reckon-and he never

stopped asking questions. “Where did you go last weekend? Was it fun? Did you e any girls?”

He wouldn‟t even wait for an answer, and he‟d move around constantly as he asked so you had to

keep turning your head to keep him in sight. I swear he was probably the most annoying person

I‟d ever met. If I didn‟t get a date, he‟d stand off on one side with me all night long, firing questions

like some deranged procutor.

So there I was, flipping through the pages in the junior class ction, when I saw Jamie

Sullivan‟s picture. I paud for just a cond, then turned the page, cursing mylf for even

thinking about it. I spent the next hour arching for anyone halfway decent looking, but I slowly

came to the realization that there wasn‟t anyone left. In time I finally turned back to her picture and

looked again. She wasn‟t bad looking, I told mylf, and she‟s really sweet. She‟d probably say

yes, I thought. . . .

I clod the yearbook. Jamie Sullivan? Hegbert‟s daughter? No way. Absolutely not. My

friends would roast me alive.

But compared with dating your mother or cleaning up puke or even, God forbid . .

Carey Dennison?

I spent the rest of the evening debating the pros and cons of my dilemma. Believe me, I went

back and forth for a while, but in the end the choice was obvious, even to me. I had to ask Jamie

to the dance, and I paced around the room thinking of the best way to ask her.

It was then that I realized something terrible, something absolutely frightening. Carey

Dennison, I suddenly realized, was probably doing the exact same thing I was doing right now. He

was probably looking through the yearbook, too! He was weird, but he wasn‟t the kind of guy who

liked cleaning up puke, either, and if you‟d en his mother, you‟d know that his choice was even

wor than mine. What if he asked Jamie first? Jamie wouldn‟t say no to him, and realistically she

was the only option he had. No one besides her would be caught dead with him. Jamie helped

everyone-she was one of tho equal opportunity saints. She‟d probably listen to Carey‟s

squeaky voice, e the goodness radiating from his heart, and accept right off the bat.

12

So there I was, sitting in my room, frantic with the possibility that Jamie might not go to the

dance with me. I barely slept that night, I tell you, which was just about the strangest thing I‟d ever

experienced. I don‟t think anyone ever fretted about asking Jamie out before. I planned to ask her

first thing in the morning, while I still had my courage, but Jamie wasn‟t in school. I assumed she

was working with the orphans over in Morehead City, the way she did every month. A few of us

had tried to get out of school using that excu, too, but Jamie was the only one who ever got

away with it. The principal knew she was reading to them or doing crafts or just sitting around

playing games with them. She wasn‟t sneaking out to the beach or hanging out at Cecil‟s Diner or

anything. That concept was absolutely ludicrous. “Got a date yet?” Eric asked me in between

class. He knew very well that I didn‟t, but even though he was my best friend, he liked to stick it

to me once in a while. “Not yet,” I said, “but I‟m working on it.”

Down the hall, Carey Denison was reaching into his locker. I swear he shot me a beady glare

when he thought I wasn‟t looking.

That‟s the kind of day it was.

The minutes ticked by slowly during my final class. The way I figured it-if Carey and I got out

at the same time, I‟d be able to get to her hou first, what with tho gawky legs and all. I started

to psych mylf up, and when the bell rang, I took off from school running at a full clip. I was flying

for about a hundred yards or so, and then I started to get kind of tired, and then a cramp t in.

Pretty soon all I could do was walk, but that cramp really started to get to me, and I had to bend

over and hold my side while I kept moving. As I made my way down the streets of Beaufort, I

looked like a wheezing version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Behind me I thought I heard

Carey‟s high-pitched laughter. I turned around, digging my fingers into my gut to stifle the pain, but

I couldn‟t e him. Maybe he was cutting through someone‟s backyard! He was a sneaky bastard,

that guy. You couldn‟t trust him even for a minute.

I started to stumble along even faster, and pretty soon I reached Jamie‟s street. By then I was

sweating all over-my shirt was soaked right through-and I was still wheezing something fierce.

Well, I reached her front door, took a cond to catch my breath, and finally knocked. Despite my

fevered rush to her hou, my pessimistic side assumed that Carey would be the one who opened

the door for me. I imagined him smiling at me with a victorious look in his eye, one that esntially

meant “Sorry, partner, you‟re too late.”

But it wasn‟t Carey who answered, it was Jamie, and for the first time in my life I saw what

she‟d look like if she were an ordinary person. She was wearing jeans and a red blou, and

though her hair was still pulled up into a bun, she looked more casual than she usually did. I

realized she could actually be cute if she gave herlf the opportunity.

“Landon,” she said as she held open the door, “this is a surpri!” Jamie was always glad to

e everyone, including me, though I think my appearance startled her. “You look like you‟ve

been exercising,” she said. “Not really,” I lied, wiping my brow. Luckily the cramp was fading

fast.

“You‟ve sweat clean through your shirt.”

“Oh, that?” I looked at my shirt. “That‟s nothing. I just sweat a lot sometimes.”

“Maybe you should have it checked by a doctor.”

13

“I‟ll be okay, I‟m sure.”

“I‟ll say a prayer for you anyway,” she offered as she smiled. Jamie was always praying for

someone. I might as well join the club. “Thanks,” I said.

She looked down and sort of shuffled her feet for a moment. “Well, I‟d invite you in, but my

father isn‟t Home, and he doesn‟t allow boys in the hou while he‟s not around.”

“Oh,” I said dejectedly, “that‟s okay. We can talk out here, I guess.” If I‟d had my way, I would

have done this inside.

“Would you like some lemonade while we sit?” she asked. “I just made some.”

“I‟d love some,” I said.

“I‟ll be right back.” She walked back into the hou, but she left the door open and I took a

quick glance around. The hou, I noticed, was small but tidy, with a piano against one wall and a

sofa against the other. A small fan sat oscillating in the corner. On the Coffee table there were

books with names like Listening to Jesus and Faith Is the Answer. Her Bible was there, too, and it

was opened to the chapter on Luke.

A moment later Jamie returned with the lemonade, and we took a at in two chairs near the

corner of the porch. I knew she and her father sat there in the evenings becau I pasd by their

hou now and then. As soon as we were ated, I saw Mrs. Hastings, her neighbor across the

street, wave to us. Jamie waved back while I sort of scooted my chair so that Mrs. Hastings

couldn‟t e my face. Even though I was going to ask Jamie to the dance, I didn‟t want

anyone-even Mrs. Hastings-to e me there on the off chance that she‟d already accepted

Carey‟s offer. It was one thing to actually go with Jamie, it was another thing to be rejected by her

in favor of a guy like Carey.

“What are you doing?” Jamie asked me. “You‟re moving your chair into the sun.” “I like the

sun,” I said. She was right, though. Almost immediately I could feel the rays burning through my

shirt and making me sweat again. “If that‟s what you want,” she said, smiling. “So, what did you

want to talk to me about?”

Jamie reached up and started to adjust her hair. By my reckoning, it hadn‟t moved at all. I

took a deep breath, trying to gather mylf, but I couldn‟t force mylf to come out with it just yet.

“So,” I said instead, “you were at the orphanage today?”

Jamie looked at me curiously. “No. My father and I were at the doctor‟s office.”

“Is he okay?”

She smiled. “healthy as can be.”

I nodded and glanced across the street. Mrs. Hastings had gone back inside, and I couldn‟t

e anyone el in the vicinity. The coast was finally clear, but I still wasn‟t ready.

“Sure is a beautiful day,” I said, stalling.

“Yes, it is.”

“Warm, too.”

14

“That‟s becau you‟re in the sun.”

I looked around, feeling the pressure building. “Why, I‟ll bet there‟s not a single cloud in the

whole sky.”

This time Jamie didn‟t respond, and we sat in silence for a few moments. “Landon,” she

finally said, “you didn‟t come here to talk about the weather, did you?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you here?”

The moment of truth had arrived, and I cleared my throat.

“Well . . . I wanted to know if you were going to the Homecoming dance.” “Oh,” she said. Her

tone made it em as if she were unaware that such a thing existed. I fidgeted in my at and

waited for her answer. “I really hadn‟t planned on going,” she finally said.

“But if someone asked you to go, you might?”

It took a moment for her to answer.

“I‟m not sure,” she said, thinking carefully. “I suppo I might go, if I got the chance.

I‟ve never been to a Homecoming dance before.”

“They‟re fun,” I said quickly. “Not too much fun, but fun.” Especially when compared to my

other options, I didn‟t add.

She smiled at my turn of phra. “I‟d have to talk to my father, of cour, but if he said it was

okay, then I guess I could.”

In the tree beside the porch, a bird started to chirp noisily, as if he knew I wasn‟t suppod to

be here. I concentrated on the sound, trying to calm my nerves. Just two days ago I couldn‟t have

imagined mylf even thinking about it, but suddenly there I was, listening to mylf as I spoke the

magic words. “Well, would you like to go to the dance with me?” I could tell she was surprid. I

think she believed that the little lead-up to the question probably had to do with someone el

asking her. Sometimes teenagers nt their friends out to “scout the terrain,” so to speak, so as

not to face possible rejection. Even though Jamie wasn‟t much like other teenagers, I‟m sure she

was familiar with the concept, at least in theory.

Instead of answering right away, though, Jamie glanced away for a long moment. I got a

sinking feeling in my stomach becau I assumed she was going to say no. Visions of my

mother, puke, and Carey flooded through my mind, and all of a sudden I regretted the way I‟d

behaved toward her all the years. I kept remembering all the times I‟d tead her or called her

father a fornicator or simply made fun of her behind her back. Just when I was feeling awful about

the whole thing and imagining how I would ever be able to avoid Carey for five hours, she turned

and faced me again. She had a slight smile on her face. “I‟d love to,” she finally said, “on one

condition.”

I steadied mylf, hoping it wasn‟t something too awful.

“Yes?”

15

“You have to promi that you won‟t fall in love with me.” I knew she was kidding by the way

she laughed, and I couldn‟t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I had to admit, Jamie had

a pretty good n of humor. I smiled and gave her my word.

Chapter 3

As a general rule, Southern Baptists don‟t dance. In Beaufort, however, it wasn‟t a rule that

was ever strictly enforced. The minister before Hegbert-don‟t ask me what his name was-took sort

of a lax view about school dances as long as they were chaperoned, and becau of that, they‟d

become a tradition of sorts. By the time Hegbert came along, it was too late to change things.

Jamie was pretty much the only one who‟d never been to a school dance and frankly, I didn‟t

know whether she even knew how to dance at all.

I admit that I also had some concerns about what she would wear, though it wasn‟t something

I would tell her. When Jamie went to the church socials-which were encouraged by Hegbert-she

usually wore an old sweater and one of the plaid skirts we saw in school every day, but the

Homecoming dance was suppod to be special. Most of the girls bought new dress and the

boys wore suits, and this year we were bringing in a photographer to take our pictures. I knew

Jamie wasn‟t going to buy a new dress becau she wasn‟t exactly well-off. Ministering wasn‟t a

profession where people made a lot of money, but of cour ministers weren‟t in it for monetary

gain, they were in it for the long haul, if you know what I mean. But I didn‟t want her to wear the

same thing she wore to school every day, either. Not so much for me-I‟m not that cold-hearted-but

becau of what others might say. I didn‟t want people to make fun of her or anything. The good

news, if there was any, was that Eric didn‟t rib me too bad about the whole Jamie situation

becau he was too busy thinking about his own date. He was taking Margaret Hays, who was

the head cheerleader at our school. She wasn‟t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but she

was nice in her own way. By nice, of cour, I‟m talking about her legs. Eric offered to

double-date with me, but I turned him down becau I didn‟t want to take any chances with Eric

teasing Jamie or anything like that. He was a good guy, but he could be kind of heartless

sometimes, especially when he had a few shots of bourbon in him. The day of the dance was

actually quite busy for me. I spent most of the afternoon helping to decorate the gym, and I had to

get to Jamie‟s about a half hour early becau her father wanted to talk to me, though I didn‟t

know why. Jamie had sprung that one on me just the day before, and I can‟t say I was exactly

thrilled by the prospect of it. I figured he was going to talk about temptation and the evil path it can

lead us to. If he brought up fornication, though, I knew I would die right there on the spot. I said

small prayers all day long in the hope of avoiding this conversation, but I wasn‟t sure if God would

put my prayers on the front burner, if you know what I mean, becau of the way I‟d behaved in

the past. I was pretty nervous just thinking about it.

