Son of a Preacher Man

A man in reasonable health with fifteen minutes to spare could walk across Crows Landing without breaking a sweat. Give the man in question an extra twenty minutes, and he could knock on the door of every house in the town, introduce himself, meet the family, accept a graciously offered glass of water, and turn down an invitation to dinner for later that night. When Dario Russo had been sixteen, he had gone to each one of those homes and knocked on each one of those doors, looking for work. He had done everything from cleaning chicken coops to mowing lawns, and never had more than a few dollars to show for it at the end of the day. He was quite sure that if he approached those doors now, he would see the same faces, only slightly changed by the passage of thirty years. Or maybe those faces wouldn’t have changed at all. Nothing else in Crows Landing had. If ever there had been a place where time stopped, or just passed over completely, it was Crows Landing, California. Dario walked along the side of the road, kicking up fine dirt with each step. There were no sidewalks in Crows Landing. Just dust, and asphalt with huge, gaping potholes. They looked malicious. Like somebody had taken offense to something the mayor had done and retaliated by taking a sledgehammer to the main drag. Dario thought it was a little funny how neglect and malignancy usually ended up looking the same in the end. An occasional car passed by, grumbling along its way like an old man. In the distance, a faded yellow tractor rolled along, a mongrel dog trotting contently beside it. Anybody not familiar with Crows Landing might have thought it a ghost town. It did have the sound of the grave—dirt and wind and the occasional muted voice coming from a distance. But Dario knew better. During the day, the children would be sent to the small elementary school, and everybody else would be out in the fields. Dario didn’t expect to run into anybody. At the center of town was a small, white building that looked newer than the rest. A luscious, closely mowed lawn rolled down from its front door, and flower beds circled its edges. The brightly colored blossoms just made the whitewash stand out more. It looked clean and cool. Welcoming. Just the sort of place you would want to be as the sun crawled higher and higher in the sky, pulling the mercury with it. Dario had never been inside of that particular building. He didn’t precisely know when it was built, except that it had to been sometime after 1979. Sweat rolled down his brow, mingling with the dust that had been kicked up to his face. He wasn’t used to the heat, though he’d grow accustomed to it soon. He absently unscrewed the lid from his bottle of water and took a deep drink of the warm, dull water. It didn’t taste good, and it wasn’t very satisfying, but it did coat his dry tongue and wash away the feeling of dust there. Nothing inside the church moved. Chances were good that the door was locked, barring entrance to anybody who didn’t have the right to be there. Even if he got into the church, he’d almost definitely not find what he was looking for. The sudden shrill sound of his ringing phone was so out of place that, for a moment, Dario didn’t recognize it at all. His heart rate jumped, and he spun around quickly, searching for the source of that horrible sound. Somehow, in the city, ringing phones became a natural part of the soundscape, like engines roaring by, sirens wailing, and constant talking. Remove the phone from its most natural environment, and for a split second, it didn’t sound like anything at all. He fumbled the phone from his pocket and pushed talk without glancing at the name. “Dario Russo.” “Are you serious?” “Ruby…” “Don’t say my name like that.” Dario blinked. “Like what?” “Like you’re trying to calm me down. Like we’re friends.” Dario thought they were still friends, and he did want to calm her down. Her voice seemed at least one octave above its normal register, and he could imagine her with eyes flashing an unearthly green as she pressed the phone to her face. “Ruby, I thought we were done discussing it.” “You left, Dario. You left.” “I know. I told you…” “You can’t just leave like that. That’s not how it works. That’s not how adults behave.” “I told you, I have a job.” “You turned down three other jobs to work in the middle of nowhere nearly a thousand miles away. You couldn’t even take the time say good-bye?” “I didn’t want it to turn into a fight.” Or rather, another fight. He was done fighting with Ruby. He may or may not have loved her, but he was absolutely done fighting with her. “People fight sometimes. When something really matters. When they’re passionate. That doesn’t mean you get to just run away.” “But I’m not,” Dario said, without thinking. The words contained a simple truth that he couldn’t deny, but that didn’t mean Ruby needed to hear them. “You’re not what?” “Passionate.” Ruby was silent for a long moment, then released a slightly shaky breath. “I see. So, this is it? This is the end?” “Of this particular conversation. I’m here now. I’ve signed my contract, and I’ve found a place to stay. There’s really not anything left to discuss.” “We were going to be married,” Ruby said. