The Last House on the Street(58)

He nods. “A very long time ago, yes. There was a dirt road back then … Hockley Street itself was a dirt road … but this was more of a skinny, muddy trail, just wide enough for a single vehicle to get down. And it led all the way from the end of Hockley Street through where this house is now and back to that clearing. And it became—”

“When was this? I mean, like, what years?”

“When I was a young man. The sixties. The Klan was active then because of all the civil rights legislation. The Civil Rights Act, the Voting Rights Act, et cetera. The Klan would have big rallies in much bigger venues than your little circle in the woods, but some of the local Klavern held secret meetings there. Here.” He points toward the rear of my house. “At the end of Hockley Street.”

“But Daddy,” I say, still perplexed as to why this would disturb him decades later. “That’s ancient history. Yes, it’s creepy. But someone could find fault with any place we chose to build. Don’t you think?”

He nods. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that I was … so aware of this. I mean, I knew some of those Klansmen.”

“You knew them? Like, as friends?”

“It wasn’t the way you think of the Klan today. Back then, a lot of otherwise upstanding people in town belonged. I guess I felt like, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t want that sort of history in the backyard where my kids were going to play.”

“Well, that’s—” I hunt for a word. “—unsavory, I guess,” I say. “But it’s not like they lynched anybody back there, right?”

He doesn’t answer as quickly as I would have liked. “Right,” he says finally.

“They didn’t, did they?” I ask, thinking of those eerie animal screams I’d hear at night.

“No honey,” he says. “No one was lynched in your backyard.”

“If that’s what you were worried about, why didn’t you just tell us?” I ask. “Let us decide if it bothered us enough that we didn’t want to build here?”

He looks at the ceiling. “In retrospect, that’s what I should have done,” he says.

“That wouldn’t have stopped us.” Actually, I think it might have, but it’s too late now. “But on another note, Daddy, here’s my bigger question.” I kick off my sandals and tuck my legs under me on the sectional. “I practiced yoga with Ellie Hockley today and I learned that you and she were once an item.”

His eyes widen. “She told you that?” he asks.

“Not directly. Her friend came over. Brenda. She told me.”

“Brenda was there?” he asks. “That surprises me. She and Ellie had some sort of falling-out decades ago, after her husband died.”

“Garner,” I say. “Brenda said you were good friends with him and he died in a fall. Sort of like Jackson.”

He lets out his breath as though he’d been holding it in. Sets his wineglass on the side table. “Garner. Yeah,” he says. “We were good friends back then. It was awful. Brenda lost her baby. I tried to comfort her after it happened, but she withdrew from everyone. I almost never see her around town; she became sort of reclusive, I guess.”

“And what was with you and Ellie?”

“What did she say?”

“Ellie said nothing, but Brenda said you were a couple.”

“We were very young. It was all … you know, typical. She was my first serious girlfriend. We started dating my senior year of high school. She was a couple of years behind me. We doubled a lot with Garner and Brenda. We’d go to dances. She loved to dance.” For a moment he looks lost in memory and he nearly smiles, but not quite. “Then we eventually went to different colleges, had different experiences, and drifted apart,” he says. “Garner and I went to ECU in Greenville. Brenda and Ellie went to UNC. Brenda and Garner dropped out to get married. Ellie dropped out and moved to California.”

“Who broke up with whom?” I ask.

He looks away again. I’m not used to my father’s discomfort when he talks to me. “I don’t remember the specifics, it was so long ago.” He lets out a long sigh. I think I’m tiring him. “She got involved with a political group called SCOPE. It was the sixties, you know? Everything was about civil rights back then. She met someone there. Fell in love with him and that was that. I was … hurt.” He gives me an embarrassed smile. “Jealous and angry. We were all very young,” he says again. “That’s when she moved to California. She lost touch with everyone, as far as I know.”

I can easily picture the Ellie I was with today being a radical in her youth. “Were you hippies?” I grin. I doubt it. I’ve seen pictures of my father during his college years. His hair was never much longer than his collar.

“We broke up before the hippies really came along.” He shuts his eyes for a moment. I am tiring him. “You know, honey, it was a long time ago. We were kids. It’s hard for you to imagine what the times were like. Vietnam. Assassinations left and right. Racial problems. A President Obama would have been unthinkable back then. I don’t like to go back there in my memory, and I’m betting Ellie doesn’t like to either.”

I get up. Walk over and lean down to hug him. “I love you,” I say. “And I’m sorry if I brought up bad memories. You don’t have to worry. I’m done badgering you for tonight.”