After I showered I put on my best suit, swung by the florist to pick up Jamie‟s corsage, then

drove to her hou. My mom had let me borrow the car, and I parked it on the street directly in

front of Jamie‟s hou. We hadn‟t turned the clocks back yet, so it was still light out when I got

there, and I strolled up the cracked walkway to her door. I knocked and waited for a moment, then

knocked again. From behind the door I heard Hegbert say, “I‟ll be right there,” but he wasn‟t

exactly racing to the door. I must have stood there for two minutes or so, looking at the door, the

moldings, the little cracks in the windowsills. Off to the side were the chairs that Jamie and I had

sat in just a few days back. The one I sat in was still turned in the opposite direction. I guess they

16

hadn‟t sat there in the last couple of days. Finally the door creaked open. The light coming from

the lamp inside shadowed Hegbert‟s face slightly and sort of reflected through his hair. He was old,

like I said, venty-two years by my reckoning. It was the first time I‟d ever en him up clo, and

I could e all the wrinkles on his face. His skin really was translucent, even more so than I‟d

imagined.

“Hello, Reverend,” I said, swallowing my trepidation. “I‟m here to take Jamie to the

Homecoming dance.”

“Of cour you are,” he said. “But first, I wanted to talk with you.”

“Yes, sir, that‟s why I came early.”

“C‟mon in.”

In church Hegbert was a fairly snappy dresr, but right now he looked like a farmer, dresd

in overalls and a T-shirt. He motioned for me to sit on the wooden chair he‟d brought in from the

kitchen. “I‟m sorry it took a little while to open the door. I was working on tomorrow‟s rmon,” he

said. I sat down.

“That‟s okay, sir.” I don‟t know why, but you just had to call him “sir.” He sort of projected that

image.

“All right, then, so tell me about yourlf.”

I thought it was a fairly ridiculous question, with him having such a long history with my family

and all. He was also the one who had baptized me, by the way, and he‟d en me in church every

Sunday since I‟d been a baby. “Well, sir,” I began, not really knowing what to say, “I‟m the

student body president.

I don‟t know whether Jamie mentioned that to you.”

He nodded. “She did. Go on.”

“And . . . well, I hope to go to the University of North Carolina next fall. I‟ve already received

the application.”

He nodded again. “Anything el?”

I had to admit, I was running out of things after that. Part of me wanted to pick up the pencil

off the end table and start balancing it, giving him the whole thirty conds‟ worth, but he wasn‟t

the kind of guy who would appreciate it. “I guess not, sir.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“No, sir.”

He sort of stared at me for a long time, as if thinking about it.

“Why did you ask my daughter to the dance?” he finally said.

I was surprid, and I know that my expression showed it.

“I don‟t know what you mean, sir.”

17

“You‟re not planning to do anything to . . . embarrass her, are you?” “No, sir,” I said quickly,

shocked by the accusation. “Not at all. I needed someone to go with, and I asked her. It‟s as

simple as that.”

“You don‟t have any pranks planned?”

“No, sir. I wouldn‟t do that to her. . . .”

This went on for a few more minutes-his grilling me about my true intentions, I mean-but

luckily Jamie stepped out of the back room, and her father and I both turned our heads at the

same moment. Hegbert finally stopped talking, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She‟d put on a nice

blue skirt and a white blou I‟d never en before. Fortunately she‟d left her sweater in the clot.

It wasn‟t too bad, I had to admit, though I knew she‟d still be underdresd compared with others

at the dance. As always, her hair was pulled up in a bun. Personally I think it would have looked

better if she‟d kept it down, but that was the last thing I wanted to say. Jamie looked like . . . well,

Jamie looked exactly like she usually did, but at least she wasn‟t planning on bringing her Bible.

That would have just been too much to live down.

“You‟re not giving Landon a hard time, are you?” she said cheerfully to her father. “We were

just visiting,” I said quickly before he had a chance to respond. For some reason I didn‟t think he‟d

told Jamie about the kind of person he thought I was, and I didn‟t think that now would be a good

time.

“Well, we should probably go,” she said after a moment. I think she nd the tension in the

room. She walked over to her father and kisd him on the cheek. “Don‟t stay up too late

working on the rmon, okay?” “I won‟t,” he said softly. Even with me in the room, I could tell he

really loved her and wasn‟t afraid to show it. It was how he felt about me that was the problem.

We said good-bye, and on our way to the car I handed Jamie her corsage and told her I‟d show

her how to put it on once we got in the car. I opened her door for her and walked around the other

side, then got in as well. In that short period of time, Jamie had already pinned on the flower.

“I‟m not exactly a dimwit, you know. I do know how to pin on a corsage.” I started the car and

headed toward the high school, with the conversation I‟d just had with Hegbert running through

my mind.

“My father doesn‟t like you very much,” she said, as if knowing what I was thinking.

I nodded without saying anything.

“He thinks you‟re irresponsible.”

I nodded again.

“He doesn‟t like your father much, either.”

I nodded once more.

“Or your family.”

I get the picture.

“But do you know what I think?” she asked suddenly.

“Not really.” By then I was pretty depresd.

18

“I think that all this was in the Lord‟s plan somehow. What do you think the message is?”

Here we go, I thought to mylf.

I doubt if the evening could have been much wor, if you want to know the truth.

Most of my friends kept their distance, and Jamie didn‟t have many friends to begin with, so

we spent most of our time alone. Even wor, it turned out that my prence wasn‟t even required

anymore. They‟d changed the rule owing to the fact that Carey couldn‟t get a date, and that left

me feeling pretty mirable about the whole thing as soon as I found out about it. But becau of

what her father had said to me, I couldn‟t exactly take her Home early, now, could I? And more

than that, she was really having a good time; even I could e that. She loved the decorations I‟d

helped put up, she loved the music, she loved everything about the dance. She kept telling me

how wonderful everything was, and she asked me whether I might help her decorate the church

someday, for one of their socials. I sort of mumbled that she should call me, and even though I

said it without a trace of energy, Jamie thanked me for being so considerate. To be honest, I was

depresd for at least the first hour, though she didn‟t em to notice. Jamie had to be Home by

eleven o‟clock, an hour before the dance ended, which made it somewhat easier for me to handle.

Once the music started we hit the floor, and it turned out that she was a pretty good dancer,

considering it was her first time and all. She followed my lead pretty well through about a dozen

songs, and after that we headed to the tables and had what rembled an ordinary conversation.

Sure, she threw in words like “faith” and “joy” and even “salvation,” and she talked about helping

the orphans and scooping critters off the highway, but she was just so damn happy, it was hard to

stay down for long.

So things weren‟t too terrible at first and really no wor than I had expected. It wasn‟t until

Lew and Angela showed up that everything really went sour. They showed up a few minutes

after we arrived. He was wearing that stupid T-shirt, Camels in his sleeve, and a glop of hair gel

on his head. Angela hung all over him right from the beginning of the dance, and it didn‟t take a

genius to realize she‟d had a few drinks before she got there. Her dress was really flashy-her

mother worked in a salon and was up on all the latest fashions-and I noticed she‟d picked up that

ladylike habit called chewing gum. She really worked that gum, chewing it almost like a cow

working her cud.

Well, good old Lew spiked the punch bowl, and a few more people started getting tipsy. By

the time the teachers found out, most of the punch was already gone and people were getting that

glassy look in their eyes. When I saw Angela gobble up her cond glass of punch, I knew I

should keep my eye on her. Even though she‟d dumped me, I didn‟t want anything bad to happen

to her. She was the first girl I‟d ever French-kisd, and even though our teeth clanked together

so hard the first time we tried it that I saw stars and had to take aspirin when I got Home, I still had

feelings for her.

So there I was, sitting with Jamie, barely listening as she described the wonders of Bible

school, watching Angela out of the corner of my eye, when Lew spotted me looking at her. In one

frenzied motion he grabbed Angela around the waist and dragged her over to the table, giving me

one of tho looks, the one that “means Business.” You know the one I‟m talking about.

“Are you staring at my girl?” he asked, already tensing up.

“No.”

19

“Yeah, he was,” Angela said, kind of slurring out the words. “He was staring right at me. This

is my old boyfriend, the one I told you about.” His eyes turned into little slits, just like Hegbert‟s

were prone to do. I guess I have this effect on lots of people.

“So you‟re the one,” he said, sneering.

Now, I‟m not much of a fighter. The only real fight I was ever in was in third grade, and I pretty

much lost that one when I started to cry even before the guy punched me. Usually I didn‟t have

much trouble staying away from things like this becau of my passive nature, and besides, no

one ever mesd with me when Eric was around. But Eric was off with Margaret somewhere,

probably behind the bleachers. “I wasn‟t staring,” I said finally, “and I don‟t know what she told

you, but I doubt if it was true.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you calling Angela a liar?” he sneered.

Oops.

I think he would have hit me right there, but Jamie suddenly worked her way into the

situation.

“Don‟t I know you?” she said cheerfully, looking right at him. Sometimes Jamie emed

oblivious of situations that were happening right in front of her. “Wait-yes, I do. You work in the

garage downtown. Your father‟s name is Joe, and your grandma lives out on Foster Road, by the

railroad crossing.” A look of confusion crosd Lew‟s face, as though he were trying to put

together a puzzle with too many pieces.

“How do you know all that? What he‟d do, tell you about me, too?” “No,” Jamie said, “don‟t be

silly.” She laughed to herlf. Only Jamie could find humor at a time like this. “I saw your picture in

your grandma‟s hou. I was walking by, and she needed some help bringing in the groceries.

Your picture was on the mantel.”

Lew was looking at Jamie as though she had cornstalks growing out of her ears. Meanwhile

Jamie was fanning herlf with her hand. “Well, we were just sitting down to take a breather from

all that dancing. It sure gets hot out there. Would you like to join us? We‟ve got a couple of chairs.

I‟d love to hear how your grandma is doing.”

She sounded so happy about it that Lew didn‟t know what to do. Unlike tho of us who were

ud to this sort of thing, he‟d never come across someone like Jamie before. He stood there for a

moment or two, trying to decide if he should hit the guy with the girl who‟d helped his grandma. If it

sounds confusing to you, imagine what it was doing to Lew‟s petroleum-damaged brain.

He finally skulked off without responding, taking Angela with him. Angela had probably

forgotten how the whole thing started anyway, owing to the amount she‟d had to drink. Jamie and

I watched him go, and when he was a safe distance away, I exhaled. I hadn‟t even realized I‟d

been holding my breath. “Thanks,” I said mumbled sheepishly, realizing that Jamie-Jamie!-was

the one who‟d saved me from grave bodily harm. Jamie looked at me strangely. “For what?” she

asked, and when I didn‟t exactly spell it out for her, she went right back into her story about Bible

school, as if nothing had happened at all. But this time I found mylf actually listening to her, at

least with one of my ears. It was the least I could do.

It turns out that it wasn‟t the last we saw of either Lew or Angela that evening. The two

glass of punch had really done Angela in, and she threw up all over the ladies‟ rest room. Lew,

20

being the classy guy he was, left when he heard her retching, sort of slinking out the way he came

in, and that was the last I saw of him. Jamie, as fate would have it, was the one who found

Angela in the bathroom, and it was obvious that Angela wasn‟t doing too well. The only option was

to clean her up and take her Home before the teachers found out about it. Getting drunk was a big

deal back then, and she‟d be looking at suspension, maybe even expulsion, if she got caught.

Jamie, bless her heart, didn‟t want that to happen any more than I did, though I would have

thought otherwi if you‟d asked me beforehand, owing to the fact that Angela was a minor and in

violation of the law. She‟d also broken another one of Hegbert‟s rules for proper behavior. Hegbert

frowned on law-breaking and drinking, and though it didn‟t get him going like fornication, we all

knew he was deadly rious, and we assumed Jamie felt the same way. And maybe she did, but

her helper instinct must have taken over. She probably took one look at Angela and thought

“wounded critter” or something like that and took immediate charge of the situation. I went off and

located Eric behind the bleachers, and he agreed to stand guard at the bathroom door while

Jamie and I went in to tidy it up. Angela had done a marvelous job, I tell you. The puke was

everywhere except the toilet. The walls, the floor, the sinks-even on the ceiling, though don‟t ask

me how she did that. So there I was, perched on all fours, cleaning up puke at the Homecoming

dance in my best blue suit, which was exactly what I had wanted to avoid in the first place. And

Jamie, my date, was on all fours, too, doing exactly the same thing. I could practically hear

Carey laughing a squeaky, maniacal laugh somewhere in the distance.

We ended up sneaking out the back door of the gym, keeping Angela stable by walking on

either side of her. She kept asking where Lew was, but Jamie told her not to worry. She had a real

soothing way of talking to Angela, though Angela was so far gone, I doubt if she even knew who

was speaking. We loaded Angela into the backat of my car, where she pasd out almost

immediately, although not before she‟d vomited once more on the floor of the car. The smell was

so awful that we had to roll down the windows to keep from gagging, and the drive to Angela‟s

hou emed extra long. Her mother answered the door, took one look at her daughter, and

brought her inside without so much as a word of thanks. I think she was embarrasd, and we

really didn‟t have much to say to her anyway. The situation pretty much spoke for itlf.

