Pancrazy slapped his hands on his chest a couple times, right on his nipples, and left them there. He looked over the heads of his gathered employees. “Well, this is a shit of a day.”
Some murmurs, nods. Nervous laughs turned to throat-clearing.
“When’s the ambulance going to get here?”
Blank looks. Even Ferret. Ferret should’ve known better.
“Has anyone called an ambulance yet?”
Nothing.
Jesus.
He turned back to the trailer. “Guess I’ll have to do it my own damn self.”
Under his breath, “As usual.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ferret got up at damn-near-dawn. He sat on the side of the bed and tried not to disturb Dee Dee. They’d finally done the “getting back to good dance,” which always took a few days. Both felt bad for the fight. Both felt stupid. Neither one could come out and say it, so it took small favors for each other, usually simple things—she brought him a Coke when he didn’t ask for one, he picked up a king-sized pack of Starbursts for her on the way home. A foot rub. A back rub. A late-night, whispered string of laughter from both, followed by quiet, simple sex and Dee Dee with tears on her cheeks
The next morning, he still stepped tenderly. She would be getting up within ten, fifteen minutes anyway—her cell phone alarm would start in with Miranda Lambert’s put-on twang—so why not let her have the bed to herself for a little longer?
A peek through the door of Violet’s room. She slept curled on her side, cocooned in the quilt her grandmother—Ferret’s mother—made for her. The stuffed boa constrictor she usually slept with, a prize from the county fair back home, looked alive, slithering as Violet breathed, another minute or so from coiling onto the floor.
Coffee first. Coffee and day-old biscuits reheated in the toaster oven. A bit hard, but he liked to peel the layers, eat them one layer at a time. No butter, no jam. He would be hungry again by nine, but that was a long time away. He watched TV, muted, and picked up the vibe of the weather forecast by the look on the weather woman’s face. She had a hard time doing the fake TV smile. Lots of curled lips, smirks, that sort of thing.
It was going to be cold. Of course. It was going to be windy. Of course. And it might snow later that night.
He smiled. Violet’s first real snow after a couple of weeks of dustings. While it wasn’t Dee Dee’s first snow, her last one had been more than twenty years earlier, and she barely remembered it. Ferret, luckily, had some relatives in Ohio he’d visited a few times during Christmas vacations. He remembered snowballs. Pressed-down hard, all ice on the surface, slamming into his ears and cheeks and eyes, and him hurling them back just as hard.
By the time Dee Dee joined him, crossing in front of the TV with her arms hugged tight, sleeves tugged over her hands, checkered flannel pj bottoms and fuzzy socks, there was a gray glow outside than would turn into gray sunlight. The wind was picking up, and waves of dead leaves kept up a steady beat on the back wall of the trailer. Dee Dee got her coffee, joined him on the couch, crawling under a Walmart fleece blanket, her feet tucked under his thigh.
“You could’ve got me up.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Serious though.” A little kick. She drank from her mug, extra sweet, extra creamy. His was just creamy enough to get it dark brown.
Ferret tried to watch Dee Dee without her noticing, since she would get self-conscious and start making faces or hitting him. He said, “Have you talked to them yet?”
“Today, I’ll do it today.”
“They’ll be mad.”
“I said today, baby. I’ve just been busy.”
She and Violet supposed to fly out to meet her parents for the Thanksgiving cruise, plane tickets paid for by the in-laws, but after these couple of weeks, Ferret settling into his real job, no more distractions, and things with Dee Dee down from Code Red to Easy Blue, they decided to spend the holiday together in their drafty little trailer. Nothing fancy—frozen turkey breast to be oven-roasted, some cornbread dressing, steamed vegetables in microwave bags. But the last thing they needed was someone trying to drive a wedge between them. Again.
Dee Dee said, “You could pretend to be feel bad about it.”
He fake-sniffed. “I’m so sorry you have to trudge through Turkey day with me.”
