Sweetgirl (14 page)

He set Bo down in the pickup bed and was glad for his missing windshield in the front. It seemed right he should suffer the cold along with Bo. He took a pallet from the stack he kept out by the pole barn and loaded it with a jug of gasoline beside the dog.

He drank his whiskey and as he walked back inside for the shotgun he wondered why Kayla hadn't gone for it instead of the knife. It was puzzling because he'd taught her how to load the shotty himself and she knew how to shoot it.

He remembered that gentle afternoon just a few short weeks prior, the way he'd held his hand around hers and eased them up the barrel and taught her to squeeze the trigger and how he was there behind her to cushion the kick. If she were going to threaten him, he would have preferred she pull the shotgun and do it right. He might have felt a touch of pride then, or at least taken some consolation in the fact that she had remembered that time they had shared and put it to some use.

Instead, she panicked and went for the knife. Well, Shelton thought, it is what it is. She was upstairs behind the door now and likely gone to him forever.

Outside, Shelton got in the truck and drove for Bo's favorite clearing. There was never any doubt about where to put his best friend to rest. Shelton might have squandered every opportunity he'd ever had in this world and been on a run of particularly bad decision making, he might have ruined his life and several others, it was an evolving list, but he was not going to fuck up and put Old Bo to rest anywhere but the wide, brightly lit field where they had so often played together.

A quarter mile from his trailer there was another two-track and it ended in a beautiful little glade where Bo had loved to run wild. On a summer day the sun could sit for hours above that little break in the pines, or so it had seemed, shining on the tall grass and the ironweed while Bo frolicked. While he raced in circles and filled the hills with his buoyant and undimmed barking.

A good game of fetch had always soothed Shelton when he
started to drop his high and tweak and it was doubly nice that the field was right there by his favorite cookhouse. Shelton had always considered it serendipity.

He took the two-track to the clearing, put the Silverado in park, and let it idle. He left his brights on, though they were of little use against the torrent, against the spate of snow and the sky the color of cement behind it. Shelton stepped out the driver's-side door and resolved to complete the work that remained.

He walked the pallet into the clearing first, then came back for the gasoline and whiskey. He drank some whiskey, then set what was left of the bottle in the snow.

There was no way to dig through the frozen ground and give Bo a proper burial, but Shelton believed Old Bo might have preferred it like this anyway. To be set free in a wash of flames, to become ashes and air and be finally and fully released. Shelton thought it was more fitting to the lightness of Bo's spirit than to be confined in the ground, to be buried beneath all that density and dirt. It might not be a beautiful summer afternoon, but it was still their spot and there was sky above them and the space between the pines to find it.

He cradled Bo in the blanket and walked him into the clearing. He set him down on the pallet and pulled the blanket back so Old Bo could see out into the field that one last time.

Now Shelton cried the stinging kind of tears. They were tears of grief, but somehow the hurt was clean and not polluted for once with his own shame and guilt. These tears were strictly for Old Bo, for the loss of his goodness and his brave and loyal heart.

The gas sloshed in the can as he lifted it and the scent cut
through the wind and singed his eyes as he uncapped the nozzle and stepped closer to the pallet. He poured the gas over Old Bo and thought it looked a bit like he was seeing him enter the water from above. Like he was standing on some sandy lake floor and watching Bo swim toward him, his face slickened and surprised by the wet.

Shelton turned away and listened to the glug as the last of the gas descended, then heard it splash off the pallet and soak into the snow. Then came the lit matchbook and the flood of heat.

He stepped back from the fire and watched as it all came together, the ashes and the smoke and the snow and the sky, all of it one solid gray slate and the flames beneath it burning. He returned to his whiskey and thought it was probably time to head over to the trailer and cook him up some smoke. It was past time, truth be told. It was goddamn overdue.

He shut the truck off and decided to walk. It was quicker than going back out and coming in on the next trail, which wasn't to mention the near two hundred pounds of buck that was lying dead in the middle of the two-track. No, Shelton figured a little stroll would do him some good anyway, help to clear his mind.

