The Last Exit to Normal (19 page)

As I read the sheriff’s scrawl on Ron’s file, I realized it was nothing I hadn’t heard. Suspicion of vandalism. Shoplifting. Defacing public property. Arson charges brought by the sheriff, then dropped by the district attorney for lack of evidence. Information on the Montana Highway Patrol arson investigation, complete with the fire marshal’s conclusion, was tucked inside. Then I turned to the last page. Two papers stapled together and marked
“Confidential”
confronted me.

It was a psychological analysis done by a doctor employed by the Montana Highway Patrol. I whistled as I scanned through the mumbo jumbo. Passive-aggressive nature, leanings toward obsessive behavior. Subject lacks empathy for others. Egocentric. Sociopathic tendencies, with a conclusion by the doctor that symptoms would deepen as the subject reached maturity. Shit. Ron Jamison was one fucked-up cowboy.

CHAPTER 26

I
woke to the sound of keys in the door, and as I opened my eyes, Sheriff Wilkins walked in, carrying a mug of coffee and a sack lunch. He nodded, setting the mug down and stuffing his lunch in the small fridge near the coffeepot. “Sleep well?”

I stretched, wiping the gunk from my eyes. “Yeah. Better than freezing in my truck.”

He laughed. “Hungry?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“I’ll spring for breakfast at the Cascade if you’ve a mind.”

I laced my boots. I
was
hungry. “I’ve got money.”

He smiled. “Sure. Come on, then.”

At five in the morning, the Cascade was just opening its eyes and only a few old-timers sat at a table near the front windows. Sheriff Wilkins nodded as we walked in, saying hello to each as he made his way to the counter and took a seat on a stool. I sat next to him. Milton came from the storage room, wiping his hands with a towel. “Morning, Sheriff.”

“Morning.”

Milton nodded to me. “Looks like I got a regular here.”

Sheriff Wilkins smiled. “Can’t let these ruffians run free, Milt. Terror of the town.”

Milton laughed, looking at me. “I hear Morgan Johan has a new hand out at his place.”

I nodded. “I start tomorrow.”

“He’s a good man. You done well with helpin’ him out of that mess with the tractor.”

I didn’t have anything to say about that, so I nodded, then read the menu. Milton turned to the grill. “Regular for you, Sheriff?”

“Sure.”

Milton grabbed two eggs, cracking them over the grill. “And you, boy?”

“I’ll have the French toast, thanks.”

As Milton cooked, he and the sheriff talked—small things about the town, the potluck later in the afternoon, the teenagers partying out at the Pond. I listened until Milton slid two plates in front of us and started another order; then we dug in. Sheriff Wilkins dumped catsup on his eggs. “The Johan place, huh?”

“Yeah. Dirk is heading back to Wyoming in a while.”

“You think about school?”

I shrugged. “I need money.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. You know, though, they got a deal around here for kids need to work their places. Sort of like a homeschool-type thing. Give you a curriculum that you do at night. Good for a diploma, if you’re after one.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He sipped his coffee. “You do that.” We ate in silence for a while as customers straggled in. Everybody knew everybody, and I liked that. A few even said hello to me, referring to me as “the kid who helped Morgan.” Sheriff Wilkins soaked up the last of his eggs with a slice of toast. “Had me a little talk with the young man we spoke of the other day,” he said. “I asked him how you two were getting along, and he told me you’d hashed things out and things were smooth sailing.”

I grunted, remembering the scene at the Pond.

“Seems you told him you slashed the tires and left those cats. To get back at Mr. Hinks.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“I don’t think I said you did.”

Silence.

Sheriff Wilkins slid his plate forward, done with his meal. “He’s a sly one.”

I thought about the file. “Yeah. I’ve heard.”

“See, the funny thing is that whoever did it, they left the knife in the last tire.”

“Huh.”

“He let me know that in the course of his conversation with you, you said it was the one you had in your tool belt. Left as a reminder to Mr. Hinks that he shouldn’t cross you anymore.”

My stomach sunk.

He put some money on the counter, then stood. “You keep that tool belt in Miss Mae’s shed?”

“Yes. On a hook.”

He sighed. “I’d bet anybody could go into that shed and take it if they had a mind to.”

“Maybe.”

He nodded. “I’m runnin’ on a bit of faith, here, Ben. Don’t prove me wrong.”

“I won’t.”

