Fiction
Forbidden Love Part 8
A Sunny Alexander-Johnson and Henry James Series By P.G. & Sharon Barnett
My name is Sunny Alexander-Johnson, and I’m Henry James, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth Magazine.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
After making ourselves comfortable in Joe Bob Buchanan’s cabin, and following his offer of some sweet tea, we quickly dispensed with the small talk and got down to business.
“Mr. Buchanan…”
“Please ma’am, J.B.”
“Right. J.B. I’m going to show you a photo, and we need you to tell us if you recognize anyone. Here you go. Do you need me to make it larger?”
“Yes, ma’am. The eyes ain’t what they used to be. Even with these glasses, I sometimes have to use a magnifier.”
We waited as the man eyed the photo, pursed his lips, and then frowned.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I ain’t never seen this before, but I recognize my daughter. Don’t know the others, though.”
“Could you point out your daughter to us, J.B.?”
The man leaned forward and turned the face of the phone around his finger pointing to Ginney Buchanan.
“That’s her right there. Don’t know why you’re asking, though. Where’d you two get this, Mr. James?”
“One of the people in that photograph gave it to us. When was the last time you spoke to Ginney, J.B.?”
“Uh, about a week ago. She wanted to know if the cabin would be available for the next couple of weeks. She always stays here when I ain’t got it rented out. Is Ginney in trouble? Are you two with the police?”
“No sir, nothing like that. We’re just helping a friend find somebody. Somebody who went missing a long time ago. We thought maybe Ginney could help us out.”
“Sunny, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I may be a bit slow, but I ain’t that stupid. I’m guessing it’s somebody in this photo is the one who’s missing, right?”
“Yes sir, but we’re not at liberty to discuss it at the moment. You said Ginny always stays here when you don’t have the place rented out?”
“Yeap, she comes in and usually spends a week or two. Been doing it for years. I suppose it’s her favorite place in the whole world, a place where she can come to forget about all those things.”
“All what things, J.B.?”
The man shifted in his chair as if he suddenly realized he’d said something he was probably going to regret. After all these years of interviewing people, we knew that the first one who spoke during an awkward moment, such as this, usually lost the conversation battle.
Seconds turned into a full minute of silence and then J.B. shook his head and gazed intently at the photo of the phone he still held.
“Ya know, she had such a rough time of it in her early years. Her momma and I got married when she was twelve years old. She hardly knew her dad. He died right after she was born, and it was just her and her momma for so long. They were all they had. We thought it would work.”
J.B. hesitated, his expression, a tortured look as if a particular memory was almost more than he could bear.
“What would work, J.B.?”
“The marriage between Ginney’s mother and me. It was okay for a spell, but then I got to feeling like I was a third wheel in the relationship.”
“How so?”
“Well, Ms. Sunny, let’s just say Ginney, and her mom were close, a little bit too close if you ask me.”
“Uh, what do you mean by too close?”
“I mean they was always playing dress-up together, holding hands all the time, they’d even kiss each other on the lips when they thought I wasn’t looking. When I asked her momma about it, she’d get furious and tell me Ginney was her baby girl, and she had a right to raise her how she saw fit. It was like the woman had some kind of spell on the girl. Ever time I tried to intervene, her mother would turn on me. By the time Ginney reached fourteen, I’d had about enough of it. I told her momma she had two choices. She and Ginney could either get counseling or she could leave.”
“Let me guess. She and Ginney left.”
“Yeap, Mr. James. That’s exactly what happened. A year later is when I got the call.”
“The call?”
“Yeah, it was from Child Protective Services in Denver, Colorado. It seems as if somehow Ginney and her mother had been involved in a squabble that turned deadly. The police ruled it accidental. Evidently, Ginney and her mother had a spat, and her momma slapped her. Ginney shoved her mother away, and her mom slipped and hit her head on the edge of the bathtub. It killed her instantly.”
“Oh, man.”
“You got that right, Henry. There was no place for Ginney to go, so CPS contacted me and asked if I was willing to take her in. I said, of course. I had just remarried at the time, and the wife and I were willing to make a home for Ginney. Hell, I even adopted her. And the missus and I made sure Ginney had plenty of psychiatric therapy too. Something like what happened to her ya don’t get over that easy. I mean, we paid through the nose, but after two years, it seemed she was going to be okay. She was eighteen when that photo was taken. It was her first responsible job. She used to talk about all the friends she made at Saint Iglesias and all the girlfriends she had.”
“So, what’s Ginney doing now?”
“Ah, she’s some big wheel corporate executive for a textile company. Travels all the time. Hell, about ten years ago she took off for Barcelona Spain. Spent three years there, and right after that another two in Berlin, Germany. But when she’s got time, right here in this cabin is where she likes to be.”
“So, this is pretty much her home away from home, huh?”
“Sure is Sunny. Every time I know she’s coming, I make sure the place is in tip-top shape. You know, a couple of repairs here and there. Spruce up the insides with fresh coats of paint.”
“How long have you been tending to this cabin J.B.?”
“Oh hell Henry, it’s been morein’ thirty years. It may not look like much, but I make a fair share of money during the holidays and the winter season. It’s close enough to Lake Travis without being too close to all the tourists, and well, let’s just say all the people residing in Garrett are pretty quiet most of the time. Well, hell, all of the time.”
J.B. chuckled at his own joke and winked at us.
“So how often does Ginney visit you during the year. Once maybe twice?”
“Shoot Sunny, I’d say morein’ that. In fact, I keep records of all the times the place is rented out and for how long. It’s safe to say when it ain’t rented out, Ginney was here.”
“You wouldn’t, by any chance, have those records handy, do you?”
“Well yeah, I do. As a matter of fact, I keep the rental registry right over there in that credenza. Why?”
“Oh I don’t know, I’m just curious as to how many times Ginney had the opportunity to get some rest and relaxation. I mean, with her job, the work’s got to be grueling. A person like that’s going to need to wind down big time.”
J.B. pushed out of his chair, stepped over to the credenza he’d just pointed out. After a few seconds of searching, he pulled out a sizeable leather-bound notebook.
“Make yourselves at home. Ya want some more sweet tea?”
“That’d be great, J.B.”
The second J.B. disappeared into the back area of the cabin where the kitchen was, we flipped through the registry, going back until the year two thousand and then forward until we reached the time entry we were looking for. December 19th through January 4th. Next to the date was a single word.
Vacant.
As quick as we could, we began to record all the times when the cabin was vacant, and as J.B. sat quietly and watched us, a perplexed expression on his face, we kept at it until reaching the last entry.
June 26th through July 15th, 2020 — Vacant.
“June 26th. That’s this weekend, isn’t it J.B.?”
“Sure is.”
“I suppose Ginney’s going to be coming into town?”
“She sure is. If ya’ll want to meet her, I’ll tell her y’all was asking about…”
“Naw, don’t do that. That’ll spoil the surprise J.B.”
“You sure, Henry?”
“Positive.”
“Henry, we need to go.”
We both returned our glasses of unfinished sweet tea to the table in front of us and stood up.
“J.B., you’ve been a big help. Remember not a word of this to Ginney. We’d like to be the ones to surprise her.”
“Sure enough. See you soon.”
“We’re pretty sure of that, J.B.”
Read On — Forbidden Love Part 9
Let’s keep in touch: P.G. & Sharon Barnett ([email protected]) © P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