He finished his whiskey, tossed the bottle into the trees, and began his slow amble to the trailer. He watched the shadows from the fire and thought they were like lovely and languid dancers on the snow.

When I lifted from sleep in the trailer I reached for Jenna, but she was not there beside me. I blinked my eyes open and when I saw the empty carpet where she'd been, I felt my heart seize and go cold in my chest.

Then I heard a voice.

“She's got a fever.”

I pushed myself off the floor and turned to see Shelton Potter sitting with Jenna cradled to his chest. He had his back against the far wall of the room and I had a dropping sensation, like I was falling into all that empty space between us.

I wanted to scream but I was too scared. I was too scared even to move. Shelton had Jenna and I knew that I could not pull her free, could not wrench her away as I had done with Carletta.

“I guess you're the one who took her, then,” he said.

I looked from Shelton to the doorway where his shotgun was
leaned. I doubted I could reach it and wield it in time and knew it would be foolish to try. I nodded.

“I didn't think it would be a girl,” he said.

He rocked Jenna and she was so small against his body, like a loaf of bread tucked between his arms. She was not upset, though. She was not crying or trying to wriggle free.

“I love this baby,” he said. “I didn't know I did at first. But I know now.”

“She's a good girl,” I said.

I surprised myself when I spoke and I think it surprised Shelton too. He looked up at me like he had forgotten I was in the room. He cocked his head to the side and held me in his eyes and I felt the fear rise and burn at the base of my throat. Then he returned his gaze to Jenna.

“You're Carletta's girl,” he said. “The young one.”

“Percy,” I said.

“Why'd you take this baby, Percy?”

“She was crying out,” I said. “She was right there by the window with the snow blowing in on her and you and Kayla were crashed. I couldn't just leave her there.”

“And what were you doing in my house?”

“Looking for Carletta.”

“You weren't trying to steal nothing?”

“No,” I said. “I am not a thief and I did not drive clear into the north hills in a blizzard to try and steal your drugs.”

“No. You just stole this baby.”

“I was trying to help her. I am trying to help her.”

“I am trying to help her, too,” Shelton said. “I've been out here
looking for her for I don't know how long. Feels like forever.”

“Your boy Arrow was going to gas her. He would have killed her if he hadn't killed himself first.”

“Arrow McGraw is not my boy.”

“They were coming after Jenna. They said there was reward money.”

“There was never any money.”

“They were pretty sure there was.”

“It don't matter now anyway,” Shelton said. “Kayla thinks I took her and blames the whole thing on me.”

“She's the mother,” I said. “She should not have been passed out like that in the first place.”

“I woke up and she was gone. At first I thought she fell out the window and was buried by the snow. I was so sick I thought I would die.”

“We're running out of time,” I said. “That fever needs to come down.”

“I almost shot Little Hector,” Shelton said. “Can you believe that? Then I did shoot Clemens. I winged that old fucker and then Kayla came to and could not be reasoned with. That's when I drove out here to put my dog, Old Bo, to rest.”

“I could take her to the hospital right now,” I said. “I could drive your truck in and get this baby the help it needs.”

“I could drive my truck, too,” he said. “And take this baby back to her mother.”

“Jenna needs a doctor.”

“Once them doctors take her, they aren't likely to give her back.”

“They shouldn't give her back,” I said.

“And why's that?”

“You know why,” I said. “She's not safe with Kayla.”

“Sounds like you got it all figured out.”

“I know what I saw at the farmhouse,” I said. “And I know I'm the best fit to help her now.”

“Well aren't you high and mighty,” he said. “For a tweaker's daughter.”

“I'm not nothing,” I said.

“Was she crying?” he said. “When you found her?”

“Yes.”

“I never even heard her.”

“I think she'll be okay,” I said. “If I can take her now.”

“I didn't mean for this baby to be hurt.”

“I know you didn't.”

I waited a moment and when he did not respond I inched toward him. I did not want to startle him by standing and slid closer on my butt. I got right up beside him and I could smell the booze and something sharp and metallic on his breath. He sat with his shoulders hunched forward and breathed.

