by Julie Hyzy
I tried wrenching my arm away, but he held on.
Bringing his puffy lips close, he whispered. “She killed a man. In cold blood.”
I stiffened.
“Didn’t tell you, did she? Got off on a technicality.”
The eager glint in his eye made me believe he wasn’t lying. “How…?”
“Cops have friends everywhere. Don’t you forget that.” His words flew out fast and hot against my ear. “I’m going to keep a close eye on her. Don’t want anything bad to happen to my little Carrie, do I?”
With that, he let go, propelling me forward. I stumbled.
“You have yourself a good evening,” he said, nice and loud.
When Mal walked in that night, she’d barely said two words when I blurted, “Brody says you murdered somebody but you got off on a technicality.”
Mal dropped her bag on the closest kitchen chair. She worked on the highway, repairing roads, and she always came home sweaty and worn. I should have let her take her shower first, but I couldn’t stop my mouth from running off on me.
For the first time since I’d met her, Mal looked her age. She studied me for a minute, shut off the stove burners and pointed to the nearest empty chair. “Sit,” she said.
I sat.
She pushed her bag off the other chair dragging it forward and sitting so we were almost knee to knee. It looked like she was fighting a war inside herself. “I’m going to tell you the truth.” Her eyes were wide, focused, bright. “But it’s up to you to decide what you believe.”
My heart was shooting fireworks in my chest. I almost couldn’t breathe. “What happened?”
Her jaw was tight, her eyelids low. I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “My ex was a lot like our Sheriff Brody.”
I didn’t say a word. Didn’t move.
“Randy wasn’t a cop, mind you, but he was mean and strong. Worse, he was afraid.”
“Of you?”
She laughed. “I wish. No. He was afraid of somebody screwing him. Or making him feel stupid. A small man in a big body. I didn’t see it before I married him.” She shook her head. “What can I tell you? I was young and stupid. It took me a couple of years…” She stared at me. “…Years of bruises and broken bones and telling the cops that everything was just fine and to go away, before I knew I had to get out before Randy took me out. Permanently.”
“I can’t believe anybody would mess with you.”
She held up a finger. “That was before I learned how to be strong. I used to be scared.”
I made a face.
“I was. Scared for my life. I wasn’t strong at all. I should have faced him but I ran.”
“Where did you go?”
She shrugged. “Away. Fast as I could. But I knew he had ways of finding me. Knew it was just a matter of time.”
I shook my head, not understanding.
“Found a job working for a crusty old broad who owned an auto repair shop.” Mal shook her head, remembering. “Dawn saw I was in trouble and took me in. Taught me a lot.”
Mal didn’t say it, but I couldn’t help thinking it was just like she’d done for me. “Yeah?” I prompted.
“Dawn bought me these boots, out of her own money. Told me that when Randy came for me, like we both knew he would, I needed to be ready. Needed to remember I was strong.” She ran a hand lovingly down the side of one of her red boots. “Made me believe that as long as I was wearing these, nobody could touch me.”
Mesmerized, I waited for what she’d say next.
“He showed up at my apartment one night. I let him in because I knew we had to end this once and for all. He sat on the couch and told me I had to go back with him. Calm as anything, he sat there talking, thinking I was gonna drop my head and follow him out. But I had these boots on. I said ‘no.’ He gets this look in his eye, then. He could tell something changed.” She hit her fist against her chest. “Changed inside me.”
“What did he do?”
“Grabbed me by the throat,” she said, her hands coming up to rest against her neck as though reliving it. “Lifted me onto my toes and told me I was either coming back with him or I was going to die. Told me it was my choice. ‘What’ll it be?’ he asked. I could barely get the words out, but I played along like I was meek and scared again. He put me down. I walked over to the sink like I was going to be sick and he laughed. Laughed so hard he didn’t see me pick up the knife. I turned around and pointed it at him. For a couple of seconds I thought maybe I could just scare him off, but I took another look at that face and I knew there was only one way to get rid of him for good.” She shrugged. “He came at me. I stabbed him. Fourteen times.”
