Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  It was the thought of the three hundred dollars that finally swayed Rainey, as Chantry had hoped it would.

  He gave him a narrow look but nodded. “You can try, but I ain’t wastin’ a lot of time or money on it. And don’t be thinkin’ you’ll get to keep it if it lives, neither. I’ll sell it first if I can.”

  “I don’t. Won’t. It’s okay.” He put his head down so none of them would see his relief. It didn’t matter if the dog got sold as much as it mattered that it had a chance at living.

  Beau gave him a shove that almost knocked him into the pups. “Candy ass.”

  He didn’t care. He let it pass without saying anything. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. Not with Rainey standing there watching and listening. He’d only laugh like he usually did when Beau and Rafe ganged up on him. He liked to brag about how well his boys were doing, making good money as rod busters, buying new trucks and giving him money sometimes. Chantry thought they probably spent more than they made, but that wasn’t his concern.

  He’d already mixed up the bitch’s milk just like the directions said, and when they all left to spend father-son quality time over at the Tap Room, he took it out to the pen.

  “Come here, little bit,” he murmured to the tiny pup, and lifted it in his hand. The pink mouth nuzzled his palm. He remembered what Mama had called it. It did look almost like a shadow, a bare whisper of life. “Come on, little Shadow. Let’s get you fat.”

  He took a soft rag and dipped it into the milk, then let the pup suck at it. It wasn’t the best substitute, but all he could manage for the moment. He just felt so big and clumsy and the pup felt so small. He tried squeezing milk into the little mouth but that didn’t seem to work well either.

  “That ain’t gonna work, Chantry.”

  When he looked up, Tansy knelt beside the pen. She grinned at him. “Daddy sent me down with this. I used to use it to feed my dolls.” She held up a small plastic bottle, waggling it between her thumb and finger. “And I can help. Everybody knows girls are better than boys at this kind of stuff.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh yeah. Move over.”

  Tansy opened the gate and stepped inside. She wore a pair of yellow shorts and a bandana top that left her middle bare. Tansy was Dempsey’s daughter, his only child, but she looked more like her mother. She had pretty light skin and eyes like chunks of polished amber, with thick heavy lashes. She’d matured earlier than other fourteen year old girls, too. She already had a chest that made the boys stare. She wore her hair long most of the time, but now it was pulled back from her face into a ponytail high on her head. It wasn’t at all kinky, but soft and wavy and not nearly as dark as Chantry’s own hair. Sometimes in the sun, it almost had a red shine to it.

  She knelt beside him, long legs folded up under her, bare toes digging into the dirt. “Here. You’re holding it like it’s gonna break. Give her to me.”

  “It’s a he.”

  “Fine. Give him to me, butthead.”

  He handed Shadow over, and she took the puppy gently, cradling it in her slender palm as if she had indeed done this a lot. Tansy’s long fingers worked the puppy into position while Chantry filled the baby bottle with some of the milk. He handed it to her, and she turned the pup and slid the end of the nipple into its searching mouth. Greedy sucking sounds quickly drained the bottle. Chantry put more in it and handed it over again. This time some was left.

  “There you go. That’s all there is to it,” Tansy said and looked up at him.

  “Don’t you have to . . . burp him or something?”

  “Only if you intend to put diapers on him. Don’t you know nothin’?”

  “Obviously not.” He sat back with his spine pressed against the side of the garage. “You do pretty good for a girl.”

  “I do pretty good for anybody.” Sometimes Tansy talked that way, like she had all the confidence in the world. Only Chantry knew any different. They’d grown up together. He knew she felt a lot like he did. Two years ago her mama, Miss Julia, had died, and since then they’d talked a lot about how it felt to have only one parent. Tansy said Chantry was lucky to still have his mama. He said she was lucky to still have her daddy. Both of them knew what they meant.

  “You like this color?” Tansy stuck out one foot so he could see the polish on her toenails. He squinted at her foot. Her toes were neon pink.

  “Looks like you’ve been stompin’ on strawberries.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him and he grinned. They watched the puppies a while, then he cleaned up after Belle and gave her fresh water. Tansy helped, knowing what to do without him saying anything. She was always good that way.

