Where Robins Sing

By R. L. Malone

Set in the small southern town of Granville, Tennessee in mid-1970’s through the mid-1980’s, Where Robins Sing is the story of how small-town football hero Trevor Daniels and the gorgeous but wild and outspoken Darcy Wood, who has just moved to town from a big city up north with her mother, meet during their senior year in high school and fall in love. Written in the tradition of The Bridges of Madison County and The Notebook, the story is told in first person.

Trevor is the clean-cut, high school football hero who attends church regularly. Darcy is the very worldly outsider who routinely shocks the town’s residents with her irreverent and over-the-top antics. Despite their differences—or perhaps because of them—the two soon fall in love. After a roller coaster affair that has as many highs as lows, they ultimately decide to get married shortly after graduation. But through an unforgivable indiscretion, the wedding plans are dashed. With wounds that run deep, they both leave town after graduation, vowing never to return.

But as fate would have it, a decade later, they reunite and find the embers of love still burning. This time, however, it’s much more than puppy love. But although they’ve both matured in many ways—especially Darcy, who’s less the rebel—they must yet find a way to get beyond the hurts in their pasts and their current life challenges to truly find a deeper and lasting love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. L. Malone
• Release date: Apr 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9780984990610

R. L. Malone

While I wasn’t born and raised in a sleepy, little Southern town like Granville, the setting for Where Robins Sing, I was born and bred in the South, Memphis, Tennessee to be exact. However, the church my father pastored was located there in Lauderdale County, which is the general vicinity of the fictional town of Granville, Tennessee. So, the mannerisms, customs, speech patterns and Southern Baptist religiosity were all a part of what I witnessed and experienced as a boy. My play aunt and uncle actually lived in Ripley. In high school, I played trumpet in the marching band. After high school, I attended the University of Memphis—Memphis State University at the time—before transferring to Tennessee State University in Nashville, where I obtained a Bachelor of Science in English Literature. Afterwards, I studied at Rensselear Polytechnic Institute, where I earned a Master of Science in Technical Writing and wrote for the school newspaper. I currently call Fort Wort, Texas home where I make my living as a technical writer. In addition to writing fiction, I like reading good fiction, as well as ballroom dancing (Swing and Salsa), listening to jazz, creating music videos, watching film noir movies and occasionally mentoring youth. Some of my favorite writers are James Patterson, John Updike, John Grisham and Dean Koontz. The profile photo is that of dog who looks a lot like my beloved childhood dog, Rusty, who was a St. Bernard/Boxer mix. Lastly, I hope you enjoy my novel, Where Robins Sing!

Book preview

Prologue

The sobering knowledge that Darcy Wood was back home from New York and was dying weighed heavily on my mind that chilly March night, as my taxi took the downtown exit from the interstate heading to the Omaha Greyhound bus station. It had been only a couple of days ago that Momma had called to break the news to me. As I wrestled with the utterly tragic thought of someone so beautiful and uncommon dying so young, for some inexplicable reason, I began to think about the robins that had nested in the big oak tree outside my bedroom window when I was a little boy. Each morning, I’d look forward to their singing. I couldn't see them, being they were perched so high up in the tree, but I could sure hear them. Then, one day, I didn't hear them singing anymore. I asked Daddy why the robins quit singing and he told me that it wasn't that they'd quit singing. Rather, it was that they'd gone south for the winter, but they'd be back come spring. And sure enough, just like Daddy said, that spring they came back. And each spring after that. But one year they didn't return. I asked Daddy why and he said that they'd most likely found them a new home. But I shouldn't worry about them, he said, for wherever they were, they were singing, which meant they were happy. For some time after that, I wondered about those robins, where they went.

As the taxi neared the station, the illuminated trademark red, white and blue sign now visible, my thoughts returned to Darcy, and the many questions that begged for answers. Anyway, word had it that Darcy was really sick, Momma said. Perhaps, I’d want to call and offer my sympathies, she suggested. It’d also give me the opportunity to get closure. Let me explain. Darcy and I used to go together back in high school. You might say she was my first really serious girlfriend. We even got engaged. But because of what she did, we broke up. And, to be truthful, it took me a long time to really get over it. But I did, eventually. I moved on. But Momma never really believed that. Being like most mothers, she felt she really knew me. And, in her opinion, I was only fooling myself to believe that I’d completely really gotten over Darcy’s betrayal.

