by Lynne Hugo
Not for long. I went out of the bathroom intending to find Gus. I made a three-quarter turn to the right to get my bearings. Not eight feet from me, Larry was standing sideways—that skinny ponytail!—with nothing and no one between us. I panicked again. How could he have been onto me? Had he followed me to the bathroom? But no, he was staring up, as if something were happening, and without thinking, I glanced where his gaze was riveted, and of course—and I knew this, so even looking was stupid, but it was some sort of involuntary reflex—he was fixated on the head of the buck over the men’s room.
Trying to keep my breathing under control, I escaped back to where I found Gus at the bar, talking to a broad-faced man with corkscrew hair named Ronny. I positioned myself with my back to the deer on the wall and pretended to focus on their conversation. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe. It’s okay. Remember The Plan.
“Louisa is Reverend Gary’s mother,” Gus said.
Corkscrew Ronny’s eyes widened and he took my hand. He fizzed with enthusiasm. “Oh, ma’am. I am so looking forward to the revival. You must be so proud of your son. Your generosity will be rewarded in heaven.”
“Oh, no, really, I’m not doing anything. It’s all Gary’s . . . doing.” My heart was still beating too fast and I couldn’t focus. “Do you farm . . . Ronny?” It was a safe question to divert him. Almost everyone had some connection with farming.
I don’t remember what he answered. I completely wasted the opportunity to set The Plan in motion before dinner—I could have asked Ronny what his weapon of choice was—but I was worrying about dinner seating, and if Larry Ellis would be at our table, which I knew I couldn’t handle. I’d have to tell Gus I was ill and ask to leave. Two other men joined us—one of them with a string tie and shaved head, and the other with a brown beard down to his first button, the kind that made me sure there was no woman in his life, and they and Ronny got into an animated discussion about how they retrieved their kill from thick cover, anyplace they couldn’t get a four-wheeler in. My attention wavered in and out as one of them bragged he’d built a wheeled sled contraption, using parts cobbled from planks, a ladder, and a tricycle, but he complained it was hard on his arms and he could only manage a little over a hundred thirty pounds. They debated the advantages of skids and sleds over any wheeled carrier, and what was easy to put in their truck beds. Gus didn’t add anything, I did notice that. Anywhere I looked, a deer head was in my sight line. I tried to position myself so Gus’s chest was a block, but he’d move, and I’d see one or another, its eyes appearing alive, sentient, suffering.
Larry Ellis wasn’t at our table, but he was at the next one. He and the Barbie doll sat down well after Gus and I did, and I couldn’t come up with any reason to ask Gus if we could move, especially since we were sitting with his friends.
Dinner was a country cooking buffet of fried chicken, green beans with ham, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, coleslaw drowned in mayonnaise. Ambrosia. Rolls and butter. Cherry pie, chocolate cake. I moved food around my plate and tried not to look at any wall or toward Larry’s table so I wouldn’t be sick then and there. At the same time, I kept forcing myself to remember why I was here at all.
So finally, hoping that the deer on the wall would receive the message I’d sent them by mental telepathy (very different from believing in signs) and consult Harold The Buck for details of The Plan so they’d understand, I fired a scattershot opening question at the men at the table. It took a few more minutes for my brain to kick into action and realize that I could deliberately try to let Larry Ellis eavesdrop. I wouldn’t have to just hope he’d happen to hear other hunters lamenting how there was a widow living on virgin territory who wouldn’t let it be hunted. And who talked about how many deer roamed there unafraid.
“So, is this property where you all hunt?” I said, knowing it wasn’t; too many people, not that much land right around the Lodge that they could own; it was adjacent to some residential spreads.
There was laughter from the men and polite smiles from the women. “Not that we wouldn’t want to, but we’d kill each other if we tried,” a pale crew-cut one with no neck said. “I’d be okay, because I’m the best shot,” another said. “You all would be goners.” That one was skinny, with a long slantwise nose, his beard shaved into an elaborate oval around his mouth, the way I pictured Ichabod Crane.
Gus leaned to me and said, “There’s also too few deer. This whole area’s pretty hunted out.”
