The Wolf Wants In

by Laura McHugh

  People filtered into the diner, filling up a few of the booths. I recognized Brody Flynn, who worked dispatch at the police department, talking animatedly to the waitress as she made her way to our table. She paused to listen to him, clamping our check between her teeth as she pulled her ponytail tighter and adjusted her scrunchie. She sighed wearily as she approached our table and tucked the bill under the ketchup bottle.

  “You hear the latest?”

  “No.” Becca’s forehead furrowed in anticipation of bad news. We didn’t have to ask About what?

  “Brody said they found Roger Calhoun. What was left of him. ‘Skeletal remains,’ he said.”

  “Where’d they find him?”

  “Out in the woods, not too far from where they found Macey.”

  Acid burned my throat, the lingering sweetness of chocolate pie turning bitter as I thought of Hannah. She must know—surely they’d told her before they let the news get out. I wondered if this was the answer she would have chosen from the dwindling list of possibilities, each one wretched and heartbreaking—if it was better for Roger to be dead than alive.

  “Murder-suicide,” the waitress said. “Isn’t that what you call it? Can you imagine? Why couldn’t he have just shot himself, spared the little girl?”

  “Pure spite,” one of the Christmas-sweater ladies behind us piped. “Wanted to punish the mother—take her baby, leave her alive. Worse than killing her. She probably wishes she was dead.”

  “Or, maybe she did it.” The voice was soft and musical, belonging to a bird-boned woman in a sequined sweatshirt that read JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON. “Hannah. Killed ’em both and made it look like the husband. Probably wanted to get ’em out of her hair so she could go back to partying.”

  “What?” Becca looked horrified.

  “She’s a junkie,” the woman said. “Left her daughter with the grandparents while she was out doing drugs. Bill and Martha go to my church, poor souls. They’re sorry they ever let Macey go back to her mother. Don’t trust her one bit. Won’t let her in their house.”

  “Huh.” The waitress tilted her head, considering. “I did hear she was out at the Barred Owl riding the mechanical bull a while back, like nothing was wrong. While Macey was missing.”

  “It’s not right,” the woman said. “She didn’t deserve to be a mother.”

  “You don’t know anything about it,” I snapped. The sweater ladies swiveled toward us and gawked. “About her. You don’t even know what happened.”

  “And you do?” the woman in the Jesus shirt asked, her eyes magnified behind bifocals.

  Becca touched my arm, and I didn’t say anything. Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then the waitress sauntered back toward the counter. The sweater ladies turned around and resumed chattering among themselves. It wasn’t lost on me that Hannah was being judged the same as I’d judged Crystle. The proper way for a wife or mother to grieve. The correct behavior to exhibit when someone you love is gone and you have to keep on living. How should the guilty behave, and the innocent, so you could tell them apart? What about the rest of us, those grieving outside the spotlight?

  I took out my phone and texted Hannah. I’m so sorry. Three little dots popped up in the bubble, as though she was writing back. They hovered there, disappearing and reappearing, once, twice, three times, and then they were gone.

  Labor Day weekend was always spent on the water. Her uncles had kept an old camper at their spot down by the river for as long as Henley could remember, and it had survived floods, rodent infestations, and the general abuse of scores of Pettit cousins. The long strip of pebbled shoreline was reshaped each season by crests and currents, the water cool and golden green in the meandering shallows. A circle of driftwood logs and folding chairs was arranged around a blackened firepit, and a clothesline hung between two trees, sagging beneath the weight of drying towels. A long-gone girlfriend of presently incarcerated Uncle Denny had strung a dream catcher on a cottonwood branch, and it dangled there still, its unraveling web clogged with high-water debris. Junior and Raymond had found the girlfriend to be too much of a hippie, and the woman had gone packing after Crystle had elbowed her in the gut in a fight over cigarettes, Denny siding with his daughter.