  “So what now?” she asked. “Rainey gone for a while?”

  “Probably. Sunday night services at the Tap Room.”

  There was no Blue Law in Quinton County that prohibited the sale of alcohol on Sundays. Besides, the sheriff owed his job and salary to old man Quinton, and old man Quinton owned the Tap Room.

  “Daddy said you’re gonna go to work with him in the morning.”

  “Yeah. You gonna go, too?”

  “Maybe.” She cut her eyes at him, lashes low to hide what she was thinking. It was such a girl trick. He waited, and in a minute she said, “We’re gonna do some work at Six Oaks.”

  Damn. He frowned, looked down at his feet, kicked at a dirt clod. Chris Quinton’s house. He hated going out there. But he’d already asked for work, and he’d given his word. And he sure needed the money.

  “You think Chris will be there?” Tansy asked.

  “I hope not.”

  “I hope he is. He . . . looks at me sometimes like he wants to . . . to talk to me.”

  “Don’t be stupid. That ain’t what he wants to do.”

  “Jealous?” Tansy arched a brow and put one hand on her hip, poking out her lower lip at him. She was teasing and he knew it, but it still made him mad.

  “Damn, Tansy, you’re smarter than to like Chris Quinton. He’s a asshole.”

  Tansy stood up straight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Chantry Callahan. He took me for a ride the other day in his new truck, and all we did was talk.”

  “Jeez, are you crazy? You went off alone with him?” He stared at her. She stared back at him, her eyes all slitted like one of the stray cats that always hung around her house.

  “Why not? He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t even touch me. He just . . . talked to me.”

  It made him uneasy, but he couldn’t say exactly why. He just knew Chris wouldn’t be nice to Tansy unless he wanted something from her. He was pretty sure he knew what, but how did he say that to Tansy without her getting all mad again? She flipped her ponytail and thinned her lips.

  “Look, Chantry, I know what you’re thinking. Boys like him don’t ever look at girls like me. I know that. But he does. So what if I want to see if Chris really likes me? It can’t hurt.”

  “You’re wrong. Chris . . . he’s just not the nice guy he pretends to be. It’s only a mask he puts on when he wants something. Tansy, look—just don’t go off alone with him, okay? Don’t get in his truck anymore, and . . . and if you want to see him I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh yeah, right. I’d be smack in the middle of a fight then. Why’d y’all fight last year, anyway? You never did tell me.”

  “He’s a asshole. That’s why.”

  Tansy shrugged. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’m going home. See you in the morning.”

  He watched her walk off through the side yard and down the street, bare feet flashing pink and tan through the high weeds along the road. As bad as he wanted money, he didn’t want to go to Six Oaks in the morning. He’d just hope Chris wouldn’t be at home.

  Mama had packed him a lunch in a brown paper bag. He stood at the end of the road to wait for Dempsey, listening to the morning sounds of birds just coming awake. The day smelled fresh and new, not hot yet like it would be later. He’d gotten up real early to feed Shadow again, and the pup seemed a lot stron
ger. Mama had said she’d feed him a few times during the day, too. He should earn enough money to buy plenty of milk for him, and good food for Belle instead of the cheap crap Rainey bought for the dog. Not that Rainey’d notice, or care if he did notice. He’d be like Beau and Rafe and think Chantry was crazy. Maybe he was, ‘cause he sure didn’t want to be at Six Oaks today.

  Dempsey’s battered old Ford truck rattled down the gravel and stopped, the motor humming better than a truck this old should be able to do. The body might look like it’d been in a train wreck, but the engine had been kept in good condition.

  Tansy scooted over next to her daddy, and Chantry stepped up into the truck. She handed him a biscuit stuffed with ham but didn’t say anything. He guessed she was still mad about yesterday. He ate without talking, not that he ever talked a whole lot anyway. Dempsey had the radio tuned to a gospel station, one of his favorites. It was quiet on the town streets, a few folks just getting ready to open stores as the truck rolled down Main. Buford’s Department Store had big plate glass windows with dressed mannequins and July 4th Sales banners plastered across the front. Tyler’s Drugs sat on another corner, and the big new red and white gleaming tiles of the Dairy Queen sat at the far end of Main near Market Street.