She covered her mouth with her arm, hiding a grin, but her eyes squinted and she started laughing. “I have to do dishes.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
And they both laughed until the next weather report. Violet was still asleep and would be for another hour, so Ferret and Dee Dee took a shower together. He knelt in front of her and tried to lick her pussy while she shampooed. She stopped him and said, “Not this morning,” but still grabbed the back of his head with both foamy hands and pressed his face tight to her stomach.
*
It had been a few days since Howard Barrowman had electrocuted himself while working on a broken pump, so of course everyone was going through safety inspections and training and reminders that would be forgotten again after Christmas. Okay, not forgotten, but back-burnered. Plus, Pancrazy had read the men the riot act. Not only safety first, but “Ferret first, you little fucks! I gave him the job for a reason. You talk to him or Gene Handy or Russell, and they talk to me. It’s called Chain of Fucking Command, retards.”
There was that. Except it made Ferret wonder where Russell had gone off to. Sick, they said, but not that sick. Maybe he’d quit. But that meant he’d left Bad Russell here on his own. Didn’t seem likely. Ferret wasn’t going to ask about it, though, because he was staying as far away from that lunatic as possible. Word had got around that Bad Russell was the sole driver now, and it got to Ferret a little. What a waste of money.
His own money was slipping though his fingers. He’d held off on tapping into the leftover driving cash, but shit, there was no way to get ahead. He hated to admit it, but sending Dee Dee and Violet back to Alabama made a lot more sense than keeping them here, even with two incomes. But no, fuck that. Livin’ on a Prayer, Love Will Keep Us Together, Let’s Stay Together, Don’t Stop Believing, Love Will Find a Way.
I always feel like somebody’s watching me.
A shiver. But it was just the wind. Ferret hiked his shoulders, glanced around anyway. No, it really did feel that way. Eyes on him all the time. Not Gene Handy, though. He kept his ass clear lately. No threats, no jibes, no nothing. He did his thing and only talked to Ferret when Pancrazy called them together. That was a whole new level of cold for Ferret—no friends out here anymore, if they ever really were in the first place. Everyone else talked behind his back. The supervisor got all the shit.
As long as he had Dee Dee waiting for him at home to thaw him out, he could stand it. Not much longer, he thought. Get through the winter, through the slowdown, and then he’d start looking for something in the Gulf. A lot of guys had already taken off, afraid of the stories locals tell them about living for weeks below zero with forty-mile-an-hour winds, constant blizzards, and iced-over roads. That meant new guys to keep an eye on. Some overtime.
All he had was Pancrazy now, giving him career advice like some inappropriate uncle. Ferret had gotten so far out of the loop on the meth that he wasn’t sure who knew and who didn’t, and Pancrazy wasn’t dropping hints. He sounded like a guy on the verge of retirement, which could explain how he’d gone so soft all the sudden.
He’d say stuff like:
“Keep her happy. Even after she dumps your ass. Keep her happy. Keeping your ex happy is a better sort of happy than keeping your next wife happy.”
Or:
“I expect before the next Civil War, you’ll see the Dakotas seceding first.”
Or:
“Oil. Blood. Used to be easy to take both.”
Pancrazy told Ferret he could keep climbing the ladder. He could be a driller if he wanted. Or, hell, a couple of years at community college, and he could be a fiel
d engineer. It made Ferret want to laugh. It was only a handful of years ago that he was still sending out demo tapes to songwriting contests. And now, what, he could end up some sort of geologist? The only term he remembered from Geology was “igneous”, and he didn’t remember what that meant.
None of it mattered today, now past lunch, the sky getting darker even earlier in the day than it had a week ago. Ferret stood between two fracking trucks, all clustered around the wellhead, a network of hoses twisting, intertwining, like the snake pit in Raiders. It was like standing too close to a jet engine. No, five jet engines. Jesus. Hypnotized, almost. Thinking back to the summer when they were setting up a drill on this site. Everything that had happened between then and now.
A thick glove on his shoulder, a shake. Freaked him the fuck out. He flinched and turned. A roughneck called Brauler held his hands up like, Hey hey, it’s okay. Thumbed over his shoulder. It could only mean one thing. Ferret nodded and followed the guy through the tight maze of trucks, through frosted over puddles, through mud, out to the driller’s trailer.
