by Jane Bradley
I turned away to find my purse. “They have a lead that might relate to Katy,” I said as if those empty words would ease their minds enough to let me go. But they followed right behind me, Livy saying, “We are coming with you. We’ll follow you in our car if we have to. We are coming.” Lawrence was locking the glass door. I looked past him out to the balcony, saw the nice set table, the carefully prepared meal that would go to the flies and the gulls.
“All right. Let’s go in my truck.” In seconds we were down the stairs and out the door.
In the truck Livy sat beside me with Lawrence in the backseat leaning up between us. I could see he wasn’t accustomed to riding in backseats, but there was no discussion. He opened the door to let Livy climb in up front and took his place in the backseat without a word. I backed up and pulled out onto the highway leading to town. The new development was near a private school. I’d searched for another girl in the woods there. Not a place I wanted to go back to, but I wanted to be there before they pulled whatever it was from the ground. I wanted to get a sense of the scene and find a way to keep Livy back before the smell of rot thickened the air. I knew I wouldn’t make it in time, and I didn’t know how I could keep Livy from seeing, smelling, living the awful thing no mother should bear. I could feel the fear coming off Livy like an electric hum in the air. “It might not be anything,” I said, settling back, trying to look more relaxed in my seat.
“You’re driving too fast for this not to be anything,” Livy said, her eyes staring out at the road. We drove on in silence for a while. Livy made a wailing sound. “You’ve got to tell us where we are going. You’ve got to tell us what kind of lead.”
I thought of the Xanax in the first-aid kit in the back of the truck. I knew we’d be needing that, tried to think of an excuse to pull over, how I could convince Livy to take a pill without telling her why she needed it.
“Shelby,” she said. A mother’s warning tone, quickly growing furious.
“Some kids found something in the woods,” I said. “Could be something. Could be nothing. Roy is on his way.”
“Where?” she said. The tears were already slipping down her face.
“Near a new housing development. Out by Land Fall.”
She sat thinking. I could see the path her mind was traveling. “You say some kids found something.” She squeezed my arm. “What kind of something?”
Lawrence reached, pulled her hand away. “Let her drive, Livy. She’s telling us what she can.” I could feel his gaze on my face. I glanced his way and could tell by the little wince in his eyes that he could see my fear. “Damn,” he whispered as he took a firmer grip on Livy’s arm.
“He’s killed her!” Livy cried. “It’s Katy! That monster got her too, dumped her body out there.” She covered her face with her hands, sank in her seat, and sobbed as if something were being beaten into her, or out of her. It was an awful breaking, shattering sound. I pulled to the side of the road, stopped the truck, and went around back for the Xanax. I shook two from the bottle and grabbed two waters from the cooler. I went to her side of the truck and pulled her out, put her in the backseat with her husband. She didn’t fight. She just leaned into him and cried like a little girl. I’ve seen enough of this kind of sorrow. I’ve seen more than enough grief, and I know there will always be more tears in this world. I wanted to shake her, make her stop, make her quit making that awful sound that always breaks my heart when I think no more can be broken. But it was her daughter. No, I thought, it could be her daughter. So I reached in, stroked her back, and said, “We don’t know anything yet. We don’t know anything. Try not to be so upset about what we don’t know.” I gave Lawrence the pills and the waters. “Xanax,” I said. “There’s one for you if you need it, but right now we need to get her as steady as we can.” He nodded, gave Livy a pill, slipped the other into his pocket. He stroked the back of her head, whispered, “We need you steady, Livy.” She took the pill, gulped the water down. Then she sat back with her eyes closed, tears still seeping down.
I shut the door and went around to get back behind the wheel. I got us back on the road, grateful for the silence. After a while she sat up, blew her nose. I could hear her taking deep breaths, straightening in her seat. “Just tell us what you know,” she said. “I’m going to go crazy back here trying to guess what you know.” I kept my eyes on the road. I said, “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”
“Through what!” The anger would keep her stronger than grief.
“Olivia,” Lawrence said in that paternal voice that reminds me of why I’ll never marry.