“Steer clear of that boy, you hear?”

Too late,
I thought, hoping I’d scared Ron enough at the Pond so that he would let it drop. I started doubting it, though, and I wondered how far he’d go. “Sure.”

Then the sheriff was gone, saying goodbye to Milton and heading out the door.

When I walked out to the sidewalk, a stage was being set up in the park in anticipation of the potluck later. I’d heard several guys in the Cascade talking about a couple of country bands that would be playing that night, and they said there would be an auction to benefit Morgan’s place before the bands took the stage.

I hopped in my truck and drove home. I had to finish up a few odds and ends with the fence, then weatherproof it with stain. I’d seen the minivan at the restaurant and was relieved Dad and Edward weren’t at the house. My mind was on Ron Jamison, and my mood was dark because of it. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing, and wondered if I’d made a mistake in how I’d handled the situation.

I thought about the Tibbses’ barn. If Ron was the one who’d set it on fire, he had purposely burned the animals to death. To me, that didn’t mean regular retribution or vengeance. It meant psycho. Ron Jamison knew no bounds, and the file I’d read had told me just that. I was in trouble.

As I brought the stain from the shed to the fence, I glanced at my tool belt. The knife was gone. No great surprise there. Ron had come in and taken it. He had it out for me, just like he’d had it out for Nathan Tibbs.

Then it clicked.

I set the stain down and walked inside. Miss Mae was nowhere to be found, and I heard the water running upstairs as I reached for the phone and dialed. “Hello, Kim?”

“Hi, Ben.”

“Busy?”

“Cooking with Mom. Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” I explained that I’d spent the night at the sheriff’s office, and she laughed. I cleared my throat. “Remember when you were telling me about that guy Nathan Tibbs?”

Her tone changed. “Yes.”

“Well, I was wondering . . .” I paused. “Did you date Nathan?”

“No.”

I sighed in relief. “Cool.”

“He had a big crush on me, but we didn’t go out.”

My relief disappeared. “When?”

“Freshman year. Why?”

I reeled, my mind scattered. Ron had Nathan in his sights two years ago. Their freshman year. “Greg mentioned it. No biggie.”

She laughed. “Scoping out the competition again? I swear, Ben . . .”

I forced a laugh. “I know. That jealous bone. Never happen again.” I paused. “We’re still on for the potluck, right?”

“Four o’clock.”

“Good. Well, I’ve got to finish up this fence. Happy cooking with Ma.”

She laughed. “Bye.”

I hung up, my heart pounding in my chest. It was Kim. Ron had some kind of fixation on her, and I was next in line.

I spent the day staining the fence, putting two coats on after Miss Mae came out and barked, “Put two coats on it. Both sides, you hear?” It was three-thirty by the time I finished, and as I walked to the shed to put the stain away, Dad and Edward pulled into the driveway. Edward called hello and walked inside, but Dad came my way. He looked at the fence. “It looks good.”

“Thanks.” I set the can on a shelf.

Dad shifted on his feet. “So, how are you?”

I looked at him. “I’m fine.”

“The sheriff stopped by the restaurant today.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“He told me what he thinks is going on.”

I shrugged.

“I shouldn’t have doubted your word.”

I frowned, shaking my head. “I probably would have thought the same thing.”

He looked around, uncomfortable. “He told me you got a job out at Morgan Johan’s place.”

“Yeah. I start tomorrow.” I hitched a thumb to the fence. “I wanted to get this done first.”

Dad cleared his throat, exhaling. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, Ben. I just didn’t think it would happen this way.”

“Didn’t think what would happen this way?”

“Everything, I suppose.”

I smiled. “You kicked me out.”

“Yes, I did.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Maybe it was the best thing.”

“You’ll be staying at Morgan’s?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “What about school?”

“I can do homeschooling stuff. The sheriff told me about it.”

“You’re going to?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, I think so, too. Good.”

“You know, if things don’t work out at Morgan’s, you can come back.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded. “Well, anyway, Edward and I were wondering if you’d like to come by for dinner tomorrow night. Maybe invite Kim if that would be better.”

I thought about it. “I’d like that.”

He walked up the porch steps. “Hey, Ben?”

“Yeah?”

His eyes met mine. “I’m proud of you.” Then he opened the door and went inside.