By the time we dropped her off it was ten forty-five, and we drove straight back to Jamie‟s. I

was really worried when we got there becau of the way she looked and smelled, and I said a

silent prayer hoping that Hegbert wasn‟t awake. I didn‟t want to have to explain this to him. Oh,

he‟d probably listen to Jamie if she was the one who told him about it, but I had the sinking feeling

that he‟d find a way to blame me anyway.

So I walked her to the door, and we stood outside under the porchlight. Jamie crosd her

arms and smiled a little, looking just as if she‟d come in from an evening stroll where she‟d

contemplated the beauty of the world. “Plea don‟t tell your father about this,” I said.

“I won‟t,” she said. She kept on smiling when she finally turned my way. “I had a good time

tonight. Thank you for taking me to the dance.” Here she was, covered in puke, actually thanking

me for the evening. Jamie Sullivan could really drive a guy crazy sometimes.

Chapter 4

21

In the two weeks following the Homecoming dance, my life pretty much returned to normal.

My father was back in Washington, D.C., which made things a lot more fun around my hou,

primarily becau I could sneak out the window again and head to the graveyard for my late night

forays. I don‟t know what it was about the graveyard that attracted us so. Maybe it had something

to do with the tombstones themlves, becau as far as tombstones went, they were actually

fairly comfortable to sit on.

We usually sat in a small plot where the Preston family had been buried about a hundred

years ago. There were eight tombstones there, all arranged in a circle, making it easy to pass the

boiled peanuts back and forth between us. One time my friends and I decided to learn what we

could about the Preston family, and we went to the library to find out if anything had been written

about them. I mean, if you‟re going to sit on someone‟s tombstone, you might as well know

something about them, right?

It turns out that there wasn‟t much about the family in the historical records, though we did

find out one interesting tidbit of information. Henry Preston, the father, was a one-armed

lumberjack, believe it or not. Suppodly he could cut down a tree as fast as any two-armed man.

Now the vision of a one-armed lumberjack is pretty vivid right off the bat, so we talked about him a

lot. We ud to wonder what el he could do with only one arm, and we‟d spend long hours

discussing how fast he could pitch a baball or whether or not he‟d be able to swim across the

Intracoastal Waterway. Our conversations weren‟t exactly highbrow, I admit, but I enjoyed them

nonetheless.

Well, Eric and me were out there one Saturday night with a couple of other friends, eating

boiled peanuts and talking about Henry Preston, when Eric asked me how my “date” went with

Jamie Sullivan. He and I hadn‟t en much of each other since the Homecoming dance becau

the football ason was already in the playoffs and Eric had been out of town the past few

weekends with the team. “It was okay,” I said, shrugging, doing my best to play it cool. Eric

playfully elbowed me in the ribs, and I grunted. He outweighed me by at least thirty pounds.

“Did you kiss her good-night?”

“No.”

He took a long drink from his can of Budweir as I answered. I don‟t know how he did it, but

Eric never had trouble buying beer, which was strange, being that everyone in town knew how old

he was.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, tossing me a sidelong glance. “I would have

thought that after she helped you clean the bathroom, you would have at least kisd her good

night.”

“Well, I didn‟t.”

“Did you even try?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She‟s not that kind of girl,” I said, and even though we all knew it was true, it still sounded like

I was defending her.

22

Eric latched on to that like a leech.

“I think you like her,” he said.

“You‟re full of crap,” I answered, and he slapped my back, hard enough to force the breath

right out of me. Hanging out with Eric usually meant that I‟d have a few bruis the following day.

“Yeah, I might be full of crap,” he said, winking at me, “but you‟re the one who‟s smitten with

Jamie Sullivan.”

I knew we were treading on dangerous ground.

“I was just using her to impress Margaret,” I said. “And with all the love notes she‟s been

nding me lately, I reckon it must have worked.” Eric laughed aloud, slapping me on the back

again.

“You and Margaret-now that‟s funny. . . .”

I knew I‟d just dodged a major bullet, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the conversation spun

off in a new direction. I joined in now and then, but I wasn‟t really listening to what they were

saying. Instead I kept hearing this little voice inside me that made me wonder about what Eric had

said. The thing was, Jamie was probably the best date I could have had that night, especially

considering how the evening turned out. Not many dates-heck, not many people, period-would

have done what she did. At the same time, her being a good date didn‟t mean I liked her. I hadn‟t

talked to her at all since the dance, except when I saw her in drama class, and even then it was

only a few words here and there. If I liked her at all, I told mylf, I would have wanted to talk to

her. If I liked her, I would have offered to walk her Home. If I liked her, I would have wanted to

bring her to Cecil‟s Diner for a basket of hushpuppies and some RC cola. But I didn‟t want to do

any of tho things. I really didn‟t. In my mind, I‟d already rved my penance.

The next day, Sunday, I was in my room, working on my application to UNC. In addition to the

transcripts from my high school and other personal information, they required five essays of the

usual type. If you could meet one person in history, who would that person be and why? Name the

most significant influence in your life and why you feel that way. What do you look for in a role

model and why? The essay questions were fairly predictable-our English teacher had told us what

to expect-and I‟d already worked on a couple of variations in class as Homework. English was

probably my best subject. I‟d never received anything lower than an A since I first started school,

and I was glad the emphasis for the application process was on writing. If it had been on math, I

might have been in trouble, especially if it included tho algebra questions that talked about the

two trains leaving an hour apart, traveling in opposite directions at forty miles an hour, etc. It

wasn‟t that I was bad in math-I usually pulled at least a C-but it didn‟t come naturally to me, if you

know what I mean.

Anyway, I was writing one of my essays when the phone rang. The only phone we had was

located in the kitchen, and I had to run downstairs to grab the receiver. I was breathing so loudly

that I couldn‟t make out the voice too well, though it sounded like Angela. I immediately smiled to

mylf. Even though she‟d been sick all over the place and I‟d had to clean it up, she was actually

pretty fun to be around most of the time. And her dress really had been something, at least for the

first hour. I figured she was probably calling to thank me or even to get together for a barbecue

sandwich and hushpuppies or something. “Landon?”

23

“Oh, hey,” I said, playing it cool, “what‟s going on?”

There was a short pau on the other end.

“How are you?”

It was then that I suddenly realized I wasn‟t speaking to Angela. Instead it was Jamie, and I

almost dropped the phone. I can‟t say that I was happy about hearing from her, and for a cond I

wondered who had given her my phone number before I realized it was probably in the church

records.

“Landon?”

“I‟m fine,” I finally blurted out, still in shock.

“Are you busy?” she asked.

“Sort of.”

“Oh . . . I e . . . ,”she said, trailing off. She paud again.

“Why are you calling me?” I asked.

It took her a few conds to get the words out.

“Well . . . I just wanted to know if you wouldn‟t mind coming by a little later this afternoon.”

“Coming by?”

“Yes. To my hou.”

“Your hou?” I didn‟t even try to disgui the growing surpri in my voice. Jamie ignored it

and went on.

“There‟s something I want to talk to you about. I wouldn‟t ask if it wasn‟t important.”

“Can‟t you just tell me over the phone?”

“I‟d rather not.”

“Well, I‟m working on my college application essays all afternoon,” I said, trying to get out of it.

“Oh . . . well . . . like I said, it‟s important, but I suppo I can talk to you Monday at

school. . . .”

With that, I suddenly realized that she wasn‟t going to let me off the hook and that we‟d end

up talking one way or the other. My brain suddenly clicked through the scenarios as I tried to

figure out which one I should do-talk to her where my friends would e us or talk at her hou.

Though neither option was particularly good, there was something in the back of my mind,

reminding me that she‟d helped me out when I‟d really needed it, and the least I could do was to

listen to what she had to say. I may be irresponsible, but I‟m a nice irresponsible, if I do say so

mylf. Of cour, that didn‟t mean everyone el had to know about it.

“No,” I said, “today is fine. . . .”

We arranged to meet at five o‟clock, and the rest of the afternoon ticked by slowly, like the

drips from Chine water torture. I left my hou twenty minutes early, so I‟d have plenty of time to

24

get there. My hou was located near the waterfront in the historic part of town, just a few doors

down from where Blackbeard ud to live, overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway. Jamie lived on

the other side of town, across the railroad tracks, so it would take me about that long to get there.

It was November, and the temperature was finally cooling down. One thing I really liked about

Beaufort was the fact that the springs and falls lasted practically forever. It might get hot in the

summer or snow once every six years, and there might be a cold spell that lasted a week or so in

January, but for the most part all you needed was a light jacket to make it through the winter.

Today was one of tho perfect days-mid-venties without a cloud in the sky.

I made it to Jamie‟s hou right on time and knocked on her door. Jamie answered it, and a

quick peek inside revealed that Hegbert wasn‟t around. It wasn‟t quite warm enough for sweet tea

or lemonade, and we sat in the chairs on the porch again, without anything to drink. The sun was

beginning to lower itlf in the sky, and there wasn‟t anyone on the street. This time I didn‟t have

to move my chair. It hadn‟t been moved since the last time I‟d been there. “Thank you for coming,

Landon,” she said. “I know you‟re busy, but I appreciate your taking the time to do this.”

“So, what‟s so important?” I said, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Jamie, for the first time since I‟d known her, actually looked nervous as she sat with me. She

kept bringing her hands together and pulling them apart. “I wanted to ask you a favor,” she said

riously.

“A favor?”

She nodded.

At first I thought she was going to ask me to help her decorate the church, like she‟d

mentioned at Homecoming, or maybe she needed me to u my mother‟s car to bring some stuff

to the orphans. Jamie didn‟t have her licen, and Hegbert needed their car anyway, being that

there was always a funeral or something he had to go to. But it still took a few conds for her to

get the words out. She sighed, her hands coming together again.

“I‟d like to ask you if you wouldn‟t mind playing Tom Thornton in the school play,” she said.

Tom Thornton, like I said before, was the man in arch of the music box for his daughter, the

one who meets the angel. Except for the angel, it was far and away the most important role.

“Well . . . I don‟t know,” I said, confud. “I thought Eddie Jones was going to be Tom. That‟s

what Miss Garber told us.”

Eddie Jones was a lot like Carey Dennison, by the way. He was really skinny, with pimples all

over his face, and he usually talked to you with his eyes all squinched up. He had a nervous tic,

and he couldn‟t help but squinch his eyes whenever he got nervous, which was practically all the

time. He‟d probably end up spouting his lines like a psychotic blind man if you put him in front of a

crowd. To make things wor, he had a stutter, too, and it took him a long time to say anything at

all. Miss Garber had given him the role becau he‟d been the only one who offered to do it, but

even then it was obvious she didn‟t want him either. Teachers were human, too, but she didn‟t

have much of an option, since no one el had come forward. “Miss Garber didn‟t say that

exactly. What she said was that Eddie could have the role if no one el tried out for it.”

“Can‟t someone el do it instead?”

25

But there really wasn‟t anyone el, and I knew it. Becau of Hegbert‟s requirement that

only niors perform, the play was in a bind that year. There were about fifty nior boys at the

high school, twenty-two of whom were on the football team, and with the team still in the running

for the state title, none of them would have the time to go to the rehearsals. Of the thirty or so who

were left, more than half were in the band and they had after-school practice as well. A quick

calculation showed that there were maybe a dozen other people who could possibly do it.

Now, I didn‟t want to do the play at all, and not only becau I‟d come to realize that drama

was just about the most boring class ever invented. The thing was, I‟d already taken Jamie to

Homecoming, and with her as the angel, I just couldn‟t bear the thought that I‟d have to spend

every afternoon with her for the next month or so. Being en with her once was bad enough . . .

but being en with her every day? What would my friends say?

But I could tell this was really important to her. The simple fact that she‟d asked made that

clear. Jamie never asked anyone for a favor. I think deep down she suspected that no one would

ever do her a favor becau of who she was. The very realization made me sad.

“What about Jeff Bangert? He might do it,” I offered. Jamie shook her head. “He can‟t. His

father‟s sick, and he has to work in the store after school until his father gets back on his feet.”

“What about Darren Woods?”

“He broke his arm last week when he slipped on the boat. His arm is in a sling.”

“Really? I didn‟t know that,” I said, stalling, but Jamie knew what I was doing.

“I‟ve been praying about it, Landon,” she said simply, and sighed for the cond time. “I‟d

really like this play to be special this year, not for me, but becau of my father. I want it to be the

best production ever. I know how much it will mean to him to e me be the angel, becau this

play reminds him of my mother. . . .” She paud, collecting her thoughts. “It would be terrible if

the play was a failure this year, especially since I‟m involved.”

She stopped again before going on, her voice becoming more emotional as she went on.

“I know Eddie would do the best he could, I really do. And I‟m not embarrasd to do the play

with him, I‟m really not. Actually, he‟s a very nice person, but he told me that he‟s having cond

thoughts about doing it. Sometimes people at school can be so . . . so . . . cruel, and I don‟t want

Eddie to be hurt. But . . .” She took a deep breath, “but the real reason I‟m asking is becau of my

father. He‟s such a good man, Landon. If people make fun of his memory of my mother while I‟m

playing the part . . . well, that would break my heart. And with Eddie and me . . . you know what

people would say.”