So, Momma naturally thought this would be not only a good time to extend my sympathies to her but to offer her my forgiveness for what she’d done, to sort of make my peace with her. Being a good Christian, Momma thought it was the right thing to do, making peace with a person. That’s what she meant by getting closure. Otherwise, if Darcy died, I’d have to live the rest of my life regretting that I never got closure. At least, that’s the way Momma saw it. Plus, according to Momma, Darcy had asked about me. Whether she’d asked to see me or not wasn’t clear. Nevertheless, maybe there was something she wanted to say to me, something she’d been wanting to say for a long time. And maybe it was what I’d been needing to hear all these years to finally put to rest that chapter of my life.

At first, I was simply going to call her, like Momma suggested. But a phone call seemed so awkward after all these years. Maybe I just needed to be able to look Darcy in the eye to put the whole past to rest. It wasn’t about putting her on any guilt trip or anything. If she was dying, like they said she was, she was already suffering enough. Plus, the trip home would give me a chance to see Momma and Daddy, something I didn’t get to do nearly as often as I would have liked. So, I made the decision to go home. Flying would've been the quickest, obviously, but I wanted some time to think, to reflect on things. So, I took the bus.

Being mostly Southern Baptists, a lot of people in Granville—and I’d have to include my parents among them, Momma even more so than Daddy—felt like for a young person to be stricken with some deadly disease, that it must have been some awful sin the person had committed to bring it on themselves. It was like it was a plague sent by God, Himself, just like back in the days of Sodom and Gomorra. That's what Reverend Arnold was always saying. Reverend Arnold was the pastor of the First Baptist Church of Granville, where my parents and I belonged. I guess you could say he was one of those fire and brimstone preachers, always talking about who was headed for hell and all. To hear Reverend Arnold tell it, practically everybody was going to hell, except for him, his wife, and a handful of church members.

Every Sunday he'd pick a particular sin to rail at. If it wasn't drinking, lying, or cussing, it'd be gossiping, or playing cards, or lusting after women. Fornicating, of course, was a real popular one, too. Oh, and another one he liked was dancing. But whatever the sin was that Reverend Arnold chose to preach about, more often than not, you’d generally feel worse when you left church than when you got there, the way he’d beat you over the head with the bible. I can still hear his rantings now.

'The bible say in the last days there'd be signs and wonders. That's all these here diseases is, saints of God. Glory be! Nothing but a sign that any day now he coming back for his church, without a spot or blemish, riding in on a bright cloud of glory. Hallelujah! He gon' cast the sinner down into the pit of hell where he belong, there with the devil and his angels. Hallelujah! That's what he gon' do. Praise the Lawd!’

By this time, Reverend Arnold would be screeching at the top of his lungs. Yes, a lot of people in Granville believed what the Reverend was saying, about it being some kind of a sin when a young person came down with a deadly disease. If I'd remained in Granville, not gone away to college, I'd probably be just like them in the way I thought. They were good people, the folks in Granville. It's just that they didn't know any better.

The taxi turned into the bus station and fell in line behind other taxis dispatching and picking up passengers. A thin black man with an unruly beard, wearing a green woolen army coat, high-top sneakers, and a tattered scarf around his neck hustled bags for arriving passengers. A woman with several pieces of luggage enlisted his services.

This is fine, I said to the driver. I can get out here.

Sure. He threw the taxi into park and clicked off the meter. The readout glowed $8.60 in the darkened interior. I handed the man a ten from the back seat and told him to keep the change. Grabbing my bag, I opened the door and stepped out. A brisk wind sent a sharp shiver through me. Pulling the top flap of my leather bomber jacket closed, I started for the entrance. The snow made a crunching sound under my boots. The thin man hustling bags emerged from the station, heading my way.

Help you with your bag, man?

I’m okay, I said, waving him off as I continued into the station. He quickly pounced on another arriving passenger to peddle his services.

Just inside the door, a blanket of warm air greeted me, a welcomed respite from the cold outside. Two little boys with runny noses, laughing and giggling, played chase, weaving in and out of the bank of black vinyl chairs equipped with little coin-operated TVs. A group of travelers just arriving through one of the gates greeted friends and loved ones who awaited them. Others headed for the small cafe. I checked my watch. It was 10:35 pm. My bus would not be departing for another half hour. I found a seat in the waiting area. Across from me, a young man in baggy pants with tattooed arms stretched out asleep over several of the hard orange plastic seats, a duffel bag serving as his pillow. Intermittently, the air crackled with announcements over the PA system of arriving and departing buses. I picked up a newspaper from the chair next to me to pass the time.

Schedule 216 arriving on track 6, bound for St. Louis, now available for boarding at Gate 12, the PA system blared. Please have your ticket out for the driver at the door. With my bag in hand, I headed for the gate.

