Cold Springs(14)

But see, he'd been hearing these stories. Race had been kicked out of school. Race was getting in trouble on account of that girl, following a path Samuel knew too well. And Samuel was paying the bills for that school. Race had better goddamn be there.

At first, he hadn't minded Race hanging out with that girl. Wasn't something Samuel could've planned on, but he'd gotten some twisted satisfaction out of it. Race wanted to mess around with her, drive her parents crazy, remind them of the past—that was cool, as long as he didn't get himself in too much trouble. Three more years. Race would graduate from that school—the school Katherine never finished. He would go on to college. That would be justice—a future gained for a future lost. Then Samuel would close the books, call it even. He promised himself that would be it—no more revenge. He would make something good come out of the past.

But if Race started compromising his chances at graduation, if he got kicked out of school, especially if it was the girl's fault— No, that wasn't part of the plan.

Samuel had never shown himself to the girl. He'd taken care to stay out of the picture. But he would, if he had to.

He expected to catch Race at the house this time of morning, maybe the girl, too, but instead there was Talia's car, and Talia herself looking out the living room window.

What the hell was she up to?

This was way too early for her. She should have been off with her latest boyfriend—whatever the hell his name was. Samuel couldn't keep track. He'd lived through so many of them over the years. He never got mad. The memories just settled on him like sediment, hardening to rock, until his gentlest touch could smash through a wall.

He waited behind the wheel, trying to steady his nerves. Swear to God, he had worked at forgiving that woman. He had helped her with money, time, whatever she needed. He'd spent years telling himself she wasn't guilty of anything except being born poor and stupid about men.

Samuel walked up the steps of the house. He kicked a piece of smashed pumpkin into the weeds, ripped the paper black cat off the door. He hated that shit—Halloween. The whole idea of children in costumes.

First thing he saw when he came into the living room was the leather satchel at Talia's feet. Wasn't right—wasn't something she'd be carrying. She was dressed in her Friday night clothes—skintight red jeans, leopard-skin sweater. Her hair was the color of crusted sap.

“Stylin',” he said. “You going somewhere?”

“I had to.” Her voice leaked guilt, like it always did, even when she hadn't done anything.

Samuel could smell her—the cheap watery magnolia perfume. He wondered if that's what men were attracted to. He didn't know. He couldn't imagine it.

What was Talia planning—weekend in Vegas? No, Tahoe. Closer. That would be more within her scope. No doubt the latest boyfriend was waiting for her.

But there was more to it than that.

Samuel slipped his fingers in his pocket, tapped against the hard rectangle of wood and metal there—the six-inch knife he always carried, ever since the old days, before he turned around. He never planned on using it—certainly not this morning, hoping to talk sense into Race. But the knife sat on the dresser every morning, and it made his fingers itch until he picked it up, slipped it into the pocket where it belonged. Otherwise Samuel felt dizzy—ten ounces off balance.

He tried for a smile. “What you up to, Talia?”

“Was I supposed to say no?” she asked. “He give me a lot of money.”

Samuel could swear she was accusing him—turning her guilt on him.

Then she added like an afterthought, “Race be okay.”

“Oh—yeah,” Samuel agreed. “He's always better without you.”

Talia let a tear escape, and Samuel thought, That's good. Now you cry.

She started to leave, but the anger in Samuel was building. He hated this woman. She was always leaving—like a cockroach. Every time you turned on a light, there was Talia, scurrying away.

He knocked the satchel out of her hand. It split open, spilling bricks of cash.

They stood close enough to dance, the cash scattered around their feet. Talia's perfume burned his nose. She was staring down at her wrist, squeezing it.

“Look here,” Samuel said. “Goddamn.”

“I was gonna leave some for you,” Talia said.

“What you done?”

“Some for Race, too. Y'all both got a share. He can stay at the house a few more days. After that, I figure Nana take him.”

Then Samuel understood—the whole thing clicked into place. “What's your end of the deal?”

“Just disappear.”

“Just disappear,” he repeated. “With Race.”

She stared at the rug.

Samuel's throat felt dry. “Well, then. You'd better do it.”

She started to push past him, leaving the money behind, but he said, “You forgetting something?”

She turned, glanced down at the cash. She looked nervous and hungry, like an animal, waiting for permission to grab some food.

“You got to disappear,” Samuel said.

“Yeah. Vincent waiting for me—”

“That's his name. Vincent.”

“He's a good man.”

“Oh, yeah. All of them, good men. So checking, savings, real estate. You got it all into cash, huh?”