A Grant County Collection: Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege

by Karin Slaughter

  Sara let out a slow breath. 'Am I the stubborn crab or the worthless bait?'

  'You're our little girl,' Cathy said. 'And your father will come around. Eventually, he'll cut bait and let you go.'

  'What about you?'

  She laughed. 'I'm the hammer.'

  Sara knew this all too well. She told her mother, 'I just know what my gut tells me.'

  'What's it saying?'

  'That I . . .' She was about to say that she loved Jeffrey, but Sara could not bring herself to do it.

  Cathy picked up on it anyway. 'So much for your fucking around.'

  She could not put into words exactly what had happened in the cave, but she tried, 'I don't know why, but even with all that's happened, I trust him. I feel safe with him.'

  'That's no small thing.'

  'Yes,' Sara agreed. 'I suppose you know me better than I think.'

  'I do,' Cathy said, giving a resigned sigh. 'But I should trust you more.'

  Sara said nothing.

  'I can't protect you from everything in the world.'

  'I don't need you to,' Sara told her. 'I may want you to, but I don't need you to.' To soften her words, she added, 'But I love you for being there.'

  'I love you, too, baby.'

  Sara let out her own sigh, feeling everything catch up with her. Usually, when things got bad she wanted nothing more than to sit in her mother's kitchen and listen to her talk. Cathy had been her touchstone for as long as Sara could remember. Now all she wanted to do was to fall asleep with her head on Jeffrey's shoulder. The transition was startling. She had never felt this way about a man in her life. Even with Steve Mann, back when she was a teenager and everything was so emotional and desperate, Sara had not felt this same burning need to be with him. Jeffrey was like some drug that she could not get enough of. Sara was caught, and there was nothing she could do but wait it out and see what happened next.

  Sara said, 'I need to go, Mama. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?'

  'Take care,' Cathy said. 'I'll save some cupcakes for you.'

  Sara waited until her mother had hung up the phone. She went to do the same, but there was a noise on the line – someone breathing – then a second click.

  Someone had been listening in on the conversation.

  Sara went to the door and looked out the window into the hallway. The lights had been turned off hours ago when Deacon White had gone home. She knew there was an intern named Harold who lived in an apartment over the garage, but she was told that after hours he pretty much kept to himself unless he was called to transport a body.

  She picked up the phone again and pressed the button marked 'Apt.'

  There were six rings before the man picked up with a bleary-sounding 'Hello?'

  'Harold?'

  'Uhn,' he grunted, and she heard him moving around. Obviously she had awakened him. He repeated, 'Hello?'

  'Were you just on the phone?'

  'What?'

  Sara tried again. 'This is Sara Linton. I'm in the building.'

  'Oh . . . right . . .' he managed. 'Mr. White said you were staying late.' He paused and she guessed from the sound he was yawning. 'I'm sorry,' he said, then under his breath, 'Jeesh.'

  Sara stretched the phone cord so she could see through the window again. A car turned into the parking lot and a pair of headlights lit up the hallway. She shielded her eyes, trying to see who it was. The car had pulled into the handicap space next to her BMW, lights on high beams.

  Harold sounded irritated. 'Hello?'

  'I'm sorry,' Sara apologized. 'I wanted to leave and–'

  'Oh, right,' he said. 'I'll come lock you out.'

  'No, I –' she tried, but he had already hung up.

  Sara looked into the hallway again, narrowing her eyes past the bright headlights, trying to see if anyone came to the door. A few minutes passed before a figure cut the glare. Harold stood in the middle of the hall, shielding his eyes as Sara had done. He was dressed in his pajamas and had his mouth open in a wide yawn when Sara joined him.

  'Who the heck is that?' Harold asked, walking to the front door.

  'I was –' She stopped. The car was a truck, and she could see Jeffrey climbing out of the driver's seat. He had the radio blaring with some country music station, and she suppressed a curse, telling the intern, 'Thank you for letting me out.'

  'Yeah,' he said, giving another yawn that was so wide Sara could see his back molars. He twisted the lock and opened the door.