Just outside the door, the Greyhound idled, its big diesel engine throbbing incessantly, as it breathed puffs of bluish fumes into the frigid night air. Periodically, the air brakes discharged their pressure, making a huge hissing sound. After waiting my turn to have my bag stowed by one of the baggage handlers, I climbed aboard. Making my way down the aisle, I found a window seat just beyond the middle row. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I thought, I’d be spared the hassle of having to sit close to a crying baby. It’d been quite some time since I’d last taken a trip on a bus. But there were two things I remembered to try to avoid, if possible—sitting across from the restroom and sitting near a crying baby. Either one could make a long trip even longer. And this was going to be a long trip.

Is this seat taken? I looked up to see a pleasant-looking woman, early fifties, a colorful scarf adorning her head and sporting a pair of fashionable big-framed eyeglasses.

No, I said. It’s open.

Good, she said, dropping one of her carry-ons in the seat, as she went to place another in the storage area overhead.

Where’re you headed? she asked, picking up the bag and plopping down in the seat.

Tennessee.

Where about in Tennessee?

A little town called Granville, I said. You’ve probably never heard of it.

No, can’t say I have, she said, stuffing the bag underneath the seat in front of her. But I’ve got some relatives in a town called Murfreesboro, which is right outside Nashville.

Yeah, I’ve heard of Murfreesboro, I said.

Bowling Green, Kentucky’s my destination, she said. By the way, I’m Clorice Tanner. She reached over to shake my hand.

Hi. I’m Trevor Daniels.

Nice to meet you.

Same here.

With all the passengers now seated, the bus driver climbed aboard, shut the doors and began slowly backing the bus away from the station.

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, the driver’s voice came over the PA system. Welcome to schedule 216 departing for St. Louis, Missouri, with connections from there. My name is Garrett Montgomery and I’m going to be your operator. Let me share a few housekeeping things with you. Federal regulations prohibit smoking and the consumption of alcoholic beverages. All portable listening devices must be used with headphones. I invite you now to sit back and relax.

Is Granville your home? Clorice asked.

Yeah, it is, I said. "And what’s the purpose of your trip, business or pleasure?"

Pleasure, she said. Going to spend some time with my sister and her family. So, get a little homesick, did you?

I told Clorice all about the phone call from Momma about Darcy and the fact that Darcy had at one time been someone special to me. I explained to her my reasons for going back, that Darcy was dying.

I hear what you’re saying, about why you’re going back to see Darcy, Clorice said, upon hearing my story. But can I be direct with you, Trevor?

Sure. She shifted in her seat to look directly at me.

Well, Trevor, I have to wonder if you’re really being honest with yourself, when you say your romantic feelings for Darcy are totally in the past. Let me explain why I say that. When you just talked about Darcy, you let off certain vibes that contradicted your words. Maybe it’s that sixth sense or intuition women are supposed to have. But from those vibes, I’m thinking to myself, this guy’s still in love with this girl and he doesn’t even know it. She let out a little laugh, as she patted me lightly on the arm. I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds by saying that.

No, it’s okay, I replied, trying to mask the slight discomfort I felt over what she’d just said. "I’ve come to realize that women often do have that certain intuition that men don’t have about things like this. But I still maintain that I got over Darcy a long time ago. I mean, after what happened between us, I don’t even think it’s possible I could still feel about her that way. I’ve had relationships since then. Maybe it’s just that I care about Darcy as a person."

Okay. Whatever you say, Clorice said, smiling. I just hope you can succeed at convincing yourself of it.

There’s that intuition thing, again, huh? I said.

I’m gonna stop, Clorice said, with a chuckle. If you say it’s over between you and Darcy, then I’ll accept that as your final answer.

This is like that quiz show on TV, I said. What’s it called?

Jeopardy.

"Yeah. So, that is my final answer." We both smiled.

I stifled a yawn. The exhaustion from the long day was finally beginning to catch up to me. To make sure the work that I was handing off to the rest of the buyers on my team was in order, I had put in a grueling 12-hour day, working straight through lunch. It had been close to 8 o’clock by the time I’d left the office, just time enough to rush home, shower and pack. A family situation at home was what I’d told Megan when I requested the time off that morning in her office. Just take care and take as long as you need was all she’d said. She hadn’t pressed for any more on what the situation was or exactly how long I’d need to be gone. And I was grateful to her for it. Although there was nothing I felt I needed to hide about why I was really going home, it was something I preferred to keep to myself at that point. Megan didn’t believe in prying into her employees’ personal lives, as long as their personal lives didn’t affect what they did at work. Of all the managers I’d worked for during my six years there at DH&W Electronics, she was probably the one I had the most respect for. She was sharp and, while she could be tough at times, she was always fair.

