The Saints of Swallow Hill(85)

“Hey!” Otis yelled when he saw Del.

He stomped his way over to him and wildly waved his arms about as if Del couldn’t see him.

His voice carried across the night air. “See that? They done took off together! By God, I knew it! I knew she was bad news!”

Otis yelled at Del like it was his fault. He only wished he’d resolved Cornelia’s secret message sooner. He’d have stood a chance at catching the both of them. He played dumb with regard to Otis’s declarations.

“Who?”

Otis quivered in agitation and tossed his hands up.

“Who! Who you think? That damn Cobb woman and my wife, that’s who!”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure? What the hell! You damn dumb, blind, or both?”

Everything out of Otis’s mouth was a shout.

“My wife ain’t been right since she stepped foot in my house! She got to mouthing off with her around. The both of’em carrying on behind my back all the time! Acting like I was stupid!”

Del stood quiet while Otis panted, his distress so great he had to slow his tirade, or pass out.

He wagged his finger at Del and muttered, “I tell you what you ought to have done. You ought to have left her ass in that damn box. Should a let her rot right where she lay. She won’t worth saving. Damn dyke is what she is.”

Without really thinking about it, Del clenched his hand and popped Otis right in the mouth. Otis’s head snapped back, and his eyes flew open, stunned. The blow had been meaty, solid, and the movement so unlike Del, he’d stunned himself. Otis bent over, covering the lower half of his face with both hands.

He mumbled through his fingers, twisting his head so he could glare at Del. “Why’d you go and hit me!”

Del said, “’Cause you’re running your mouth about the woman who could be my future wife, that’s why.”

Otis eyes went a little buggy. “Your future wife! Good luck.”

Del had said it, and now he wanted it to be true. He pointed at Otis.

“Not another word about her.”

Otis spit, then said, “I only want my own wife back. What am I gonna do without her?”

His voice rose on the last word in a childlike wail.

Del said, “Maybe you should’ve thought of that while you were sticking cigarettes on her arm, shoving her around, yelling at her. Maybe she wouldn’t have left your sorry ass.”

Otis twisted his hands in distress.

“Who’s gonna cook for me? Wash my clothes? Keep my house?”

His lower lip had swelled and made him appear like he was pouting. It was fitting, considering. Del stared in the direction the truck had gone. She was gone. He had no idea where, no idea if he’d ever see her again. This hadn’t turned out like he wanted. Del gave Otis a disgusted look, grabbed his pack, and figured now was as good a time to leave as any. There was nothing left for him here. Otis was left standing outside, a solitary figure staring at his empty house like he had no idea what to do with it. Del didn’t speak to him again. He hurried along, passing the path to the box, and from a distance, he heard faint yelling, noticed a lantern bobbing, and stopped for a second. That had to be Crow hollering, and the glowing orb fluttering about like a firefly had to be his wife. How she’d found him, he didn’t know, didn’t care. Before too long, he was far enough he could no longer hear anything but his own footsteps.

When he came to a small clearing in the trees, he stopped and looked at the isolated encampment under the moonlight. It appeared such an innocuous-seeming spot, a soft, ghostly evening mist swirling in and around the shanties and the pines surrounding it. He couldn’t hardly believe he was getting to leave. He’d expected to remain stuck there for some time, his debts mounting. Instead, thanks to Peewee, he was free to go. A little smile relaxed his features as he strode through the grassy savanna, the sense of his liberation flowing through every muscle and bone in his body, like being released from the grip of the corn. The moon rose higher, and he absorbed the furtive noises he heard to his left and right, night creatures out like him.

He walked for hours, until the skyline began to turn pink. It would be another hot day, but it wouldn’t be the kind of hot brought on by toil, or the rush to make numbers, or from hustling along under the pines in order to tally calls. Once again, he answered to no one and he could stop when he wanted, only he had no wish to do so. He was eager to keep moving. He tried not to think about Rae Lynn. Tried not to have any regrets. He was only fooling himself, but he tried.

Around midday, as the sun rose above the trees, he found a quiet spot with a small running stream nearby. He believed he’d made good progress. He was in his element, the area remote, with nary a soul in sight. He sat under a pine, eating his usual travel fare of cheese, crackers, and Vienna sausages and while doing so, he pulled out the piece of paper Peewee had given him. He unfolded it and read Peewee’s hectic scrawl: Come see me sometime. No work involved. We’ll go fishing. Best, Pritchard Taylor, Rt. 2, Woodbine, Georgia.

Del folded the piece of paper and tucked it back into his pocket. He’d write to him once he was back home. At the creek, he dipped his tin cup in, drank his fill, and when he was done, he started off again, walking down the middle of the wide dirt road, the main thoroughfare from west to east. Over the next hour, he passed needy souls working dry, crumbly fields filled with poorly growing beans or tobacco. He encountered only one vehicle, unfortunately going the opposite direction or he’d have stuck his thumb out. A ramshackle house or two came into view here and there, adding a bit of interest to the flat countryside. At one such house, a young boy sat under a pecan tree, a fat puppy lolling nearby. The kid waved and the puppy jumped up and barked. Del waved back. Red dust settled on the tops of his boots, while the peace and quiet settled his mind.