Any Other Place

by Michael Croley

  It wasn’t just that Della had gone back to Riley, sneaking off while Marlene was at the clothesline and her father was at work. It was more than that. It was the color in her cheeks, full and bright with the rouge of love as anytime she, Cheeks, or Duke could ever remember. The prance of a young girl in love washed over Della, lifting her spirit back to its rightful place. Marlene thought, whether Della knew it or not, she was going to fall harder than she ever had before. It was just a matter of time.

  Della made three more trips to Riley’s, and though she knew her family knew, she never admitted to it. She let the truth go unsaid and came into the house doing her best to hold back her smile when she thought of the way Riley smelled pressed next to her. The feel of her skin next to his, the sweat they created forming a bond of recognition and familiarity she craved and missed and that she acknowledged in soft, clenched cries of pleasure at his touch.

  Before leaving on her fourth trip, though, she announced her intentions to her family, making them aware she and Riley were getting back together and that she was moving back in with him the following week.

  Marlene left the room at this, slamming her bedroom door. The noise had such loudness and finality it shook Della and Cheeks. Cheeks, always given to wishing the best for his daughter, never sure how to approach her about much other than to tell her she was a good girl, shrugged his shoulders and stayed quiet.

  “I guess you’ve made up your mind,” he said at last.

  “I have,” she said. “I love him.”

  “And what about before?”

  “He’s changed.”

  “That’s what he’s told you, but has he? Can you see the change in him?”

  Duke watched Della move forward and grab their father’s thick arm and pull near him, resting her head against his shoulder. “He’s changed, Daddy. He won’t treat me that way again.”

  AT BUFFALO CREEK, where their house was, Riley had been drinking since two in the afternoon. He’d taken his rod and reel down to the pond and intended only to drink a couple while he fished. But the sun seemed to penetrate his skin after the first beer, mixing with the alcohol to give him a tingle. It was a feeling more pleasant than he had expected, and when he finished the four cans he had brought, he went back to the house for more. He was celebrating, he told himself. Della was coming to see him tonight, and then next week she’d move back in for good. He’d won her over again, and this pleased him more than the smell of her perfume that lingered on his fingers for the last two weeks long after she had left. Ever since that night when Cheeks had raised his shotgun at him, he’d known that there was nothing he wanted more than her, nothing he wouldn’t do from now on to get her back. He’d been wrong to hit her those times, but it was the drink that made him unsure of his own thoughts, much less his actions. When Della left him, he began to change, to see what he needed to do to be with her and become a new man.

  By six that night he was in a daze. He sat in front of the television watching the game of the week—Braves vs. Cubs. The picture and sound kept fading in and out and he knew he needed to get on the roof to turn the antenna, but he was too drunk to climb a ladder. So he sat there with the static-covered images of the television and drank his beer, waiting on Della to arrive.

  On the other end of the countryside, Duke was outside in the car, sitting behind the wheel and tuning the radio when Della came out on the porch ready to leave. She was running late after Marlene refused to come out to fix dinner, so Della had put on a pot of soup beans and baked some cornbread. Duke smelled the beans simmering in the house, mixing with the milkweed at the edge of the front yard by the gravel road. Della wore a pale yellow dress with a blue floral print, and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, the wisps of her auburn strands brushing her neck.

  Duke grabbed the steering wheel and imagined he was driving. He leaned his body into turns but did not make shifting noises with his mouth the way he did when he was a smaller boy. He thought of Steve McQueen in Bullitt, and pictured himself driving the Mustang down 92, racing on the straightaways. He wanted to know what the wind in his hair felt like at eighty miles an hour.

  “Going somewhere, little man?” Della said to him. Her little brother was the true mixture of their parents, she thought. He had the crook in his nose of their father and the soft, round cheeks of their mother.

  “Just imagining,” he said without looking at her.

  “Imagining? Not playing, but imagining?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No need to get rude with me. I’m just asking,” she said, bending down to the window and crossing her arms on the sill. “You want to drive me over to Riley’s?”