Gazing out the window, my thoughts shifted to what Clorice had said about my denying any romantic feelings toward Darcy. Was she right, that I was simply in denial about my true feelings for wanting to see Darcy, that I was indeed still in love with her after all these years? Was I simply fooling myself? And if I was so certain about it, why was I now second-guessing myself? But as the Greyhound pushed beyond the Omaha city limits, the darkened dreary stretches of snow-covered farmland passing outside my window, all I really cared about at the moment was the fact that Darcy was dying and, for whatever reason, I needed to see her. I’d have plenty of time to sort it all out in my mind.

The steady hum of the engine blending with the whine of the bus tires speeding over the icy highway soon lulled me to sleep.

Part One

Chapter 1

I awoke with the early morning sun streaming into my face. Shielding my eyes from its blinding rays, I pulled the curtain shut across the window. During the night, I’d been vaguely aware of several brief stops we had made. I glanced over at Clorice. She was reading a paperback and munching on a pear. Some of the other passengers were beginning to stir, while others appeared to be still fast asleep.

Good morning, Clorice said, looking up from her book.

Morning. What time is it? I said, checking my watch.

Oh, just a little after six. I let out a yawn and stretched.

Man, you were out like a light, Clorice said. You must have been pretty beat.

Yeah, I guess I was. By the way, where are we? I asked, peering out through the curtains.

According to the driver, we should be coming into St. Louis pretty soon now, she said.

That’s gonna be our breakfast stop, I believe.

Good, I said, wiping the sleep from my eyes. I'm practically starved.

Have a piece of fruit, Clorice said, unzipping her lunch bag, and offering it to me. It was filled with fruit.

Thanks, I said, reaching for an apple.

Maybe that’ll hold you ‘til we can get breakfast, she said, as I bit into the apple. We made a couple of brief stops during the night. I thought of waking you to see if you wanted to get something to eat, but you seemed pretty out of it.

Yeah, I haven’t had a heck of a lot of sleep in the last 24 hours, I said, as another yawn issued up from inside me.

Did you dream about her last night? Clorice asked, playfully.

You mean Darcy? I said

Yeah.

Well, to tell you the truth, I don't remember if I did or not, I said. "What I do know is that I dreamed an awful lot about somebody’s daughter." We both smiled.

I don’t mean to pry, but was Darcy your first real girlfriend?

Not really, I explained. I’d had other girlfriends, but she was the first really serious one. With the girlfriends I’d had up to that point, it’d been more of a casual kind of thing. It never really got that serious. But with Darcy it was different.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, the bus operator began. We’ll be coming into St. Louis, Missouri momentarily. Remember to take all your carry-on items with you when you deboard, as you will be transferring to another bus here in St. Louis as you continue your trip, if St. Louis is not, in fact, your final destination. In any event, it’s been my pleasure being your operator on Schedule 216 from Omaha, Nebraska. And, as always, thank you for going Greyhound.

When the bus pulled into the St. Louis station, Clorice and I collected our things and exited with the others passengers.

According to my ticket, the bus I’m going to be continuing on is Schedule 192, bound for Memphis, Clorice said, checking her itinerary. How about you? I removed my ticket from the inside pocket of my coat.

Looks like I’m on that bus, too, I said. Schedule 192, departing at 8 am.

Well, that gives us a little over an hour and a half layover, Clorice said.

Over breakfast I began telling Clorice all about me and Darcy. It really wasn’t that difficult, because, like I said, Darcy was my first really serious girlfriend. And even though a lot had happened during those eleven years since high school, Darcy, for some reason, always kept popping up in the back of my mind. There’s nothing I wanted more than just to forget about her, forget I’d ever even met her. But my mind would never allow it. The memories simply refused to dissipate. The time I came home for Thanksgiving my first year away in college was by far the hardest. It seemed that Darcy was everywhere, though she hadn’t returned to Granville. But with each passing year, my visits home became less and less difficult. It even got to the point where part of me even hoped I’d run into Darcy, so I could confront her over what she’d done. I even drove by her mother’s house a couple of times, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But she never came back during the holidays, at least not as far as I ever knew. After a while, the remembrances of Darcy and the hurt she’d caused seemed to fade away. No longer did the memory of her haunt me when I returned home. It was like she was dead.

Then, two or three years ago, one summer, Momma told me she was coming out of Pete's sundry and across the road, sitting in this long, shiny, red Cadillac convertible with New York plates was Darcy. Some fancy-looking guy, who she was obviously with, was filling the car with gas. Darcy was all decked out, like a movie star or something, Momma said. It was the talk of the town for weeks, Darcy Wood coming back to Granville with her big-city boyfriend. But that was the only time anybody in Granville ever saw Darcy, once she went away after high school.