Now that they could hear again, Brauler leaned in, shouted, “Phone call!” and gave Ferret a thumbs up before heading off. Ferret took the steps, tried to scrape some mud and frost off before stepping into the sauna. He reached for the doorknob. It was covered in cold condensation. He opened the door and shook the water from his hand. Pancrazio was there, along with Gene Handy and another supervisor Ferret hadn’t deal with that often, but they were still on good terms. First thought: Shit, we’re busted.
Pancrazio was standing, phone in his hand, hung low. Gene Handy leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, and the supervisor was seated, on the edge.
The driller pointed the phone towards Ferret. “Your kid’s school.”
Ferret could’ve sworn he lost consciousness there for a second. Blackout on his feet. He didn’t want to touch that phone. “What happened?”
The supervisor said, “The principal needs to ask you something. Your girl is fine.”
“So what happened?”
“Goddamn, son, take the goddamned phone already.”
He didn’t want to touch that phone.
He left the door to the trailer open, took stuttering steps across the floor to the desk, wiping his palms on his jeans, over and over, until he was standing beside Pancrazio, who put a hand on Ferret’s shoulder and said, “Here.”
Ferret took the phone and said “Hello?” And everything and everyone else in the room might as well have been a thousand miles gone.
*
When Dee Dee didn’t show up for her class, the kids didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know who to call, who to ask. It wasn’t until the next bell, when one of the teachers noticed Dee Dee hadn’t emerged from her class. They usually chatted while the kids filtered from one room to the next, so this teacher thought Dee Dee might be talking to a student, or preparing a lesson, and none of them could deny it, keeping away from the noise in the hall because of the hangovers so many of the teachers ended up with trying to forget about what winter was going to be like.
She peeked into Dee Dee’s room. Was going to tease her. But no one was there. Bathroom break? She waited until the late bell, still no Dee Dee.
Then it got weird. A search of the bathrooms, a search of the spot by the dumpster where people smoked, a search of the parking lot—her car was there. The principal, Ms. Trepanier, checked to make sure Violet was in class, and she was.
How did you come to school this morning?
My mom drove us.
Did she drop you off and leave? Did she say where she was going?
The poor kid looked confused. Mom followed me into the building. She told me to ask my teacher about borrowing a DVD. What’s going on?
Did you see her at lunch?
We don’t have the same lunch period. Where is my mom? Is she okay? You’re scaring me.
Do you see her at lunch? Not just to say hi?
I don’t like you. I don’t know. Am I in trouble?
The teacher and the principal looked at each other for a long moment. Then the secretary said, “My God.”
“Midge,” Ms. Trepanier said, “do you have a number for her dad?”
*
The voice of the principal on the other end of the line sounded as if it was coming from far away. A slight echo. Maybe a speaker phone. Ferret was losing track of the questions.
He told her, “No, not that I know about.”
He told her, “No, not when I’m on the job.”
He told her, “Yeah, it sounded like a good movie. We were going to watch it tonight.”
And then he told her, “I guess. I suppose. Wait. Let me...you call the police, I’ll meet you at the school.”
Ferret hung up. He’d forgotten about everyone else in the room, now looking at him like, like, shit there’s nothing like this, is there? “I’ve got to go.”
The supervisor stood and cleared his throat. “Let’s get you a ride over to the school—”
“I’ll drive myself.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Please, let us—”
“I’ve got to go.” He headed for the door, still open, all the heat rushing out past him. Reminded him of the hot wind last summer. “Is that okay? Do I need to clock out?”
Pancrazio went hrump and turned to Gene Handy. “You, go with him.”
“I don’t need him to go with me.”
“It’s not a fucking question. He’s going.” Whistled. Snapped his fingers. Pointed Gene Handy towards the door.
The supervisor raised his hands. “Now, listen, I know...I know...okay, this is emotional, but let’s slow down. I think maybe we should talk to one of our lawyers about this first.”
