by Connor, Eden
Eric swallowed hard. “We know what’s happening. I’m sorry I didn’t call you guys last night. I guess I thought bad news would keep.”
“We didn’t expect the police to move this fast, either.” Amy knelt beside his nephew, who’d stretched out in the aisle. “Listen to me, Jonah. I know these last months have been unpleasant. This new information might make things worse. You can always ask any of us anything, okay? I just need you to know,”—she darted a glance at Eric—“we might not have good answers for some of your questions.”
Amy tugged earphones from her pocket and she sat beside Dan and Cynda, giving one earpiece to each. Eric knew she was playing the copy she’d made of the home movie when Cynda’s tears started again.
Dan scrolled through his phone and made the call. The longer his big brother listened to the cop, the more his face paled beneath the dark stubble. The silver in Dan’s mussed hair seemed more pronounced when he spoke, or maybe it was the god-awful lighting in this place. Dan disconnected the call. “Reese is on site. SLED’s cadaver dog is trained to lie down to indicate she’s scented human remains. He says,”—Dan’s Adam’s apple bobbed several times—“she’s spent more time on her belly than on her feet.”
He put the phone away and tucked Cynda under one large arm and Grams under the other. Amy retrieved her phone and let Grams and Jonah watch the film. No one questioned her judgment about showing the movie to Jonah. Eric supposed the kid had to know sooner or later. Fourteen was almost a man.
The old farmer had always looked harmless to Eric. Even after the incident with Sarah. He’d consigned the event no real importance at the time, other than to get the idea that messing with Sarah was a bad thing, and that John’s idea of joke was a little warped. The man used to bring paper bags filled with green beans and tomatoes, or a jar of honey all the time. He could recall his father inviting him into the kitchen. Never once had he heard the guy mention the Klan.
Had his interest in the hate group come later? After his wife died? Or, after he decided he’d gotten away with murdering Cammie, did that make him bold enough to start killing migrants, or had he....
Or had he laughed all the way home?
The hours dragged by. Only two could go in to see Lila when the time came, and Colton and Jonah claimed the first visitation. Eric couldn’t take his eyes off the television. The police must have arrived just after he’d reached the highway through town. Surely he’d remember if he’d passed that many cops.
Despite the weather, a handful of people began to arrive at the crime scene, just as they had when Cammie’s body had been found. Vehicles lined the road opposite the field. Visitors placed candles, dolls, plastic flowers, and evergreens along the hillside and huddled in heavy jackets to stare at the crime scene tape and the memorials. The despair in their eyes made Eric shudder.
He knew from bitter experience, it would be months before any DNA tests came back on these new victims. Watching the camera pan past anxious faces, he wondered which of their lives been torn apart, worrying over where their loved ones had gone?
Or had they suspected who was responsible and been forced to live with the knowledge that no one in authority gave a red-hot damn?
He couldn’t decide which was worse.
Yes, he could. A sour taste filled his mouth, but the burden he’d stumbled under all his life seemed to shift. It would be much worse to know your loved one was dead, to suspect where they lay, and be told by the silence you were less than.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I don’t wanna vacuum out any more damn cars!” The shop vac’s metal canister bounced across the garage floor and rolled to a stop at Eric’s foot, resounding over the air ratchet in Dan’s hand. Jonah stalked through the waiting area. Dan let off the tool and the garage fell silent. The door to the office slammed, reminding Eric of the dark days after Sarah’s death, when Jonah first came to live with Colton.
He peered around the hood of the car. Colton threw out his hands. “Every damn day, his attitude gets worse. I don’t get it. Lila’s okay. The baby’s gaining weight and her eyes and lungs are improving. They’ll both get to come home soon, but he’s madder than hell. He won’t talk to me. When I drag him to the hospital, he won’t talk to Lila, either.” Colton smacked the fender of the Chevy in his bay.
Eric had a hunch he knew what was eating the kid. With Colton focused on Lila and Carah, he wasn’t surprised Jonah hadn’t confided in his brother. Wiping his hands, he tucked his rag into the back pocket of his coveralls and followed his nephew. “Hey,” he began, easing into the office and closing the door behind him. “What’s up, squirt?”