  Duke looked at her. Della smiled at him, her face clean and fresh, too pretty for such a rough man.

  “Well?” she said. “I’ll let you.”

  “I’m not old enough. Besides, Daddy wouldn’t let me no how.”

  “He doesn’t have to know everything.”

  He knew she was serious now. The sun came out of a cloud cover and shined down on the hood of the car and the blue paint sparkled, forcing him to squint his eyes.

  “I’m only going for a little bit,” she said. “Let your big sister teach you something. It’s not that far, and if you get bored we’ll just come on back home.”

  Duke sat still, looking at her, grinding his fingers around the steering wheel.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “All right,” she said and stood up, tapping the roof with her fist. “Let me back it out of here and get us on the road, and then once we’re out of range from the house, we’ll trade spots. Run in and tell Daddy you’re going with me.”

  Duke ran inside. Della had never seen her brother move that fast, and she laughed at him as he ran so hard he tripped on the first step and caught himself before he fell flat. She put the car in reverse, holding it with the brake and waiting for him to come back out. The boy practically jumped into the seat and slammed the door. Della laughed and then began backing down the driveway. She hung her arm and head out the window to see where she was headed. Beside her Duke took notice of how she did this and of where her hand was on the steering wheel and of what the gauges all read. He’d never paid such close attention to the way a person drove a car, and when Della had the car straightened out, she put it in park and they traded places.

  He sat down before she did and felt the way he had when he saw his first deer last fall and raised his rifle toward it, bringing its heart into the sight of his barrels.

  “Now,” Della said. “Just put it in drive there, but don’t give it any gas. Let the car move forward on its own.”

  Duke felt the car lurch forward, the tires digging into the gravel. Every so often Della steadied the wheel for him, but he got the feel for it right away and gunned the gas just to feel the tires spin in the loose rock. Della screamed when he did this and then broke out into a laugh and slapped her brother on the arm, and Duke smiled for the first time since they got in the car.

  She stayed close to him as he drove to Riley’s, but Duke had a knack for knowing when to brake and how much pressure to apply on the curves. Her little brother wasn’t so little anymore, and she watched with delight the way he was holding onto the steering wheel with white knuckles and his tongue slipping out of the corner of his mouth. She promised Riley she’d only come over for a bit. She told him her parents had not taken the news well, and having Duke along would give her the excuse she needed to leave early and come back home to try and make it right with them.

  Riley heard the car in the driveway and got up from the couch, taking the last long pull on his beer and throwing the can in the trash. He grabbed another from the fridge and went outside to meet Della.

  “What do we got here?” he said when he saw Duke step out from the driver’s side.

  “I let him drive all the way over,” she said. “He did a good job. He’s a natural.”

  Riley popped open the beer and took a drink. “That’s an awfully nice car to le
t him learn on, ain’t it?”

  “It’s fine, Riley. I was just letting him have some fun.”

  He ignored her. “You like driving that car, boy? You feel like a big man now?”

  Duke stopped walking, felt the sun starting to dip behind the mountains and knew that dew was going to settle soon.

  “Answer me, boy.”

  “Riley, my God. What’s your problem? Leave him alone.”

  “Stay out of it,” he said to her and took another drink.

  “You know how I got that car, boy?”

  “Jesus Christ, Riley. You’re drunk and you’re acting like an ass. We’re leaving.”

  “The way I’m acting,” he said. “I’m not the one letting some little shit ride around the countryside in a goddamn Mustang. My goddamn Mustang at that.”

  “Your Mustang? I thought you gave it to me.”

  Riley walked toward Duke, the rage building in him from some place, he didn’t know how or why, that had something to do only with him being a Lawson and this was who he was. Duke stood still and tried to get a bead on Riley’s eyes and what they were saying. He remembered the deer from the fall and how he’d let his sights wander from its heart to its face. It stood in the clearing nearly a hundred yards away from him, but Duke swore he saw the gloss of those big black eyes like onyx and that was what made him pull his shotgun down.

  “I asked you a question, boy. You know how I got that car?”