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “It did. It does. This doesn’t have to…change anything. It’s just a job, Ruby. You can fly out to California and visit me.” The words probably sounded as hollow as they felt. Dario was still staring at the church, shining so bright in the midday sun that it actually was starting to hurt his eyes. “No, Dario.” Ruby sighed, and now he didn’t think her eyes were flashing anymore. She sounded as tired as he felt. “It changes everything. When you’re in a relationship with somebody, you just don’t do whatever the hell you want and expect the other person to just accept that. I don’t know why I called. I guess I was hoping it was some sort of mistake.” A single white puff of cloud floated in front of the sun, momentarily casting both Dario and the church in a shadow. He blinked, and the church looked normal again. Not shining with any great, awesome light. He even noticed that a few of the flowers were wilting on the side of the building, and there were patches of brown in the grass. “I am sorry, Ruby. I really didn’t mean to…” “Yeah, I know. Have a nice life, Dario.” He didn’t feel particularly numb when he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He’d had at least twenty variations of the same conversation in his adult life. The names changed, as did the details, but overall, it was the same conversation. Dario suspected he would be unnerved if a relationship didn’t end in that conversation sooner rather than later. It just seemed to be the way of things. He couldn’t hand over every part of himself. There were elements he held close to the chest. Memories and emotions and certain, basic truths that he didn’t share. In fact, he couldn’t even let on that they existed at all. He wasn’t shocked, but he did need a drink. He took a step forward, closer to the church, and imagined letting himself into the building. Imagined what it would be like to step into a strange building that seemed completely familiar to him. It would probably be exhausting, and definitely be disappointing. The cloud passed overhead and he turned on his heel, heading back the way he came. There was a bar on the edge of town that looked like the sort of place he needed. He’d down a couple of beers, have a plate of nachos, then drive himself twenty miles up Interstate 5 to the motel room that would be home for the next six months. * * * * Dario didn’t stop at two beers. He had fully intended to. But he was thirsty, and every time he thought about the church, he heard Ruby’s voice, and that prompted him to take long, deep swallows. Like a dying man at an unexpected oasis. When he reached the bar, there had only been two people in the place beside him. But as the sun began to set and more people filtered in from the surrounding fields and construction sites, the place filled up quickly. Dario didn’t see any reason to move from his stool at the corner of the bar. Nobody in the room bothered him at all. The women kept their distance—he supposed he didn’t exactly look like a good catch at that moment—and the men were most interested in the women. All except one, who sat at the other end of the bar and occasionally studied Dario from beneath a thick fringe of lashes. Dark blond scruff shaded the strong jaw, though it couldn’t hide the cleft in his chin, or the lines around his mouth. Fresh sunburn reddened his cheeks and the powerful forearms that rested on the edge of the counter. He worked outside. His gray T-shirt was the common costume for the men in town, the beer in front of him the common escape. But his interest in the others seemed fleeting, like he watched them all from behind a wall of glass, a spectator of the world rather than a participant. One of the waitresses brought a plate of chili fries and set it front of the stranger. Dario couldn’t hear what was being said over the music blaring from the speakers in the far corner, but he saw the man shake his head and gesture toward Dario instead. He frowned when the waitress picked up the plate and carried it down the length of the bar. “Here you go,” she said with a bright smile, sliding the plate in front of him. “Enjoy.” Dario waved his hand. “I didn’t order this.” Her smile never wavered. “Doesn’t matter. Would you like anything else?” “I don’t even want…” Dario’s words faded as the waitress turned and walked away. His gaze sought out the stranger. And the stranger looked back, boldly meeting Dario’s eyes for several beats before nodding at the plate. Dario quirked his eyebrow in a silent question. The stranger picked up his beer and drained it, then rose from his stool. Grabbing a tan canvas jacket from the stool in the corner, he held it in one grip at his side as he came around the corner of the bar toward Dario. He stopped two stools away and jerked his chin toward the fries. “I figured since you’re new around here, I’d save you the hit or misses from the menu and just order the hit for you.