The Familiar Dark(23)
“No,” I said. “I don’t understand. Are you not going to help me, then?”
“Look,” Land said, his voice slow, like he was talking to a child. “I know what Jimmy Ray does. But he keeps it away from this town. He keeps his people in line. No drug murders. No dead bodies filling up my streets.”
I snorted. “Yeah, because he dumps them in the woods instead for the wild hogs to eat.”
“I don’t care what the fuck he does with them, long as they don’t show up on my watch. No one gives a shit about what happens to those people, anyway. Ones that are all mixed up in Jimmy Ray’s world. Good riddance, far as I’m concerned.” One of Land’s hands inched closer to my leg, not quite touching. I watched it the way you would a spider skittering toward you. Knowing it was coming, but hoping for a detour at the last second. “That’s the deal we got. He keeps his business under control, and I look the other way. Neither one of us wants a war. It’s better this way.”
“Better for who?” I asked, shifting my body away from that creeping hand.
“For everyone,” Land snapped. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” The rain had picked up, sharp taps on the roof and a steady stream across the windshield, closing us in. “And now you’re wanting me to disrupt all that.” Land shook his head. “It’s a problem, Eve. It’s gonna cause me some grief.”
My stomach sank. I knew what he meant. A little tit for tat. How many times had I seen my mama caught in the same trap? It seemed the fate of women the world over. “What do you want?” I said, voice flat. I’d heard whispers about Land for years, so I already knew. But I was going to make him say it, at least.
Land eyed me for a second and then took my hand, limp and cold, in his and pressed it against the front of his pants. Rubbed my slack palm over his hardening dick. “But with your mouth.”
I swallowed, kept my eyes on the rain pelting the windshield. “And if I do?”
“Then I take care of Jimmy Ray for you. Make sure he stays gone.” He pushed up into my hand, his breath coming faster.
I wanted my hand to come alive, pictured my numb fingers closing hard, nails digging into flesh. Leaving blood and permanent damage behind. But Junie is what stopped me. The vision of her face, eyes wide and cheeks streaked with tears. Her tiny voice—Mama?—as she watched Jimmy Ray crush my wrist in his fist and heard me scream out in pain. I hadn’t been able to protect her from that. But this could be a secret. She would never have to know, never have to see with her own eyes what I’d been reduced to. We’d be free of Jimmy Ray, once and for all. And I’d be the mother she needed from now on, the mother she deserved. No more mistakes. It seemed almost like poetic justice, in a way. Jimmy Ray was my fault, my moment of weakness. This would be my punishment.
It didn’t take Land long, I’ll give him that. Thank God for small mercies, as my mama would say. But he was rough, hand knotted in my hair, pushing down while his hips shoved up, barely giving me room to breathe. Rough enough that my injured mouth started bleeding again, red smeared across his skin by the time I was done.
In the end, it was worth it. Land was as good as his word, and Jimmy Ray stayed away. Cal kept his job and his life. And Junie was spared watching her mother being beat to hell over and over again. If she remembered Jimmy Ray and what he’d done to me, she never mentioned it. Maybe she’d forgotten, or maybe it was locked inside her mind. One of those hazy early-childhood memories that could be chalked up to a bad dream or an overactive imagination. But I never forgot. Not Jimmy Ray and especially not Land. My wrist still throbbed on occasion, when I slept on it funny or saw Jimmy Ray’s truck in town. But the memory of Land—a swirl of bitterness and shame in the back of my throat—that taste never went away.
TEN
I don’t know if it was a product of our chaotic upbringing—never knowing when our next meal might appear, constantly bombarded with strange faces—but Cal and I had both grown into creature-of-habit adults. Neither one of us liked surprises, not even the good ones. We weren’t fans of new places or changes in routine, constantly trying to restore order in our lives. If Cal wasn’t at work or visiting me at the diner, he could reliably be found in a handful of places: his apartment or mine, the bar next to the sub shop having a beer, the laundromat reading the paper and watching his clothes spin around in circles. I’d tried all of those places and seen no trace of his truck. That left our Mama’s trailer, and I wasn’t going there again anytime soon, and Cal’s secret fishing spot.
He’d been going to the edge of Jackson Creek to fish for as long as I could remember. When we were growing up, his hands smelled like fish guts more often than not. A scent that still made my mouth water and my stomach cramp with excitement because as vile as the smell was, at least it meant I was going to be fed. Cal didn’t need to fish to feed his belly anymore, but I knew the ritual relaxed him; the isolation soothed something inside him, some jagged edge that would never quite be rubbed smooth. I understood it because I had the same rough spot inside myself. Junie had helped smother it, but it was emerging in her absence, a sharp, hard weapon in my gut.
Jackson Creek was actually a river and it ran for miles, tucked away in the woods in some spots, out in the wide open in others. It ran deep and fast at one end, slowed to almost a trickle, then opened up into a flat, calm pool good for skinny-dipping before it surged into the woods again. Everyone around these parts had a relationship with the creek, but hardly anyone knew of Cal’s spot, or if they did, they lacked the dedication to reach it. You had to hike in, risk ticks and brambles, thorns scratching your arms and catching in your hair. But Cal swore his spot had the best fish around, fat and shimmering in the sun, so close to the surface you could practically pluck them out with your hands.