  Sara started to leave, but could not help but ask the intern, 'Is there anyone else in the building?'

  Harold looked over his shoulder. 'Nobody breathing.' He yawned again, one yawn too many, and Sara wondered if he had really been sleeping when she called.

  She opened her mouth to question him, but he tossed her a wave as he locked the glass door, giving another yawn for her benefit.

  Sara could smell Jeffrey from ten feet away; it was like walking past a brewery. Even without the overwhelming stench of beer, he was weaving as he walked toward her. Sara was slightly taken aback. She had not considered Jeffrey a teetotaler, but neither had she ever seen him drink more than a glass of wine or an occasional beer. Knowing what she did about his mother, this made sense, and the fact that he had chosen tonight to get drunk sent up warning signals Sara did not quite know how to read.

  She gave a cautious 'Hey.'

  He had a silly grin on his face, and he held his finger in the air for silence as Elvis Presley's 'Wise Men Say' came on the radio.

  'Jeffrey

  He put his arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, making sloppy work of leading her in a dance.

  She looked at the truck, which was probably older than she was. A long bench seat like the kind she had seen in the cave stretched from door to door, a single gearshift sticking up from the floorboard.

  She asked, 'Did you drive here?'

  'Shh,' he said, the smell of beer on his breath so overpowering that she turned her head away.

  'How much have you had to drink?'

  He hummed with the song, picking up the line 'Falling in love . . . with . . . you . . .'

  'Jeff.'

  'I love you, Sara.'

  'That's nice,' she said, gently pushing him away. 'Let's get you home, all right?'

  'I can't go to Possum's.'

  She put her hands on his shoulders, aware that she was literally keeping him upright. 'Yes, you can.'

  'They arrested Robert.'

  Sara absorbed this information, but did not offer an opinion. 'We'll talk about it when you're sober.'

  'I'm sober now.'

  'Sure you are,' she said, glancing back to see if Harold was watching.

  'Let's go somewhere,' Jeffrey said, trying to climb into the truck headfirst.

  'Hold on,' Sara said, catching him when he fell back. She braced her hands against his butt and pushed him in.

  He slurred his words, saying, 'Shh-ure been a long day.'

  'I can't believe you drove like this.'

  'Who's gonna arrest me?' he asked. 'Hoss wouldn't've arrested Robert if it wasn't for me.' He put his hands on the wheel. 'Jesus, I'm bad luck. Whole town goes to hell when I show up.'

  'Scoot over,' she said, giving him a nudge.

  'Men don't let women drive.'

  Sara laughed, giving him more of a push than a nudge. 'Come on, big boy. You'll still be a man in the morning.'

  Beer bottles clanged onto the floor as he slid onto the passenger's side. He leaned down, rummaging through the bottles. 'Shit,' he said. 'We need more beer.'

  'We'll get some,' she told him, climbing into the truck and closing the door. The metallic clang echoed in the cab. She reached down to crank the engine, but the keys were gone.

  'He'll probably get the needle,' Jeffrey said, and she could hear the pain in his voice. 'Oh, Jesus,' he said, putting his hand to his eyes.

  Sara stared at the front entrance of the funeral home, not knowing what to say. Thanks to her stint at Grady Hospital's emer
gency room, she had dealt with more than her share of drunks. There was no use trying to reason with them when logic was the last thing on their mind.

  She asked, 'Where are the keys?'

  Jeffrey leaned his head back against the window and closed his eyes. 'In my pocket.'

  Sara stared at him, feeling torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to tell him everything was going to be okay. She settled on saying, 'Scooch down on the seat a little.' When he did, she put her hand into his front pocket.

  He smiled, and moved her hand a little closer to center. Considering his lack of sobriety, she was surprised to find his libido none diminished.

  'Hey,' he protested when she found the keys and removed her hand.

  'Sorry,' she said, her tone contrary to the word as she looked for the ignition key.

  'How about a blow job?'

  Sara laughed as she found the clunky key. 'You're the one who's drunk, remember? Not me.' She cranked the engine, relieved when it caught on the first try. 'Put on your seatbelt.'