“Nothing.” The teen slouched in Dan’s office chair.
“Been meaning to ask. How’s Estrella?”
Bingo. Jonah gave Eric a baleful glare. “I dunno. I did what Amy said and got rid of Annabelle. Now Estrella won’t talk to me. The Mexican kids only hang with each other all of a sudden. There’s been a couple of fights.”
After a couple of conversations, he, Amy, and Alice had constructed a rough timeline. Livia stated on the film, she’d found the girl and told Nance. It was logical to assume that happened just before she’d confided to Alice about moving out of their bedroom. Which, coincidentally, was the same summer Livia signed over the orchards to Eric’s father. Could’ve been prompted by Nance’s heart attack, or Oliver’s greedy pushing... or Livia had washed her hands of the farm, putting it into his father’s name because she’d suspected Rafe would shut it down. There was no way to run eight hundred acres without hiring migrants.
“I wanna find someone to spend the night with, but Colton won’t let me.” Jonah fired another kick into the desk. “I don’t wanna go to the house and sit there while Uncle C calls Lila every fifteen minutes. And I’m sick and tired of the hospital. That place stinks.”
“It’s hard to drive past that barn, isn’t it? Sure bothers me.”
Jonah’s scowl grew darker. “I wish the place would burn to the ground. That old man with it.” The kid’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. “There’s a rumor going around school that some more of those victims might’ve come to this country to work in our orchards. Is that true?”
Unable to bear the look in Jonah’s eyes, he lifted his gaze to the window, watching Maze back the wrecker into a parking space.
Someone must be talking, if the kids at school had connected De Marco Farms with the bodies coming out of that barn. Another conversation with Amy came to mind, when she’d asked him about Dante.
Are we cursed? He’d say out loud he didn’t believe in such, but deep down, he grew less sure every day. Unless he could think of a way to appease whatever gods or ghouls were haunting his family.
Wait a minute.
Eric squinted at the wreckers, turning his idea over in his mind. Might be good, might be neutral, but he didn’t see how it could make things any damn worse. He understood the kid’s frustrations. He wanted to kick something himself. Barring that, the next best thing was some hard manual labor. “You ever been out in the wrecker, squirt? Ever worked the winch?”
“No. Colton said he’d take me out in the new one, but then Lila had the baby and all we do is run to the hospital or I have to go home with Cynda and Dan and Cynda tries to—.”
“Grab your coat.” He grabbed the phone on Dan’s desk, skimming his finger down the list of important numbers his brother had taped to the desk.
In the garage bay, he nudged Colton’s boot. His brother slid from under the dash of a truck. “I’ve got Jonah. He can stay with me and Amy tonight. Stay with Lila and Carah as long as you need, brother. I’ll take him to the mall with us tomorrow, for Amy’s exhibition. I can use his help setting up, anyway.” Turning to Dan, he steeled himself for an argument. “I let the Highway Patrol know our rigs are out of commission for a few hours. I need ‘em both. I’ll pay the driver’s wages and whatever you figure our losses to be.” He grabbed his keys and shouted. “Maze, Scott, let’s ride. We’re runnin’ out of daylig
ht.”
“Where the hell are you goin’?” Dan demanded.
“First, I’m gonna grab two tractor axles from behind the machine shop.” Eric kept walking. He could use Dan’s help, but he wasn’t gonna beg.
* * * *
Amy closed her textbook with a sigh of relief. Her last test as an undergraduate was in the morning. Then, she planned to cut her last class to head to the mall to start setting up for the wheelchair exhibition. She’d spent the days since Lila’s delivery obsessing over the schedules and rounding up volunteers to help referee, while Eric obsessed over other things.
All she had left to do was laundry. There weren’t many clothes remaining in her trunk, since she’d made a vow to wash and put away one load every night.