I nodded, my lips presd together, knowing that I would have been one of tho people she

was talking about. In fact, I already was. Jamie and Eddie, the dynamic duo, we called them after

Miss Garber had announced that they‟d be the ones doing the roles. The very fact that it was I

who had started it up made me feel terrible, almost sick to my stomach.

She straightened up a little in her at and looked at me sadly, as if she already knew I was

going to say no. I guess she didn‟t know how I was feeling. She went on.

“I know that challenges are always part of the Lord‟s plan, but I don‟t want to believe that the

Lord is cruel, especially to someone like my father. He devotes his life to God, he gives to the

26

community. And he‟s already lost his wife and has had to rai me on his own. And I love him so

much for it. . . .” Jamie turned away, but I could e the tears in her eyes. It was the first time I‟d

ever en her cry. I think part of me wanted to cry, too. “I‟m not asking you to do it for me,” she

said softly, “I‟m really not, and if you say no, I‟ll still pray for you. I promi. But if you‟d like to do

something kind for a wonderful man who means so much to me . . . Will you just think about it?”

Her eyes looked like tho of a cocker spaniel that had just mesd on the rug. I looked down at

my feet.

“I don‟t have to think about it,” I finally said. “I‟ll do it.”

I really didn‟t have a choice, did I?

Chapter 5

The next day I talked to Miss Garber, went through the audition, and got the part. Eddie, by

the way, wasn‟t upt at all. In fact, I could tell he was actually relieved about the whole thing.

When Miss Garber asked him if he‟d be willing to let me play the role of Tom Thornton, his face

sort of relaxed right there and one of his eyes popped back open. “Y-y-yes, a-a-absolutely,” he

said, stuttering. “I-I-I un-ununderstand.” It took him practically ten conds to get the words out.

For his generosity, however, Miss Garber gave him the role of the bum, and we knew he‟d do

fairly well in that role. The bum, you e, was completely mute, but the angel always knew what

he was thinking. At one point in the play she has to tell the mute bum that God will always watch

out for him becau God especially cares for the poor and downtrodden. That was one of the

tip-offs to the audience that she‟d been nt from heaven. Like I said earlier, Hegbert wanted it to

be real clear who offered redemption and salvation, and it certainly wasn‟t going to be a few

rickety ghosts who just popped up out of nowhere. Rehearsals started the next week, and we

reheard in the classroom, becau the Playhou wouldn‟t open their doors for us until we‟d got

all the “little bugs” out of our performance. By little bugs, I mean our tendency to accidentally

knock over the props. The props had been made about fifteen years ago, when the play was in its

first year, by Toby Bush, a sort of roving handyman who had done a few projects for the

Playhou in the past. He was a roving handyman becau he drank beer all day long while he

worked, and by about two o‟clock or so he‟d really be flying. I guess he couldn‟t e straight,

becau he‟d accidentally whack his fingers with the hammer at least once a day. Whenever that

happened, he‟d throw down the hammer and jump up and down, holding his fingers, cursing

everyone from his mother to the devil. When he finally calmed down, he‟d have another beer to

soothe the pain before going back to work. His knuckles were the size of walnuts, permanently

swollen from years of whacking, and no one was willing to hire him on a permanent basis. The

only reason Hegbert had hired him at all was becau he was far and away the lowest bidder in

town.

But Hegbert wouldn‟t allow drinking or cursing, and Toby really didn‟t know how to work

within such a strict environment. As a result, the work was kind of sloppy, though it wasn‟t obvious

right off the bat. After a few years the props began to fall apart, and Hegbert took it upon himlf to

keep the things together. But while Hegbert was good at thumping the Bible, he wasn‟t too good

at thumping nails, and the props had bent, rusty nails sticking out all over, poking through the

plywood in so many places that we had to be careful to walk exactly where we were suppod to.

If we bumped them the wrong way, we‟d either cut ourlves or the props would topple over,

27

making little nail holes all over the stage floor. After a couple of years the Playhou stage had to

be resurfaced, and though they couldn‟t exactly clo their doors to Hegbert, they made a deal

with him to be more careful in the future. That meant we had to practice in the classroom until

we‟d worked out the “little bugs.”

Fortunately Hegbert wasn‟t involved with the actual production of the play, becau of all his

ministering duties. That role fell to Miss Garber, and the first thing she told us to do was to

memorize our lines as quickly as possible. We didn‟t have as much time as was usually allotted

for rehearsals becau Thanksgiving came on the last possible day in November, and Hegbert

didn‟t want the play to be performed too clo to Christmas, so as not to interfere with “its true

meaning.” That left us only three weeks to get the play just right, which was about a week shorter

than usual. The rehearsals began at three o‟clock, and Jamie knew all her lines the first day

there, which wasn‟t really surprising. What was surprising was that she knew all my lines, too, as

well as everyone el‟s. We‟d be going over a scene, she‟d be doing it without the script, and I‟d

be looking down at a stack of pages, trying to figure out what my next line should be, and

whenever I looked up she had this real shiny look about her, as if waiting for a burning bush or

something. The only lines I knew were the mute bum‟s, at least on that first day, and all of a

sudden I was actually envious of Eddie, at least in that regard. This was going to be a lot of work,

not exactly what I‟d expected when I‟d signed up for the class.

My noble feelings about doing the play had worn off by the cond day of rehearsals. Even

though I knew I was doing the “right thing,” my friends didn‟t understand it at all, and they‟d been

riding me since they‟d found out. “You‟re doing what?” Eric asked when he learned about it.

“You‟re doing the play with Jamie Sullivan? Are you insane or just plain stupid?” I sort of mumbled

that I had a good reason, but he wouldn‟t let it drop, and he told everyone around us that I had a

crush on her. I denied it, of cour, which just made them assume it was true, and they‟d laugh all

the louder and tell the next person they saw. The stories kept getting wilder, too-by lunchtime I‟d

heard from Sally that I was thinking of getting engaged. I actually think Sally was jealous about it.

She‟d had a crush on me for years, and the feeling might have been mutual except for the fact

that she had a glass eye, and that was something I just couldn‟t ignore. Her bad eye reminded me

of something you‟d e stuffed into the head of a mounted owl in a tacky antique shop, and to be

honest, it sort of gave me the willies. I guess that was when I started to rent Jamie again. I

know it wasn‟t her fault, but I was the one who was taking the arrows for Hegbert, who hadn‟t

exactly gone out of his way the night of homecoming to make me feel welcome. I began to

stumble through my lines in class for the next few days, not really even attempting to learn them,

and occasionally I‟d crack a joke or two, which everyone laughed at, except for Jamie and Miss

Garber. After rehearsal was over I‟d head Home to put the play out of my mind, and I wouldn‟t

even bother to pick up the script. Instead I‟d joke with my friends about the weird things Jamie did

and tell fibs about how it was Miss Garber who had forced me into the whole thing.

Jamie, though, wasn‟t going to let me off that easy. No, she got me right where it hurts, right

smack in the old ego.

I was out with Eric on Saturday night following Beaufort‟s third concutive state

championship in football, about a week after rehearsals had started. We were hanging out at the

waterfront outside of Cecil‟s Diner, eating hushpuppies and watching people cruising in their cars,

when I saw Jamie walking down the street.

28

She was still a hundred yards away, turning her head from side to side, wearing that old

brown sweater again and carrying her Bible in one hand. It must have been nine o‟clock or so,

which was late for her to be out, and it was even stranger to e her in this part of town. I turned

my back to her and pulled the collar up on my jacket, but even Margaret-who had banana pudding

where her brain should have been-was smart enough to figure out who she was looking for.

“Landon, your girlfriend is here.”

“She‟s not my girlfriend,” I said. “I don‟t have a girlfriend.”

“Your fianc¨¦e, then.”

I guess she‟d talked to Sally, too.

“I‟m not engaged,” I said. “Now knock it off.”

I glanced over my shoulder to e if she‟d spotted me, and I guess she had. She was walking

toward us. I pretended not to notice.

“Here she comes,” Margaret said, and giggled.

“I know,” I said.

Twenty conds later she said it again.

“She‟s still coming.” I told you she was quick.

“I know,” I said through gritted teeth. If it wasn‟t for her legs, she could almost drive you as

crazy as Jamie.

I glanced around again, and this time Jamie knew I‟d en her and she smiled and waved at

me. I turned away, and a moment later she was standing right beside me. “Hello, Landon,” she

said to me, oblivious of my scorn. “Hello, Eric, Margaret . . .” She went around the group.

Everyone sort of mumbled “hello” and tried not to stare at the Bible.

Eric was holding a beer, and he moved it behind his back so she wouldn‟t e it. Jamie

could even make Eric feel guilty if she was clo enough to him. They‟d been neighbors at one

time, and Eric had been on the receiving end of her talks before. Behind her back he called her

“the Salvation Lady,” in obvious reference to the Salvation Army. “She would have been a

brigadier general,” he liked to say. But when she was standing right in front of him, it was another

story. In his mind she had an in with God, and he didn‟t want to be in her bad graces. “How are

you doing, Eric? I haven‟t en you around much recently.” She said this as if she still talked to

him all the time.

He shifted from one foot to the other and looked at his shoes, playing that guilty look for all it

was worth.

“Well, I haven‟t been to church lately,” he said.

Jamie smiled that glittery smile. “Well, that‟s okay, I suppo, as long as it doesn‟t become a

habit or anything.”

“It won‟t.”

Now I‟ve heard of confession-that thing when Catholics sit behind a screen and tell the priest

about all their sins-and that‟s the way Eric was when he was next to Jamie. For a cond I thought

29

he was going to call her “ma‟am.” “You want a beer?” Margaret asked. I think she was trying to be

funny, but no one laughed.

Jamie put her hand to her hair, tugging gently at her bun. “Oh . . . no, not really . . . thank

you, though.”

She looked directly at me with a really sweet glow, and right away I knew I was in trouble. I

thought she was going to ask me off to the side or something, which to be honest I thought would

turn out better, but I guess that wasn‟t in her plans. “Well, you did really well this week at

rehearsals,” she said to me. “I know you‟ve got a lot of lines to learn, but I‟m sure you‟re going to

get them all real soon. And I just wanted to thank you for volunteering like you did. You‟re a real

gentleman.”

“Thanks,” I said, a little knot forming in my stomach. I tried to be cool, but all my friends were

looking right at me, suddenly wondering if I‟d been telling them the truth about Miss Garber forcing

it on me and everything. I hoped they misd it. “Your friends should be proud of you,” Jamie

added, putting that thought to rest. “Oh, we are,” Eric said, pouncing. “Very proud. He‟s a good

guy, that Landon, what with his volunteering and all.”

Oh no.

Jamie smiled at him, then turned back to me again, her old cheerful lf. “I also wanted to tell

you that if you need any help, you can come by anytime. We can sit on the porch like we did

before and go over your lines if you need to.” I saw Eric mouth the words “like we did before” to

Margaret. This really wasn‟t going well at all. By now the pit in my stomach was as big as Paul

Bunyan‟s bowling ball.

“That‟s okay,” I mumbled, wondering how I could squirm my way out of this. “I can learn them

at Home.”

“Well, sometimes it helps if someone‟s there to read with you, Landon,” Eric offered.

I told you he‟d stick it to me, even though he was my friend.

“No, really,” I said to him, “I‟ll learn the lines on my own.” “Maybe,” Eric said, smiling, “you two

should practice in front of the orphans, once you‟ve got it down a little better. Sort of a dress

rehearsal, you know? I‟m sure they‟d love to e it.”

You could practically e Jamie‟s mind start clicking at the mention of the word orphans.

Everyone knew what her hot button was. “Do you think so?” she asked. Eric nodded riously.

“I‟m sure of it. Landon was the one who thought of it first, but I know that if I was an orphan, I‟d

love something like that, even if it wasn‟t exactly the real thing.”

“Me too,” Margaret chimed in.

As they spoke, the only thing I could think about was that scene from Julius Caesar where

Brutus stabs him in the back. Et tu, Eric?

“It was Landon‟s idea?” she asked, furrowing her brow. She looked at me, and I could tell she

was still mulling it over.

30

But Eric wasn‟t about to let me off the hook that easy. Now that he had me flopping on the

deck, the only thing left to do was gut me. “You‟d like to do that, wouldn‟t you, Landon?” he said.

“Helping the orphans, I mean.” It wasn‟t exactly something you could answer no to, was it?

“I reckon so,” I said under my breath, staring at my best friend. Eric, despite the remedial

class he was in, would have been one hell of a chess player. “Good, then, it‟s all ttled.

That‟s if it‟s okay with you, Jamie.” His smile was so sweet, it could have flavored half the RC cola

in the county. “Well . . . yes, I suppo I‟ll have to talk to Miss Garber and the director of the

orphanage, but if they say it‟s okay, I think it would be a fine idea.” And the thing was, you could

tell she was really happy about it.