  'There aren't any seatbelts,' he said, sliding closer to her.

  Sara engaged the clutch and put the truck into reverse. Jeffrey had positioned himself so that he was straddling the shift. She asked, 'How much have you had to drink?'

  'Too much,' he admitted, rubbing his eyes.

  The sign on top of the building lit up the cab as she backed up, and Sara saw at least eight empty beer bottles rolling around on the floorboard. Jeffrey was wearing black boots she hadn't seen before, and one of the legs of his jeans was pulled up, showing his hairy calf.

  She waited until they were on the highway to ask, 'When did they arrest Robert?'

  'A little while after I left you,' he said, his head bumping back against the glass. 'He wanted me to come see him. I was just glad he was talking to me.'

  He went quiet, and she prompted, 'What did he say?'

  'That he did it,' Jeffrey said, throwing his hand into the air as if in resignation. 'I was standing right there in their goddamn stupid front parlor and he looked me in the eye and said he did it.'

  Sara was having a hard time following him, but she said, 'I'm sorry.'

  'Came back from the store and just shot him. No questions asked.'

  Sara could only repeat, 'I'm sorry.'

  'You were right.'

  'I didn't want to be.'

  'Is that true?'

  She chanced a look at him. He seemed to be getting back to himself, but his breath was enough to make her turn her head back toward the road. 'Of course it's true.' She put her hand on his leg. 'I'm sorry it happened this way. I know you did everything you could.'

  'You won't believe me,' he said. 'I know you said Robert was lying before, and I said you were wrong, but now I think you're right. I mean – I think he's lying now.'

  Sara stared at the road ahead.

  'You're thinking it's because he's my friend, but it's not. I know it adds up. I know his story makes sense, but he's a cop. He's had time to think about it and get it right so that it all matches up.' He tapped his finger to his head, missing a few times. 'I know it here. I've been a cop too long to not know when people are lying.'

  'We'll talk about it tomorrow,' she told him, knowing this was useless.

  He rested his head on her shoulder. 'I love you, Sara.'

  She had ignored him the first time, but now she felt the need to comment. 'You've just had too much to drink.'

  'No,' he disagreed, his breath hot on her neck. 'You don't know how it is.'

  She squeezed his leg before shifting into fourth. 'Try to sleep.'

  'I don't want to sleep,' he said. 'I want to talk to you.'

  'We'll talk tomorrow.' She slowed at an intersection, trying to remember which way to turn. A billboard pointing to a bank looked familiar, and she took a left.

  She asked, 'Is this the right way?'

  'People only say what they mean when they're drunk,' he told her. 'I mean, being drunk doesn't make you say things you don't mean.'

  'I don't know about that,' she said, glad to recognize a gas station from this morning. The store was dark and, like everything else in town, had probably closed hours ago.

  'I love you.'

  Sara laughed because that was all she could do.

  'Turn here,' he said. When she didn't turn quickly enough, he grabbed the steering wheel.

  'Jeffrey!' she said, her heart jumping into her throat. He had turned them onto a gravel road.

  'Just keep going straight,' he told her, pointing ahead.

  Sara slowed the truck. 'Where are we?'

  'Just a little farther.'

  She leaned closer to the steering wheel, trying to make out the road ahead of her. When she saw a fallen tree in the distance, she stopped. 'The road's blocked.'

  'Little more,' he said.

  Sara put the truck in neutral and stepped on the parking brake before turning to him. 'Jeffrey, it's late, and I'm tired, and you're dru—'

  He kissed her, but not the way she was used to. He was rushed and sloppy, his hands clumsy on the buttons of her jeans.

  'Hold on –'

  'I want you so much.'

  She could tell, he was like a piece of steel against her thigh, but even though Sara could feel her body reacting to his, sex was the last thing on her mind.

  'Sara,' he sighed, and kissed her so deeply that she could not breathe.

  She managed to soften the kiss, and when his lips moved to her neck, she said, 'Slow down.'

  'I want to be inside you,' he said. 'I want it like last night.'

  'We're parked in the middle of nowhere.'