“Everything got sideways,” he said. “It all got twisted around.”

“You can still make it right.”

“It ain't never going to be right. It never was right to begin with.”

“You could make it right for this baby.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”

“You can try,” I said.

I held out my arms for Jenna and she reached for me as Shelton held her there between us.

“Please,” I said.

He looked over at the shotgun and then down at Jenna. I wanted to reach for her but I did not. I sat there and waited and he did not turn to face me but finally lifted Jenna and put her into my arms and she squawked as I slid her into the papoose. I straightened the blanket above her and began to ease away from him.

“I'm so tired,” he said.

“You should sit here and rest,” I said.

I stood as I neared the door, then stepped into the hall. I was a foot from the shotgun now and knew I could reach it in time if he lunged. I believed I could turn it on him and squeeze the trigger, too—that I would be able to shoot him down right there in the room if he changed his mind.

But Shelton didn't change his mind. He just sat there staring at the floor as I moved into the kitchen. I whispered to Jenna beneath my breath and told her everything was fine, but I knew she would not cry out and startle Shelton. I trusted her completely.

I opened the back door, then eased onto the porch and shut the door behind me. I took a few careful steps to clear the stairs, then bent forward against the wind and ran. The snow fell fast through the pines. The snow kept falling and falling and falling.

I never thought about the keys until I saw them on the driver's-side seat. I was so glad to be out of the trailer I never stopped to realize I'd need the keys to actually drive the truck, and if Shelton
wouldn't have left them there I would have just kept running and hoped for the best. There was no way I was going back inside the trailer, and I think it's likely those keys being there on the seat saved Jenna's life. It was the one stroke of luck she'd gotten.

I started the truck and drove down the trail for the main road with Jenna snug in the papoose on my lap. The wind was fierce through the open windshield, but Jenna was beneath it and spared the direct blast. She wasn't crying, and now that we were out of the trailer that quiet scared me. That and her filmy, faraway eyes.

I drove down the two-track until the tires dropped and we hit Grain Road. I put the truck in park then, looked in the rearview and there was nobody coming behind us, at least not that I could see through the snow. I fiddled with the seat lever until I got it to come forward and then I put the truck back into gear and drove.

I nosed for the bottom of the hill and the tires were steady beneath us on the packed snow. The pines and the peaks were dark behind us and the wind was as loud as heaving thunder.

I drove straight to the ER. The hospital is off Highway 31, and the closer we got the more I realized that I was going to have to leave Jenna on her own. That I would have to drop her off and walk away. It was either that or risk all kinds of craziness with the police and social services. I could hear the questions now.
What were you doing in the farmhouse in the first place, Percy? And why did you think your mother was there? What, exactly, was the nature of the relationship between your mother and Shelton Potter? And why didn't you call for help upon finding the baby?

I was worried the police would pull me on account of the
windshield, but the only vehicle I saw on the highway was a city plow and they didn't pay me any mind.

When I got to the hospital I parked in the far back corner of the lot. I stepped quickly from the truck and did not look down at Jenna. I kept my eyes straight ahead, just like I'd done when we passed Arrow McGraw burning out in the snow. I told myself I was only doing what had to be done. I told myself leaving her was the right thing to do, even as I felt my bottom lip start to quiver.

I set the papoose down just inside the front, sliding doors of the ER entrance. I hit the emergency call button, took one step away from Jenna, and then another. I walked backward until I finally turned and ran into the cluster of vehicles toward the front of the lot. I kneeled down by the rear fender of a van and watched as a nurse ran into the entryway, scooped Jenna in her arms, and then stepped outside to see who'd left her.

Finally, Jenna cried. I felt myself lean toward her, but I did not go back to offer her comfort. I never explained what was happening or said good-bye or that I was sorry that it had to be this way. I just watched the nurse whisk her back inside and felt my heart finally give out and go all to pieces.

I staggered to my feet but held my tears. I knew it was not yet time for me to cry. I was still a mile from our house on Clark Street and the storm was not yet through. I flipped my hoodie up and stepped into the wind. I fisted my hands at my side and I walked.