The Weight of Blood (19 page)

“Now, it kills me to say this, but I don't see what choice I got.” He leaned in close and took my hand. “Your daddy was the last person to see Cheri before she was found in that tree. He's the one who put her there.”

I was hollow inside, a gulf opening up. “That's not true,” I said.

“Ask him,” he said. “See if he can lie to you.” He sat back and finished his beer. “So if you were planning on talking to anybody else about Cheri, you should know you could get your daddy in a whole lot of trouble. I reckon they'd take him away. Now, if that happens, you're always welcome here. You're family, and I'll always take care of you, no matter what, just like I always done. But I sure would hate to see my baby brother locked up. Or worse.”

I stared at the soda can, struggling to form coherent thoughts. He could be lying to protect himself. That made the most sense. Dad couldn't have been involved. But what would my dad say if I asked him? If he lied, would I know he was lying?

“This ain't the first time I've had to cover up for him,” Crete continued. “He killed a man that fancied your mother. There were witnesses. Go ahead and ask him. There are all sorts of things that could send your daddy to prison if they came to light. I'm sorry I had to tell you, but you're old enough to hear it now, and it's better if you know. I've only ever tried to help.”

I sat in the chair for a long time. Crete cleaned the kitchen up a bit, throwing beer cans in the trash and moving dirty dishes to the sink. After a while it seemed that he wasn't going to keep me from leaving. He'd already tethered me with his words. No noises came up from the basement to break the silence. At last I stood up and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

“You need a ride home?” he asked.

I stiffened.

“You ain't gotta be scared of me,” he said. “Or your daddy, neither. He'd never do anything to hurt you. We're blood, and we stick together. Now, you remember everything we talked about. I know you'll do the right thing.” He ruffled my hair and walked me to the door. “Careful out there. I'll be keeping my eye on you.”

I stumbled out into the night, and when I hit the trees, I started running. I ran until my breath seared my lungs and my side hurt enough to double me over, and when the pain subsided, I ran some more, all the way up the back steps of the house and into the kitchen, where Dad sat at the table with a beer, horribly reminiscent of the scene I'd just left. Crete's accusations clamored in my head.
Your dad killed a man. He put Cheri in that tree.

“Look who's grounded,” he said. I stared at him, wheezing, trying to catch my breath. There were several crushed beer cans and a dwindling bottle of whiskey on the table. How long had he been sitting here, drinking, waiting for me? “I bet you're wondering why I'm home.” I didn't say anything, but he continued anyway. “I got a call from Daniel Cole today up in Springfield, and we got together to talk a bit. He's worried about you. Said you're trying to track down Cheri's killer, and he's afraid you'll get yourself in trouble without one of us here to keep an eye on you.”

Anger kindled inside me. Daniel hadn't bothered to call me since he'd moved. What right did he have to call my dad?

“Birdie had some things to say, too. Seems there's been traffic out here at odd hours. Past curfew. What's going on with you, Lucy? And where were you? Out with Bess? You better not have been drinking.” I didn't answer. He circled me, sniffed my breath, my hair, laughable, considering the fumes coming off him. “At least I know you weren't out with some boy, since your boyfriend's outta town.”

Boyfriend?

“Though now I think I'd probably rather you were out with him. He's older than I'd like, but he seems like a smart kid. Trustworthy. I really wish you would have had the courtesy to introduce us.”

My breathing had almost returned to normal, though my heart was pumping overtime. I'd barely begun to process everything that had happened at Crete's, and now Dad was in my face, raving drunk, talking about Daniel and scaring me enough to make me wonder about all the things Crete had said.

“It's late,” he said. “We're gonna have a nice long talk in the morning. I've got the next few days off work.”

I nodded, finding my voice. “I just need to call Bess, let her know I made it home.” I didn't want her worrying, or worse, calling my dad because she hadn't heard from me.

“No,” he said, grabbing the phone as I reached for it. “I'll do it. I haven't decided yet if you're losing your phone privileges.” He squinted at the list of phone numbers taped to the fridge and clumsily jabbed the buttons to dial. “Bess? Lucy's home. And you might not see her for a while, because she's gonna be grounded for breaking curfew and God knows what else.”

He listened for a minute, exasperated by whatever Bess was saying. He tried to break in, but apparently, she just kept going and he relented with a frown. He shoved the phone at me. “She's gotta tell you something,” he said. “You have one minute, and then your ass best be in bed.”

“Lucy?” I couldn't tell if Bess was whispering or crying. I wished Dad would leave me alone so I could talk to her, tell her what had happened, but he stood at arm's length, glaring, tapping his watch like a prison warden.

“What is it?” I asked, turning my back to Dad.

“It's Sorrel,” she said. “He hung himself. He's dead.”