  He stared out the window as they passed fields of new corn stretching far as he could see. A mile or two down the road, cotton stalks bent buds that would soon turn into white fluff under the early morning breeze. The sky was so blue it looked polished. It was going to be another blistering hot day.

  Amazing Grace came on the radio, and Tansy hummed along at first, eyes half-closed. The gospel singers on the radio cranked it up. So did Tansy. She had one of those voices that sounded as if it should come from someone the size and maturity of Ella Fitzgerald. Mama had some Ella Fitzgerald tapes that she liked to play when Rainey was gone. He didn’t like any of that “colored” music played while he was there, he always said before Mama shushed him.

  “When we’ve been there ten thousand years,” Tansy sang, her voice soaring up from deep in her chest, “bright shining as the sun, we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise, than when we’ve first begun. Oh yeah, Lord, than when we’ve first begun. Um hmmm . . .”

  He liked it when Tansy added stuff to the songs, personalized them and made them hers. He may not know much about music, but he knew when something sounded good. Man, she could sing her heart out, too. It never failed to make him look at her with new respect.

  By the time they reached Six Oaks the sun was all the way up in the east and gleaming on the wide green front lawn of the house set way back off the road. Oaks lined the driveway, but it was the six ancient oaks in front that gave the house its name. Huge, with spreading branches that went out to tangle together in a thick canopy, the oaks had stood in front of the Quinton house since the first part had been built way back in 1827. He knew that because Dempsey had told him. Through the years the house had been added on to, until now it sprawled over several thousand feet of living space. There were a couple of sun rooms, covered porches, lots of French doors and a huge Olympic size swimming pool in the rear. A pool house bigger than Chantry’s entire house stood behind the pool. A waterfall splashed over high rocks into a fish pond, and bright gold fish called Koi darted among lily pads that bloomed with delicate purple flowers like orchids.

  “Young Mr. Quinton wants a dry creek bed running behind the house,” Dempsey said. “He’s ordered white river rock for it, but we gotta dig the ditch.”

  Young Mr. Quinton was Colin, old man Quinton’s son and Chris’s daddy. There was another son but he’d left Cane Creek a long time ago, so now there was just Colin living with his family at the house. There was probably enough room so none of them would ever run into each other if they didn’t want to. Chris’s mama and daddy were always off someplace, going to visit castles or pyramids, leaving Chris behind with his grandfather and a house full of servants. Chris got most anything he wanted. Like a new truck when he was only fourteen and not supposed to drive anything that wasn’t related to farm work. In Mississippi, it was legal to get a special license to help out on the farm, but as far as Chantry knew, Chris Quinton had never done a day’s work in his life.

  “I didn’t think it flooded this high up,” Chantry said as Dempsey got out of the truck.

  “It don’t. They just want it for looks.”

  Chantry thought about having enough money to put empty creeks in flat delta land. It seemed pretty wasteful to him. While Dempsey took out a can of spray paint and the landscape drawing, Chantry got the shovels from the back of the pickup. He’d dressed for the heat in cut-off Levi’s and a sleeveless tee shirt, with brown lace-up work boots and white socks. Tansy wore snug red shorts and a halter top, and smelled like flowers.

  “You come to a party or to work?” he asked her, irritated that she’d be so obvious. She gave him a narrow look and shrugged.

  “I’m not digging. You are.”

  “No? Just why are you here then? Besides to get Chris Quinton to look at your bare belly.”

  Ignoring him, she swept her hair up off her shoulders and into a scrunchy piece of elastic atop her head, securing it with expert twists. Reaching over the edge of the truck bed, she picked up some gloves, a bucket, and a small spade and started off toward the flowerbeds that ran along a bricked veranda beside the house. Her compact little butt moved in a way he’d never quite seen before, and long golden legs flashed like scissors.

  She was headed for trouble and he couldn’t do anything to stop her. He hated that.

  By lunchtime, they had about ten feet of ditch dug out. It was long but shallow, with the banks sloped. Chantry sweated so much he’d taken off his shirt and tied a strip of cloth around his head to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes. Dempsey kept on his tee shirt, but it was wet clear through, sticking to his wiry frame like a second skin. For a man in his fifties, Dempsey kept in pretty good shape, Chantry thought. He could outwork most men half his age.