Ha! Thank you, Gus!
“Oh! I’m surprised to hear that. I have so many on my land I hardly know what to do. And that monster buck that’s around! I suppose it’s because it’s never been hunted, though.” I said this very softly, on purpose, and sure enough, Corkscrew Ronny obliged by saying, “Pardon me?” The shaved head with the string tie cupped his hand around his ear to indicate he’d not heard me, either. So, of course, I cleared my throat and repeated it at double the volume, hoping Larry Ellis could hear me clearly though I didn’t trust myself to look away from Corkscrew Ronny, and Shaved Head across the large round table from me. Only when I repeated it all, I added, trilling in a little laugh, “Maybe it’s more than one huge buck, though. I couldn’t tell one from another.”
Every man’s head lifted to attention. I swear it was like corn popping all at once. “Is that right?” said the one who looked like Ichabod Crane. “Virgin territory? You want to open it up this season?” He could hardly contain his excitement.
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Now, seriously,” said Corkscrew Ronny. “That’s a waste. You’ve got a farm, you say. Don’t you know they’ll damage your crops?”
“Louisa’s just widowed this year,” Gus inserted. “She’s not had to manage the farm herself until now.” Mr. Helpful then turned to me. “You might want to think about it. You know, it’s just a few days and it’ll save crop.”
I shrugged. “That’s okay,” I said. “I’d rather not. I’m there by myself.” Shaved Head’s eyebrows went up and I pretended it meant he hadn’t been able to hear me. “Oh, sorry. I said I’d rather not have hunting on my land, being there by myself and all.” I used teacher volume the second time.
“You know, they carry Lyme disease, don’t you?” Ichabod said through a bite of chicken. “That’s another problem, right, Gus?”
“True enough,” said Mr. Helpful as he started in on his heaped-up side of macaroni and cheese, and Corkscrew and Shaved Head nodded in agreement. Gus needed to use his napkin but I wasn’t going to let him know the way I would have my Harold.
“They’re pests. Hunting’s a service.” That was Corkscrew Ronny, who gestured still holding a plastic glass with something that looked better than white wine in it. “So, Louise, how about—”
“It’s Louisa,” Gus interrupted. “How about we just let her think it over.”
“Thank you all very much. I really don’t want hunting on my farm, being there alone and all. But thank you.” Teacher volume again, while maintaining a sad expression and shaking my head. This is a more tricky combination than you might think.
The men shook their heads, too. Ichabod shrugged and rolled his eyes at Corkscrew. Then, realizing I’d seen him, said, “Sorry, Louisa. Whatever you say. Up to you. Sorry about your husband.”
One of the wives—she wore black-framed glasses and had farm hands like mine—changed the subject by saying, “Gus mentioned you’re a retired teacher, Louisa. What district did you teach in?” and that got the table diverted to the subject of education. I got to hear a lot of very ignorant opinions about why schools are failing, none of which recognized that my last fifth-grade class had thirty-eight kids in it because four levies in a row were voted down and teachers had to be let go—but it was better than having those men go back to their talk about hunting techniques. It was okay, though. If Larry Ellis had overheard me, it was all worth it.
28
I could feel Gus wanting to bring the subject up on the way home. I could always tell when Harold wanted
to say something and didn’t quite know how, and I usually knew what the subject was, just as I did sitting in Gus’s car, my window cracked an inch for the cool night air. I wanted to just put my head back and hope my stomach settled down, but I knew I had to stay on task. I hoped he’d get to it, because it was part of The Plan. I needed Gus, so I forced myself to act pert and make small talk.
It didn’t take long. “Gotta watch for deer on these roads,” he said. “They sure make a mess of cars. And people in them, sometimes. Getting on toward rut season, and they’ll be on the move. Lotta accidents . . . Speaking of deer, you getting much crop damage?”
I laughed. “The deer consider my place a refuge.”
“Hmm. Well, that can be a problem. If you might want to reconsider about letting the guys hunt, I’d be happy to come over and—”
“No, not really. Are you a big hunter yourself, Gus?”