I lay in bed until I heard Dad snoring, then crept across the hall to the bathroom and took a long shower. When the hot water ran out, I sat down in the claw-foot tub and let the cold spray pelt me until my teeth chattered. Back in my room, I tried to make sense of things in my journal. I didn't yet know how to categorize everything that had happened, everything I was feeling, so I wrote it all down in one jumbled list. I wasn't convinced that my dad was a murderer. It didn't feel right. The man Crete accused Dad of killing—it could have been self-defense. And when I replayed the conversation, he hadn't exactly said that Dad had killed Cheri. Just that he had put her in the tree. But it was hard to believe anything Crete said at this point. I had no idea which parts were true.

I couldn't stop thinking about the sounds that had come from the hidden room. Though I had no reason to assume a person was trapped in there, the thought lingered in my head. Not so long ago, such a thing never would have occurred to me: that my uncle, whom I often felt closer to than my own father, might have someone locked in his basement. I knew it wasn't likely, but I realized with horror that I believed it was possible. If he had something to do with what had happened to Cheri or my mother, who knew what he was capable of.

Gabby

Lila kept saying she didn't need a baby shower, but Gabby knew for a fact there wasn't a single damn thing in that baby's room, and Carl was working like a dog trying to save up money. It was already January, and Lila was nearly eight months along, so Gabby told her there'd be a shower whether she liked it or not, and she'd have to sit there and open gifts and let people rub her belly. The problem was, Gabby didn't know who to invite, because Lila didn't get out much, and since most folks didn't know her, they naturally saw her in a bad light. Half the town was caught up in witch gossip, whispering some nonsense about her and Joe Bill Sump. So it wasn't easy to come up with a guest list. There were Birdie and Ransome, of course. Birdie said she'd talk to the ladies at First Baptist and come up with something. There was no way Gabby could back out on the shower after pushing Lila into it, so she vowed that even if only the two of them showed up, they'd have a good time.

She'd been to only one baby shower, for her friend Darla who got pregnant junior year, so Gabby was basing everything on what she remembered from that. They'd need sherbet punch, cake with frilly icing, and some dumb games—but not drinking games, like at Darla's shower. She knew Birdie and Ransome and Lila wouldn't want to drink, but the more she thought about the shower, the more she wanted a drink, so she had one, and another, and then Duane, the guy she was seeing, came by and they messed around for a while. He always kept his eyes closed, and Gabby couldn't tell if he was thinking of her or imagining someone else. When he came, he reminded her of a soldier, grunting, thrusting his bayonet in the enemy. In world history, one of the few classes she'd stayed awake for, men killed their enemies and raped their enemies' women. She wondered why men fucked what they hated and fucked what they loved and fucked what they didn't give a fuck about. Maybe they wanted to fuck everything, nothing to do with the way they felt, just an uncontrollable urge. Thrust, grunt, conquer.

When Duane finished, he pulled his pants back on and asked her to loan him some cash. For once she said no. She was saving to buy something nice for Lila, for the shower. She didn't know what, because Lila needed everything, but it would be something good.
Bitch
, Duane muttered before the camper door slammed. Gabby curled up on the wet sheets and pretended she didn't want him to come back. She would pretend hard enough to make it true.

The day of the shower, Gabby went over to Birdie's early to decorate. She had pink and blue crepe paper, even though Lila kept saying she was having a girl, because Gabby knew it was never a good idea to get your heart set on something that might not work out. Birdie had made the sheet cake and had it sitting out on the sideboard, still in the pan. She'd done it up in plain white without any sort of sprinkles or frosting flowers or anything. It looked like the sort of cake you'd get to celebrate joining a convent.

“You got any sprinkles?” Gabby asked. “Colored sugar, something?”

Birdie frowned. She was wearing a stiff black dress, to carry on the convent theme, Gabby guessed. “What for?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Birdie fussed with the punch bowl and cups while Gabby twisted the crepe paper and taped it across the front of the sideboard. Two gifts sat next to the cake, one from Birdie and one, in a green paper bag, from Ransome Crowley. “Ransome's not coming?” Gabby asked.

Birdie shook her head. “No, she dropped that by yesterday. That woman is plum wore out. Didn't feel up to the festivities.”

Festivities? A few people eating cake in a deathly quiet house? Gabby wanted to drive over to the farm and drag Ransome's bony ass to the party. Not like she'd liven things up, but at least Lila knew her. They heard somebody pull up outside, and Birdie hurried to the door to see if it was her church friends. Gabby's pathetic attempt at decorating was all done, so she followed her.

Ray Walker's truck sat in the driveway, and he was in the back untying a bentwood rocking chair. “Hello, there,” he said, stepping down from the tailgate. He wore a crisp button-down shirt like he did every single day of his life—probably slept in one, too. “I apologize for arriving unexpected,” he said, his voice warm and smooth, like good bourbon. “But I heard about the shower, and I wanted to bring something.” The first party crasher. Gabby could only hope there'd be more. “If I can just take this inside, I'll be on my way.”

“That'd be fine,” Birdie said.

