Winter Loon(57)

I stepped down, collapsed my back on the metal rail, raised my arms over my head in surrender. “I give,” I said to no one. I’m not sure how long I sat there before the bridge let out a low rumble. Troy pulled up in Mona’s station wagon and stopped behind the stolen Impala. He walked toward me, holding a twisted mailbox in his hand like the head of Medusa. Lester got out of the passenger’s side and went to the aid of his precious hot rod.

“Looks like you went on quite the killing spree, Wes,” Troy said. I lowered my head.

“Fucking A, Ballot,” Lester said. His jaw was square and tight.

I lowered my head and charged him. He flew off his feet and we were both on the ground. An elbow to my throat, his ribs against my fist, his knee in my thigh, his hair in my hand. It happened quickly, the flip, the pin, my head slamming the pavement. Troy pulled Lester off me in a matter of seconds, though Lester had time to pound me good but didn’t.

“Okay, there, tough guy.” Troy’s hand was out to keep Lester off me. “I said you could come along provided you could control yourself.”

“Me! What about Ballot? He’s the one that stole my car. He’s the one that came after me.” Lester raised his shoulders, puffed out his chest. I expected him to spit on me. Instead, “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, I did, too.” I ground my palms into roadside gravel laced with broken glass and rusted shrapnel to feel a pain someplace other than inside me. I got my knees, then my feet under me, brushed my hands against my jeans. “That why you stole Jolene from me? Because we’re such good friends?” I touched the back of my throbbing head, checked for blood on my fingertips. “First chance you get . . . right in there.”

“This is about Jolene? Christ, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought you were.”

“Enough now, boys,” Troy said. “Lester, you got your car back. Now go home.”

Lester wiped his mouth, pushed his hair out of his face. “Just for the record, I would never horn in on a buddy. Not my style. You need to get your shit detector fixed.” That night, I couldn’t put it together, how knowing my father wasn’t coming back made me want to sabotage everything, wreck it all, because hope was too heavy. It’s easier to carry nothing. All I got at the time was that Lester was telling the truth and that I’d fucked up.

“Keys are in it.” I couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

He gunned the engine, turned the car around in the middle of the road, and was gone.

“C’mon, son. I’ll take you home,” Troy said.

“I don’t wanna go home. I don’t wanna go anywhere.” I looked at the mailbox, watched the taillights of Lester’s dented Impala disappear. “I’m in a heap of trouble, Troy.”

“We’ll deal with that tomorrow. Right now, you need to sleep this off. Go on and get in Mona’s car.”

I let Troy take me home. Once inside, I stumbled past my grandparents’ bedroom door, collapsed onto the bed, the whiskey spinning me to dark sleep.





CHAPTER 18

I HEARD THE banging on the door, Ruby yelling for Gip to answer it, Gip’s heavy footsteps in the hallway. The sun was barely up, and it was unclear to me in the moment whether I was hungover or still drunk. My head throbbed and with each pulse, memories broke free like gumballs joggled out of a machine. Before I could piece it all together, Gip burst into the bedroom.

He kicked the bed, jostling me sideways. “Get up, Prince Charming. Get some clothes on.”

I sat up slowly, like the flesh and bone of me had to drag my heavy soul up from the old sheets. I fingered the blinds apart, squinted at even the dim light. The green-as-money car was out front.

I took in air, blew it out. Fuck me.

Burt Rook was standing by the front door, dressed for work in a suit and tie, shoes clean enough, hair up straight, high and tight. Ruby was in a housecoat and slippers, Gip in his work overalls, though he only had a thermal shirt under them. I stung with sickness from gut to groin. I tried to drain expression from my face. What did he want? What did he know?

Coffee percolated in the kitchen. It was the only sound in the room. We stood there looking at each other longer than was natural until finally Ruby said, “So?” Rook spread his legs wide, to make himself look big, I suppose. “Your grandson stole something from me last night. A bottle of scotch.”

“You’re here over a missing bottle of booze?” Gip asked.

“It was an expensive bottle, Furniss.”

“Seein’ how the boy’s hungover, I’m guessing that bottle’s gone. How much you want for it? Give him money, Wes. Go on.” Gip shoved me, but I stood my ground. Burt Rook was not there for my money.

“Mind telling me what you were doing in my home last night?” He put his head back, scrunched his lips to cover his nostrils, like there was a stench he wanted to block. “I distinctly remember telling you to stay off my property.”

“What’s he talking about, his property?” Ruby asked.

He turned his attention to Gip and Ruby. “The wife and I saw him sneaking out of our house like a common thief.”

“Kathryn invited me over. We ate sandwiches.”

“Seems you did more than that.” Had they found Kathryn half-naked, curled around some stuffed animal? Had she told them some story to cover the truth?