  'Let's pretend,' he said. 'Let's pretend we're at the beach.' He scooped his hands under her bottom and she gave what could only be called a yelp as she suddenly went horizontal, her feet splayed out against one door and her head bumped into the other. Sara had not been flat on her back in a parked truck since the tenth grade.

  Jeffrey tried to move down on her, but considering they were both two grown adults of above average height stuck in a space that was barely five feet long, his attempt was far from successful.

  'Sweetheart,' she said, trying to reason with him. She forced his head up to look at her, surprised to see the raw need in his eyes.

  'I love you,' he said, leaning up to kiss her again.

  Sara returned the kiss, trying again to slow him down. He took the hint, and his kiss was not as probing. When he came up for breath, he moaned, 'I love you.'

  'I know,' she said, stroking the back of his neck.

  He looked up at her again, and she watched as his eyes seemed to focus on her for the first time since she had walked out of the funeral home. He looked forlorn, like the world had abandoned him and Sara was his only hope. 'Is this okay?'

  She nodded, not knowing what else to say.

  He repeated, 'Is it okay?'

  'Yes,' she said, helping him slide down her jeans.

  Even though her body was ready for him, Sara braced herself when Jeffrey entered her. She put her hand behind her, trying to keep her head from bumping into the armrest as he moved inside of her. Overhead, she could see an index card tucked into the sun visor. A woman's hand had hastily scribbled a grocery list on the card, and Sara read the items silently to herself between thrusts. Eggs . . . milk . . . juice . . . toilet paper . . .

  She turned slightly, trying to keep the gearshift from stabbing her thigh. That was all Jeffrey needed to finish the job, and he collapsed like dead weight on top of her.

  Sara dropped her hand to her forehead, wondering how she had gotten herself into this. She said, 'Well, that was romantic.'

  Jeffrey did not respond, and when she put her hand on his back he turned his head and let out a heavy breath.

  He was asleep.

  Sara woke up with a pounding headache that started at the back of her neck and worked up her head like a vise. She could not begin to imagine what Jeffrey felt like this morning, but part of her hoped he was in agony. God knew that she'd had some ba
d sex in her life, but last night ranked right at the top of what was, thankfully, a rather short list.

  She felt for her shoes as she rose from the couch, wondering what time it was. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows and Sara guessed it was almost ten. The clock told another story: it was nearly noon.

  'Crap,' Sara mumbled, stretching her arms up to the ceiling. Her back felt as if all the muscles were knotted into bows, and her spine probably resembled a hook from the way she had slept on the couch.

  She continued to stretch her back and shoulders as she walked through the house, looking for Nell. The kitchen was empty, pots and pans drying in the sink. She looked outside and saw Nell standing in the neighbor's yard with an ax raised over her head. As Sara watched, Nell brought down the ax on the chain that staked the dogs to a tree.

  'What was that?' a voice behind Sara asked. She spun around and saw a young, dark-haired boy standing in the doorway. He was dressed in shorts with no shirt, his skinny chest concave in the center.

  'Jared?'

  'Yes, ma'am,' he said, looking around the room. 'Where's my mama?'

  'She's outside,' Sara told him, wondering if Nell would want her son to know what she was up to. Truth be told, Sara was a little curious herself.

  Jared walked to the back door, his sneakers shuffling across the floor. Sara was more than familiar with this curious phenomenon that plagued young boys – most of them did not learn to pick up their feet when they walked until they reached their twenties.

  Sara trailed him outside, keeping well back to avoid the dust his shoes were stirring up. He reminded her of Pigpen in the Peanuts comics.

  Nell was on the back porch at the neighbor's, putting leashes on the dogs. She saw Jared and said, 'What are you doing out of bed?'

  'I'm bored.'

  'You should've thought about that before you said you were too sick to go to day camp.' Nell smiled at Sara. 'Did you introduce yourself to Dr. Linton?'

  'Doctor?' he asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

  Nell said, 'You best get back in that bed before I make her take your temperature.'

  There was something so familiar about his reaction – the set to his mouth, the annoyance that flashed in his eyes – that Sara caught herself staring at the boy, her mouth open.