“I’m so sad.”
He looked down at her and tried to smile. “I get it.”
“You don’t, Noah. You don’t take nothin’ serious.”
“I do. It’s just . . .”
“You wear that badge and people laugh at you, like you’re a joke or somethin’. Don’t that bother you?”
“Does it bother you?”
“I don’t care. But you want to take me out, like you can see somethin’ between us, and you’re serious and that bothers me.”
“Why?”
“I want more.”
“More than what?”
“You.” She said it quick but it hung long in the night air.
“Oh.”
“More than dating some boy who wants to be a cop in the shithole town we grew up in.”
“You don’t know nothin’ about me.” He said it soft.
“I know you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Maybe you’ll get your wish and you’ll be a cop, and in fifty years you’ll still be in this town, and that’s enough for you. I want more, like my sister. I want more than I got.”
“I won’t be here in fifty years,” he said.
“Wishful thinkin’, Noah. I’ll come look you up, see what’s come of your life. Dollar says it ain’t never gonna be more than nothin’.”
She turned her head toward the water.
He breathed deep, feeling the cloud drop down another inch above their town. He tried to think of something else to say but found out of all the words there weren’t none left to speak.
He watched her for a long time, the shape of her head and the way her hair caught the breeze as she closed her eyes and drifted away.
He sat there without noticing the pass of time, listening to the rhythm of her breaths and watching her chest rise and fall.
“And you know that jacket is for women,” she said, her eyes still closed.
“I do,” he said.
33
Summer
Sometimes the Red is a mirror of green ’cause it narrows to nothin’ but a stream between the trees. We’d pass and I’d throw a stone just to watch the ripples.
As the town exhaled, I lived with the Briar girls. When I started out writing that paper, all they were was a slice of what I was livin’ ’cause that was so real. The more I thought and saw and read . . . they were us—me and my sister. There weren’t no difference. I went to their churches and stood in their yards and watched the pieces of their mommas through moonlit windows. The nature of man, the good and evil, that line that gets blurred by religion and love and war. The Briar girls were my altar and I knelt before them. I’d always reckoned there was safety in God and the church, but the Briar girls took that from me, turned my world and snipped the strings that tethered me to my practiced life.
I crept out and walked the Red and saw the fires burnin’ and the kids with the spray cans. The devil is a concept, a theory that binds wrists and bows heads. I reckon I have too many thoughts, which is worse than having too few.
In my dreams I saw Della Palmer and Bonnie Hinds walkin’ hand in hand, their faces fixed in Edvard Munch screams. I saw Lissa Pinson and Coralee Simmons and Olive Braymer at the foot of my bed, lookin’ on silent as Bobby thrusted between my legs. It would come to nothing and somethin’—my story of me and my time, and the Briar girls that shaped my life.
Raine was worse, the way she acted and the things she did, it was feverish and obvious and I wondered what it’d take to alter her course.
We sat at the table and said grace with our heads down and our minds swimmin’. We sat in front of the television and laughed at Roseanne and Dan, Becky, Darlene and D.J. We watched the twisted metal, the dark smoke and the haunted faces when Oklahoma was broken apart. Life happened around but I didn’t live it, I was a passenger to all it entails ’cept for when I was with Bobby.
We talked more but never about Michael ’cause Michael was his and he wouldn’t share him. I got that feeling more and more, like an ache that comes with loss, so deep you ain’t even sure where the pain is. I would lose him one day.
*
Sometimes I liked lookin’ back. I’d close my eyes till I was livin’ those same moments over.
I walked with Raine across the fields behind our house. They rise and fall so we held hands ’cause that’s what we did when the world shook beneath our feet. We were twelve and reckoned we knew all there was to know.
“I was thinkin’,” Raine said.
“Yeah?”
“That snow globe that Daddy brought you back from Biloxi last year. The one with that village made of tiny houses.”
“Yeah.”
“I really love that.”
I squeezed her hand tight and she smiled that wide smile that’s mine and not for the boys.
“You can have it,” I said ’cause I knew she wanted it. Sometimes I’d catch her in my bedroom watchin’ the snowflakes fall.
“You know why I love it?”
“Why?”
The air was thin with first frost and we wore our big coats. Sunset was happenin’ and Raine pulled me down onto the hard earth, and we sat and watched the last fired colors.
“That time when we sat like this in the backyard at night, and the snow was falling. You remember that time, Sum?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
She put her forehead against mine and grinned so I grinned too.
Then she pulled me up and we walked.
“You reckon the Red is frozen?” she said.
“Could be, the part by the Wilsons.”
“You want to go walk on it?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
When we got there we walked out careful, fingers linked, our boots on ice that locked the Red beneath.
“Momma said we’ll go through.”
“We won’t,” she said.
We moved slow and the moon rose, our breath smoked and pale light hit the ice through empty winter trees. The Red turned up ahead and we walked together and listened for cracks but there weren’t any.
As we rounded the curve I saw them and stopped.
“What?” she said, and I pointed.
I looked at Raine and she was watchin’ them and she squeezed my hand too tight.
