Missing May: Part Two

I did not stay lost for long. Guidance came to me in the form of a greasy-haired lunatic, and now, desperate, I am passing him the torch, hoping he can lead us out of this infernal darkness, this place none of us can anymore call home.

The day after May failed to make her appearance, the day after Ob trudged miserably one way while I trudged miserably the other, was what they call in English class the denouement.

The day after May failed to make her appearance, the day after Ob trudged miserably one way while I trudged miserably the other, was what they call in English class the denouement.

Ob didn’t protest. He was humiliated, I knew, and wanted to be left alone.

That was about the only time in my life I didn’t put two and two together. And once I realized the writer had in fact been describing me—or what she saw when she looked at me—all I wanted was to be home, safe with
May and Ob, never to leave the haven of my own room again.

But right in the middle of my little speech on the virtues of Weed Eaters, Ob pushed away his half-eaten breakfast and gave me a long sad look.

“I don’t know that this old man is going to be of any use to you, Summer. I’m not doing so good since she passed on.” In a strange and unexpected way Ob’s saying this exhilarated me.

Cletus got this cocky little look on his face. “I’m training to be one of them,” he said with a big grin. “Deep Water needs itself some Renaissance Men.”

But I’ve got too much to lose if this Bat Lady turns out to be a hoax. If May decides not to fly along with us, if she doesn’t show up in Putnam County and say whatever it is Ob needs, for life, to hear, then I figure there’ll be no use us returning to our home in Deep Water. Because we will have waded out too far, out past the point of no return, too far to ever make it home again.

We used to get bats in the trailer. Nearly one a week when it was hibernating time.

But I was never afraid. I was being raised by one person who liked these creatures and another who tolerated them. I had no reason to fear bats, and as I grew and discovered how many people are deathly afraid of them, it made me wonder about fear. Whether it all just starts with the people who raise us.

Mrs. Underwood looked to be made of dried-out apples. She was small and tight and dry, just like her house, but with a shine that attracted me. She shook my hand, and her thin cool fingers felt like twigs that could be snapped in a minute. I had a pang of fear that she might die soon. I seemed destined to be surrounded by people on their way out.

Mrs. Underwood looked to be made of dried-out apples. She was small and tight and dry, just like her house, but with a shine that attracted me. She shook my hand, and her thin cool fingers felt like twigs that could be snapped in a minute. I had a pang of fear that she might die soon. I seemed destined to be surrounded by people on their way out.

Now, meeting these sweet people, I knew right away it wasn’t them Cletus was ashamed of. It was me. Ashamed of me and my indifference to him, afraid to let his parents see the way I barely tolerated their strange son. Ashamed of the difference between their adoration of him and my disgust.

Cletus had simply stared with his mouth hanging ever since Ob passed the “poor little thing” part. It was one of those rare occasions when he was too flabbergasted to speak.

I looked at Cletus to see if all this talk of illness and deterioration affected him the way it did me. But there was no fear or worry in his face. He looked perfectly serene. I couldn’t understand that kind of peace.

I looked at Cletus to see if all this talk of illness and deterioration affected him the way it did me. But there was no fear or worry in his face. He looked perfectly serene. I couldn’t understand that kind of peace.

Already I was thinking I ought to get Mr. Underwood into Fayetteville to a chiropractor and maybe there was some kind of medicine that might save Mrs. Underwood’s right eye.

“I’m sorry about your loss, dear. It’s so hard when the Lord takes a loved one away from us.”
Something caught in my throat all of a sudden, and I didn’t try to answer her. I was feeling way too vulnerable in the face of such tenderness. I couldn’t risk opening my mouth to speak of May.

Mr. Underwood said he had been a machinist in his day, holding up a hand with two fingers missing to prove it. I was afraid Ob might try to top this and start pulling down his pants to show where he’d been shot in the navy in World War II. Japanese shrapnel had got him in the thigh.