“Oh,” I said.
“If that makes me a murderer, so be it.” She glanced down at her boots and wiped the top of one with her hand. “Blood got everywhere. All over these. I got arrested, but they let me go. He had tracked me down, and I had bruises on my neck from where he’d grabbed me.” She gave me a look. “There’s your technicality.”
“Then Brody can’t come after you,” I said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Men like Brody and Randy don’t care what’s right. That’s why I never take chances anymore. I got myself a gun…” She led me to her room where she opened the top drawer of her nightstand. A silver revolver winked in the light from the lamp above. She shut the drawer and grinned. “The thing is,” she went on, “you never know exactly when idiots will come for you. I don’t take chances anymore.” Wiggling her fingers to have me follow, she made for the kitchen. “Right here.” She reached up into the cabinet above the microwave, feeling around until her hand rested on what looked like a rolled dishtowel. She pulled the bundle down, unrolled it in front of me and said, “I keep the semi-automatic up here. Hope I never need to use either one.”
Terrified and a little bit thrilled, I reached out a finger, running it along the side of the black metal weapon. Mal pressed a release button and the magazine dropped out. She emptied the chamber and handed the gun to me. “See how it feels.”
I raised it, two-handed and pointed it out the back window, closing one eye as I aimed at a fat tree.
“You ever shoot?” she asked.
“Couple of times. With my dad. He taught me some.”
“You got a gun in the house?”
“My mom used it to chase my dad off, then sold it when she figured he was gone for good. Needed the money, I guess.”
She eased the weapon out of my hands, snapped the magazine back into place, and chambered a round with clacking metallic ease. She gestured toward the bedroom with her chin. “That one’s registered. This one’s not.” With a shrug she returned it to its hiding space. “I keep it hidden, just in case.”
Halfway up the steps to Mal’s house with my key ready and a bag of groceries in my hand, I heard the shrill voice calling to me from across the front yard.
“Where you think you’re going?” my mother shouted. “You forget where your own house is, girl?”
I felt sudden pain. From nowhere, from everywhere. It got dark in my eyes—the kind of tunnel-dark that lets you see only one thing, but see it so clearly it hurts. I was seeing my mom like that right now. Dishwater blonde hair straggled down to her skinny shoulders. She was wearing the same dress she’d been in when she’d left, and from its ragged, dirty look I wondered if she’d changed out of it, even once.
In a rush of anger that shocked me so hard I had to suck in a breath, I wished she’d go back where she’d come from. Disappear and never come back.
“Get over here.” Her words were a fist, slamming straight into my chest. “You hear me? You look like you seen a ghost.”
I hadn’t moved, but my fingers tightened around the grocery bag.
“Carrie Ann, you get your skinny backside over to this house right now. What is wrong with you?”
It was like watching myself in a movie. I crossed the yards to my house, stopping when I got close to my mother and could smell the stink on her. This h
ad been a bad trip.
“Come here,” she said, still snapping at me. I took a step closer and she reached up and ran a hand along my cheek, eyeing me critically. “That’s better. I missed my girl. What have you been up to?”
I stared down at the bag of groceries. “I was going to make dinner,” I said, “for Mal and me.”
“Make dinner?” she said, as though she’d never heard of such a thing. “How about you make your fancy dinner for me instead? A nice welcome home for your poor traveling mom.”
I hefted the bag. “But Mal paid for all this.”
“What’s going on here?” Her eyes narrowed. “I been gone, trying to make us some money and I come home to find my house empty and my kid living with a stranger?”
“Mal’s not a stranger.”
She slapped my face. “Don’t talk back to me.”
I blinked back the sting behind my eyes. Stared at my shoes. “Wasn’t talking back. Just saying.”