“How come they’re here?” she said quiet.
I shook my head ’cause I hadn’t never seen them before. They sat on the ice, huddled, necks entwined and feathers so white.
“They’re so pretty.”
“They stay together for life,” I said.
“Like us.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Like us.”
We sat on the frozen Red River and watched the swans a long time ’cause we felt certain we wouldn’t never see them again.
34
The Burning
Noah opened the door and saw Black standing there, grocery bag in his hand, the cruiser parked in the driveway. It was early and for a minute he thought he might’ve been in shit but Black smiled and asked if he could come in.
Noah watched Black take in the kitchen; the torn linoleum and the broke cabinet doors.
“Is your grandmother home?”
“Sleepin’,” Noah said. “She sleeps a lot now.”
Black glanced over at the television, at the Grace square and the flamelight vigil. He shook his head like he still couldn’t believe it.
“How’s Raine doin’?”
“She’s scared,” Noah said. “But she acts like she ain’t.”
“Right.”
“You okay, Black?”
“Yeah. Tired, maybe, got a headache most days. You can’t come in for a while, to the station. I know you worked somethin’ out with Trix, ’cause you go on beggin’ each year, and we like havin’ you round, but with the square the way it is . . . I can’t have you in there. It ain’t safe.”
“Okay.”
“I ain’t sure when Joe will come, and what he’ll come with.”
“I get it, it’s all right.”
B
lack nodded. “You headin’ to church this mornin’?”
“Yeah. It’ll be mad down there. They got cameras on Jackson Ranch Road now.”
“Heard you and Purv were makin’ money from the visitors.”
Noah frowned.
“Some guy Purv took cash off, supposed to fetch Merle but didn’t bother. Guy came to us lookin’ for someone to help him, like we ain’t got nothin’ better to do. You tell Purv to quit stealin’ from folk.”
“He weren’t really. We went down to Merle’s but he was gettin’ into it with Tommy Ryan.”
“That right?” Black said.
“Purv reckoned it was over gambling debts.”
“Probably,” Black said. He stood for a minute like his mind was someplace else. “You had breakfast yet?”
Noah shook his head.
“I brought eggs.” Black walked over to the cabinets and flipped through them till he found a saucepan.
Black made scrambled eggs and they sat and ate together.
“Can I ask you a question, Black?”
“You can ask.”
“Have you ever been in a shoot-out?”
Black dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “I was a state trooper, with your father.”
Noah nodded ’cause he knew that. He had clippings and photos, all that was written.
“A guy named Rick Fallon and his two boys held up the Sun Trust. We chased him for six miles before he dumped his truck and tailed it into the cornfields. I couldn’t see shit, just kept hearin’ bullets whistle by my ear.”
“Did you shoot back at ’em?”
“I just aimed for the noise.”
“Did you win?”
“I ain’t sure there’s winners in a gunfight. Maybe degrees of loss. Your father put Rick down in the end. He was a deadly shot.”
Noah nodded, eyes a little wide.
“I got his boys. One of ’em was fifteen.”
“Oh.”
“You look like him . . . your father.”
Noah smiled ’cause he couldn’t check it. “He was tough, right?”
“He was.”
Noah cleared his throat. “You reckon he would’ve liked me . . . I mean, the way I turned out? ’Cause sometimes I don’t feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“I just . . . we got cop blood in our family, right? I ain’t even sure what I’m sayin’.”
“He would’ve been proud, Noah.”
“Yeah?”
Black nodded, and turned back to his plate.
*
Jackson Ranch Road was fit to burst. Cars were parked tight on the grass verge, people walked heel to toe toward St. Luke’s. The visitors glanced up, the locals stared hard at them. Trouble rode close to the surface, threatening to rip through every time a Maidenville SUV double-parked in the square, and every time a Grace local couldn’t find a seat in Mae’s.
There’d been a couple fights, stopped before they got bad but the square was tight with folk now.
Noah saw a bank of cameras by the gate, and shiny reporters facing them. He’d seen them on television that morning, working religion and the devil and the Briar girls, trying to make out everyone in Grace was either crazy or headed that way. He overheard a sharp-suited guy with a microphone saying that folk were coming to ask God’s forgiveness, to ask him to lift the darkness from above and bless them with sunlight. There were cheers as Dale Crashaw bowled straight into him and sent his mic to the floor. The suit looked startled, called out to Milk who ignored him, a slight smile on his face.
Noah slipped outta the line, cut across the gravestones, then into the church ahead of a couple of ladies he didn’t recognize.
He saw Purv sitting near the back with Rusty and one of his boys, Noah couldn’t remember which. The church was lit up like Christmas, extra candles and lights and new faces staring up at the arches like they were viewing God’s own handiwork.
Noah liked Christmas since he was a kid, even found dialysis easier in the run-up too. They decorated a tree at Mayland, Missy dressed as an elf, Purv wrapped aluminium foil around his chair ’cause he reckoned it looked festive. When he was young they’d arranged for Santa to come see him. He was struck dumb and could barely get his words out when asked what he wanted for Christmas. Purv had helped, though blurting out “a functioning kidney” had earned him a clip from Missy.