Gene Handy pushed himself off the wall and followed Ferret, who wasn’t listening to anyone anymore. “Fuck that. You know where we’ll be.” And they were gone.
*
It came as a surprise. It shouldn’t have if you watch any TV at all, any crime show, any news show, it’s an automatic response, the first suspect. But it still came as a surprise to Ferret, leaning against the examining table in the school nurse’s office, Violet welded to his leg, face buried between his thigh and arm. She kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Daddy.” He asked her why she would say that, and she said, “I’m in trouble, ain’t I?”
He assured her she wasn’t. All the questions, asking her “Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?” Same thing they did to him, but he didn’t pick up the vibe at first. The husband never does. It’s like a fugue thing, is that what they call it? Tunnel vision? He got to the school and found Violet, crying, none of her teachers giving her a hug, not even a Kleenex. First thing he asked for, some tissues, goddamn it.
Next, out to Dee Dee’s car, trailed by Ms. Trepanier and the P.E. coach, a gruff bastard thinking he was cop-material right there and then. One of those “just say the word, and I’ll put my hands on him” types. Buzzing uncomfortably close. The principal kept saying, “Shouldn’t we wait for the police? We should really wait. It’s a crime scene.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But it is. It is. You should—”
Ferret spun on her. The coach got in it, too. Ferret said, “See my daughter back there? Would someone get her some Kleenex and stop asking her so many questions? For fuck’s sake.”
The coach. “Hold on Mister—”
“Have we met? Do I even know you?” He looked up, found Gene Handy perched on the tailgate of the pick-up they’d driven over, watching. Ferret raised his arm and pointed down at the coach. Gene Handy nodded back, got up, started over.
Back on track to the car. They’d picked it up for under two grand. Guys drive out here looking for work, but then get to the point where it’s easier to sell the car than give up the search. It was a nice car. A Nissan Sentra, six years old, ninety-five thousand miles. Had New Mexico plates on it. Ferret reminded himself to change those. He used the extra key they’d had made at the True
Value to open the driver’s door. He climbed in. Nothing out of the ordinary. It still smelled like her inside—the shampoo, the soap, the gum she chewed. Nice and clean, this car. The cigarette smell from the previous owner had faded. They’d Fabreezed the fuck out of it. In fact, he now realized he’d made it filthy again just by sitting down. The mud on his boots, the smears of mud on his arms, hands, shirt, jeans. He turned to the passenger seat.
On the floorboard, Dee Dee’s purse, still latched. In the center cup holder, her cell phone. Jesus, her cell phone. So no one could track her? Why would she leave that?
See? Accusatory. The first thought was to be pissed at her. Scared and pissed all at the same time. Think past it.
He pulled the purse into her lap. The principal was at the driver’s window now, tapping. “Please, there might be fingerprints! Please!”
He unlatched the purse, opened it wide. A jumble. No order. None. There was spearmint gum. There was a roll of quarters. There was her phone charger and a couple of compacts and folded post-it notes and pens, pens, pens, and her wallet.
Ferret took out the wallet. Maybe someone could go without a phone, but a wallet? Unless she’d somehow gotten hold of the cash. Had she found his driving stash? Shit. Shit. More tapping on the window. “The police are here. They’re here now! Please!” He opened the wallet, a hard-shelled one she’d picked up at CVS, cheap but with a little cartoon pug on it, a blue and brown striped background. Inside, all her cards. Even cards for Blockbuster back in Alabama, unused for years, and her old college ID, and a maternity-and-baby-clothes store. Plus the main debit card, her last one, and the Chase Visa they’d realized they needed only recently. The rule had been “Pay it off every month,” but it was now carrying a four-month balance.
He checked for cash in every nook and cranny, behind every card, in every extra pocket. And, fuck, it was there. A twenty neatly folded. A couple of fives mixed with about eight ones. Some dimes and quarters. That’s when it sank in. That’s when it really sank in. Just about the time the principal lifted her nose from the glass and was replaced by a uniformed officer. “I’m sorry, sir, but we need you to step out of the vehicle.”
Worm Page 19