Checkmate.

The next day I spent fourteen hours memorizing my lines, cursing my friends, and wondering

how my life had spun so out of control. My nior year certainly wasn‟t turning out the way I

thought it would when it began, but if I had to perform for a bunch of orphans, I certainly didn‟t

want to look like an idiot.

Chapter 6

The first thing we did was talk to Miss Garber about our plans for the orphans, and she

thought it was a marvelous idea. That was her favorite word, by the waymarvelous-after she‟d

greeted you with “Hellooooo.” On Monday, when she realized that I knew all my lines, she said,

“Marvelous!” and for the next two hours whenever I‟d finish up a scene, she‟d say it again. By the

end of the rehearsal, I‟d heard it about four zillion times.

But Miss Garber actually went our idea one better. She told the class what we were doing,

and she asked if other members of the cast would be willing to do their parts as well, so that the

orphans could really enjoy the whole thing. The way she asked meant that they really didn‟t have

a choice, and she looked around the class, waiting for someone to nod so she could make it

official. No one moved a muscle, except for Eddie. Somehow he‟d inhaled a bug up his no at

that exact moment, and he sneezed violently. The bug flew out his no, shot across his desk,

and landed on the floor right by Norma Jean‟s leg. She jumped out of her chair and screamed out

loud, and the people on either side of her shouted, “Eww . . . gross!” The rest of the class started

looking around and craning their necks, trying to e what happened, and for the next ten

conds there was total pandemonium in the classroom. For Miss Garber, that was as good of an

answer as she needed. “Marvelous,” she said, closing the discussion.

Jamie, meanwhile, was getting really excited about performing for the orphans. During a

break in rehearsals she pulled me aside and thanked me for thinking of them. “There‟s no way

you would know,” she said almost conspiratorially, “but I‟ve been wondering what to do for the

orphanage this year. I‟ve been praying about it for months now becau I want this Christmas to

be the most special one of all.” “Why is this Christmas so important?” I asked her, and she smiled

patiently, as if I‟d asked a question that didn‟t really matter.

“It just is,” she said simply.

The next step was to talk it over with Mr. Jenkins, the director of the orphanage. Now I‟d

never met Mr. Jenkins before, being that the orphanage was in Morehead City, which was across

the bridge from Beaufort, and I‟d never had any reason to go there. When Jamie surprid me

31

with the news the following day that we‟d be meeting him later that evening, I was sort of worried

that I wasn‟t dresd nice enough. I know it was an orphanage, but a guy wants to make a good

impression. Even though I wasn‟t as excited about it as Jamie was (no one was as excited as

Jamie), I didn‟t want to be regarded as the Grinch who ruined Christmas for the orphans, either.

Before we went to the orphanage for our meeting, we had to walk to my hou to pick up my

mom‟s car, and while there, I planned on changing into something a little nicer. The walk took

about ten minutes or so, and Jamie didn‟t say much along the way, at least until we got to my

neighborhood. The Homes around mine were all large and well kept, and she asked who lived

where and how old the hous were.

I answered her questions without much thought, but when I opened the front door to my

hou, I suddenly realized how different this world was compared with her own. She had a

shocked expression on her face as she looked around the living room, taking in her surroundings.

No doubt it was the fanciest Home she‟d ever been in. A moment later I saw her eyes travel

to the paintings that lined the walls. My ancestors, so to speak. As with many southern families,

my entire lineage could be traced in the dozen faces that lined the walls. She stared at them,

looking for a remblance, I think, then turned her attention to the furnishings, which still looked

practically new, even after twenty years. The furniture had been handmade, asmbled or carved

from mahogany and cherry, and designed specifically for each room. It was nice, I had to admit,

but it wasn‟t something I really thought about. To me, it was just a hou. My favorite part of it was

the window in my room that led to the porch on the upper level. That was my escape hatch.

I showed her around, though, giving her a quick tour of the sitting room, the library, the den,

and the family room, Jamie‟s eyes growing wider with each new room. My mom was out on the

sun porch, sipping a mint julep and reading, and heard us poking around. She came back inside

to say hello. I think I told you that every adult in town adored Jamie, and that included my mom.

Even though Hegbert was always giving the kinds of rmons that had our family‟s name written

all over them, my mom never held it against Jamie, becau of how sweet she was. So they

talked while I was upstairs rifling through my clot for a clean shirt and a tie.

Back then boys wore ties a lot, especially when they were meeting someone in a position of

authority. When I came back down the stairs fully dresd, Jamie had already told my mom about

the plan.

“It‟s a wonderful idea,” Jamie said, beaming at me. “Landon‟s really got a special heart.”

My mom-after making sure she‟d heard Jamie correctly-faced me with her eyebrows raid.

She stared at me like I was an alien. “So this was your idea?” my mom asked. Like everyone

el in town, she knew Jamie didn‟t lie.

I cleared my throat, thinking of Eric and what I still wanted to do to him. It involved molass

and fire ants, by the way.

“Kind of,” I said.

“Amazing.” It was the only word she could get out. She didn‟t know the details, but she knew I

must have been boxed into a corner to do something like this. Mothers always know stuff like that,

and I could e her peering cloly at me and trying to figure it out. To escape her inquisitive gaze,

I checked my watch, feigned surpri, and casually mentioned to Jamie that we‟d better be going.

32

My mom got the car keys from her pocketbook and handed them to me, still giving me the

once-over as we headed out the door. I breathed a sigh of relief, imagining that I‟d somehow

gotten away with something, but as I walked Jamie to the car, I heard my mother‟s voice again.

“Come on over anytime, Jamie!” my mom shouted. “You‟re always welcome here.”

Even mothers could stick it to you sometimes.

I was still shaking my head as I got in the car.

“Your mother‟s a wonderful lady,” Jamie said.

I started the engine. “Yeah,” I said, “I guess so.”

“And your hou is beautiful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You should count your blessings.”

“Oh,” I said, “I do. I‟m practically the luckiest guy alive.”

Somehow she didn‟t catch the sarcastic tone of my voice. We got to the orphanage just

about the time it was getting dark. We were a couple of minutes early, and the director was on the

phone. It was an important call and he couldn‟t meet with us right away, so we made ourlves

comfortable. We were waiting on a bench in the hallway outside his door, when Jamie turned to

me. Her Bible was in her lap. I guess she wanted it for support, but then again, maybe it was just

her habit.

“You did really well today,” she said. “With your lines, I mean.” “Thanks,” I said, feeling proud

and dejected at exactly the same time. “I still haven‟t learned my beats, though,” I offered. There

was no way we could practice tho on the porch, and I hoped she wasn‟t going to suggest it.

“You will. They‟re easy once you know you all the words.”

“I hope so.”

Jamie smiled, and after a moment she changed the subject, sort of throwing me off track. “Do

you ever think about the future, Landon?” she asked. I was startled by her question becau it

sounded . . . so ordinary.

“Yeah, sure. I guess so,” I answered cautiously.

“Well, what do you want to do with your life?”

I shrugged, a little wary of where she was going with this. “I don‟t know yet. I haven‟t figured

that part out. I‟m going to UNC next fall, at least I hope so. I have to get accepted first.”

“You will,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Becau I‟ve prayed for that, too.”

When she said it, I thought we were heading into a discussion about the power of prayer and

faith, but Jamie tosd yet another curveball at me. “How about after college? What do you want

to do then?”

33

“I don‟t know,” I said, shrugging. “Maybe I‟ll be a one-armed lumberjack.”

She didn‟t think it was funny.

“I think you should become a minister,” she said riously. “I think you‟re good with people,

and they‟d respect what you have to say.”

Though the concept was absolutely ridiculous, with her I just knew it came from the heart and

she intended it as a compliment.

“Thanks,” I said. “I don‟t know if I‟ll do that, but I‟m sure I‟ll find something.” It took a moment

for me to realize that the conversation had stalled and that it was my turn to ask a question.

“How about you? What do you want to do in the future?” Jamie turned away and got a far-off

gaze in her eyes, making me wonder what she was thinking, but it vanished almost as quickly as it

came. “I want to get married,” she said quietly. “And when I do, I want my father to walk me

down the aisle and I want everyone I know to be there. I want the church bursting with people.”

“That‟s all?” Though I wasn‟t aver to the idea of marriage, it emed kind of silly to hope for

that as your life‟s goal.

“Yes,” she said. “That‟s all I want.”

The way she answered made me suspect that she thought she‟d end up like Miss Garber. I

tried to make her feel better, even though it still emed silly to me. “Well, you‟ll get married

someday. You‟ll meet some guy and the two of you will hit it off, and he‟ll ask you to marry him.

And I‟m sure that your father will be happy to walk you down the aisle.”

I didn‟t mention the part about having a big crowd in the church. I guess it was the one thing

that even I couldn‟t imagine.

Jamie thought carefully about my answer, really pondering the way I said it, though I didn‟t

know why.

“I hope so,” she said finally.

I could tell she didn‟t want to talk about it anymore, don‟t ask me how, so I moved on to

something new.

“So how long have you been coming to the orphanage?” I asked conversationally. “Seven

years now. I was ten years old the first time I came. I was younger than a lot of the kids here.”

“Do you enjoy it, or does it make you sad?”

“Both. Some of the children here came from really horrible situations. It‟s enough to break

your heart when you hear about it. But when they e you come in with some books from the

library or a new game to play, their smiles just take all the sadness away. It‟s the greatest feeling

in the world.”

She practically glowed when she spoke. Though she wasn‟t saying it to make me feel guilty,

that was exactly the way I felt. It was one of the reasons it was so hard to put up with her, but by

then I was getting fairly ud to it. She could twist you every way but normal, I‟d come to learn.

At that moment, Mr. Jenkins opened the door and invited us in. The office looked almost like

a hospital room, with black-and-white tiled floors, white walls and ceilings, a metal cabinet against

34

the wall. Where the bed would normally have been, there was a metal desk that looked like it had

been stamped off the asmbly line. It was almost neurotically clean of anything personal. There

wasn‟t a single picture or anything.

Jamie introduced me, and I shook Mr. Jenkins‟s hand. After we sat down, Jamie did most of

the talking. They were old friends, you could e that right off, and Mr. Jenkins had given her a

big hug as soon as she‟d entered. After smoothing out her skirt, Jamie explained our plan. Now,

Mr. Jenkins had en the play a few years back, and he knew exactly what she was talking about

almost as soon as she started. But even though Mr. Jenkins liked Jamie a lot and knew she meant

well, he didn‟t think it was a good idea.

“I don‟t think it‟s a good idea,” he said.

That‟s how I knew what he was thinking.

“Why not?” Jamie asked, her brow furrowed. She emed genuinely perplexed by his lack of

enthusiasm.

Mr. Jenkins picked up a pencil and started tapping it on his desk, obviously thinking about

how to explain himlf. In time, he put down the pencil and sighed. “Even though it‟s a wonderful

offer and I know you‟d like to do something special, the play is about a father who eventually

comes to realize how much he loves his daughter.” He let that sink in for a moment and picked up

the pencil again. “Christmas is hard enough around here without reminding the kids of what

they‟re missing. I think that if the children e something like that . . .”

He didn‟t even have to finish. Jamie put her hands to her mouth. “Oh my,” she said right away,

“you‟re right. I hadn‟t thought about that.” Neither had I, to tell you the truth. But it was obvious

right off the bat that Mr.

Jenkins made n.

He thanked us anyway and chatted for a while about what he planned to do instead.

“We‟ll have a small tree and a few gifts-something that all of them can share.

“You‟re welcome to visit Christmas Eve. . . .”

After we said our good-byes, Jamie and I walked in silence without saying anything. I could

tell she was sad. The more I hung around Jamie, the more I realized she had lots of different

emotions-she wasn‟t always cheerful and happy. Believe it or not, that was the first time I

recognized that in some ways she was just like the rest of us.

“I‟m sorry it didn‟t work out,” I said softly.

“I am, too.”

She had that faraway look in her eyes again, and it was a moment before she went on.

“I just wanted to do something different for them this year. Something special that they would

remember forever. I thought for sure this was it. . . .” She sighed. “The Lord ems to have a plan

that I just don‟t know about yet.” She was quiet for a long time, and I looked at her. Seeing Jamie

feeling bad was almost wor than feeling bad becau of her. Unlike Jamie, I derved to feel

bad about mylf-I knew what kind of person I was. But with her . . . “While we‟re here, do you

want to stop in to e the kids?” I asked into the silence. It was the only thing I could think to do

35

that might make her feel better. “I could wait out here while you talk to them, or go to the car if you

want.” “Would you visit them with me?” she asked suddenly. To be honest, I wasn‟t sure I could

handle it, but I knew she really wanted me there. And she was feeling so down that the words

came out automatically. “Sure, I‟ll go.”

