Fourth of July Creek (9780062286451)
Page 44
“No. Like I said, I’m not a police officer. Now, I’m not sure what the law is about staying right here, but I’m not telling you that you need to go.”
“It’s just if someone called, maybe someone else will call the police.”
Pete had worked his way over to the baby in the stroller and he leaned to have a look at her, and the mother came over with the boy. The baby’s blue eyes were in themselves an astonishment, as lovely as anything in creation. A too-big sweater enveloped her and there was a blanket over her. Her snot ran clear. No infection.
“She’s really lovely,” Pete said. “What’s her name?”
“Erin.”
He touched her on the nose and stood next to the car to see in back. Paper sacks of clothing. Playing cards. A ukulele. A box of cereal, hot dog buns, and a jar of peanut butter.
Pete stood away from the car to have a look at it.
“Is this a Buick Sport Wagon? They have a little something under the hood, don’t they?”
“She runs.”
The man had his hands in his jeans and was watching his wife when Pete turned to them.
“You were asking a question about the cops,” Pete said to her.
Her nod chopped the air. She shook. He tried to sigh warmly, nonchalantly, as though there was nothing to worry about, but couldn’t tell if it helped or not.
“I don’t know that someone won’t call the cops to come out here and give you a ticket or something. I don’t know if this is anybody’s property.”
The boy wanted up, and she lifted him onto her hip and how her skirt hiked down revealed the upper bones of her pelvis. She was pretty, overrun and weary, like a pet come in from the weather.
“So where you guys out of?” Pete asked.
“We don’t have to tell you anything, do we?” the man said. Pete turned full to him and the man was holding a stick. Pete glanced at it, and the man tossed the stick aside.
“Of course not. I’m just here to see that you’re okay. That’s all.”
“We’re okay.”
Pete put his hands together.
“Sure looks like it. Why don’t I go on and get out of your hair.”
He shook the man’s hand and waved at the children each and then the mother. He stopped at the hood of the car.
“We used to take these road trips,” Pete said. “We’re from out in Choteau—middle of nowhere, you know—and so Great Falls was like the big city, right? You can imagine what I thought of Minneapolis. Of Seattle. There’s just nothing better than being a kid and going to new places. And how you could sleep so good in a moving car . . . and when you got home or to the hotel or the campsite and your dad would wake you up and carry you to bed. . . . It was just the best, you know?”
She had taken her man’s hand.
“Hey,” Pete said, “I happen to have some stuff up in my car that I was running down to the office—some blankets and coats and diapers and things. Maybe you all would want some of those things? It’s just gonna sit in my office.”
The man didn’t look up.
“Tom,” she said.
The man moved his weight to his other leg.
“Tom,” she said again.
The man touched his temple with his free hand like he was trying to figure a difficult sum. Pete and the man’s wife and son watched him work it out. He ran a sleeve under his nose and nodded.
“Maybe we’d have a look at what all you got,” he said.
Does he ever find her?
She wyoms to California. There are stories in this, but they are her stories.
Good stories? Bad?
A mixed bag.
But it’s hurtful for her to be gone so long. She needs to forgive him and come back. He’s so alone.
It’s difficult. Wyoming is hard on everybody.
I don’t think I can take it, she doesn’t go back, she doesn’t at least call? Her parents are good people. They meant well. Pete helps everyone. He’s not perfect, but he tries. He’d make up for it, for lost time.
Time, yes. These things take time.
So she does come back. Eventually.
You gotta believe. You can’t just go through life acting like there are answers to every—
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Much gratitude to my agent, Nicole Aragi, and to my editor, Lee Boudreaux.
Deepest thanks to all my colleagues and confidants for their taste and wisdom, especially Jon Marc Smith, Kevin Jones, and Becca Wadlinger.
This book has benefitted from countless readers, but I’d like to thank the following people, who were especially generous with their discernment and encouragement: Michael Adams, Rebecca Calavan, Peter Carey, Jessica Hansen, Stephen Harrigan, Jim Magnuson, Patrick McGrath, and Neil Winberg.
Thanks to the following organizations for providing me with the time and resources to complete this work: the Michener Center for Writers, the PEN American Center, the Stadler Center at Bucknell University, and the Jentel Artist Residency Program.
This book would not have been possible without the sustained support of Melissa Stephenson. You are made of iron or something quite like it.
Additional thanks to the following people and organizations for their crucial help over these past several years: Tom Grimes and Texas State University, Glen and Janet Stephenson, Steve Sullivan, Jo and Dan Beck, Sue and Jim Polich, Jesse Donaldson, the Interlochen Arts Academy, Mutt, and Wieden+Kennedy.
Finally, I’d like to thank the social work professionals in Texas and Montana as well as the researchers at the schools of social work at the University of Texas and the University of Montana. Thank you for your insights, but above all for your service to the most vulnerable among us.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SMITH HENDERSON is the recipient of the 2011 PEN Emerging Writers Award in fiction. He was a 2011 Philip Roth Resident in Creative Writing at Bucknell University, a 2011 Pushcart Prize winner, and a fellow at the Michener Center for Writers in Austin, Texas. He currently works at the Wieden+Kennedy advertising agency. His fiction has appeared in American Short Fiction, One Story, New Orleans Review, Makeout Creek, and Witness. Born and raised in Montana, he now lives in Portland, Oregon.
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CREDITS
Cover design by Allison Saltzman
Cover art: Red Ash, 2007 © by Bryan Nash Gill, courtesy of the Estate of Bryan Nash Gill (published in Woodcut, Princeton Architectural Press, 2012)
Author photo © by Rebecca Calavan
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FOURTH OF JULY CREEK. Copyright © 2014 by Smith Henderson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-228644-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-06-236111-0 (international edition)
EPub Edition MAY 2014 ISBN: 9780062286451
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