Free Hearts Left Behind by Derek Rempfer Page A

two hours that followed, Charlie and I made like we were best friends once
again.  After all the talk of Katie and Slim Jim, we returned to the
comforts of remember when and whatever
happened to so and so .  We
laughed and slapped each other on the shoulders, but Katie Cooper was walking
around in the back of my mind the entire time.  Charlie and I closed
Mustang’s down that night and as I walked home in my drunken stupor, I felt
heavy.  Heavier than the alcohol.   Heavy like that secret that Charlie had hung around my neck.  
If Slim Jim didn’t kill Katie, who did?  And what would have led someone
to pay for his burial if not the gnawing guilt of a killer’s conscious?
    Still echoing through some back corner of my mind was
another question.  The question that Swinging Girl had
asked me that very first day in the park.   What are you doing here?   I was starting to think the answer to that
question was much different than I had originally thought.  Like this trip
wasn’t about Ethan at all.  Like it was about Katie
Cooper.
     
    I’m on my way to moving on, but the moving on comes
slow
    And I can’t get past the gettin '
past cause the gettin ' past
won’t go
    I’m just walking down this old dirt path that keeps
on circlin ’ round
    And when I take two steps forward
only one foot hits the ground.
     
    One foot walks with Satan and one walks with the Son
    And I’m right there in between holding hands with
either one
    One may walk on fire and flame or one may walk on
cloud
    But wherever I may be walkin ’
it’s with one foot on the ground.
     
    I’ve got a heart that flies with angels and a soul
that bears the load
    Of a mind that keeps me human, keeps me reaping
what I have sowed
    I’ve got an angel-scar on my left leg and he steps
in silent sound
    But wherever he may take me, I keep that right foot
on the ground.
     
    One foot walks with sinners and one foot walks with
saints
    And while one foot walks the skies above, one’s
tied down with chains
    My angel-scar he guides me, keeps me moving
Heaven-bound
    But his wings will never lift me while this right
foot’s on the ground.
 
     
    Over the first five years of my life, we lived in
Willow Grove, West Plainfield, New Jersey, Piqua, Ohio, and then Willow Grove
again.  It was always my dad’s job that led us to move.  I’m just
glad that it ultimately led us back to Willow Grove. 
    When we came back to Willow Grove in ‘74, we moved
into the home that Grandpa and Grandma Gaines had lived in for years, the house
in which they had raised their own children.  But Grandpa and Grandma had
no need for a house this size anymore.  So they
sold it to Mom and Dad and moved into a small two-bedroom ranch just a few
blocks away. 
    Memories of those early days when we first moved back
to Willow Grove are spotty.  The house was always smoky and crowded with
family.  Hairy-faced men drinking Budweiser or Old Style
and laughing too hard at themselves.   Women who - whether cooking
or not - were usually in the kitchen.  And whether it was Winstons , Marlboros, or Camels, everyone smoked.
    When I was eight ,
Mom and Dad divorced.  Mom remarried several years later and we all moved
into Larry’s house.  She and Larry used the Willow Grove house as rental
property for a couple years, until a bad tenant soured them on the landlord and
lady life and they decided to sell the house outright.  If the notion of
strangers renting and living in the House of Gaines had been an unsettling
feeling for my grandparents, the thought of actually selling this place and
forfeiting all rights of ownership was simply unthinkable.  So they ended
up buying it back. 
    At one point in history, the village of Willow Grove
was the largest town in all of Glidden County.  It boasted two hardware
stores, two saloons, an apothecary, a lumberyard, and a half-mile horse track
on the southern outskirts of town.  Then “The Great Willow Grove Fire”
burned the town back to