“Don’t you lie to me. I left you here with a job to do. And what happens? You take off, leaving the house empty.”
“Nothing went wrong,” I said, inching backward in case she thought that was more backtalk. “I checked the house. Couple times a week.”
“Your job,” she said through gritted teeth, “was to stay in the house. That too hard for you to understand?”
“No ma’am.”
She pushed my shoulder. “Get inside.”
As I crossed the threshold, I smelled how different it was in here. Mal’s place was always cool and smelled like fresh linen. My house was stale, hot. Made me think of wet boards left to warp in the sun. As I got into the kitchen I detected a faint sweetness. Mom was drinking again, too. The bottle on the counter and the half-empty glass next to it confirmed it.
I cleaned a space on the kitchen table and started digging out the groceries, placing them next to her piles of trash. “You win anything this time?” I asked.
She lit a cigarette. “Of course I won.”
I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “How much did you bring home?”
She came around the side of the table, studying the groceries, not looking at me. One hand bracing the elbow of the other, cigarette tight between two fingers, she said, “You know it ain’t like that. You have to put it back if you expect to win big.”
“And did you?” I asked. “Win big?” My words came out sharp like little knives. I was desperate to cut into that “so what?” attitude of hers. “Or did you put it all back like you usually do?”
She took a deep drag of her cigarette. “When did you get so sassy? What’s that woman been teaching you? You haven’t gone lesbian with her, have you?”
I threw the food onto the table and spun, heading out.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, cutting me off at the front door. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“What difference does it make where I go?” I asked. “All you want is to get back out there, gamble more, then come home and sit and cry when you lose. You don’t need me.”
Her eyes were bloodshot. Her cheek twitched. “I need money.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t have any to give you, then,” I said. “That’s no lie.”
“You owe me, kid and best you don’t forget that.” Her breath stunk and I turned my face away from it.
“Sell the house then,” I said. “Get what you can and go. Go away.”
“You never talked back to me before.” She took a step back, regarding me. “What else that woman teach you?”
I didn’t answer.
She took another deep drag of the cigarette. “Can’t sell the house. Mortgage is higher than it’s worth.”
My heart dropped. I’d suspected as much, but had held out hope. There was nothing left. Nothing at all.
“Seems you like living off the kindness of others,” she said with a smile I didn’t understand. “Ain’t so bad is it?”
“I gotta tell Mal that you’re back. She’ll be expecting me.”
“I’ll take care of her. She cost me some good luck that was headed my way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just make your dinner food and keep your mouth shut. I like you better when you’re quiet.”
I watched and listened to my mom yelling at Mal outside that night. Staring out the front windows, I could barely hear Mal’s replies, but I knew she was just as mad as my mom was. Mal said that I was eighteen and could make my own decisions. My mom told her to stay out of our business. They kept at it until one of the other neighbors threatened to call the cops.
My mom stormed in and slammed the door behind her. “That woman don’t know what’s good for her,” she said. I heard her go into the kitchen and pick up the phone. I didn’t care. I just wanted out.
Mal had originally told me that I could stay until my mom came back. But now, it seemed like she wouldn’t mind if I stayed with her for good. I ran to my room and started stuffing the rest of my clothes into a plastic grocery bag. Mom was throwing back a shot of whisky when I came to tell her I was leaving.
“I don’t want to stay here,” I said. “Mal’s right. I’m an adult. I can decide things for myself.”
Just like in the grocery store when I stood up to Brody, my legs started shaking. I knew my pronouncement had come out too soft, too weak. I held up the plastic bag. “I got everything I need. I won’t bother you anymore.”
I started for the door but my mom stopped me, her eyes searching, her voice wheedling. “You can’t leave your poor mom,” she said. “What would I do without you?”
“All you care about is chasing that next win,” I said, my voice getting stronger. “You don’t really care about me. Why not go back on the road? Just forget that I’m here. That’ll make us both happy.”