Those two people in that picture had been holding Cletus between them, frail as they were, ever since Cletus took his first breath. And Cletus just never expected them to let him fall.

When the signs on the turnpike started telling us we were coming to Charleston, Cletus became so fidgety that at first I thought we’d better find a filling station, and fast.

“It’s got to be the greatest thing,” he said, “to work in the West Virginia capitol every day.”
And for a second, right then, I had this strong image of Cletus someday doing that very thing. Of his being Fayette County’s elected representative to the legislature and driving over to Charleston to put his head together with other important heads and enact profound laws.

“It’s got to be the greatest thing,” he said, “to work in the West Virginia capitol every day.”
And for a second, right then, I had this strong image of Cletus someday doing that very thing. Of his being Fayette County’s elected representative to the legislature and driving over to Charleston to put his head together with other important heads and enact profound laws.

The capitol building sprawled gray concrete like a regal queen spreading out her petticoats, and its giant dome glittered pure gold in the morning sun.

“Don’t you folks worry,” he said. “Tomorrow when we come back this way, we’re going to stop and spend the whole day wandering that place. We’ll see us some historical documents and some genuine West Virginia artifacts. Then we’ll go have us some lunch with the senators and maybe even the governor himself in the capitol coffee shop...."

There was no sign outside the home advertising it as a church, but Ob said, getting out of the car, that it wasn’t the kind of religion people necessarily advertised. He said it wasn’t what you’d call Welcome Wagon material. And Cletus made some joke about the church not needing a sign anyway because everybody who was supposed to come most likely heard of it telepathically anyway.

“Passed on where?” Cletus asked the man like a fool.
Smiling kindly to the imbecile in our company, the chipmunk of a man (that’s the animal he favored) said, “She died, son. Last June. She’s passed on to the Spirit World.”
We three just stood there dumbfounded.

“Passed on where?” Cletus asked the man like a fool.
Smiling kindly to the imbecile in our company, the chipmunk of a man (that’s the animal he favored) said, “She died, son. Last June. She’s passed on to the Spirit World.”
We three just stood there dumbfounded.

We were trying to outwit Death on this trip, rise above it, penetrate the blockades it put up between us and May. We were coming to Putnam County to put Death in its place, and instead it had put us squarely back in ours.

We were trying to outwit Death on this trip, rise above it, penetrate the blockades it put up between us and May. We were coming to Putnam County to put Death in its place, and instead it had put us squarely back in ours.

“So who are you?” I asked brazenly, forgetting my manners. I had nothing left to lose anyway. I was mad at this chipmunk and ready to fight. Ready to squeeze that Bat Lady right out of him.

But after the feeble attempts of Cletus and me to deal with this house empty of its Small Medium at Large, he turned back. Turned back and in a quiet voice said to the man, “I was hoping she could help me contact my wife. I needed to talk to my wife.”

But Ob put up his hand and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “No. We were led here, and here my looking ends. I can’t go traipsing through the state like some old fool, searching out psychics. I’m not meant to do it and I won’t.”

Then tomorrow—after the Reverend Young would have connected Ob to May and everything was finally set right—tomorrow we were supposed to drive to the capitol. Spend the whole day there hobnobbing with the legislators.

In the capitol coffee shop we looked for signs of the governor, but I guess he was off somewhere else that day. So we just eavesdropped on the conversations of all the other men and women in their nice suits, people who had come downstairs from their big offices with leather chairs to have a cup of capitol coffee and relax.

There was a tranquility in me that felt all right, and as I remembered them all, my tears dried up and I fell asleep.

I came out of my room to find Cletus setting the table and telling Ob all about some article he’d read on people spontaneously combusting.

I said, “Good morning,” and they both grinned at me and said good morning back. Then we all three ate ourselves nearly to oblivion on the best eggs and bacon I ever tasted in my life.

He read: “‘What is the true mission of spirit messages? To bring us consolation in the sorrows of life....’”
Ob and I smiled at each other. And then a big wind came and set everything free.