Except, every time she opened one of the drawers in those trunks, she wondered whether she should toss the contents into the back seat of her car and leave. Not because she wanted to leave, but because in a few weeks, Eric would end this charade.
She vacillated between wanting to stay and knowing she needed to go now, while she still thought she could. Before he grew bored.
If she did anything besides accept that eventuality, she’d be risking her friendship with Lila and the one developing with Cynda. And then there was Jonah. What a fucking mess. She should’ve seen this disaster coming. She drummed her heels against the couch.
She hadn’t expected this overwhelming, crackling ball of emotion whenever she thought about him. No one could’ve told her she’d find him interesting to talk to on every topic. That lying in bed whispering about everything from the time her sister drew spots on her with a permanent marker to his conviction he could build a cheaper, better sporting wheelchair would feel so fucking good.
No one could’ve convinced her he could make her feel sexy, just by looking at her that certain way.
He was more Renaissance man than redneck.
Who the hell saw that coming?
She knew better than to expect him to love her. Nothing poetic about it; the heartache she felt looming was the punch line to every country song.
So why drag those clothes out of her trunk?
Because if she didn’t, she’d lie here on the sofa and imagine them floating in the hot pool come June. Or rolling in the leaves come September. Putting up a Christmas tree in December.
Amy jumped off the sofa with a groan. “Idiot.” She stomped across the room and yanked open the front door. A tractor chugged past. Then the wrecker, with Eric at the wheel, pulling—What is that?
When she realized what he was towing, Amy leaped off the porch. Her tennis shoes slipped on the wet grass, but she took off running. She pulled up short at the end of the driveway. The wreckers were too far down the lane for her to catch them. A horn beeped. She looked right. Cynda waved and braked. Grams already occupied the front seat, so she jumped into the back.
“What in the world?” Amy slammed the door.
Cynda looked over her shoulder with rounded eyes. “Not. A. Clue. I was just leaving to take Grams home when we saw them go by. It’s nowhere near closing time. I had no idea they were here.”
The vehicles ahead came to a halt near the end of the road. Dan swerved onto the grass, easing the big tractor through two of the trees lining the lane. The wreckers were idling, but the doors opened. Eric jumped from behind the wheel of the first wrecker. Jonah followed, then Maze and another guy she’d seen at the garage climbed out of the second rig. Chainsaws dangled from the mens’ hands.
“I can’t figure out what these boys are up to.” Grams smiled at Amy over the headrest. “But I sure wish I could still eat popcorn.”
“She is too cute.” Amy grinned at Cynda.
Cynda bobbed her head. “Oh, that’s why she and Eric are thick as thieves. Two of a kind.”
Amy watched in amazement as tree after tree went down. Jonah grabbed the branches of one, backing across the road. She jumped out of the car and ran to help. The teenager straightened and scowled, shaking his head. Tugging off his gloves, he handed them to her without comment.
She pulled the gloves over her hands and waggled her fingers. Jonah laughed at the unfilled fingertips. First time she’d heard that sound in days.
* * * *
Eric shouted, “Dan!” and pointed at the spot between two downed trees. He had a clear line of sight now, from the corner where De Marco land began, to John’s barn. Dan backed the tractor into position and lowered the auger. The old tractor engine whined but the machine had plenty of torque, chewing into the heavy, wet clay.
Dan worked the controls and lifted the auger. “Deep enough?” Eric peered into the hole, then held his hands about six inches apart. Dan dropped the bore a second time. Eric motioned for Maze and jogged to the wrecker, drawing a diagram in the dust on the truck’s fender. “When Dan brings the tractor out, move into that spot, then I’ll hook up our cables. We’ll pull forward together, moving at forty-five degree angles. Think that’ll work?” He drew two diagonal lines.
Maze nodded. “Looks like a plan. Let’s do this.”
The thick metal cables pulled taut, then sagged when Dan and Scott put their shoulders to the wooden figure and manhandled the base into the hole.