Darcy was the kind of person that, once you met her, you never forgot her, whether you loved her or hated her. And to tell the truth, Darcy really didn't care which. She once told me that when she started caring what other people thought about her, it was time for her to pack it all in, whatever that meant. One thing's for sure, though. Granville had never seen anyone quite like her before. Darcy was a free-spirit if ever there was one.

Anyway, since the best place to begin most stories is at the very beginning, that’s exactly where I started. As I explained to Clorice, I remember the very first time I saw Darcy. I remember it just as clearly as if it had happened only yesterday. It was right at the beginning of my senior year of high school, during lunch time, the first day back after the long summer recess. I was hanging around outside the cafeteria shooting the breeze with my pals Bear, Simp, and Darnell. The four of us have all known each other since we were little. And, except for Darnell, we all played on the football team. Darnell was more the bookish type, not really into sports that much.

Bear, whose real name was Monroe, was an offensive tackle and a real crazy kind of guy, always the life of the party. Built like a bear, which is how he got his nickname, Bear anchored the right side of our offensive line. Simp was a safety. And even though he wasn’t much to speak of in the size department, weighing in at most at about a buck forty soaking wet, he was fast as greased lightning and could hit his ass off. Me, I played wide receiver. I suppose you could say I was one of the stars on the team—not that I thought of myself that way or anything, mind you. Still, everyone was counting on me to have a really good year to help get us into the State Championship again. I'd already set some school records and a lot of people said I had the size, the speed and the hands to go all the way to the pros. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. I can’t say I didn’t dream about one day playing in the NFL. But the main thing for both me and my folks was just for me to get a football scholarship so I could go to college.

Anyway, the four of us, we were just standing there jacking around, checking out the girls passing by, when this new girl comes sashaying by with Cindy and Rochelle. Now Cindy and Rochelle, who were both cheerleaders, were without a doubt two of the better-looking girls at Granville High. But this other girl was such a knockout that you almost didn't even notice them. And she was tall, too, something that made her stand out even more. But she was no bean pole like the women you see in those fashion magazines. This girl had curves, the kind of curves that easily filled out her knit blouse and denim jeans. A strawberry blonde, her permed locks falling below her shoulders, she had milky white skin almost like alabaster. And her face—those high cheek bones and pouting lips—was one simply to die for. And when she walked, it was almost like she dared you not to notice her, all cool and confident. The fact that she was smoking a cigarette, which happened to be against school policy, made her look even more sexy.

Unable to contain himself at the sight of the girl, Bear called out to her.

Hey, baby! Look at that, man, Bear clamored, nudging me in the side with his elbow. Bear liked to nudge you in the side with his elbows. It always bugged the living daylights out of me when he did it. I'd like to play a little tackle football with that one. Hey, sugar! Man, check it out. That ain't nothing but a stallion there! Swing them hips, girl! Stallion, filly—it was all the same to Bear when it came to girls.

The girl, who had been trying her best to ignore Bear, suddenly stopped, turned and started over towards us, with Bear in her sights all the way.

Uh-oh! Darnell said. Here she comes, Bear!

Bear, who'd been leaning back against the fence like the rest of us, chewing on crushed ice from a cup, snapped to attention. Stopping arms length in front of Bear, she took a draw on her cigarette, sucking the smoke deep into her lungs, before slowly letting it out. Dropping the cigarette to the pavement, she casually put it out with the toe of her shoe. She did all this while never taking her eyes off Bear. Then sweeping tussles of her hair back from her face, while still not uttering a single word, she reached out for the cup of ice Bear was holding.

Oh, you want some of this ice, honey? Bear asked. She nodded yes, pursing her lips real sexy like. Bear eagerly handed it to her. Here, take all you want. Taking the cup of ice, she ran it across her cheek real slow-like. She then leaned in close to Bear, real close, thrusting her chest out as she did, like she was about to kiss him. Bear was beaming from ear to ear, unable to believe his apparent good fortune at what was about to happen. I don’t know why, but I could see it coming. Just like that, in one quick motion, she reached down, pulled out the elastic waistband of Bear's warm-up pants, and rammed that cup of ice down the front, then turned and started away. Bear shuddered, let out a whimper, then sagged back against the fence. We were all laughing our heads off.

Man, that's the last time I offer a girl like that some ice, Bear said, grimacing, as he shook the ice out through his pants legs.

"I think she was trying to put