“They‟ll be in the rec room now. That‟s where they usually are at this time,” she said.

We walked down the corridors to the end of the hall, where two doors opened into a

good-size room. Perched in the far corner was a small television with about thirty metal folding

chairs placed all around it. The kids were sitting in the chairs, crowded around it, and you could

tell that only the ones in the front row had a good view of the thing.

I glanced around. In the corner was an old Ping-Pong table. The surface was cracked and

dusty, the net nowhere to be en. A couple of empty Styrofoam cups sat on top of it, and I knew

it hadn‟t been ud in months, maybe years. Along the wall next to the Ping-Pong table were a t

of shelves, with a few toys here and there-blocks and puzzles, a couple of games. There weren‟t

too many, and the few that were there looked as if they‟d been in this room for a long time. Along

the near walls were small individual desks piled with newspapers, scribbled on with crayons. We

stood in the doorway for just a cond. We hadn‟t been noticed yet, and I asked what the

newspapers were for.

“They don‟t have coloring books,” she whispered, “so they u newspapers.” She didn‟t look

at me as she spoke-instead her attention was directed at the kids. She‟d begun to smile again.

“Are the all the toys they have?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes, except for the stuffed animals. They‟re allowed to keep tho in their

rooms. This is where the rest of the things are kept.” I guess she was ud to it. To me, though,

the sparness of the room made the whole thing depressing. I couldn‟t imagine growing up in a

place like this. Jamie and I finally walked into the room, and one of the kids turned around at the

sound of our steps. He was about eight or so, with red hair and freckles, his two front teeth

missing.

“Jamie!” he shouted happily when he saw her, and all of a sudden all the other heads turned.

The kids ranged in age from about five to twelve, more boys than girls. After twelve they had to be

nt to live with foster parents, I later learned. “Hey, Roger,” Jamie said in respon, “how are

you?” With that, Roger and some of the others began to crowd around us. A few of the other kids

ignored us and moved clor to the television now that there were free ats in the front row.

Jamie introduced me to one of the older kids who‟d come up and asked if I was her boyfriend. By

his tone, I think that he had the same opinion of Jamie that most of the kids in our high school had.

“He‟s just a friend,” she said. “But he‟s very nice.” Over the next hour, we visited with the children.

I got a lot of questions about where I lived and whether my hou was big or what kind of car I

owned, and when we finally had to leave, Jamie promid that she‟d be back soon. I noticed that

she didn‟t promi I would be with her.

While we were walking back to the car, I said, “They‟re a nice bunch of kids.” I shrugged

awkwardly. “I‟m glad that you want to help them.” Jamie turned to me and smiled. She knew there

wasn‟t much to add after that, but I could tell she was still wondering what she was going to do for

them that Christmas.

36

Chapter 7

By early December, just over two weeks into rehearsals, the sky was winter dark before Miss

Garber would let us leave, and Jamie asked me if I wouldn‟t mind walking her Home. I don‟t know

why she wanted me to. Beaufort wasn‟t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity back then. The only

murder I‟d ever heard about had occurred six years earlier when a guy was stabbed outside of

Maurice‟s Tavern, which was a hangout for people like Lew, by the way. For an hour or so it

caud

quite a stir, and phone lines buzzed all over town while nervous women wondered about the

possibility of a crazed lunatic wandering the streets, preying on innocent victims. Doors were

locked, guns were loaded, men sat by the front windows, looking for anyone out of the ordinary

who might be creeping down the street. But the whole thing was over before the night was

through when the guy walked into the police station to give himlf up, explaining that it was a bar

fight that got out of hand. Evidently the victim had welshed on a bet. The guy was charged with

cond-degree murder and got six years in the state penitentiary. The policemen in our town had

the most boring jobs in the world, but they still liked to strut around with a swagger or sit in Coffee

shops while they talked about the “big crime,” as if they‟d cracked the ca of the Lindbergh baby.

But Jamie‟s hou was on the way to mine, and I couldn‟t say no without hurting her feelings.

It wasn‟t that I liked her or anything, don‟t get the wrong idea, but when you‟ve had to spend a few

hours a day with someone, and you‟re going to continue doing that for at least another week, you

don‟t want to do anything that might make the next day mirable for either of you. The play was

going to be performed that Friday and Saturday, and lots of people were already talking about it.

Miss Garber had been so impresd by Jamie and me that she kept telling everyone it was going

to be the best play the school had ever done. She had a real flair for promotion, too, we found out.

We had one radio station in town, and they interviewed her over the air, not once, but twice. “It‟s

going to be marvelous,” she pronounced, “absolutely marvelous.” She‟d also called the

newspaper, and they‟d agreed to write an article about it, primarily becau of the Jamie-Hegbert

connection, even though everyone in town already knew about it. But Miss Garber was

relentless, and just that day she‟d told us the Playhou was going to bring in extra ats to

accommodate the extra-large crowd expected. The class sort of oohed and aahed, like it was a

big deal or something, but then I guess it was to some of them. Remember, we had guys like

Eddie in class. He probably thought that this would be the only time in his life when someone

might be interested in him. The sad thing was, he was probably right. You might think I‟d be

getting excited about it, too, but I really wasn‟t. My friends were still teasing me at school, and I

hadn‟t had an afternoon off in what emed like forever. The only thing that kept me going was the

fact that I was doing the “right thing.” I know it‟s not much, but frankly, it was all I had. Occasionally

I even felt sort of good about it, too, though I never admitted it to anyone. I could practically

imagine the angels in heaven, standing around and staring wistfully down at me with little tears

filling the corners of their eyes, talking about how wonderful I was for all my sacrifices. So I was

walking her Home that first night, thinking about this stuff, when Jamie asked me a question.

“Is it true you and your friends sometimes go to the graveyard at night?” Part of me was

surprid that she was even interested. Though it wasn‟t exactly a cret, it didn‟t em like the

sort of thing she‟d care about at all. “Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “Sometimes.”

“What do you do there, besides eat peanuts?”

37

I guess she knew about that, too.

“I don‟t know,” I said. “Talk . . . joke around. It‟s just a place we like to go.”

“Does it ever scare you?”

“No,” I answered. “Why? Would it scare you?”

“I don‟t know,” she said. “It might.”

“Why?”

“Becau I‟d worry that I might do something wrong.” “We don‟t do anything bad there. I

mean, we don‟t knock over the tombstones or leave our trash around,” I said. I didn‟t want to tell

her about our conversations about Henry Preston becau I knew that wasn‟t the sort of thing

Jamie would want to hear about. Last week Eric had wondered aloud how fast a guy like that

could lie in bed and . . . well . . . you know.

“Do you ever just sit around and listen to the sounds?” she asked. “Like the crickets chirping,

or the rustling of leaves when the wind blows? Or do you ever just lie on your backs and stare at

the stars?”

Even though she was a teenager and had been for four years, Jamie didn‟t know the first

thing about teenagers, and trying to understand teenage boys for her was like trying to decipher

the theory of relativity.

“Not really,” I said.

She nodded a little. “I think that‟s what I‟d do if I were there, if I ever go, I mean. I‟d just look

around to really e the place, or sit quietly and listen.” This whole conversation struck me as

strange, but I didn‟t press it, and we walked in silence for a few moments. And since she‟d asked

a little about me, I sort of felt obliged to ask her about herlf. I mean, she hadn‟t brought up the

Lord‟s plan or anything, so it was the least I could do.

“So, what do you do?” I asked. “Besides working with the orphans or helping critters or

reading the Bible, I mean?” It sounded ridiculous, even to me, I admit, but that‟s what she did.

She smiled at me. I think she was surprid by my question, and even more surprid at my

interest in her.

“I do a lot of things. I study for my class, I spend time with my dad. We play gin rummy now

and then. Things like that.”

“Do you ever just go off with friends and goof around?” “No,” she said, and I could tell by the

way she answered that even to her, it was obvious that no one wanted her around much.

“I‟ll bet you‟re excited about going off to college next year,” I said, changing the subject.

It took her a moment to answer.

“I don‟t think I‟m going to go,” she said matter-of-factly. Her answer caught me off guard.

Jamie had some of the highest grades in our nior class, and depending on how the last

mester went, she might even end up valedictorian. We had a running pool going as to how

many times she would mention the Lord‟s plan in her speech, by the way. My bet was fourteen,

38

being that she only had five minutes. “What about Mount Sermon? I thought that‟s where you

were planning to go. You‟d love a place like that,” I offered.

She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “You mean I‟d fit right in there, don‟t you?”

Tho curveballs she sometimes threw could smack you right between the eyeballs.

“I didn‟t mean it that way,” I said quickly. “I just meant that I‟d heard about how excited you

were to be going there next year.”

She shrugged without really answering me, and to be honest, I didn‟t know what to make of it.

By then we‟d reached the front of her hou, and we stopped on the sidewalk out front. From

where I was standing, I could make out Hegbert‟s shadow in the living room through the curtains.

The lamp was on, and he was sitting on the sofa by the window. His head was bowed, like he was

reading something. I assumed it was the Bible.

“Thank you for walking me Home, Landon,” she said, and she glanced up at me for a moment

before finally starting up the walk.

As I watched her go, I couldn‟t help but think that of all the times I‟d ever talked to her, this

was the strangest conversation we‟d ever had. Despite the oddness of some of her answers, she

emed practically normal. The next night, as I was walking her Home, she asked me about my

father.

“He‟s all right, I reckon,” I said. “But he‟s not around much.”

“Do you miss that? Not growing up with him around?”

“Sometimes.”

“I miss my mom, too,” she said, “even though I never even knew her.” It was the first time I‟d

ever considered that Jamie and I might have something in common. I let that sink in for a while.

“It must be hard for you,” I said sincerely. “Even though my father‟s a stranger to me, at least

he‟s still around.”

She looked up at me as we walked, then faced forward again. She tugged gently at her hair

again. I was beginning to notice that she did this whenever she was nervous or wasn‟t sure what

to say.

“It is, sometimes. Don‟t get me wrong-I love my father with all my heart-but there are times

when I wonder what it would have been like to have a mother around. I think she and I would have

been able to talk about things in a way that my father and I can‟t.”

I assumed she was talking about boys. It wasn‟t until later that I learned how wrong I was.

“What‟s it like, living with your father? Is he like how he is in church?”

“No. He‟s actually got a pretty good n of humor.”

“Hegbert?” I blurted out. I couldn‟t even imagine it. I think she was shocked to hear me call

him by his first name, but she let me off the hook and didn‟t respond to my comment. Instead she

said, “Don‟t look so surprid. You‟ll like him, once you get to know him.”

“I doubt if I‟ll ever get to know him.”

39

“You never know, Landon,” she said, smiling, “what the Lord‟s plan is.” I hated when she said

things like that. With her, you just knew she talked to the Lord every day, and you never knew

what the “Big Guy upstairs” had told her. She might even have a direct ticket into heaven, if you

know what I mean, being as how good a person she was.

“How would I get to know him?” I asked.

She didn‟t answer, but she smiled to herlf, as if she knew some cret that she was

keeping from me. Like I said, I hated it when she did that. The next night we talked about her

Bible.

“Why do you always carry it with you?” I asked.

Now, I assumed she carried the Bible around simply becau she was the minister‟s

daughter. It wasn‟t that big of an assumption, given how Hegbert felt about Scripture and all. But

the Bible she carried was old and the cover was kind of ratty looking, and I figured that she‟d be

the kind of person who would buy a new one every year or so just to help out the Bible publishing

industry or to show her renewed dedication to the Lord or something.

She walked a few steps before answering.

“It was my mother‟s,” she said simply.

“Oh. . . .” I said it like I‟d stepped on someone‟s pet turtle, squashing it under my shoe.

She looked at me. “It‟s okay, Landon. How could you have known?”

“I‟m sorry I asked. . . .”

“Don‟t be. You didn‟t mean anything by it.” She paud. “My mother and father were given

this Bible for their wedding, but my mom was the one who claimed it first. She read it all the time,

especially whenever she was going through a hard time in her life.”

I thought about the miscarriages. Jamie went on.

“She loved to read it at night, before she went to sleep, and she had it with her in the hospital

when I was born. When my father found out that she had died, he carried the Bible and me out of

the hospital at the same time.” “I‟m sorry,” I said again. Whenever someone tells you something

sad, it‟s the only thing you can think to say, even if you‟ve already said it before. “It just gives me

a way to . . . to be a part of her. Can you understand that?” She wasn‟t saying it sadly, just more to

let me know the answer to my question. Somehow that made it wor.

After she told me the story, I thought of her growing up with Hegbert again, and I didn‟t really

know what to say. As I was thinking about my answer, though, I heard a car blare its horn from

behind us, and both Jamie and I stopped and turned around at the same time as we heard it

pulling over to the side. Eric and Margaret were in the car, Eric on the driver‟s side, Margaret on

the side clost to us.

