Free Buried Memories by Irene Pence Page A

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EIGHT
    At five in the morning, Betty called Jerry Kuykendall. It was the time he’d be expecting her to deliver her husband for his ride to work, as she had five mornings every week.
    When Kuykendall answered the phone, Betty said, “Wayne’s run off.”
    The man gasped. “Run off?”
    “Unh-huh. We had a little fight last night and he stomped out. Said he needed to buy some cigarettes, but I haven’t seen him since.”
    “This is so hard to believe,” Kuykendall said. “Guys like Wayne don’t just leave. I’ve got him in charge of a big crew we have going this morning. Talked to him just last night and he sounded fine. He even asked my boy to spend the night.”
    “Well he’s gone. It doesn’t make any sense to me either.”
    “Did he say where he was going? There must be some way I can get hold of him.”
    “I have no idea. If he knew where he’d be, he didn’t tell me.”
     
     
    Kuykendall pondered Wayne’s disappearance for three days. How could a man be such a contradiction—dependable at work and a flake at home?
    After finishing his third day of work without his best employee, he drove by the Barker home to see if he could learn any more about Wayne’s abrupt departure.
    Kuykendall remembered all the good times he and his wife had with Wayne and Betty—spending the day fishing, or going to McClain’s and eating fried catfish. He pulled up to the trailer and relief flooded through him when he saw Barker’s truck parked in the driveway. “Thank God,” he said as he turned into the driveway and pulled behind the truck.
    He strolled to the familiar porch, swathed in flowers, and rang the doorbell. But something about the blond woman who answered the door wasn’t familiar at all.
    “Sure glad Wayne’s changed his mind,” he said, nodding toward the truck.
    “What the hell you talking about?”
    “Well, obviously Wayne’s come back. You said he’d run off.”
    “He did leave,” Betty replied, acting more antagonistic than emotional over Wayne’s sudden departure. She secured the lock on the screen door.
    “I never heard of a man leaving without taking his truck,” Kuykendall said.
    Betty flashed him a hostile stare. She didn’t invite him in, nor did she appear interested in talking. “I’ve told you all I know. Wayne got mad and left. He hasn’t called me or anything since.”
    “Well, shoot. I sure need him back on the job. If you hear from him, please let him know his job’s waiting.”
    “All right,” Betty replied, almost shutting the door in Kuykendall’s face.
    He stood staring at the closed door knowing something was wrong. What happened to the friendly Betty who had spent so much time with him and his wife? Where was the woman who frequently invited his son to spend the night with Bobby, then fixed pancakes for the boys the next morning?
    As he went back to his car, he looked again at Wayne’s truck. A man just doesn’t leave his new pickup and go away willingly.
    Kuykendall was still questioning Wayne’s disappearance when Betty showed up the following Friday at his office to collect Wayne’s paycheck.
     
     
    Betty needed a man like people need air to breathe. Her job at the Cedar Club fulfilled that need perfectly, as it allowed her to meet dozens of men.
    Located on Seven Points’s Highway 274, the club could easily be found as the highway crossed the only intersection in town that had traffic lights. The wheels of customers’ cars had to crunch over a gravel parking lot that separated the club from the highway. Housed in a sterile-looking, concrete-block structure that had been painted numerous times, the club’s current color was gray. The window glass, also coated with gray paint, kept out sunshine and prying eyes.
    Inside the place, a customer had to take a moment for his eyes to adjust to the cave-dark interior. Once adapted, customers could see a U-shaped bar in the middle of the large room, with dozens of glasses hanging upside down from