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and he took a step back. “Welcome to Crows Landing.” “So are you on the Crows Landing welcoming committee, or what?” A full smile now, though he retreated another step. “No, nothing like that. I’m not sure anyone around here would even think of having a welcoming committee for this place. You’ll find that out soon enough. Have a good night now.” “Wait. Do you usually feed strangers and then run? Did you already pay for this?” “It’s taken care of, don’t worry. But you don’t want me to stick around and bother you while you’re eating. Go ahead. Dig in. I promise it’ll be worth it.” Dario didn’t want to let the stranger go. Other than Ruby, this man was the only person he had spoken with all day. “Will you tell me your name?” The man stretched out his free hand. “Shawn Pederson.” Dario took it, surprised by the way the other man held his hand. The grip was firm without being painful. “Good to meet you, Shawn. Dario Russo.” In spite of the bar’s murky lighting, it was easier to make out more details when Shawn stood this close. Hazel eyes. A slight bump in his nose like he’d busted it once. His nails were short, but well-trimmed. He had the body and face of a man ten years his junior. He had the eyes of one decades older. “If you decide you want something sweet, go down the street to the Shell and pick up an ice cream.” Shawn dropped his hand and glanced back to see where the bartender was before adding, “Desserts are part of the misses here.” “I think that tends to be a universal truth when it comes to bars,” Dario said lightly, casting around for something else to comment on. Anything to keep the conversation from floundering. “Are you from Crows Landing?” “Yeah. Lucky me, huh?” He laughed, though it was more than a little hollow. “It was good meeting you. Enjoy those fries.” This time, he was gone before Dario could stop him with another desperate topic of conversation. He stared down at the plate of fries, and realized his appetite was gone as well. That didn’t stop him from picking one or two from under a heap of chili, cheese, and onions, and popping them into his mouth. They were still hot enough to burn his tongue, and delicious, too, but that wasn’t enough to jumpstart his appetite. Dario looked up and caught the eye of the waitress. She approached him with the same smile as before. “Anything else I can do for you?” “Yeah…do you know who that was? The guy who ordered these fries?” “Yeah. That’s Shawn.” “Yeah, I caught that part. Do you know what his deal is?” Her smile started to fade. “What do you mean? He didn’t bother you, did he?” “No, no, nothing like that. I just don’t usually have perfect strangers order chili fries for me, that’s all.” “Oh, that.” Her brief tension vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “He does that all the time. Or at least, whenever he happens to be in when someone new in town is, too. Which isn’t all that often, but often enough to, you know, be kind of his thing.” Dario licked a strand of cheese from his thumb. “Takes all kinds, I guess.” He wanted to ask more about Shawn, but he couldn’t think of any good pretext to probe the waitress about him. Crows Landing was a small town, and like most small towns, they tended to frown on too many questions. “Can I get another beer?” “Sure thing.” She had cornered the bartender and got him a refill before he had time to pretend to eat another fry. When she slid it in front of him, she paused for a moment, biting her brightly glossed lower lip. Whatever mental debate she waged lasted only a moment. “Shawn’s always been a little weird,” she said. “We’re all used to him, but if he ever bothers you, just make sure you tell him to knock it off. He always backs down. No matter what.” Dario tilted his head, studying her. “He just seems like a friendly guy, but I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, before I forget, do you know anybody around here that goes by the name Billy Ray Waters?” She frowned, thinking for a moment. “Waters. I think there was a minister some time back named Waters, but I don’t know his first name.” It wasn’t anything except what he expected, but something in his chest twisted a little bit. He hadn’t gone all the way to Crows Landing just to find Billy Ray, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t hopeful. Very hopeful, even. “Who’s the minister here now?” “Reverend Peck. He’s the youngest one we’ve ever had.” Dario didn’t recognize the name, of course. If he was the youngest they ever had in town, he had probably been born after Dario had left Crows Landing behind. “Thanks.” He smiled at her. The one he tended to use when he was trying to pick up on somebody—the one that tended to work. “I won’t keep you from your other customers.” It didn’t seem to do much of anything now, though he decided to think it had more to do with how young she was than anything he’d done wrong. Of course, that didn’t do much but make him feel older, but he maintained it all the way until she’d headed off to help a group of increasingly drunk women at a nearby table. Dario began mechanically picking up the fries and shoving them into his mouth, following each bite with a swallow of his beer. Something in the chili was spicy enough to make his tongue tingle, but otherwise, he barely noticed the fries. So far, his time in Crows Landing was a resounding failure. Not quite as miserable as the six months he had spent there before, but there was still plenty of time for things to get worse. Dario could still easily recall the way Crows Landing looked from the back of an old Ford truck, all of his earthly possessions sitting at his feet as they bumped down the poorly kept road. Billy Ray had been standing in the church yard, watching as they pulled away. What had he been thinking as he watched them go? Dario had always wondered, but now he worried he’d never get a chance to find out. * * * * When Dario arrived in Crows Landing in