I stared at the old cans of paint and stain on the shelves, and for some reason, tears filled my eyes. I wiped my face on my sleeve. We’d just had a conversation that was different from any other we’d ever had. Not good and not bad, but . . . different. And, I thought as I focused on the newer can I’d just put away, maybe different forever.

CHAPTER 27

B
y the time I got out of the shower, it was ten after four and I was late. Miss Mae, Dad, and Edward were already gone, having lugged four trays of her famous Miss Mae’s Montana Corn Bread to the car, and the house was silent as I got dressed. My mood lightened after talking with Dad, and I knew things were getting better. I would be a guest at their house for dinner, and that was weird, but I kind of liked it. Maybe we could start anew. I hoped we could.

On my own. I smiled at that idea. I’d never even given a thought to Ben being a grown-up big boy before, and now I liked the idea. I’d had friends that had moved out before they graduated school, and I would be eighteen in four months, so it wasn’t like I was on the streets. Besides, Rough Butte only had one street, I thought with a chuckle. I had a job, a truck, a place to stay, and I’d get my diploma. Not bad.

As I hit the front door and stepped onto the porch, I heard the crash of breaking glass and looked over at the Hinkses’ house, an instant pang of guilt shooting through me. In all my planning, I’d almost forgotten Billy, and I felt like a jerk for it.

Billy stood in the driveway, looking at the shattered remnants of a casserole dish, its creamy tuna-and-pasta contents an oozing pile on the cement. He stared at it, then bent, trying in vain to scoop it up. I groaned.

Mr. Hinks came to the door at the sound of the crash and, seeing Billy kneeling on the driveway with tuna casserole all over his hands, came out and walked down the porch steps. He strode across the driveway with his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists. “Dammit, Billy! Lookit what you’ve gone and done now.” He growled as he reached Billy, then swung his fist, knocking him on the side of the head and sending him sprawling on the driveway. Mr. Hinks stared at the mess. “Told you once, I told you a million times—you gotta be careful when I tell you to be careful! Dammit!” Then he turned on Billy. “I told you to be careful, didn’t I?”

Billy rubbed his head, staring up at his father.

“Didn’t I? Answer me, boy!”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Hinks shook his head, disgusted, then mumbled under his breath as he stared at the broken glass. “Worthless piece of shit can’t even take a damn dish to the car.” Then he turned and barked, “Get on inside!”

Billy stood up, shifting back and forth on his feet. “What about the potluck? We can still go. I’ll clean it up. I promise.”

“You ain’t going nowhere. Now get yourself in that house before I strap you right where you stand!”

Billy was off, running up the steps and into the house. Then Mr. Hinks noticed me standing there. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

“Then get the hell out of here before I whip your ass, boy. I ain’t kidding, either. Get!”

I walked back inside, my heart hammering in my chest. Rage had lit his eyes. I stood in the living room for a moment, not knowing what to do, then peeked out from the shades. Mr. Hinks had picked up the broken shards and was hosing off the driveway, talking and cussing to himself about his worthless son. Then he went inside.

I waited a moment longer, and then heard his screen door slam shut. I peeked again and watched as Mr. Hinks got in his car and drove away, leaving Billy inside. I was already late and knew Kim would be looking for me, so I grabbed my keys and grumbled about what a bastard he was. Billy had been looking forward to the potluck all summer. His mother would have him soon enough, though. That was for sure.

When I got to the park, red, white, and blue streamers fluttered from the lampposts and through the trees, and the whole town gathered and milled around, visiting and eating and drinking beers. At least twenty picnic tables, lined up in a row, held enough food to feed an army, and ice-filled aluminum tubs placed sporadically along the feeding line held bottles and cans of beer. I found Kim watching two kids get their faces painted.

I scanned the crowd for Mr. Hinks as I walked up to Kim. “Hey.” I pecked her on the cheek.

“You’re late. I was beginning to think you dumped me and moved back to Spokane.”

“Nope. I got caught up.”

Kim smiled. “Forgiven.”

I nodded, taking her hand. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

As we walked through the park, I told her what happened to Billy.

“Well, his mom is going to get him soon,” she said.

“I know. It just sucks.”

“Yes, it does.”

“He’s in the Can. I know it.” I grabbed two plates and we meandered down the food line, picking up this and that and filling our plates. I was sure to load up on Mrs. Johan’s teriyaki meatballs, and made sure Kim noticed. I popped one in my mouth. “Mmm. Good.”