“Some kids found . . .” I shook my head, couldn’t get the words out. “A shallow grave,” I said. I heard her making those choking, sobbing sounds. I knew she was swallowing the need to scream. “We don’t know it’s Katy,” I said.
“It’s near Land Fall,” Lawrence said. “For God’s sake!”
And so we drove. I’d searched those woods before when a girl had been reported missing after volleyball practice one night. We searched with crews, dogs, everything we had, and all we found in those woods were beer bottles, pizza boxes, some girl’s panties, and a used condom. They could have been any girl’s panties in that woods. Later we found her, bound and gagged in the Cape Fear River. Valerie Williams was her name. I still have her picture on the wall of the missing back at my house. We found her, but she’ll always be gone. Her picture smiles out toward a future she can never know.
I kept driving while Lawrence made furious sighing sounds and Livy leaned into him and whimpered. I prayed it wouldn’t be Katy. And I prayed for a way to keep Livy and Lawrence in the truck while the detectives studied whatever it was half buried in the ground. There was no use in talking. She was wearing herself out just by thinking the worst possible thing. And I could only let her. I knew in time she would face the worst possible thing. And sometimes we need to practice pain just to know that somehow in the end, we will survive.
When we turned onto the road into the subdivision, I expected Livy to start wailing again, but the Xanax must have eased her a bit. I knew she was exhausted. I glanced back at them, saw her leaning into her husband’s chest and staring blankly ahead while he sat staring as if he could clearly see the thing he hated most in this world. But there were no tears, only a clench in his jaw. I drove toward the line of cars, pulled to the side of the road. I was dreading the argument of how I would convince them to stay in the truck instead of jumping out and running straight to what they didn’t want to see. They both leaned forward as I edged toward the line of cars. I spoke then, the useless words: “You know, it really would be better if you waited in the truck.” I could see the cops out there. The detective. And a coroner’s car. It had to be bad if they’d called the coroner’s car. There were some kids standing around. A shallow grave dug up was the last thing a kid needed to see. I held off on parking the truck, just slowly edged forward. I picked up my phone. “Let me just try to talk to Roy.” I kept edging the truck forward, refusing to stop, knowing Livy was ready to leap out the door. Roy picked up after one ring, said, “It’s a dog.”
“A dog?” I said. “All they found is a dog?” I glanced back at Livy, who just fell back silent against the seat.
“A big dog,” Roy said. “A collie maybe. Rolled up in a carpet.”
“Why the hell did they call the coroner’s car for a dog?”
“Somebody was too eager to find something worse, I guess.” Roy sighed. I could almost feel his breath through the phone. “You know how people can be so eager to find the worst thing. Somebody just buried their dead dog.”
I looked back to Lawrence, who sat shaking his head. “That’s it,” I said. “Someone just buried their dead dog.”
“Yep,” Roy said. “How’s that for a false lead?”
I couldn’t help smiling. I looked to Livy, could see the giggling rising to her face. “Poor dog,” I said. “He probably belonged to some family that lives near here.”
“Yeah, the fami
ly is here. They’re putting the dog back in the ground.” He sighed again. “You don’t need to see this.”
“No, we don’t need to see this.”
They were laughing in the backseat, both of them, laughing as if they’d just heard the funniest thing in the world.
I got off the phone, and we all sat there laughing.
“The steaks,” Lawrence finally said when he could speak. “Those beautiful steaks gone to waste.” Then we went through another round of laughing, calling out words, “Steak, orzo, salad.” And more laughing with the words, “All gone to the birds.”
We didn’t eat steaks that night. We went to the Mexican place near the condo. We ate bad greasy food and drank sour-sweet margaritas. And we laughed at the tears wasted on a false lead, all that grief pulled up and thrown out for a false lead. But that was all right. Sometimes we need a taste of the bad things to get ready for what’s worse.