“Well . . . I don’t know as you’d call me that.”
“What would I call you?” This was my attempt to be coy. Lord, am I out of practice.
“Miss Louisa, you can call me anything and anytime you want.”
Damn. I’d completely blown the opportunity to subtly keep him on the subject of the deer and hunting. “It was very kind of you to invite me tonight. I haven’t gone out in a long time.” As soon as I said it, I heard my own mistake. It’s hard to be flirtatious, perky, and smart when you’re stifling a belch.
“But you go out with your friends, and you’re doing that volunteer work at the school.”
“. . . I meant in mixed company.”
“Perhaps you’d go out with me again.” He didn’t say it as a question, but I’d just said it was nice to be in mixed company, so how could I say I’d realized it was too soon? Now I’d done it.
“Well, perhaps.” Thank goodness he was turning onto my road. This was torture. I picked my purse off the floor of the car and pretended to look for something in it, just for something to do.
In a courtly, old-fashioned way, Gus walked me to my front door, where’d I’d left the porch light on. Insects buzzed and flitted around it. Gus’s hand was scarcely there on the small of my back again, and again I didn’t want to like it. We swished through dry leaves on my unswept walk. Harold always kept the stone path clear. The cicadas were loud, stitching down the night. I was grateful for their racket and the noise our feet made in the leaves; complete silence would have been more awkward. At the door, I stuck my hand out for him to shake it, so he wouldn’t get any ideas. He pumped it enthusiastically, as though to bring up water, and went in for a cheek peck in spite of my clear signal.
Once I got the door shut, I told Marvelle in no uncertain terms: I know he’s being nice, but he’s still a puffy fat man who messed with my Harold, and I refuse to forgive him for that. Marvelle practically never agrees with anything, but she got on my chest after I was in bed, and I swear she actually purred.
* * *
“No!” CarolSue said the next morning, Saturday. I’d called at seven thirty, knowing she’d be up early to go to the Farmers’ Market. She does like her fresh vegetables, not that she grows her own the way I do. “Sweet Jesus,” she went on. “Not Larry Ellis. Did you recognize him right away? How could Gus do that? What a douche.”
“Either he’s completely oblivious or Larry was a guest. He said people can come as guests and they make money off them. I don’t know if he even saw that he was there. He might have. He’d never have said anything to me, and I sure didn’t say anything to him. Maybe everything that happened is just gone from his mind and I’m the only one who remembers.” I felt tears pressing from behind my eyes and damn, I did not want to cry, so I blew my hair back out of my face and carried my coffee out to the front porch where my furniture was still set up. I was going to have to ask Gary to put it in the barn for the winter, even though I didn’t want him getting the notion that I need his help. Maybe I could ask Al, or the boy who put me so in mind of Cody I could hardly breathe with his just being a boy, his voice too deep for his body, and blue, blue eyes. I do like this cordless phone thing Gary got me, though. He brought it so I could answer the prayer line calls. It means I have to come up with all kinds of new excuses not to. CarolSue’s a big help with those. She’s determined that his feelings don’t get hurt.
“Well, dammit, I remember. You could have said you wanted to leave!” CarolSue can get pretty indignant.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I know you remember. I did want to leave. I never wanted to go in the first place. But I figured it was good he was there. He’d hear about the deer on my land for sure. The other way I was just counting on him hearing it from other hunters. But you should have seen me making sure he could overhear me.”
“What if Larry and Gus are friends, though? I mean if they know each other from that Lodge? Could that be why Gus was so determined to stop Harold? Let’s say it all works perfectly and you catch him poaching on your property . . . what if Gus doesn’t arrest him?”
“I always thought it was because he’s such a law-and-order type. I never once thought of that.” I pulled the rocker to the far edge of the porch where there was a small swatch of sunlight, sat down with my coffee to think that one over.
Then I felt old and defeated, like if I really look in the mirror: there’s my neck, lined as old tree bark, and that greyish tinge to my teeth, how the lids of my eyes droop now, like they’re edging toward that final sleep.