She laughed. “Brown-noser.”

“That’s me. Come on.” As I led Kim to a tree and we sat under it, the mayor got up onstage and began announcing the schedule of events for the afternoon and evening. The grand finale would be Two Tone Slim and the Taildraggers performing some toe-tapping, knee-slapping, hot-off-the-presses country for everybody. Then he said that he had an announcement to make. He cleared his throat into the microphone. “Now, we all know Morgan Johan up and decided to get himself trapped under a tractor. . . .” Laughter from the crowd. He went on: “. . . and busted himself all up. That’s in part why we’re here today. As I said, we’ll be starting the auction in a few minutes, but first I’d like to have two people come on up on this stage.” He paused. “Will Kimberly Johan and Ben Campbell please come on up.”

Kim and I gawked at each other. I had three meatballs stuffed in my cheek. “Whuff doesh he whant?”

Kim frowned, then smiled. “I don’t know. Come on, though.” She took my hand, and we wound our way through the crowd. Once we reached the stage, the mayor had us stand next to him. He spoke into the microphone: “Ladies and gentlemen, these two young adults at my side stand for something we all cherish in Rough Butte. They stand for a willingness to help those in need and the backbone to stand up and make themselves be counted when emergencies arise. They stand for courage and heroism and duty to their neighbors, but most of all, they stand for doing what’s right when there’s something to be done.” With that, Sheriff Wilkins walked onstage with two certificates, handing them to us. I caught sight of Dad, Edward, and Miss Mae. Edward was dabbing his eye, and Miss Mae beamed with pride before she smacked Edward on the shoulder, no doubt telling him to dry up.

I smiled, blushing, and looked over the crowd. That’s when I saw Ron Jamison standing at the edge of the park, staring at me. He smiled, then walked in the direction of our house. I stopped breathing, the hair on the back of my neck prickling ominously. The mayor went on: “In honor of Kimberly Johan and Benjamin Campbell going beyond the call of duty in saving Morgan Johan’s life, these certificates of community service and bravery are bestowed upon them as a mark of heroism. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts, and . . .”—he smiled—“I’m sure Morgan looks kindly upon it, too.”

The crowd erupted with applause, and Edward was openly weeping like the proudest mother in the world. My dad’s eyes gleamed. I watched as Ron disappeared around the corner. Then the mayor handed the microphone to Kim, smiling. “A few words?” he said.

Kim took the microphone, staring at the crowd. She hesitated, took my hand, squeezed it, and spoke: “Well, I guess I’m just glad Uncle Morgan is all right, but I didn’t do much. It was mostly Ben. He stayed while I got help.” Then she handed the microphone to me as the crowd clapped.

I took it, ready to pee my pants. I cleared my throat. It was no use. The Ultimate Ben Campbell would come out and screw things up. I’d say something stupid. That much I knew. “Um . . . thanks. I don’t really . . . uh . . . yeah, those teriyaki meatballs sure are good, huh?”

The crowd erupted in laughter and applause, and I saw Mrs. Johan blushing. I handed the microphone back to the mayor, and we left the stage. Dad came up to me, with Edward in tow. Edward had gained control of himself and beamed. Dad held his hand out. “Congratulations, son.”

I shook it, and several men I didn’t know patted me on the back as they passed. “Thanks,” I said.

Dad smiled. “You’ve done well, Ben.”

I nodded, smiling back. “I guess I learned it from you, huh?”

Dad’s face almost crumpled, and Edward was all over the place with the tears again. Dad hugged me then and, lowering his voice, spoke into my ear: “I love you.”

I hugged him back. “Love you, too.”

Kim and I glad-handed for the next few minutes, but I was anxious. Finally, when we’d made our way through the crowd, and when the auctioneer, who happened to be Mr. Hinks, kicked off the action with spitfire bidding going on over a saddle donated by Gunderson’s Hardware, I tucked the certificate in my back pocket. I looked at Kim, thinking about Billy. “I’ve got to take a leak. I’ll be back,” I said.

She shook her head, smiling. “Too much information. I’ll be at the tree.”

I kissed her, then looked into her eyes. “You know, I could end up loving somebody like you. Since we’re both heroes and all.”

She laughed. “Slow down, hero. Go pee, and then we’ll talk about love.”

I left then, but I didn’t go to the bathroom.