It was like I’d slapped her. “No, honey,” she said. “That ain’t going to make me happy a’tall. The only thing that’s going to make me happy is you carrying your fair share.”
I rolled my eyes. She pushed me back, deeper into the kitchen. My plastic bag fell to the floor. “Get into your room, girl. Quit acting like an imbecile.”
From the front of the house I heard a door open. A familiar voice. “What’s the trouble here, ladies?”
All my blood rushed down to the floor. My throat went hoarse. “What’s he doing here?”
My mom looked at me like I was stupid. “We’re in the kitchen, Sheriff,” she called. “Carrie here was just telling me how much she missed your visits.”
“I didn’t,” I said, backing away. “I don’t.”
He loomed in the doorway, blocking my path to the living room. My mother stood in front of the back door, smug. “I asked the good sheriff to keep an eye on you while I was gone. Imagine how upset I was when he got hold of me to say you weren’t holding up your part of the bargain.”
“My part of the bargain? What¾?” Then reality hit, taking my breath away.
She locked the back door, pulled the key out, and jammed it into the top of her bra. “I’m going back on the road, darling,” she said to me. “You be a good girl and mind whatever Sheriff Brody tells you.”
My words came out strangled. “You can’t. This is wrong. I’ll report you. Both.”
Mom looked sad for a second, maybe two. “Nobody’s going to believe you.” To Brody, she said, “We okay now?”
He tipped his hat. When she left, he took it off, and began unbuttoning his uniform shirt. “Carrie, little darlin’. We got off to a bad start. Let me explain things to you.”
“Get away from me.”
“Your friend Mal?” he said, eyes bright, “I got more on her. Plenty more. I can take her down and you’ll never see her again. Or you can be nice to me and I’ll forget all the background that turned up. Bet you didn’t know she’s a cold-blooded killer,” he said. “Four men, four states. Never enough evidence to convict.”
My breath caught. It couldn’t be true.
Mal would have told me.
“If she so much as jaywalks in Carnich, I’m going to haul her in.” His face was hateful when he smiled. “But I’m willing to be lenient,” he said. “You get my drift?”
Brody was on top, grunting, eyes shut, sweating. A shadow crossed behind him. Two heartbeats later came a sound that split my ears. Gunshot. Loud, so close. Too close. Brody roared, gurgling a noise so feral and deep I heard myself scream along with it. His chin came up. His body bucked. He dropped on top of me, huge, sticky, hot. I pushed him, pushed hard until he rolled to the side, Blood was everywhere.
Mal was there, tugging my arm. “Get some clothes on. Get out of here.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
Brody’s face contorted, his hands reaching. Futilely grasping at the blood leaking out of him. “Get dressed,” she said again, pushing me. “We gotta run.”
“You shot him.”
She looked at me with a mixture of pity and impatience. “He deserved it. He deserves worse. Now come on.”
I pulled on my jeans, grabbed on my shirt, all the while trying not to look at Brody who wailed and begged for help.
Breathless, I asked, “Where are we going?”
She held both my shoulders, and stared me straight in the eye. “I didn’t tell you everything about me. Just part of it. You gotta trust me now, okay? I know how to get away. I know how to hide. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”
I nodded, numb with fear.
“Come on then,” she said. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me toward the door.
“Is he going to die?” I asked.
She glanced back. “Pretty sure.”
We didn’t make it past the front door. Neighbors had heard the shot and called police. Two deputies threw us to the ground. A minute later we heard more sirens, saw more flashing lights.
“Mal,” I called as they dragged us apart.
Months later, I was home by myself cooking up chicken breasts in garlic. Thinking about Mal. Wishing I could visit her at the prison. It was far away, though, and I had no way to get there and back.
Brody was leaving me alone these days. He’d vouched for me. Said that Mal had exercised “undue influence” and I wasn’t at all to blame. I never even got charged. But nobody believed a word I said when I told them what really happened. Nobody wanted to hear the truth.