“Well, lookee who we have here,” Eric said as he leaned over the steering wheel so that I

could e his face. I hadn‟t told him I‟d been walking Jamie Home, and in the curious way that

teenage minds work, this new development took priority over anything that I was feeling about

Jamie‟s story.

“Hello, Eric. Hello, Margaret,” Jamie said cheerfully.

40

“Walking her Home, Landon?” I could e the little devil behind Eric‟s smile.

“Hey, Eric,” I said, wishing he‟d never en me.

“It‟s a beautiful night for strolling, isn‟t it?” Eric said. I think that becau Margaret was

between him and Jamie, he felt a little bolder than he usually was in Jamie‟s prence. And there

was no way he could let this opportunity pass without sticking it to me.

Jamie looked around and smiled. “Yes, it is.”

Eric looked around, too, with this wistful look in his eyes before taking a deep breath. I could

tell he was faking it. “Boy, it really is nice out there.” He sighed and glanced toward us as he

shrugged. “I‟d offer you a ride, but it wouldn‟t be half as nice as actually walking under the stars,

and I wouldn‟t want you two to miss it.” He said this like he was doing us both a favor.

“Oh, we‟re almost to my hou anyway,” Jamie said. “I was going to offer Landon a cup of

cider. Would you like to meet us there? We have plenty.” A cup of cider? At her hou? She

hadn‟t mentioned that. . . .

I put my hands in my pocket, wondering if this could get any wor.

“Oh, no . . . that‟s all right. We were just heading off to Cecil‟s Diner.”

“On a school night?” she asked innocently.

“Oh, we won‟t be out too late,” he promid, “but we should probably be going.

Enjoy your cider, you two.”

“Thanks for stopping to say hello,” Jamie said, waving.

Eric got the car rolling again, but slowly. Jamie probably thought he was a safe driver. He

really wasn‟t, though he was good at getting out of trouble when he‟d crashed into something. I

remember one time when he‟d told his mother that a cow had jumped out in front of the car and

that‟s why the grille and fender were damaged. “It happened so fast, Mom, the cow came out of

nowhere. It just darted out in front of me, and I couldn‟t stop in time.” Now, everyone knows cows

don‟t exactly dart anywhere, but his mother believed him. She ud to be a head cheerleader, too,

by the way.

Once they‟d pulled out of sight, Jamie turned to me and smiled.

“You have nice friends, Landon.”

“Sure I do.” Notice the careful way I phrad my answer. After dropping Jamie off-no, I

didn‟t stay for any cider-I started back to my hou, grumbling the whole time. By then Jamie‟s

story had left me completely, and I could practically hear my friends laughing about me, all the

way from Cecil‟s Diner. See what happens when you‟re a nice guy?

By the next morning everyone at school knew I was walking Jamie Home, and this started up

a new round of speculation about the two of us. This time it was even wor than before. It was so

bad that I had to spend my lunch break in the library just to get away from it all.

That night, the rehearsal was at the Playhou. It was the last one before the show opened,

and we had a lot to do. Right after school, the boys in drama class had to load all the props in the

classroom into the rented truck to take them to the Playhou. The only problem was that Eddie

41

and I were the only two boys, and he‟s not exactly the most coordinated individual in history. We‟d

be walking through a doorway, carrying one of the heavier items, and his Hooville body would

work against him. At every critical moment when I really needed his help to balance the load, he‟d

stumble over some dust or an inct on the floor, and the weight of the prop would come crashing

down on my fingers, pinching them against the doorjamb in the most painful way possible.

“S-s-sorry,” he‟d say. “D-d-did . . . th-th-that hurt?”

I‟d stifle the curs rising in my throat and bite out, “Just don‟t do it again.” But he couldn‟t

stop himlf from stumbling around any more than he could stop the rain from falling. By the time

we‟d finished loading and unloading everything, my fingers looked like Toby‟s, the roving

handyman. And the worst thing was, I didn‟t even get a chance to eat before rehearsal started.

Moving the props had taken three hours, and we didn‟t finish tting them up until a few minutes

before everyone el arrived to begin. With everything el that had happened that day, suffice it

to say I was in a pretty bad mood.

I ran through my lines without even thinking about them, and Miss Garber didn‟t say the word

marvelous all night long. She had this concerned look in her eyes afterward, but Jamie simply

smiled and told her not to worry, that everything was going to be all right. I knew Jamie was just

trying to make things better for me, but when she asked me to walk her home, I told her no. The

Playhou was in the middle of town, and to walk her Home, I‟d have to walk a good distance out

of my way. Besides, I didn‟t want to be en again doing it. But Miss Garber had overheard

Jamie‟s request and she said, very firmly, that I‟d be glad to do it. “You two can talk about the

play,” she said. “Maybe you can work out the kinks.” By kinks, of cour, she meant me

specifically.

So once more I ended up walking Jamie Home, but she could tell I wasn‟t really in the mood

to talk becau I walked a little bit in front of her, my hands in my pockets, without even really

turning back to e whether she was following. It went this way for the first few minutes, and I

hadn‟t said a word to her. “You‟re not in a very good mood, are you?” she finally asked. “You

didn‟t even try tonight.”

“You don‟t miss a thing, do you?” I said sarcastically without looking at her. “Maybe I can

help,” she offered. She said it kind of happily, which made me even a little angrier.

“I doubt it,” I snapped.

“Maybe if you told me what was wrong-“

I didn‟t let her finish.

“Look,” I said, stopping, turning to face her. “I‟ve just spent all day hauling crap, I haven‟t

eaten since lunch, and now I have to trek a mile out of my way to make sure you get Home, when

we both know you don‟t even need me to do it.” It was the first time I‟d ever raid my voice to her.

To tell you the truth, it felt kind of good. It had been building up for a long time. Jamie was too

surprid to respond, and I went on.

“And the only reason I‟m doing this is becau of your father, who doesn‟t even like me. This

whole thing is dumb, and I wish I had never agreed to do it.” “You‟re just saying this becau

you‟re nervous about the play-“ I cut her off with a shake of my head.

42

Once I got on a roll, it was sometimes hard for me to stop. I could take her optimism and

cheerfulness only so long, and today wasn‟t the day to push me too far.

“Don‟t you get it?” I said, exasperated. “I‟m not nervous about the play, I just don‟t want to be

here. I don‟t want to walk you Home, I don‟t want my friends to keep talking about me, and I don‟t

want to spend time with you. You keep acting like we‟re friends, but we‟re not. We‟re not anything.

I just want the whole thing to be over so I can go back to my normal life.”

She looked hurt by my outburst, and to be honest, I couldn‟t blame her. “I e,” was all she

said. I waited for her to rai her voice at me, to defend herlf, to make her ca again, but she

didn‟t. All she did was look toward the ground. I think part of her wanted to cry, but she didn‟t, and

I finally stalked away, leaving her standing by herlf. A moment later, though, I heard her start

moving, too. She was about five yards behind me the rest of the way to her hou, and she didn‟t

try to talk to me again until she started up the walkway. I was already moving down the sidewalk

when I heard her voice.

“Thank you for walking me Home, Landon,” she called out. I winced as soon as she said it.

Even when I was mean to her face and said the most spiteful things, she could find some reason

to thank me. She was just that kind of girl, and I think I actually hated her for it.

Or rather, I think, I hated mylf.

Chapter 8

The night of the play was cool and crisp, the sky absolutely clear without a hint of clouds. We

had to arrive an hour early, and I‟d been feeling pretty bad all day about the way I‟d talked to

Jamie the night before. She‟d never been anything but nice to me, and I knew that I‟d been a jerk.

I saw her in the hallways between class, and I wanted to go up to apologize to her for what I‟d

said, but she‟d sort of slip back into the crowd before I got the chance. She was already at the

Playhou by the time I finally arrived, and I saw her talking to Miss Garber and Hegbert, off to

one side, over by the curtains. Everyone was in motion, working off nervous energy, but she

emed strangely lethargic. She hadn‟t put on her costume yet-she was suppod to wear a white,

flowing dress to give that angelic appearance-and she was still wearing the same sweater she‟d

worn at school. Despite my trepidation at how she might react, I walked up to the three of them.

“Hey, Jamie,” I said. “Hello, Reverend . . . Miss Garber.”

Jamie turned to me.

“Hello, Landon,” she said quietly. I could tell she‟d been thinking about the night before, too,

becau she didn‟t smile at me like she always did when she saw me. I asked if I could talk to her

alone, and the two of us excud ourlves. I could e Hegbert and Miss Garber watching us as

we took a few steps off to the side, out of hearing distance.

I glanced around the stage nervously.

“I‟m sorry about tho things I said last night,” I began. “I know they probably hurt your

feelings, and I was wrong to have said them.” She looked at me, as if wondering whether to

believe me.

43

“Did you mean tho things you said?” she finally asked. “I was just in a bad mood, that‟s all.

I get sort of wound up sometimes.” I knew I hadn‟t really answered her question.

“I e,” she said. She said it as she had the night before, then turned toward the empty ats

in the audience. Again she had that sad look in her eyes. “Look,” I said, reaching for her hand, “I

promi to make it up to you.” Don‟t ask me why I said it-it just emed like the right thing to do at

that moment. For the first time that night, she began to smile.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to face me.

“Jamie?”

Jamie turned. “Yes, Miss Garber?”

“I think we‟re about ready for you.” Miss Garber was motioning with her hand.

“I‟ve got to go,” she said to me.

“I know.”

“Break a leg?” I said. Wishing someone luck before a play is suppod to be bad luck. That‟s

why everyone tells you to “break a leg.” I let go of her hand. “We both will. I promi.”

After that, we had to get ready, and we went our parate ways. I headed toward the men‟s

dressing room. The Playhou was fairly sophisticated, considering that it was located in Beaufort,

with parate dressing rooms that made us feel as if we were actual actors, as oppod to

students. My costume, which was kept at the Playhou, was already in the dressing room.

Earlier in the rehearsals we‟d had our measurements taken so that they could be altered, and I

was getting dresd when Eric walked in the door unannounced.

Eddie was still in the dressing room, putting on his mute bum‟s costume, and when he saw

Eric he got a look of terror in his eyes. At least once a week Eric gave him a wedgie, and Eddie

kind of hightailed it out of there as fast as he could, pulling one leg up on his costume on the way

out the door. Eric ignored him and sat on the dressing table in front of the mirror. “So,” Eric said

with a mischievous grin on his face, “what are you going to do?”

I looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“About the play, stupid. You gonna flub up your lines or something?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“You gonna knock the props over?” Everyone knew about the props.

“I hadn‟t planned on it,” I answered stoically.

“You mean you‟re going to do this thing straight up?”

I nodded. Thinking otherwi hadn‟t even occurred to me. He looked at me for a long time,

as if he were eing someone he‟d never en before.

“I guess you‟re finally growing up, Landon,” he said at last. Coming from Eric, I wasn‟t sure

whether it was intended as a compliment. Either way, though, I knew he was right.

In the play, Tom Thornton is amazed when he first es the angel, which is why he goes

around helping her as she shares Christmas with tho less fortunate. The first words out of

44

Tom‟s mouth are, “You‟re beautiful,” and I was suppod to say them as if I meant them from the

bottom of my heart. This was the pivotal moment in the entire play, and it ts the tone for

everything el that happens afterward. The problem, however, was that I still hadn‟t nailed this

line yet. Sure, I said the words, but they didn‟t come off too convincingly, eing as I probably

said the words like anyone would when looking at Jamie, with the exception of Hegbert. It was the

only scene where Miss Garber had never said the wordmarvelous, so I was nervous about it. I

kept trying to imagine someone el as the angel so that I could get it just right, but with all the

other things I was trying to concentrate on, it kept getting lost in the shuffle. Jamie was still in her

dressing room when the curtains finally opened. I didn‟t e her beforehand, but that was okay.

The first few scenes didn‟t include her anyway-they were mainly about Tom Thornton and his

relationship with his daughter.

Now, I didn‟t think I‟d be too nervous when I stepped out on stage, being that I‟d reheard so

much, but it hits you right between the eyes when it actually happens. The Playhou was

absolutely packed, and as Miss Garber had predicted, they‟d had to t up two extra rows of ats

all the way across the back. Normally the place sat four hundred, but with tho ats there

were at least another fifty people sitting down. In addition, people were standing against the walls,

packed like sardines.

As soon as I stepped on stage, everyone was absolutely quiet. The crowd, I noticed, was

mainly old ladies of the blue-haired type, the kind that play bingo and drink Bloody Marys at

Sunday brunch, though I could e Eric sitting with all my friends near the back row. It was

downright eerie, if you know what I mean, to be standing in front of them while everyone waited for

me to say something.

So I did the best I could to put it out of my mind as I did the first few scenes

in the play. Sally, the one-eyed wonder, was playing my daughter, by the way, becau she

was sort of small, and we went through our scenes just as we‟d reheard them. Neither of us

blew our lines, though we weren‟t spectacular or anything. When we clod the curtains for act

two, we had to quickly ret the props. This time everyone pitched in, and my fingers escaped

unscathed becau I avoided Eddie at all costs.