“Lucky you got a seat,” Noah said, settling in beside Purv.
“I got here early since you didn’t show.”
“Sorry, late night.”
Purv turned to face him, his lone eyebrow raised at one end.
Noah shook his head. “Long story.”
“What you two yapping about?” Rusty said.
“Noah had a date with Raine Ryan.”
“Shit, son,” Rusty said, shaking his head. “Don’t call on me when her daddy finds out.”
“Joe knows and he was all right.”
“Could be he thought you were a lady in that jacket you were wearin’ in the square last night,” Rusty said.
A hush fell when Bobby stood at the front. There were folk standing three deep against every wall, as well as the couple hundred jammed onto the benches.
Again Bobby asked them to pray for Summer, for her to come home safe. Again he asked them to pray for Raine, and Ava and Joe, to give them hope and strength through this difficult time. He spoke loud and his voice carried and Noah closed his eyes real tight.
Bobby didn’t mention the cloud and Noah was glad of that. It weren’t nothing to pray about, it weren’t real like Summer and the Briar girls. He glanced up when he heard the door open. He saw Ava and heard whispers, then he saw Bobby smile at her and motion to a spot near the front where Savannah kept a place.
Ava kept her head up, dressed nice but Noah saw the change. If the past month had been tough on Raine, it’d ruined her momma.
*
Long after the service, when the church was quiet ’cept for the hollow echo of prayer, Bobby stood alone and looked at the bench where Summer would sit. And then he heard steps and he saw Raine ghost into the building. A vision of her sister, she was a sore sight, and Bobby drew a long breath.
She reached a hand up and smoothed her hair, angling her head so he wouldn’t notice the graze by her eye.
“Why do people kneel when they pray?” she said.
“There’s a passage in the Bible, O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord our maker.”
She took a step forward. “I’m worried Summer ain’t comin’ back,” she said, bold, like it was a challenge. “I wore her dress last night. Momma bought it for her to wear that time she played cello here in the church. You remember that day, Pastor Bobby?”
“Sure, I remember that day. I reckon the whole town does. It’s part of Grace folklore now.”
“Momma’s real grateful, how the two of you look out for Summer, ’cause with all the Bird and that she said it’s hard to find folk you can trust.”
Bobby fell silent a long time.
“I ain’t really spoke to Savannah. She looks –”
Bobby smiled. “She’s from Maidenville, what’d you expect.”
Raine nodded.
“I’ll tell you somethin’ about Savannah,” he said, walking over. “She plays the cello. I mean, you know that, but she used to play concerts, with an orchestra. It was her life, music. And then we had a son, and he died.” He cleared his throat. “She didn’t quit for good, she was just sad. So she didn’t feel much like playing. And then Summer came along and Savannah started teaching her, and when I heard that music I realized how much I’d missed it, and how quiet our house was without it.”
He turned and started to leave her.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
She pointed to the rear of the church, to the side where the font sat. “What’s that little door for?”
“Do you want to see?”
*
She look
ed down first and saw Grace lit below her, the streetlights bright despite the early hour and the summer sun that held the horizon.
“On a clear day you can see for miles,” Bobby said. “That’s Hell’s Gate over there.” He pointed.
She looked at the forest, part dark but all so wild and endless and she thought of what might be in there.
“Can I bring Summer up here sometime?”
“Yeah.”
She watched the bustle of the square and the lights from Mae’s and the news vans.
“How come those reporters are stickin’ around?” she said.
“All this talk about God, I guess. Have you been up to Hallow Road?”
She nodded.
“The dark wall. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it. If it happened someplace else I might be joinin’ people in goin’ to see it.”
She brought a finger to her mouth and bit a nail. “Can I ask you somethin’ about Samson?”
“Okay.”
“I don’t even know if you’ll tell me what you think ’cause most just reckon I can’t handle nothin’, like I’m some kid that don’t know how the world works and don’t know what men think when they see a pretty girl.”
“I don’t think Samson did anythin’ to your sister, Raine.”
“But you ain’t sure.”
“Samson walked Summer home when it was raining, which might’ve been a simple act of kindness. And the rest we have to guess. Or we don’t. We take the facts that are there in front of us and that’s what we do. So when you go home tonight, and you’re lyin’ in bed, try and remember the facts. It’s Black’s job to worry about the rest, not yours, Raine. You just need to look after yourself. And try not to worry about your parents, because that’s not your job either.”
“It’s easy for you to say all that –”
“I know.”
She leaned over and she could see gravestones, and lanterns on the gate. She rubbed her eyes ’cause she was so tired she couldn’t barely stand it.
“It’ll all be okay, Raine. I know it don’t feel like it now, but it will.”
“How do you know that?” she countered, staring hard at him.
“It has to be. Summer is okay. I believe it.”
“Belief ain’t enough, Pastor Bobby.”
He smiled like he was sad, like she’d just told him a truth too cruel.
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