What do you think you’re doing? I asked myself. You’re as delusional as Gary. You just thought Gus was who he seemed to you. A good man.
“Louisa? Louisa? Can you hear me? Are you still there?” CarolSue’s voice came at me and I realized I was holding the receiver in my lap. Good grief.
“I never even thought of that, never even never even . . .” I said, realized I was repeating myself, and that made me wonder, not for the first time, if I was losing my mind as well as my looks. This just wasn’t a good day and it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet.
“Honey, it was only an idea. It’s not like I know. I was asking you, not telling you.” That’s CarolSue. She’ll say anything to make me feel better, but I can tell what’s on her mind.
She had to get off the phone then; Charlie had a doctor appointment they had to go to. CarolSue isn’t saying a lot about him, but I get the feeling she’s worried. She kept saying, “They have to do follow-up,” but she was never specific about exactly what that means even though yes, I question her. I ask her all the time, and she gives me short answers and then says I’m providing her only diversion. And it’s not like her to be vague. By nature she’s one of those definite people. “I’ll come soon,” she promised. “But you can come here, too. Anytime. Remember, I need Mom’s marinara sauce recipe.”
“I know. I already copied it and put it in the mail. And it’s fine,” I said. “You just take care of Charlie. I’m doing fine,” I said before we hung up. I could never tell her not to come, but good Lord, it would make a mess of The Revised Plan if she came now. It’s a good thing I never told her I’ve been target shooting, let alone how fine-tuned my aim is now. It would be one more thing on her worry list, and I could spare her that. It was a damn good thing she wasn’t aware that The Real Plan didn’t rely on Gus arresting Larry for poaching. That was now nothing but Plan B, but I would be hugely disappointed if it came down to that. I was going to stop short of killing Larry Ellis, but he was never going to be able to hunt again. I was still thinking whether to take out a kneecap or his trigger hand. Maybe I’d wait to decide on the cleanest shot at the moment. It didn’t matter. I could hit either one. It would only take skill and will, and I had them both.
29
Brandon
Through the wall that separated his bedroom from theirs, Brandon had heard part of a fight between his mother and Larry on a Thursday night after Larry was late from work, and Brandon figured that’s what they were fighting about. Larry’s voice was sort of bleary, the way it got with booze, and bigger th
an his mother’s, like he was bigger than she was. Scared that she might get hurt, he’d snuck out of his room to eavesdrop outside their door. Should he knock? Barge in? Shocked, he’d realized that he was what they were fighting about, Larry calling him a punk, and his mother sort of begging Larry, saying he was a good kid. “So can’t you show him about tools or cars or something useful men do?” she said, keeping her voice down, pathetic and supplicating, but defending him, and he was glad she was but it made him feel like shit. Larry was the one who was a punk. He even looked like one with that stupid rat-tail hair. Someone ought to tell him that men who are going bald shouldn’t try to have ponytails. And that mustache that looked like he couldn’t really grow one. Brandon didn’t get what his mother saw in him. She was pretty and nice. She deserved to be happy. Why did she always go with these losers? He couldn’t see any reason except that she had a kid to support. The guys seemed to be ones with houses, he’d noticed. Not that his mother was much for cleaning, but they couldn’t afford a house on what she made. He’d also noticed that the guys didn’t have kids, or if they did, they didn’t admit it.
* * *
“Mom, do you care if I don’t go to Grandma’s with you? Me and Larry are going to Indy to look at some parts for my car, cool?” He didn’t usually lie to her, oh maybe he shaded the truth so she wouldn’t worry, but not like this. After Uncle Chuck blew most of his right foot off with his own rifle, his mother had been all about not being around guns even though the only people that didn’t have guns around here were cemetery residents. Brandon didn’t know what to think. Uncle Chuck’s elevator didn’t go all the way to the top, so maybe he’d just been an airhead.
The point, however, was that his mother would flip out batshit crazy if she thought he was having anything to do with hunting. What Larry was doing today was different, anyway, not that his mom would see that. But it would make her so happy that Larry was spending time getting to know her boy, as he’d heard her say. It would make her happy and it wasn’t that big a lie.
