Desperation Road(28)
“You’d better keep that thing close.”
Larry stepped out the door and Russell held the gun pointed at the open door until the truck was cranked and gone. When he was sure he leaned the gun in the corner and he walked outside and down the street to his truck. He pulled it under the carport and he went inside and picked up the pieces of wood and glass from the frame. And then he took Sarah’s picture and he ripped it twice and he walked into the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet. Looked at himself in the mirror. The gray hints in the beard. The scar. The eyes that seemed to belong to a stranger.
He glared and was quickly impatient with the image and he headbutted himself and the mirror shattered and cut a gash in his forehead. He felt the blood run down the tip of his nose and across his lips and he leaned his head over the sink and let it drip among the shattered shards of mirror. He held his fingers to the gash and pulled a tiny piece of mirror from it. Then he wadded up some toilet paper and held it on the cut while he went to the truck and drove down to the all-night gas station where he bought Band-Aids. He sat in the truck and wiped the gash clean and covered it with a Band-Aid and then he went back inside and bought a pocket-size notebook and a pack of pens. The eastern sky had begun to change color and the sun would soon be on the horizon but he wasn’t going to stop now.
Back down to Magnolia. He felt the bruises from the fight and a lag from the booze. He drove fast and hoped that the dawn would wait until he did what he had to do. In ten minutes he was idling in front of Sarah’s house. He sat and stared and watched for lights. For movement. When he was certain the house was still he scribbled a note on the small notebook paper. He got out and hustled to the front door and slid it through the brass mail slot on the antique door. Then he got in the truck and left and regretted dropping the note through the slot but it was done now.
On one side he wrote his address.
On the other—Right or wrong I wanted to let you know I was back. Russell.
He drove back to the house and he walked into the bedroom and lay down on top of the covers with his clothes on. Just ahead of the rising sun. The shotgun next to him like a good friend. The bus ride and the fishing and the woman and the beer and the brothers all bunching together and taking over and pushing him to sleep though he hated the thought of closing his eyes. Knowing that the world still had him by the throat.
19
AT DAYBREAK MABEN WOKE ANNALEE AND TOLD HER TO GET dressed. Hours gone now. Enough time for the body to be taken away and examined. Enough time for men in uniforms to have combed the cruiser and the roadside. Enough time for word to have spread. Annalee asked why are we leaving and Maben said because we got to go and the girl moaned at walking again. Get up I said. We don’t have time for this.
When they were dressed Maben put the few remaining bills in her pocket and said I’ll be right back. She walked over to the café and stopped at the cash register. The same waitress from yesterday came over and said I bet you slept good.
Maben nodded and handed her the key and the girl said thanks but Maben didn’t answer. She turned to walk out and noticed two men sitting at the counter, one with his glasses on top of his head and rubbing at his eyes while he waited on the other man in a black suit to finish talking on the phone. Maben hurried out and across the lot and Annalee was standing in the motel room door. Maben stepped around her and picked up the garbage bag containing all they owned and said let’s go.
“I’m thirsty, Momma.”
“Come on. We’ll get something down the road.”
“Why can’t we get something here?”
“Because I said so.”
She had wrapped the deputy’s pistol in a shirt and buried the shirt in the middle of the rest of the clothes. They walked out of the parking lot and to the interstate and turned north. Four miles to McComb. Not far after that. The morning sun met them without regard and they were both redfaced within a mile. Cars passed on their way to work. Or to wherever. She kept thinking of tossing the pistol into the weeds or into a ditch but there was too much traffic and she didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to be noticed or remembered. And she hadn’t completely convinced herself that having a pistol was a bad idea no matter who it belonged to or how she got it. Maben and Annalee walked on and gusts brought the wind to them but it also brought dust and sometimes rocks with the wind. In a little more than an hour they saw the exit sign for McComb. One mile.
“Is that it?” the girl asked.
“That’s it.”
“Where are we going when we get there?”
“Somewhere. Just keep on.”
She had lain awake the rest of the night wondering what to do. And she still didn’t know. So they were heading toward the shelter. It was another two miles along a four-lane. They walked on past used car lots and hardware stores and liquor stores and Maben finally let them stop at a gas station that had a picnic table at the side of it. The table was in the shade of the building and mom and child sat down with cold drinks and powdered doughnuts. They finished up and walked on again, Maben promising the girl that it wasn’t much farther. Another half hour and they could see the downtown buildings and Maben thought she remembered Broad Street being the street closest to the rails. The bag was getting heavier with each step and Maben’s shirt was soaked through with sweat. The child’s forehead was red and wet and her face seemed stuck in a squint.