by Amy Allgeyer
I’ve been wondering if Robert Peabody knows what his company is doing to the people here. Does he think the orange water, the cancer cluster, the deformed fish came out of the blue? Or does he know it’s his fault and is covering it up and bullying people into silence. As usual, I have questions no one will answer. They’re all afraid of losing their jobs or getting on the wrong side of Peabody.
I toss the water report on the desk and stare at it upside down. That’s when I notice it. On page two, the sheet that came from the lab—under “Sample collected by,” it says Dewey Dobber.
Whoa. Dobber’s dad?
Thoughts run fast through my head. Huh, that’s funny. Then, Wait … Mr. Dobber worked for the mine. And, Why would a mine employee have anything to do with the water test?
For the first time, I’ve got a question somebody can answer. Somebody who’s not afraid of Peabody. Somebody with nothing to lose. And thanks to his house-arrest ankle bracelet, I know exactly where to find him.
Nineteen
I’ve been to Dobber’s house a few times with Cole, dropping him off or picking him up. Still, I pass the road the first time and have to turn around. Their driveway is even worse than ours, and I take it really slow to make sure I don’t lose the muffler. A minute later, I pull into the parking area, cut the engine, and stare at the trailer.
Mr. Dobber’s in there somewhere. I think I see a curtain move, but I’m not sure. Now that I’m here, this seems like a seriously stupid idea. I doubt he remembers me, and on the off chance that he’s not drunk or wasted, asking him anything about the mine is likely to piss him off. I have the key back in the ignition and I’m just about to leave when the front door opens.
There he is. A skinny, shirtless guy with scabby skin and stringy hair. He’s holding a cigarette and leaning against the door frame, staring at me. I could still leave.
“Who the hell are you?”
I leave the keys in the ignition and open the door. “Mr. Dobber, my name’s Liberty Briscoe? I met you a few weeks ago. I’m friends with your son.”
He laughs and it sounds like his throat must be made of hamburger. “Lady Liberty. Look just like your mama.” He flings the screen door open. “You comin’ in?”
Every single cell in my brain is screaming, Are you out of your mind? Of course we’re not going in! But somehow I walk to the steps and up on to the deck and finally, through the door into the darkness of Dobber’s home.
It’s actually not as bad as I expected. The kitchen is pretty clean, just a couple plates and a pot in the sink. Mr. Dobber opens the refrigerator and pulls out a beer.
“You want one?”
“No, thank you.”
“Suit yerself.”
I follow him into the living room and take the chair close to the door. It smells bad in here. Like old food and BO. But I can see places where somebody, I have to assume Dobber, has tried to make this place a home: a faded National Geographic world map print tacked up with push pins, a blanket on the couch, a candle in a wine bottle on the bookshelf.
“You here for drugs?”
“No.” I fidget with my keys. “I wanted to ask you some questions about …”
It’s a bombshell, that word. No matter what words you nest around it, in Ebbottsville the mine is always explosive.
“Aw shit.” He pops open the beer. “This about Dobber?”
“No, it’s—”
“If yer pregnant, there ain’t—”
“What? No!” I must look seriously offended because he starts laughing.
“Naw, reckon you don’t look the type. Too uptight.”
“I wanted to ask you some questions about the mine.”
His head snaps back and I get ready to run.
“What the hell?” His words are less slurred now. “Peabody send you?”
“No. I’m here because of my granny.”
His eyes narrow. “Kat?”
“Yes. Kat.”
He shakes his head and downs half the new beer. “Kat never had nothing to do with the mine. Your granddad didn’t neither.”
“Granny’s got cancer,” I say. “The doctor said she’s got a couple months at the most.”
“That’s a damn shame. I like Kat,” he says. “What that gots to do with me?”
I pretty much suck at cat and mouse and I can tell that, underneath the beer buzz and years of drug abuse, Mr. Dobber is still a smart man. And he’s being very careful. So I go for the unusual tactic of honesty.
“I believe she got the cancer from drinking our well water. And I believe the well is bad because the chemicals from the mine have washed into the groundwater. I know you took the samples for the test the county did. What I’m wondering is … why was the mine involved in the water test at all?”
I watch Mr. Dobber’s face as I reel that off. It goes from confusion to trapped animal in a matter of seconds. “That’s a question for Robert Peabody. Not me. I was just doing what I’s told.”
“Did you collect samples from everybody’s wells?”
“Ever’body who signed up.” He twists the cuff on his ankle.
“Signed up? What do you mean signed up?”
With his gaze leveled at me, he suddenly seems completely lucid. “When the county started getting complaints about people’s wells—some was running dry, some was getting orange—a couple folks in town said it was ’cause of the mine. Peabody paid to have ever’body’s wells tested. Folks who wanted to signed up at the mine office. Not ever’body signed up.”
“So, the company that might have caused the water issue was in charge of determining if they were to blame?” I feel a little sick. “Didn’t anybody think that might be a conflict of interest?”