I still hadn‟t en Jamie-I guess she was exempt from moving props becau her costume

was made of light material and would rip if she caught it on one of tho nails-but I didn‟t have

much time to think about her becau of all we had to do. The next thing I knew, the curtain was

opening again and I was back in Hegbert Sullivan‟s world, walking past storefronts and looking in

windows for the music box my daughter wants for Christmas. My back was turned from where

Jamie entered, but I heard the crowd collectively draw a breath as soon as she appeared on stage.

I thought it was silent before, but now it went absolutely hush still. Just then, from the corner of my

eye and off to the side of the stage, I saw Hegbert‟s jaw quivering. I readied mylf to turn around,

and when I did, I finally saw what it was all about.

For the first time since I‟d known her, her honey-colored hair wasn‟t pulled into a tight bun.

Instead it was hanging looly, longer than I imagined, reaching below her shoulder blades. There

was a trace of glitter in her hair, and it caught the stage lights, sparkling like a crystal halo. Set

against her flowing white dress tailored exactly for her, it was absolutely amazing to behold. She

didn‟t look like the girl I‟d grown up with or the girl I‟d come recently to know. She wore a touch of

makeup, too-not a lot, just enough to bring out the softness of her features. She was smiling

45

slightly, as if she were holding a cret clo to her heart, just like the part called for her to do.

She looked exactly like an angel.

I know my jaw dropped a little, and I just stood there looking at her for what emed like a

long time, shocked into silence, until I suddenly remembered that I had a line I had to deliver. I

took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “You‟re beautiful,” I finally said to her, and I think

everyone in the whole auditorium, from the blue-haired ladies in front to my friends in the back row,

knew that I actually meant it.

I‟d nailed that line for the very first time.

Chapter 9

To say that the play was a smashing success was to put it mildly. The audience laughed and

the audience cried, which is pretty much what they were suppod to do. But becau of Jamie‟s

prence, it really became something special-and I think everyone in the cast was as shocked as I

was at how well the whole thing had come off. They all had that same look I did when I first saw

her, and it made the play that much more powerful when they were performing their parts. We

finished the first performance without a hitch, and the next evening even more people showed up,

if you can believe it. Even Eric came up to me afterward and congratulated me, which after what

he‟d said to me before was somewhat of a surpri.

“The two of you did good,” he said simply. “I‟m proud of you, buddy.”

While he said it, Miss Garber was crying out, “Marvelous!” to anyone who would listen to her

or who just happened to be walking past, repeating it over and over so much that I kept on hearing

it long after I went to bed that night. I looked for Jamie after we‟d pulled the curtains clod for the

final time, and spotted her off to the side, with her father. He had tears in his eyes-it was the first

time I‟d ever en him cry-and Jamie went into his arms, and they held each other for a long time.

He was stroking her hair and whispering, “My angel,” to her while her eyes were clod, and even

I felt mylf choking up. The “right thing,” I realized, wasn‟t so bad after all. After they finally let

go of each other, Hegbert proudly motioned for her to visit with the rest of the cast, and she got a

boatload of congratulations from everyone backstage. She knew she‟d done well, though she kept

on telling people she didn‟t know what all the fuss was about. She was her normal cheerful lf,

but with her looking so pretty, it came across in a totally different way. I stood in the background,

letting her have her moment, and I‟ll admit there was a part of me that felt like old Hegbert. I

couldn‟t help but be happy for her, and a little proud as well. When she finally saw me standing off

to one side, she excud herlf from the others and walked over, finally stopping when she was

clo.

Looking up at me, she smiled. “Thank you, Landon, for what you did. You made my father

very happy.”

“You‟re welcome,” I said, meaning it.

The strange thing was, when she said it, I realized that Hegbert would be driving her Home,

and for once I wished that I would have had the opportunity to walk her there.

The following Monday was our last week of school before Christmas break, and finals were

scheduled in every class. In addition, I had to finish my application for UNC, which I‟d sort of been

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putting off becau of all the rehearsals. I planned on hitting the books pretty hard that week, then

doing the application at night before I went to bed. Even so, I couldn‟t help but think about Jamie.

Jamie‟s transformation during the play had been startling, to say the least, and I assumed it

had signaled a change in her. I don‟t know why I thought that way, but I did, and so I was amazed

when she showed up our first morning back dresd like her usual lf: brown sweater, hair in a

bun, plaid skirt, and all. One look was all it took, and I couldn‟t help but feel sorry for her. She‟d

been regarded as normal-even special-over the weekend, or so it had emed, but she‟d

somehow let it slip away. Oh, people were a little nicer to her, and the ones who hadn‟t talked to

her yet told her what a good job she‟d done, too, but I could tell right off that it wasn‟t going to last.

Attitudes forged since childhood are hard to break, and part of me wondered if it might even get

wor for her after this. Now that people actually knew she could look normal, they might even

become more heartless.

I wanted to talk to her about my impressions, I really did, but I was planning to do so after the

week was over. Not only did I have a lot to do, but I wanted a little time to think of the best way to

tell her. To be honest, I was still feeling a little guilty about the things I‟d said to her on our last

walk Home, and it wasn‟t just becau the play had turned out great. It had more to do with the

fact that in all our time together, Jamie had never once been anything but kind, and I knew that I‟d

been wrong.

I didn‟t think she wanted to talk to me, either, to tell you the truth. I knew she could e me

hanging out with my friends at lunch while she sat off in the corner, reading her Bible, but she

never made a move toward us. But as I was leaving school that day, I heard her voice behind me,

asking me if I wouldn‟t mind walking her Home. Even though I wasn‟t ready to tell her yet about

my thoughts, I agreed. For old times‟ sake, you e.

A minute later Jamie got down to Business.

“Do you remember tho things you said on our last walk Home?” she asked.

I nodded, wishing she hadn‟t brought it up.

“You promid to make it up to me,” she said.

For a moment I was confud. I thought I‟d done that already with my performance in the play.

Jamie went on.

“Well, I‟ve been thinking about what you could do,” she continued without letting me get a

word in edgewi, “and this is what I‟ve come up with.” She asked if I wouldn‟t mind gathering the

pickle jars and Coffee cans she‟d t out in Business all over town early in the year. They sat on

the counters, usually near the cash registers, so that people could drop their loo change in. The

money was to go to the orphans. Jamie never wanted to ask people straight out for the money,

she wanted them to give voluntarily. That, in her mind, was the Christian thing to do.

I remembered eing the containers in places like Cecil‟s Diner and the Crown Theater. My

friends and I ud to toss paper clips and slugs in there when the cashiers weren‟t looking, since

they sounded sort of like a coin being dropped inside, then we‟d chuckle to ourlves about how

we were putting something over on Jamie. We ud to joke about how she‟d open one of her cans,

expecting something good becau of the weight, and she‟d dump it out and find nothing but

47

slugs and paper clips. Sometimes, when you remember the things you ud to do, it makes you

wince, and that‟s exactly what I did.

Jamie saw the look on my face.

“You don‟t have to do it,” she said, obviously disappointed. “I was just thinking that since

Christmas is coming up so quickly and I don‟t have a car, it‟ll simply take me too long to collect

them all. . . .” “No,” I said cutting her off, “I‟ll do it. I don‟t have much to do anyway.” So that‟s what

I did starting Wednesday, even though I had tests to study for, even with that application needing

to be finished. Jamie had given me a list of every place she‟d placed a can, and I borrowed my

mom‟s car and started at the far end of town the following day. She‟d put out about sixty cans in all,

and I figured that it would take only a day to collect them all. Compared to putting them out, it

would be a piece of cake. It had taken Jamie almost six weeks to do becau she‟d first had to

find sixty empty jars and cans and then she could put out only two or three a day since she didn‟t

have a car and could carry only so many at a time. When I started out, I felt sort of funny about

being the one who picked up the cans and jars, being that it was Jamie‟s project, but I kept telling

mylf that Jamie had asked me to help.

I went from business to Business, collecting the cans and jars, and by end of the first day I

realized it was going to take a little longer than I‟d thought.

I‟d picked up only about twenty containers or so, becau I‟d forgotten one simple fact of life

in Beaufort. In a small town like this, it was impossible to simply run inside and grab the can

without chatting with the proprietor or saying hello to someone el you might recognize. It just

wasn‟t done. So I‟d sit there while some guy would be talking about the marlin he‟d hooked last fall,

or they‟d ask me how school was going and mention that they needed a hand unloading a few

boxes in the back, or maybe they wanted my opinion on whether they should move the magazine

rack over to the other side of the store. Jamie, I knew, would have been good at this, and I tried to

act like I thought she would want me to. It was her project after all.

To keep things moving, I didn‟t stop to check the take in between the Business. I just

dumped one jar or can into the next, combining them as I went along. By the end of the first day all

the change was packed in two large jars, and I carried them up to my room. I saw a few bills

through the glass-not too many-but I wasn‟t actually nervous until I emptied the contents onto my

floor and saw that the change consisted primarily of pennies. Though there weren‟t nearly as

many slugs or paper clips as I‟d thought there might be, I was still disheartened when I counted up

the money. There was $20.32. Even in 1958 that wasn‟t a lot of money, especially when divided

among thirty kids. I didn‟t get discouraged, though. Thinking that it was a mistake, I went out the

next day, hauled a few dozen boxes, and chatted with another twenty proprietors while I collected

cans and jars. The take: $23.89.

The third day was even wor. After counting up the money, even I couldn‟t believe it. There

was only $11.52. Tho were from the Business down by the waterfront, where the tourists and

teenagers like me hung out. We were really something, I couldn‟t help but think.

Seeing how little had been collected in all-$55.73-made me feel awful, especially considering

that the jars had been out for almost a whole year and that I mylf had en them countless

times. That night I was suppod to call Jamie to tell her the amount I‟d collected, but I just

couldn‟t do it. She‟d told me how she‟d wanted something extra special this year, and this wasn‟t

48

going to do it-even I knew that. Instead I lied to her and told her that I wasn‟t going to count the

total until the two of us could do it together, becau it was her project, not mine. It was just too

depressing. I promid to bring over the money the following afternoon, after school let out. The

next day was December 21, the shortest day of the year. Christmas was only four days away.

“Landon,” she said to me after counting it up, “this is a miracle!”

“How much is there?” I asked. I knew exactly how much it was. “There‟s almost two

hundred and forty-ven dollars here!” She was absolutely joyous as she looked up at me. Since

Hegbert was Home, I was allowed to sit in the living room, and that‟s where Jamie had counted

the money. It was stacked in neat little piles all over the floor, almost all quarters and dimes.

Hegbert was in the kitchen at the table, writing his rmon, and even he turned his head when he

heard the sound of her voice.

“Do you think that‟s enough?” I asked innocently.

Little tears were coming down her cheeks as she looked around the room, still not believing

what she was eing right in front of her. Even after the play, she hadn‟t been nearly this happy.

She looked right at me.

“It‟s . . . wonderful,” she said, smiling. There was more emotion than I‟d ever heard in her

voice before. “Last year, I only collected venty dollars.” “I‟m glad it worked out better this year,” I

said through the lump that had formed in my throat. “If you hadn‟t placed tho jars out so early in

the year, you might not have collected nearly as much.”

I know I was lying, but I didn‟t care. For once, it was the right thing to do. I didn‟t help Jamie

pick out the toys-I figured she‟d know better what the kids would want anyway-but she‟d insisted

that I go with her to the orphanage on Christmas Eve so that I could be there when the children

opened their gifts. “Plea, Landon,” she‟d said, and with her being so excited and all, I just

didn‟t have the heart to turn her down.

So three days later, while my father and mother were at a party at the mayor‟s hou, I

dresd in a houndstooth jacket and my best tie and walked to my mom‟s car with Jamie‟s

prent beneath my arm. I‟d spent my last few dollars on a nice sweater becau that was all I

could think to get her. She wasn‟t exactly the easiest person to shop for.

I was suppod to be at the orphanage at ven, but the bridge was up near the Morehead

City port, and I had to wait until an outbound freighter slowly made its way down the channel. As a

result, I arrived a few minutes late. The front door was already locked by that time, and I had to

pound on it until Mr. Jenkins finally heard me. He fiddled through his t of keys until he found the

right one, and a moment later he opened the door. I stepped inside, patting my arms to ward off

the chill.

“Ah . . . you‟re here,” he said happily. “We‟ve been waiting for you. C‟mon, I‟ll take you to

where everyone is.”

He led me down the hall to the rec room, the same place I‟d been before. I paud for just a

moment to exhale deeply before finally heading in. It was even better than I‟d imagined.

In the center of the room I saw a giant tree, decorated with tinl and colored

lights and a hundred different handmade ornaments. Beneath the tree, spread in

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