April of ‘79, there hadn’t been anything like a house waiting for them. He hadn’t been surprised by this fact, and neither had his four younger brothers. Very few towns had houses waiting for them. They fantasized about what it would be like to sleep in a proper bed, to have indoor plumbing, to be protected from the summer’s heat and the hard, driving winter rain. But even when they found more permanent shelter, it was barely what Dario would call a house. Usually, when they did find something, it was an old abandoned shack. One that they had to share with the rats and spiders, more often than not. Dario sat on the edge of his bed and stared out the large window, over the motel’s parking lot, and into the distance. Off to his right, the construction site flashed its orange lights, lit up despite the fact that the crew had quit for the night. They were putting in an entire subdivision, which included homes, a newer library, and a shopping center. Thirty years earlier, Crows Landing had been out in the backwoods, but now it was right on the cusp of civilization. Dario suspected that once it was finished, there wouldn’t anybody around with the credit to buy one of the shining new houses, and the whole thing would be laid to waste. But that wasn’t his problem. He just installed the glass. If he stared straight ahead, ignoring the orange lights, he saw fields upon fields. Endless miles of produce. Everything from lettuce to strawberries. They were at the far north end of American’s bread basket, and if Dario jumped in his truck and headed south along Interstate 5, he’d drive for hours before reaching an end to the produce. Most of the harvesting was done mechanically these days, but not all of it. Dario figured there were dozens of families like his, living on the edges of town, grouping together for company and safety, meeting up with old friends and making some new ones, ignoring the pain in their backs and their legs, the blisters on their fingers, making plans for the next move. Because that was always looming over them. Where would they go when the work was done and the money would dry up? Where would they find the next job? Dario always had another silent question to add to that—when would they be able to stop? He had been sixteen in 1979, and ready to break away from the only life he had ever known. He didn’t have any proper schooling, though his mother had taught him how to read and count. He had never known any life except that of an itinerant worker. He had been stuck, tired, frustrated, confused, and most of all, afraid. Afraid that he would never be able to break free of his parents. Afraid of what might happen if he did successfully leave them behind for his own life. Everywhere he looked, literally every direction he turned, Dario saw the same thing. Rows and rows and rows of fruit to be plucked, weighed, and processed. Except for the day he had looked up and seen Billy Ray Waters instead. Reverend Waters had specifically moved to Crows Landing to minister to the constant wave of itinerants. That was where he had made his home, though he traveled up and down the interstate, going wherever he was needed the most. He had a pretty regular schedule that brought him back to Crows Landing twice a week, though. And he always had his son, Billy Ray, in tow. He was two years older than Dario, and planned to become a reverend himself. That was why he traveled with his father in their old, black Chevrolet. When Dario closed his eyes, he could still hear the low, deep rumble of that truck, bouncing its way down the dirt road, sending up clouds of dust, and painting the air red. Reverend Waters always came in the late afternoon, after finishing up his sermon in town, a black hat pulled low over his eyes, shielding his face from the sun. Billy Ray didn’t wear a hat. Dario supposed he had always been a little bit in awe of Billy Ray. For one thing, he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Billy Ray always wore clean clothes and kept his face and hands scrubbed free of dirt. He kept his white hair cut short, and it reminded Dario of the thread his mother kept to patch up their clothes. His clothes always fit him properly, like he wasn’t wearing somebody else’s castoffs. His face was full, his chest and shoulders broad, his skin a healthy pink. Dario hadn’t known how much a minister was paid, but whatever money Reverend Waters made, it was clearly enough to let him take care of his boy. All Dario knew was that in the hours they spent together, he didn’t feel like he was being crushed. He could breathe without an invisible weight sitting over his lungs. He could smile because he forgot his fears of the future. He had known what it felt like to be happy, and more than that, he had been given a small taste of freedom. He had spent the last thirty years trying to taste that freedom again. He never could find it, but maybe if he could track down Billy Ray, he’d have a chance. Dario wasn’t discouraged that the other man wasn’t in Crows Landing. He had visited many temporary towns, met many people, traveled many miles. Dario wasn’t going to give up until he had checked every one of those towns and backtracked over every one of those miles. Dario fell asleep with Billy Ray at the front of his mind. His dreams were drenched in beer, soaked in memories, and brightest when he saw Billy Ray’s sky-blue eyes.