“Couple folks did.” He taps his beer can on the arm of the chair and stares at the floor.
“Did they do anything about it? File a complaint? Anything?”
“They died before the tests was run, so … no.”
“From cancer?”
“Naw.” Mr. Dobber takes a long swig of beer and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Car wreck.”
“Oh.”
“Look here. This is all ancient history.” The springs in his chair squeak as he leans forward. “You know what’s good for you, you’ll stop digging into this mess. ’Fore you get a car wreck of your own.”
“Wait, are you saying Peabody caused the wreck?”
“S’pose he did?” Mr. Dobber asks. “That change your mind about all this?”
“I’m not afraid of Peabody,” I say.
He half smiles before taking another swig of beer. “Damn, if you ain’t just like your mama. She weren’t afraid of nothing either.”
That’s one topic I don’t want to hear about. So I stand up and walk toward the door, puzzling over what he’s told me. Right away, something about the timing of everything triggers an alarm. “Mr. Dobber, did the water test have anything to do with you getting fired?”
The vein in the side of Mr. Dobber’s neck starts to throb.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But if it did—”
“I believe we’re done here.”
But I have one more question and I need an answer. “Did you falsify the water samples? Take them all from a source you knew was—”
The can he’s holding hits the wall behind me. “Get out!” Beer sprays everywhere.
I’m out the door by the time he’s on his feet. Jumping the stairs, I open the car door as he comes out onto the deck.
“Look, I’m sorry I upset you,” I say, my voice shaking. “But this water is killing people. Somebody needs to take a stand against Peabody.”
“Take a stand?” He stomps down the steps as I slide into the car and lock the doors. “Look around. That bastard took ever’thing I had. What I got to take a stand for?”
“You still have D
obber,” I yell through the window. “Don’t you think he’s worth it?”
He slams his hands against my window. “You wanna get yourself killed, you do it. The world could stand one less uppity white girl. But leave my boy outta this!”
I start the car and put it in reverse. The last I see of him, he’s flipping me off, and I careen down the driveway, praying the muffler stays with me.
Twenty
I’m in town before my heart stops pounding. The half-excitement, half-fear adrenaline my body’s pumping has every hair on my arm standing at attention. I pull over in the Kroger parking lot to breathe and check my messages.
There’s a reply from MFM and my brain switches gears. I stare at it for a long time, trying to decide whether to open it or not. It would be nice not to go through Granny dying alone. But I don’t want MFM back in my life. Whatever happens with Granny, I won’t go back to DC and live with MFM. Never.
I delete the email, pull back onto the road, and head home, heart rate mostly back in the normal range.
Granny’s sitting on the couch watching a soap opera when I get back.
“Where you been?” she asks.
“I went into town,” I say, which is sort of true. “How are you feeling?”
“’Bout the same.” She has a tissue crumpled in her hand. A few red spots stand out against the white, and I know she’s been coughing again. “That hospice woman came.”
Crap! I forgot about that. “What was she like?”
“Nice, I reckon. She says I gotta have a day nurse though.”
“Day nurse?”
“Bunch a’ malarkey,” Granny says. “I’m just fine here on my owns.”
“Right.” For now, I think. But neither of us knows what to expect as she gets worse. And I have to be in school every day. “Did she say how I was supposed to find a day nurse?” Or who’s supposed to pay for it?
“She left a phone number for some woman.” Granny sniffs loudly. “Not that you need to call it.”
I decide to call later, when Granny’s taking a shower. Chances are, we won’t need her for a while, but I’d like to have that base covered if something does come up. “Can I get you anything?”
“Naw.”
I walk into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and stare into the abyss wishing for … anything. Absolutely. Anything. I could eat.
“You had a couple calls while you was out,” Granny says.
“From who?”
“One was that boy.”
“Cole?”
“Yeah. Him.”
I close the fridge and go lean against the doorway to the living room. “He has a name.”
“Hm.”
“You know, when I first got here, you didn’t seem to hate him. You said he grew up cute.”
“Things is different now.”
“How? Did he suddenly become evil?”
“No.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not such as I know of.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She frowns at me for a minute. “You ever see a moth at a candle?”
I nod, wondering where she’s going with this.
“Moths is fine creatures. And candles is fine things. But a flame ain’t what a moth needs.”
“Am I the moth or the flame?”
“You don’t belong here, darlin’.”
I feel like she just punched me in the stomach. “Don’t say that!” All of the sudden, I’m fighting tears. How many times have I heard that since I moved here? With Ashleigh telling me to go home, strangers staring at me like I have seven heads, none of the kids at school talking to me, even Dobber—who still insists on calling me “new girl.” But hearing it from Granny cuts me to the quick. She’s my everything. My everybody. My only body. If I don’t belong with her, I don’t belong anywhere.
“Aw, shoot.” Granny struggles off the couch and puts her arms around me. “I didn’t mean nothing. I love you, sugarplum, but …” She puts her hands on either side of my face and holds me steady. “I saw your mama go down this road.”