  “Riley,” Della said coming behind him, pulling at his arm. She’d seen this look before. “Of course he knows. I told him you won it in a card game.”

  Duke looked at his sister, and though he didn’t know it, his eyes betrayed her. Riley saw this and pressed further.

  “What about it, little Duke? You don’t believe I won it playing cards, do you?”

  Duke looked at Della then Riley. “I’ve heard stories.”

  “Like what?” Riley said. He drank the last of his beer, finishing it by Duke’s count in three long pulls.

  “What’ve you heard, Duke? Tell your brother Riley what it is you’ve heard.” Riley crushed the can and threw it at Duke’s feet.

  “That’s enough, Riley. Let him alone.” Della grabbed Riley by the shoulder and tried to turn his body toward her, but he shrugged her off and pushed her to the ground.

  “Don’t lay your hands on me again, woman.” He raised his hand to her and Della cringed.

  “Duke, are you a storyteller? Tell me your story. Tell me what you heard.”

  Duke looked inside the car where the keys dangled from the ignition.

  “You think you’re going somewhere, Duke? You’ve got a story to tell me,” Riley said.

  Della came in between them. “Get in the car, Duke,” she said.

  Duke made a move for the door, but Riley reached around Della and grabbed him by his hair.

  “Not until he tells me a story,” he said and jerked the boy backwards. Duke fell to his knees in front of Riley and looked up at him and saw his blue eyes brimming with cold and frost. Della beat at Riley’s chest.

  “Let him go,” she cried. “You’re hurting him. Let him go. Goddamn you, Riley Lawson.”

  Duke screamed and tried to raise his body, but Riley gripped his hair tighter and powered him down to the ground.

  Duke’s face was pressed to the earth, and all he could see were the tops of Riley’s worn-out black boots, the laces undone and frayed. Then he felt Riley lean down near him, Della beating at his back, but he kept ignoring her.

  “What story did you hear, Duke? What was it? Was it the one where I beat a man within an inch of his life? Was it the one where I pulled my pistol out and straightened that crooked nose of his? Which one was it, little boy?”

  Duke smelled the beer on his breath in hot waves. Turning, he saw the stubble on Riley’s face and his yellow teeth.

  “I don’t know anything,” Duke said and tried to look at Della.

  Then Della reached around Riley and dug her nails into his neck and ripped them up along his cheek, and Duke felt the grip on his hair release in an instant. His nose fell into the grass and he pushed himself up.

  “Get in the car, Duke,” Della said, backing away from Riley.

  Riley was touching his face and looking at the dabs of blood on his fingers, and he walked in a slow and assured stride toward Della.

  “Start the car,” she said.

  “Goddamn you, Della,” Riley said and lunged at her, but she ducked away from him and scratched his face again and ran for the car. She made it to the door as Duke turned the engine and got in.

  “Go,” she said. “Go.”

  Riley was doubled over and wobbly from the beer. He looked at the two of them and tried to get his wind, but the beer was too deep in his system. He had to squint in order to see, and it was getting dark now. Lightning bugs floated in front of him, and tree frog croaks filled his ears.

  Riley fell to his own knees now, vomiting as they backed down the driveway. Della reached over and pulled the lights on for Duke, and they saw Riley stand in the yard and head toward his own car.

  “Hurry, Duke,” she said. “Get us home.”

  Duke pushed the accelerator to the floor and felt the car respond with the urgency he had inside himself. He took the curves wide, wavering over into the other lane before centering the car while Della kept screaming for him to be careful.

  He pulled off 92 and onto the gravel road that led to their house. He fishtailed past the other small homes, their windows now boxes of light. The Mustang roared into the driveway, and Della reached across him again and laid on the horn in one long continuous motion until Cheeks came on the porch.

  “Daddy,” she said, running from the car when she saw him. “Riley’s coming after us. He’ll be here any minute now.”

  Cheeks ran down from the porch in his socks. “Marlene,” he yelled. He met Della in the yard, but she was hysterical and he couldn’t understand what she was saying. All he could make out was something about Duke and how angry Riley looked, how she’d never seen him that way. He passed her off to Marlene and put all his attention to Duke then.

