The Law of Moses(74)

“I just wanted you to know. I’ll put together a book for you. I have so many pictures.”

“I would like that. Even better than homemade brownies.” I tried to smile but it felt forced and I told her to hold on as I set the brownies down on the kitchen counter and joined her on the front steps, wishing I knew what to say to make her stick around.

“I didn’t make them. The brownies, I mean. I’m a terrible cook. The only time I tried to make brownies, Eli took one bite and spit it out. And he ate bugs. I was sure they couldn’t be that bad, until I took a bite. They were pretty terrible. We ended up calling them frownies instead of brownies, and we fed them to the goats. It’s a wonder Eli survived.” She stopped abruptly, a stricken look washing over her face. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her it was okay. That everything was okay. But it wasn’t okay. Because Eli hadn’t survived.

Georgia stepped back off the steps and tried to pull herself back together, smiling brightly.

“But don’t worry. I bought those brownies from Sweaty Betty. She makes the best baked goods in the state of Utah.”

I didn’t remember anyone named Sweaty Betty, and I had my doubts with a name like Sweaty Betty that they would taste any better than Georgia’s frownies. In fact, I was pretty sure I would be letting Tag eat them all.

“You’ll have to try again sometime,” I suggested as she turned to leave. I was talking about her frownies, but I really wasn’t. And maybe she knew that, because she just waved and she didn’t pause.

“Goodnight, Stewy Stinker,” I called after her.

“What did you say?” Her voice was sharp and she stopped walking, but she didn’t turn around.

“I said goodnight, Stewy Stinker. Now you say, goodnight, Buzzard Bates.”

I heard her gasp and then she turned toward me, her fingers pressed to her lips to hide their trembling.

“He keeps showing you kissing him goodnight. And it’s always the same.” I waited.

“He shows you . . . that?” she whispered brokenly.

I nodded.

“It’s from his book. He . . . he loved this book. So much. I probably read it to him a thousand times. It was a book I loved when I was little called Calico the Wonder Horse.”

“He named his horse—”

“Calico. After the horse in the book, yes,” Georgia finished. She looked like she was about to collapse. I walked to her, took her hand, and gently led her back to the steps. She let me, and she didn’t pull away when I sat beside her.

“So, who’s Stewy Stinker?” I pressed softly.

“Stewy Stinker, Buzzard Bates, Skunk Skeeter, Butch Bones, Snakeyes Pyezon . . . they were the Bad Men in Eli’s book.” Georgia said Pyezon like Popeye would say poison, and it made me smile. Georgia smiled too, but there was obviously too much grief in the memory to make it stay, and her smile slid away like the tide. “So if they were the bad guys, who were the good guys?” I asked, trying to coax it out again.

“They weren’t the bad guys, they were the Bad Men. It was the name of their gang. Stewy Stinker and the Bad Men.”

“No false advertising there.”

Georgia giggled and the shell-shocked expression she’d worn since I called her Stewy Stinker faded slightly.

“Nope. Simple, straightforward. You know exactly what you’re getting.”

I wondered if there was hidden meaning in her statement and waited for her to clue me in.

“You’re different, Moses,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

She flinched but then nodded. “I am. Sometimes I miss the old Georgia. But in order to get her back, I would have to erase Eli. And I wouldn’t trade Eli for the old Georgia.”

I could only nod, not willing to think about the old Georgia and the old Moses and the fiery way we had come together. The memories were burned in my head and coming back to Levan made me want to revisit them. I wanted to kiss Georgia until her lips were sore, I wanted to make love to her in the barn and swim with her in the water tower, and most of all, I wanted to take away the wave of grief that kept knocking her over.

“Georgia?”

She kept her eyes averted. “Yeah?”

“Do you want me to go? You said you wouldn’t lie to me. Do you want me to go?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

I felt the word reverberate in my chest and was surprised at the pain that echoed behind it. Yes. Yes. Yes. The word taunted. It reminded me of how I had shunned her the same way that last night in the barn. Do you love me, Moses? she’d asked. No, I’d told her. No. No. No.

“Yes. I want you to go. And no. I don’t want you to go,” she amended in a rush of frustrated, pent-up breath. She stood abruptly, threw her hands in the air, and then folded them across her chest defensively. “If I’m telling the truth, then both are true,” she added softly.

I stood too, bracing myself against the impulse to bolt, to run and paint, like I always did. But Tag said I was going to have to take her. He told me not to go slow. And I was going to heed his advice.

“I don’t know what the truth is this time, Moses. I don’t know,” Georgia said, and I knew I couldn’t run this time. I wouldn’t run.

“You know the truth. You just don’t like it.” I never thought I’d see Georgia Shepherd afraid of anything. I was afraid too. But I was afraid that she really wanted me to go. And I didn’t know if I could stay away. Not again.