  Tansy pulled an old cooler from the cab of the truck and took out their lunches. She had a mad look on her face, and Chantry guessed she hadn’t seen Chris Quinton all day. He didn’t say anything to her. Anything he said would be wrong.

  Dempsey didn’t say anything to her, either, even when she turned the truck radio to a pop station and turned it up pretty loud. A band called U2 played their new number one hit, then the DJ segued into a slower tune by Billy Vera. He knew this only because Tansy kept up with all the names of the songs and their artists. Some of it stuck with him, but most of it didn’t. When a really fast, loud song played, Dempsey looked pained but still didn’t say anything.

  They ate sandwiches and drank sweet tea out of Mason jars. Mama had made Chantry two meatloaf sandwiches and he finished them both. He was still hungry, and when Dempsey offered, he took his extra sandwich, too. Thick ham slices on white bread.

  “Good God,” Tansy said, and gave him a disgusted look, “how do you eat so much and stay so skinny?”

  “I’m not skinny,” he said around the last bite. “I’m lean. Mean. Fit.”

  “You just a skinny white boy.”

  “Hunh.” He flexed his arms, sucked in his stomach and threw out his chest. “I’ve been working out. Superman ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

  Some of Tansy’s good humor returned. She poked at him, laughing when he skidded out of reach. Sitting on the lowered tailgate of the truck in the shade, Dempsey watched with a faint smile as Tansy chased him around the truck.

  “Too damn much energy,” he heard Dempsey say as they rounded the rear of the truck.

  He let Tansy catch him after a minute, and she tackled him with both arms around his middle to take him down on a patch of grass under one of the old oaks. They rolled over a couple of times just like they used to do when they were small kids, roughhousing familiar fun. Panting and laughing, he lifted to his elbows to look at her. She’d rolled to one side, and her halter top had come down so that one of her breasts was bared. The pink n
ipple was tight and beaded, her breast full and firm, and he couldn’t help staring even as he moved to cover her.

  “Hey,” he said, and started to reach to pull up the edge of her top, but Tansy had already caught the material between her fingers to give it a tug.

  “Well looka here, the fag wants to cop a feel,” a voice said behind him, and he didn’t need to turn around to know it was Chris Quinton.

  Chantry didn’t like being on the ground with Chris standing over him, and immediately got to his feet and turned around. Tension made his muscles tight, and he watched warily as Chris and his two friends made a half-circle around him. Behind them, Cinda and Mariah watched from the side veranda. They wore two-piece bathing suits and looked like they’d just gotten out of the pool. He wondered how much they’d seen and what Cinda thought seeing him roll around on the ground with Tansy.

  “He trying to cop a feel?” Chris said to Tansy with a grin. “I didn’t think fags liked girls. Come on over here by me, and I’ll keep him from touching you.”

  Tansy still sat on the ground. Chantry knew she didn’t know what to do, and he kept his eyes on Chris. The others would do whatever Chris wanted. He just had to keep his eye on Chris to figure out what would happen next.

  When Chris stepped to one side Chantry pivoted to keep him a safe distance away, facing him without backing down. Adrenalin pumped blood fast through his veins, pounded in his ears and made him edgy. Indecision flickered on Chris’s face. Chantry waited; then he heard Dempsey come up behind him, his voice slow and easy.

  “Hey boys, you come out to see how it’s goin’, or to help dig?”

  Chris looked startled; then he shrugged. “We just came out to say hello. We’re on our way to town. So, is this where my father’s new creek bed is going to be?”

  Dempsey went through the motions of showing Chris and his friends the proposed creek bed though Chantry was pretty sure he wasn’t fooled either. He didn’t relax until Chris was gone, his new red truck disappearing down the driveway. He heard the tires squeal when it got to the highway. When he looked at the house, Cinda and Mariah were gone back inside. The veranda was empty. Then he looked over at Tansy. She stood staring at the empty drive with something like disappointment in her eyes. You Keep Me Hangin’ On played loudly on the old truck’s radio. He felt like shaking her.