  “Where is he?” he asked, looking Duke in the face.

  They were in the house now, and Duke watched Marlene sit with Della on the couch and saw Della bury her head in between their mother’s shoulder and neck, her own small shoulders bouncing up and down. He was looking so closely at Della that he didn’t hear his father.

  “What happened?” Cheeks said. He was frantic and scared. Duke wasn’t looking at him, and he slapped the boy across the face without heat but quickly. “Damn it, son, I asked you a question.”

  But Duke couldn’t see anything that resembled love or feeling in his father’s eyes. All he saw was the same flame of fury he’d seen in Riley Lawson, and he moved away from his father, unsure of what to do, whether or not he should run for the door, all the while looking back to Della.

  That’s when he felt his father’s hands on his shoulders. “Get my rifle,” he said and shook Duke by the arms. “Hurry.”

  Cheeks put his shoes on, though he knew it wasn’t going to go that far, that he’d never step outside.

  “Daddy,” he heard Della say.

  “Quiet,” he said to her sharply. “I hear his car coming down the road.”

  Duke brought the shotgun in and Cheeks checked the chamber.

  The night was on them now. A crescent moon seemed to be held up in the sky by the cedar trees on the mountains in front of them. Two streams of light from Riley’s car ran across the yard, and he stood in their wake.

  “Where is she, Cheeks?”

  “She’s safe from you,” he said.

  “We’ve done this before, old man. You can’t keep her from me. She loves me and I love her.”

  Cheeks stayed quiet, watching Riley’s slow steps to the house.

  “She’ll just keep coming back to me,” Riley said.

  “Until you kill her,” Cheeks said and pumped the shotgun. The sweat in his palms s
tarted to build.

  “I love her, old man. I ain’t going to kill the woman I love.”

  “You don’t know what it is you love.”

  “How would you know, old man?”

  “I know your kind.”

  “You ain’t seen half the Lawson in me. You’re lucky for that.”

  “Maybe so,” Cheeks said.

  Duke watched all this from behind his father. He saw Riley’s big chest heaving up and down with his breaths, each one he thought might be the next to rip the black tee shirt he had on right down the middle. He took a step forward, and like before, his father warned Riley. For a moment, Duke thought it would be the same. He thought Riley would cuss his father and crawl back in his car, and then his mother would take Della to the bedroom and stay by her again through the night. Only this time, he thought, maybe Della wouldn’t go back to Riley, that this would be the time when she learned he would never change. And these thoughts calmed Duke. They made him feel safe and secure, and the things he had feared in the last hour fled his body and he could almost see himself making plans for tomorrow, for the new spots in the forest where he might be able to put a deer blind.

  But then his father said, “This ends tonight.” And it happened.

  Riley Lawson ran toward the porch in long, pounding strides. Cheeks Mahan backed up into the living room of his home, and when Riley Lawson hit the last step and was no more than four feet from crossing the threshold of their home, Cheeks Mahan pulled the trigger and Duke, Marlene, and Della saw a spark fly out from the barrels and a cloud of smoke and the gaping mouth of Riley Lawson when the slugs tore through his shirt and chest and ran out through his spine. Blood splattered on the walls and his big body fell forward to the floor and, for a second or two, he seemed to crawl like a worm, but they didn’t know toward what. Some would say later it was toward the woman he loved until he died, and others said it was toward the life he didn’t want to lose.

  THIS MUCH IS true. Cheeks Mahan shot Riley Lawson and watched him die in the same living room where his children, Della and Duke, learned to walk. When the sheriff and coroner came out to claim the body, they did not ask any questions of Cheeks other than what they could already see. “Did he try to get in your home?” Cheeks nodded yes, and the sheriff told him he had a right to protect his own. He did not go to jail. He did not get questioned. He did worry that once word got out there would be retribution, but if Butch or Loyal or any other Lawson wanted to honor the memory of their kin, then so be it. He would be ready.