Eric stuck his arm out the window of the older wrecker, raised his arm and circled his finger in the air. “Crank ‘er up, Maze.” Dan, Scott, and Jonah stabilized the pole while the thing found its equilibrium. Eric yanked the brakes and jumped from the cab. The angel’s wings soared over the trees, their hastily-applied coat of whitewash stark against the leaden sky.
Intending to backfill the hole, he bent to grab the shovel. Dan wrapped his hand around the handle and pulled the tool from his grasp.
“I’ll do that.” Dan pointed to a spot behind Eric. “Maybe you should go with your woman. Me and Cynda’ll be along.”
Eric whirled. A few of those watching the police activity had moved in their direction. The small group stopped a few feet shy of the sign marking their land as private property. Amy had Jonah in tow, moving toward the huddled curiosity seekers—or mourners. Squinting at their faces, Eric decided they were there to mourn the dead. He hustled to catch up.
The wind whipped Amy’s words to him. “Siento mucho tu perdida.” She reached for a calloused, brown hand.
Jonah grabbed the same hand the minute Amy moved to the next person. “Te acompaño en tus sentimientos.”
Eric wiped his hands on his jeans. He joined their impromptu line, shaking hands with a heavy heart. “Que el angel de la vida te traiga paz a ti y a tus seres queridos. May the angel of life bring peace to you and your loved ones.” Swallowing, he repeated the sentiment Amy and Jonah were expressing. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
Some might say his effort was pointless. Bringing the angel off the mountain to stare down the evil symbolized by John’s barn had been all he could think to do. He couldn’t shake the idea that asking for a hate crime law was sending the message hate was tolerable, as long as you didn’t act on it.
But, didn’t that idea lay the foundation for apathy?
Maybe the angel had been in the wrong place all along, up there in the clouds, rather than down here in the mud.
When he’d shaken the last hand in the small group, he looked down the road. Several people still loitered beside their vehicles. Scott threw up a hand as he chugged past in the older wrecker.
Maze pulled off his baseball cap, folded it, and shoved it into his back pocket before starting down the impromptu reception line. Behind him came Dan, Cynda, and Grams. Dan’s heavy drawl laced his boyhood Spanish.
Amy took his hand, dragging his attention back to her. Eric’s breath caught at the tears gleaming in her eyes. “What a beautiful gesture. You realize people can see the angel from the main road? I guess you’ve already figured out how to light it at night?”
That was a great idea, one he hadn’t thought of. “I need to buy a weatherproof spotlight or two, but I can make that happen.”
“My great-grandfathe
r helped carve that angel.”
The unfamiliar voice made Eric turn again. A man about Colton’s age pushed a woman who appeared nearly as old as Grams in a wheelchair. The rest of the group now moved in their direction, on foot and in their vehicles. When the pair came to a stop, Eric couldn’t catch every word of the old woman’s rapid-fire Spanish. “Her grandfather,” the young man interpreted. “He and his brother carved the angel in 1931. She wants your permission to touch it.”
Eric went to his knees in the road. Grasping her withered hand, he nodded, blinking back tears. “Si. My family would be honored if you would bless the angel, abuéla. She belongs to us all.”
Was that Amy’s hand stroking the back of his neck, or the ghost of his grandmother?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Amy opened her eyes and squinted at the clock on Eric’s nightstand. Not quite five a.m. The ‘early to bed and early to rise’ concept had become her new normal. This was now officially her favorite time of day. Before the world woke, Eric belonged only to her.
She slid her leg over his thigh, rubbing her foot along his calf. She moved her palm down his chest, reveling in each rise and dip of his hard muscles, every nerve alert to any shift in his breathing.
Tugging the quilt over her head, she shifted lower in the bed as gently as she could. Kneeling between his thighs, she pressed her lips to the top of one thigh, then the other. Then his cock. The skin felt silky to her lips, slightly puckered, but very warm. Inhaling his scent made an ache begin between her thighs. The head felt different to her lips than the shaft, softer and spongy. She eased her lips around it and stroked the helmeted shape with her tongue.
Wrapping her fingers around the shaft, she took more of him in her mouth. This was the only way she’d ever be able to take him completely.