  Raymond had Bud Light in the Styrofoam cooler and a six-pack of Dr Pepper for Henley, though she knew he’d let her have a beer if she wanted one. She lounged on the shore in an inner tube, her feet in the languid current and her hair looped in a knot to keep it off of her neck. She was thinking of Charlie, who was supposed to be there with her. He had made plans to come home for the holiday weekend, but at the last minute his ride had canceled. Or at least that’s what he’d said. She had pretended not to be disappointed when he told her, part of her wondering if he had simply decided not to come—if he’d been distant recently because he was busy with school, like he’d claimed, or because he’d grown tired of waiting for her to decide how she felt about him. She’d looked forward to spending time together on the water, where they had made so many memories. They’d shared their first kiss on this very shore, the fire drying their damp swimsuits, woodsmoke scenting the night air.

  Crystle and Shane and the other cousins began to arrive as Junior was starting up the fire. Crystle wore a Chiefs cap and mirrored aviators that masked her mood. Her hair hung down in two thick braids that framed the cleavage ballooning out of her camouflage bikini. She had brought a bowl of Suddenly Salad and a thermos full of marshmallow vodka. She cracked open one of the Dr Peppers and dribbled some into the thermos, swirling it around and taking a long slug.

  Henley was never sure if she preferred Crystle drunk or sober. While prone to moodiness either way, the drunk version was both more fun and more volatile. Crystle dragged a tube into the shallows and flopped down on it, grinding the butt of her thermos into the pebbles so it wouldn’t tip over. She made an irritable groaning sound and hollered at Shane to fetch her tanning oil out of the Jeep. He shook his head and did as he was told. His wife’s moods and demands had little effect on him, and Henley wondered if Crystle did things to make up for it in private—if she had been serious when she told Henley that certain bedroom acts could make a man overlook all manner of flaws and sins. Henley doubted all men were that simple, but she couldn’t think of a better explanation for why Shane put up with Crystle.

  As Raymond and Junior set to work getting hotdogs ready to roast, no one mentioned Missy’s absence. She wasn’t the only one missing, of course. Denny was in jail, and the two older aunts, plagued with health problems from arthritis to diabetes, weren’t much for the river these days. The littlest cousins—Junior’s and Denny’s grandkids—ran free, oblivious to their elders. They had formed their own tribe, playing chicken in the current, throwing rocks at turtles sunning on a deadfall, sneaking the Hershey bars meant for s’mores and eating them all before dinner, their chocolate-smeared faces lacking remorse. The next generation of Pettits, well on the way to earning their reputations.

  It was near dark when Charlie showed up, everyone gone except for Shane and Crystle and the uncles and Crystle’s brother Dex, who always wore a rodeo buckle and bragged about his roping prowess but hadn’t competed in years. Henley hopped up to burrow into Charlie’s chest and then pummel him.

  “You said you weren’t coming!”

  “Shane found me a ride into town,” he said.

  “Get that schoolboy a beer!” Shane hooted, stoking the bonfire. “Damn proud of you, kid.”

  Charlie cracked a wide grin, and even in the fading light, Henley sensed he was blushing. Shane had helped him get into the program, and she knew his pride meant more to Charlie than anyone else’s, including hers.

  “You hungry?” Henley asked, dragging him to the camper. “We can see what’s left.”

  They sat together in the tiny dinette, Henley switching on the lantern and ripping open a bag of Cheetos. She remembered that she
was wearing the necklace Jason had given her, and her hand flew up to cover the stone. Jewelry wasn’t something Charlie was likely to notice, but if he did, she’d tell him it was fake.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, planting his elbows on the table.

  “Fine. Boring. What’ve you been up to? I haven’t seen you in forever.” Their legs brushed together under the table, neither of them pulling away. He looked different somehow, older, if that was possible, his hair shorter than he usually wore it and carefully combed.

  “Just busy with school,” he said. “Fall semester started.” Mosquitoes drifted in through the open door and swirled around the lamp.

  “You like it? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s better than regular school. We still have tests and homework, though, and you know I’m not too good at that stuff.”

  “Program’s not that long, right? You can make it.”