There’s Always Hell to Pay
Jesse moved down the tobacco row, pulling leaves, and dropping them on the ground where the next man would come and stack them under his arm to take them to the stringer. One job for each man. They all added up to one big harvesting machine. If each man did his one job, the machine would go. That first day they’d sized him up, height, weight, and strength. They’d measured him for the job he could do. Like a slave, Jesse thought, going to the next plant, tearing at the leaves. He looked down the row; the stacker was way behind—they called him Lightning. His name was a joke because he had this slow, dumb way of moving like he didn’t know what he was doing. But he knew exactly what he was doing, getting on the guards’ nerves, everybody’s nerves, by the way he could slow things down. He was handing off a stack of leaves to the stringer, taking his time. The stringer pierced the leaves with something like an arrow attached to thick twine. Once a string was full, it was stacked and trucked to the barn to cure. Jesse looked over the men working like mules, the guards scowling down at them all from their horses. One guard stuck a wad of chew in his mouth, mashed in between his teeth. Soon he’d be spitting. Some of the guards liked to aim their spit to fall right at a man’s feet, not hitting, but letting a man know he was down there on the ground where the spit would fall. The guard looked his way. “You got a problem there, boy?”
Jesse shook his head, bent back to work. He saw his sweat drip from his face to the black dirt at his feet. He thought, It’s the last day you’ll call me boy, but he didn’t give the man a glance, knowing he was watching, making sure Jesse was doing exactly what he was supposed to do. He stayed low to the ground as he moved, wasting no effort to stand and bend to each plant. Stay low and keep moving. His legs and back were trained to this. The guards had laughed at the way he picked, arms and legs always steady and low to the ground. They’d called him monkey man for the way he seemed to move on all fours. He kept picking down the row, thinking, I’ll show you monkey man. I’m gonna break and run. I’ll be out of sight just the way a wild thing moves in the woods. All you’ll see is the shaking of leaves. He knew he was picking straight toward that little dip in the land.
There was a little breeze now and then to keep the tobacco leaves stirring, and they were working the western field, that much closer to the river. When he broke, he’d be heading into the sun, and they’d have a harder time sighting him with the glare in their eyes. He picked faster now, wanting to get way out ahead of Lightning, who was taking his time. Not much longer, Jesse thought. He knew the water break was coming soon. He could tell by the parched tightness in his throat. He stayed low, kept picking, heard the thundering sound of a horse going by a couple rows over. The horse stopped. Jesse could hear the impatience in the hooves of the horse being reined in, stomping at the ground. “Slow down, Hollowfield,” the guard called. “We’re coming up on break, and you don’t need to be too far out of range.” Jesse grinned but kept his face to the ground. “You hear me, boy?”
He stood. “Yes, sir.” The guard looked like some kind of Texas Ranger up there on his high horse with his face shadowed by his cowboy hat. Jesse glanced at the rifle strapped to the saddlebag. It would take a few seconds to get the rifle up, get the target in sight. And Jesse needed only a few seconds to disappear. “Yes, sir,” he said again as he bent, put his hands just above his knees, and stretched his back. He breathed hard to make the guard think he was whipped and catching his breath, as if he’d barely be able to make it back to the water truck.
“All right, then,” the guard said as he guided the horse on down the row. They’d never suspect Jesse for a runner. He’d played them, worked hard and steady, never complained, never begged and cried to be let out of Fat Mack’s cell. Hell, he could take the stare of the fat man, the stench of him, that nonstop breathing sound. He could handle Fat Mack. Even though Fat Mack gave him that dead man’s gaze that made most guys whimper and duck away, Jesse stood there and gave it right back.
The break whistle screeched, and Jesse saw the guard look back his way. Jesse gave him a nod and took a few steps down the row toward the water truck, and the guard moved on to get the others in line. He’d have five seconds to step into the row of tobacco plants and disappear. Four seconds now before the guard checked to make sure he was coming. He slowed his steps, watched the guard go to Lightning to try to make him move on. Jesse slipped down, slid into the leaves. He bent and ran low to the ground, moving lightly over the humps of soil around the plants, the flattened paths between the rows. He moved just the way he’d known he would, fast and furious, nothing like a man but like something wild and used to moving fast on rough ground. He kept his feet moving, head down, leaves smacking at the top of his head, his cheeks, his arms and hands. He wouldn’t let himself feel the burn, just kept moving, breathing in and out, in and out, the way he’d trained to run without pausing to catch a breath. Keep breathing, he thought, eyes down, keep pushing through row after row to the river. Keep breathing to the river and you’re free. He heard the shouts of guards, not even close. No gunshots fired. He knew he would get to the river. He’d had plenty of lead time. He caught a hint of a breeze moving through the leaves, cooling him a little. He grinned, knowing even the wind was following his plan.