“I’m not her.”
“Shoot, you’re like a carbon copy,” she says. “Except where she’s calm, you got fire.”
I unclench my fists, just to prove her wrong.
“You got to trust me. This pond ain’t big enough for you. Don’t hook your boat to this tiny dock. You got bigger seas to sail.”
“This is my home, Granny. I’ve got nowhere else.”
“Your home for now. For a little bitty while.” She shakes her head. “But not for good and always.”
The meaning of her words hangs in the air like lead fog. For now. For a while. But for how long? Till next week? Next month? Where will I go when Granny’s gone?
I can feel her pushing me toward MFM, back to DC, toward scholarships and college. Away from Ebbottsville, with its poisoned water and its poverty. I understand her analogy now. I’m the moth and Cole’s the flame. Singeing my wings in Ebbottsville means getting stuck here forever.
I get it. But the sad fact is, aside from Granny, Cole’s all I’ve got right now. The only game in town.
“I better call him back,” I say. “I need to check on homework.”
She sighs and shakes her head. “You’ll do what you’ll do, I reckon. That reminds me,” she says. “Some woman from the county called too.”
“Oh. Good.”
“She said if you got business for the commissioners’ meeting, you can call and get yourself on the agenda. The public hearin’s next Wednesday night.”
“Public hearing …” I had in mind something a little more private, like filling out some forms with one person in an office cubicle.
“What business you got with the county, sugarplum?”
“I wanted to talk to them about the water,” I say. “The woman at the EPA said the county is my best shot for getting the mine shut down.”
Granny’s eyes turn into moons. “Shut down the mine?”
“Well … yeah.”
“No.” She totters back to the couch, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”
“Granny, they’ve poisoned the water.”
“Darlin’ …” Her forehead wrinkles. “It ain’t that simple. You shut down that mine, lotsa good people gonna lose their jobs.”
“Granny, people are dying!” I feel my eyes flood with tears. “You’re dying. I think dying’s a lot worse than losing a job.”
“’Course it is, but …” She shakes her head. “You ain’t seeing the whole picture. People with no jobs die too. Families with no food die. Towns with no families die. See what I’m saying?”
I stare at the woman on the couch, who is normally kicking ass and taking names, now urging ridiculous caution. “So it’s okay for Peabody to poison the town so long as he employs a few people in the process?”
“No. But Peabody ain’t the only person who gets hurt if the mine goes away.”
“How many people get hurt if it doesn’t?”
She sags into the couch. “I get ya, but this ain’t all black-and-white.”
“It is! Killing people is wrong. And somebody has to do something.”
“Well, it don’t have to be you, does it?” she asks, pleading.
“Who else is it going to be?” Those words fly out before I think about it, but I know they’re true as soon as I hear them. “Everybody in this town is so damn scared of Robert Peabody, they aren’t going to risk saying anything.”
“There’s a reason for that. He’s dangerous.” Granny’s voice has dropped, like someone might overhear her.
I’m deeply creeped at the hold that man has over everyone … even my own rock-solid Granny and the scarier-than-clowns Mr. Dobber. “He can’t hurt me,” I say.
“That’s what you think.”
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“Really?” I snort. “Let’s recap: You’re dying. The woman you call my mother is in prison. He can’t take away our money, because we don’t have any. Neither of us have jobs to lose, and I’m a social outcast. What could he possibly do to make my life worse?”
Granny shakes her head and starts laughing. “We’re a pair, ain’t we?”
“Well, it’s true. The only thing I really care about is you. And God knows if he took you, he’d bring you right back.”
“Aw, sugarplum. I do dearly love you.” She holds out her hand.
I take it and sink onto the couch. “There’s nothing I can do to fix you. But maybe I can stop him from hurting everybody else.”
“I knew I kept your mama’s old picket signs for a reason.” She squeezes my hand and I ignore the comparison. “If you’re dead set on tilting at this windmill, I’m with ya. A hunnert percent.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure I believe in you.”
It’s just starting to sink in, what’s ahead of me, and I sigh. “I better call the county and get on the agenda for next Wednesday.”
“Whatcha gonna say at the hearing?”
“I don’t know. But I have a week to think about it.” As I pick up the phone, I try not to wonder if Granny has another week.
Twenty-One
Thinking is exactly all I manage over the next week, because when Wednesday morning rolls around, I still have no idea what I’m going to say at the meeting. Despite working on scripts all weekend, I haven’t figured out how to hit the right note of concern without being accusatory. People have strong ties to the mine here. Cole’s made that pretty clear. And coming out squarely against Peabody could backfire.
Ignoring my first three classes of the day, I manage to cobble together something I think might just work. I just have to finish the end during lunch, which is a problem because up till now, I’ve kept my plans for the county commissioners’ meeting a secret from Cole. But since I have a test and two quizzes this afternoon, I’m completely out of time. I inhale my hamburger and salad in fourteen seconds so I can get back to my meeting prep.