  He shrugged and nodded, crunching a mouthful of Cheetos.

  “How long are you in town for?” she asked.

  “Not long—I go back tomorrow night. I wanted to come, though. To check on Granny. And see you.” His hand lay inches from hers on the tabletop, his fingers lightly tapping. She detected something in his shadowed face, a seriousness in his voice.

  “So you missed me?” she teased.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It gets a little lonely, being someplace you don’t know anybody.”

  “There any girls at tech school?” she asked.

  “Girls? Yeah,” he said, laughing. “Lots. Not in welding, though. Maybe one or two. Why? You thinking about coming down to join me?”

  She’d never considered it seriously, though Shane had made the same pitch to her that he’d made to Charlie. The technical programs were shorter and cheaper than regular college and almost guaranteed to land you a job. Shane had given her a brochure, creased down the middle from being folded in his pocket. She wondered where he’d gotten it, how long he’d carried it around, waiting to give it to her. She’d thanked him and thrown it away without ever opening it.

  “You could, you know,” Charlie said. “I know it’s not as far away as you were wanting to go, but at least you could get out of here.”

  Henley’s phone buzzed and she felt herself tense involuntarily, like she was bracing for something. Jason, wanting to meet up.

  Can’t tonight, she texted. At the river with my family. He’d been texting her constantly lately, anytime he wasn’t at work and they weren’t together, and it was starting to wear on her.

  “You want a drink?” Charlie asked, getting up.

  “Sure. Thanks.” Her phone buzzed again. Can I come? She didn’t answer. Charlie returned with two Buds and opened one for her. They clinked their cans together.

  Another text. Pretty please? Followed by puppy dog faces. Then another. I really want to see you.

  Maybe later, she texted back.

  I’m already out that way, he texted. I’ll swing by and say hi. Promise I won’t stay long. See u in a minute.

  She was confused for a moment, not sure how he knew exactly where she was, and then she remembered all the questions he’d asked about her uncles’ place, after she told him what she’d done in the camper with Charlie.

  “What’s up?” Charlie asked. “You’re scrunching up your face something awful.”

  She hadn’t realized. “Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just—a friend coming over.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  She sipped her beer, avoiding his gaze. “You know Jason Sullivan?”

  Charlie squinted, reaching out to smash a mosquito on his beer can. “Who doesn’t.” There was no judgment in his voice, nor any teasing. He didn’t even sound surprised, as though it had somehow been inevitable that Jason would find his way to her eventually. He kept his expression neutral, though disappointment showed in his eyes.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just having some fun.”

  “All right,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a half smile. He rose to his feet and brushed Cheeto dust off his jeans. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “No, stay. Finish your beer.” Even to her own ears it didn’t sound sincere. As much as she wanted to spend time with Charlie, she didn’t know what would happen if Jason showed up and saw them there together.

  “Nah,” he said, bending to hug her goodbye. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She squeezed him extra hard before letting go, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He stopped to clap Shane on the back on his way out, and Henley could hear the muffler rattling even after the truck had disappeared into the dark.

  She joined the others around the fire, where Crystle was laughing loud enough to scare fish out of the river. She’d finished her vodka and switched to beer, and Junior had gotten out the pipe.

  “Henny Penny!” Crystle howled, her eyes watering. “Sit your sweet ass down. We were just talking about Dalmire.” Crystle snorted and near choked and started giggling again. Junior kicked in, too, his laugh dry and wheezy like an asthmatic having an attack.

  Henley knew the story well, though she’d never found it that funny. Dalmire had once been a friend and customer of the Pettits. During the brief time that Dalmire had been saved by Jesus Christ, he had gotten up on a moral high horse, by Junior’s reckoning. Shortly thereafter, Dalmire had gone back to buying drugs from them, because he liked his oxy and his fentanyl, and he had subsequently disappeared. Something unpleasant had happened to Dalmire. Supposedly he had jumped out of a moving car to escape some men he owed money to, cracked his skull on the way out, and ended up in a hog trough. Junior and Raymond were coy about whether the men in question were, in fact, themselves. There was a long bone—which Henley suspected came from a cow or deer—that was always lying around the shop, being put to various uses, and the uncles joked that it was all that was left of Dalmire. For a long spell, it was used to hold the door of the chicken pen closed while the latch was broken. When the bone slipped down and the chickens got out, they would blame their former friend. Goddammit, Dalmire falling down on the job again. And they would laugh so hard Junior’d about piss himself. Half worthless, always was, no different now.