Fat Mack sat on the tailgate of the water truck, gave the guard a wink, and sipped cold water from his cup. “You know he hates being watched.”
The guard squinted at the field, looked to the other guards, who were scattering, circling the field. “Well, he’s got his audience gathering now.” They knew exactly where Jesse was going, and they were giving him time to get there. He was surrounded and didn’t know it. Fat Mack stood and looked over the other prisoners, cuffed and face-down in the dirt road leading out to the field. Guards stood ready to blast anyone who moved. The guard poked at his arm with the butt of his rifle. “Time to cuff you too, Mack.” Fat Mack turned, let himself be cuffed with the big-sized cuffs made for men over three hundred pounds. “I’d put you on the ground,” the guard said, “but I’d have to order in a crane to pull you back up again.”
Fat Mack nodded, looked out over the field where Jesse was running. He called out for the others to hear, “Go on, devil boy! Run like a motherfucker! Get the hell out of here!” A few of the men on the ground cheered but went quiet when the guard yelled to shut up.
The guard leaned close to him. “Nice. You keep rooting for your devil boy.” He gave Fat Mack a wink, but Fat Mack just stared back, giving nothing. The guard squirmed a little and looked back out at the field as if he could see something besides tobacco plants out there. “They gonna blow his head off just the way they blast those bagged flower heads.”
Fat Mack nodded. “He’s bagged all right.” He looked out at the field, saw the guards circling in.
Jesse felt the ground dipping under his feet. He was in the blind spot now, that little dip in the land where they could see only the leaves shaking on the plants. He could hear the horses at a distance, though. He kept his head low. The horses seemed confused somehow, kept crossing back, not coming straight
on him. He heard a guard shout, “Where the fuck he go? How’s a man disappear in the middle of a field?” Jesse grinned, pushed on. A tobacco leaf slashed at his face, scratched his eye, stinging, knocking his breath back. He covered his eye with his hand, pushed on, swallowing the pain. The eye burned, tears running down his face. He pushed his head down lower, tried to shield his good eye. He’d be blind if another leaf smacked his good eye like that. He kept running, thighs and back burning from the strain. He could tell by the lay of the land that he was near the river. He went left, toward it, kept running. He glanced ahead to the top branches of the line of trees. Just behind the trees would be the river. The shouting of the guards was fainter now. But he could still hear the rushing sounds of horses, the pounding of their hooves on the ground as if they were right on him. He thought of the guards, what they could see. Fat Mack had said they were aching to take a shot at a man running through the fields. He kept running, listening for the guards closing in, his skin burning wherever the leaves hit. He stood a little taller now as he ran, taking some of the strain out of his back. Still no sound of the guards. He’d lost them.
He could see the clearing just ahead, and he was out of the tobacco in the little strip of open land before the line of trees. And just beyond the trees, the river. He could smell the coolness in the air. He whispered, “Home free,” as he headed for the trees. The trees stood tall and thick. He could smell the river. It would soothe his burning skin. He’d dive in, swim under, moving through the river like a trout. The current would carry him fast and far away. He stretched his legs, stood tall for the longer stride, the faster run across the clearing. The trees were just ahead. He pushed on harder, the clearing wider than he thought it would be. He ran hard, thinking, I just gotta get to the trees. If they saw him in the clearing, they’d shoot to kill. They wanted that. He listened for them, heard only the sound of his breath and the pounding of blood in his ears and the rush of his feet across the ground. The trees, he could smell them; he could feel the coolness of them just a few yards away now. “I’m free.” The sound of laughter rippled in his head. “I’m free,” he panted, “free.”