  “Jason Sullivan’s coming over,” Henley said, cutting through the laughter. “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

  “What?” Crystle said. “That Sullivan boy? Oh, I’ll be nice to him.” She giggled and flicked her tongue through her teeth. “I’ll be real nice.”

  Dex chuckled and Shane shook his head, scraping the bowl of the pipe with his fingernail.

  Junior thumbed the wheel of his lighter. “Hey, come on now, when are we ever not nice?” Even Shane busted out laughing. Junior steered the conversation to the time Pawpaw tried to make moonshine, and Raymond beckoned Henley away from the fire.

  “Listen, you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. But I hope you know a Sullivan man’ll never make an honest woman of a Pettit.”

  Henley smirked. “I don’t need a man to make me anything.”

  Her uncle shook his head, grinning, his silver tooth showing. “That’s my girl. Got a sass mouth like your mama.” He paused, stroking his beard, the smile fading. “Take it she ain’t back yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be making a visit up to Ellie’s place shortly. She’ll be all right.”

  “Raymond?”

  “Yeah?”

  “When I leave…when I’m gone. You’d come find me and bring me home if I ever got in too much trouble, wouldn’t you?”

  “You know it, darlin’.” He squeezed her arm and kissed her forehead and let her go.

  Her uncles worried, especially Raymond, but they knew, too, that she was stronger than Missy. That she could hold her own.

  * * *

  —


  Jason came into the firelight bearing gifts. A case of Boulevard beer, which he handed off to an unimpressed Junior, and a king-size bag of Skittles, which were Henley’s favorite. After introductions were made, Jason and Henley retreated to the river’s edge and spread out a quilt. He pulled her down onto his lap, lacing his fingers through hers and pressing his lips to her wrist.

  The air was still dense with the heat of the day, though Henley knew that soon enough the first cool night would come, and even though the days might be sweltering well into October, summer would be over.

  “You still thinking about leaving?” Jason murmured, opening the Skittles for them to share. “You haven’t mentioned it lately.”

  Henley nodded, unwinding her hair, shaking it out over her shoulders.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  She smiled gently. “That’s sweet.”

  “No. I mean it. I was thinking, I’ve got some things I could pawn. Get us a little startup cash to get going.”

  She eyed him dubiously, scratching at a rash of chigger bites on her ankle. “What about your dad?”

  “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life shoveling grain. He can’t keep me here forever.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t really thought about what it would be like to have him go with her. She chewed her lip.

  “Don’t you want me to?” He played with her hair, gathering it loosely into his fist and then letting it fan down.

  “I don’t know…I just always thought it was something I’d do on my own.”

  “But now you don’t have to.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he didn’t give her a chance. He kissed her, his mouth sweet from the candy, his hand sliding down her rib cage to the small of her back and drawing her closer. She felt the stirring that his touch always elicited, a desire that blinded her to anything but what she wanted in the present moment, and that was him.

  He pulled her up and whispered into the cup of her ear: “Come on.” The others were still gathered around the fire, getting worked up over cars or baseball or whatever pointless thing they were talking about, paying no attention. Jason led her to the camper, easing the door closed behind them. It was sweltering inside with the breeze cut off, sweat instantly slicking her body. He pushed her back against the door and lifted her up, her legs around his waist. A thought flickered in her head, that he wanted to do this because this was where she had been with Charlie—not just once, as she had told him, but a few times more—and he wanted to reclaim it for himself, like a dog marking his territory. Still, her body lit up and she let it.