“Let me help,” Gabby said, hopping into the bed of the truck before he could stop her. They got the chair lowered to the ground and carried it up to the house. “This is some chair,” she said as they set it down in Birdie's front room.

He rubbed his hand over the polished armrest. “I wanted her to have something nice. A keepsake.” Red splotches spread across his face, and Gabby realized he was blushing. Even the civilized Mr. Walker had a hard-on for Lila. Gabby wasn't going to let that love go to waste.

Birdie was still out front, sweeping the walkway of dirt that only she could see. “Come here,” Gabby said, dragging Ray by his shirt cuff. “We need some help.” She gestured at the cake, the limp streamers. “It's depressing. We need sprinkles. Flowers. Balloons. Anything.”

He cleared his throat. “I suppose I could run into town. Pick up a few things.”

“Great,” she said. “And you have to stay for the shower. We need bodies in here. Bring your wife, too, if she wants to come.” Gabby knew that Mrs. Walker was infertile and either avoided baby showers or cried her way through them, but now that Ray was coming, it felt rude not to invite her.

The church ladies arrived while Ray was gone. There were five of them, all with identical old-lady haircuts. One brought a tray of sugar cookies that fit right in with the rest of the bland display. At least the gift table was filling up a bit, though one of the ladies had the nerve to wrap her gift in newspaper. The women all stood in the kitchen with Birdie, talking about some churchy thing or another, shooting Gabby bitchy looks through the doorway.

Ray came back alone, loaded down with goodies. He'd brought a package of sugar roses and tubes of colored icing for the cake, a fruit tray and a deli tray from Ralls', and a rainbow of helium balloons tied with ribbon.

“Nice work, Ray,” Gabby said, making him blush again. There was something handsome about him, something sexy behind that button-down shirt, and she wondered briefly what he was like in bed.

When Lila and Carl showed up, Lila went on about how great everything looked, giving Gabby a huge tearful hug. Lila hugged Birdie, too, which horrified the church ladies. They clutched their punch cups in front of them with both hands, lest she try to hug them, too. Gabby didn't know how Birdie had talked them into coming but guessed one or two had shown up just to lay eyes on the witch of Toad Holler Road. Ray stared at Lila with a reserved smile, taking his eyes off her long enough to shake hands with Carl. The way he looked at Lila wasn't pure lust—Gabby recognized that well enough—there was something more to it, though she wasn't sure what. She fetched Lila some punch and a plate of food and got her situated in the bentwood rocker.

“Attention, everyone,” Gabby said, clanging a fork on her cup. “It's time for a few games, and then we'll get to the presents and cake.” Birdie herded the ladies into the front room, and everyone found a place to sit on the sofa, recliner, or folding chairs. The small room was pretty well filled up, and despite the crabby expressions on a couple of ladies' faces, the shower was starting to feel festive, just as Gabby had wanted it to be. She handed out pens and strips of paper. Crete slipped in the front door just as she was about to explain the rules. She hadn't invited him, but the more, the merrier. “Hey, look, it's the uncle-to-be,” Gabby said. He rolled his eyes at her and took a spot standing in the corner, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Gabby went on, “Okay, write down what you think the baby will be—boy or girl—and what day you think it'll be born. Whoever gets closest to being right'll win a prize.” She was hoping everybody would forget about the prize by the time the baby came, because she didn't have any prizes. She collected all the scraps of paper in an envelope and handed it to Lila. “Why don't you read 'em out loud?” she said. That would kill some time, if they were lucky, because she had only one other game.

Lila didn't look right. Her hand shook as she held up the little pieces of paper. Half the guesses had the baby coming way after the due date—the old ladies trying to scare her, most likely. When she got to the last one, she opened her mouth to read but then quickly folded the paper in her palm and slid her hand down into her pocket. Gabby waited a minute, but Lila just sat there staring at her lap, so she went on to the next game. She'd have to ask Lila about it later.

“For this one, we need a roll of toilet paper. You're gonna tear off as much as you think'll fit around Lila's belly. Then you have to wrap it around her, and we'll see who gets closest.”

The old ladies looked embarrassed to be holding toilet paper in public and were unwinding the roll so slow that Gabby couldn't stand to watch. She glanced over at Lila, who'd all but turned to stone. Carl had gone to the kitchen for more punch. Gabby walked over and nudged Lila's foot, and she about jumped out of the chair. “You okay?” Lila nodded unconvincingly. “Sorry these games are kinda dumb,” Gabby said. “We'll be done in a minute.”

Lila stood in the center of the room while everybody took turns wrapping toilet paper around her. Ray went first, and from the warm smile that brightened his face when he touched her belly, Gabby could see what she'd missed before. He wanted Lila, all right, but in a different way than the rest of the jerks in Henbane. Ray and his wife were wrecked over not being able to have kids. He spoiled that niece of his, Janessa, like she was his own child, but she'd left town a few years back and never even came to visit. So poor Ray must have been thrilled when a pretty orphan like Lila showed up. In his head, he'd probably already adopted her.

Crete and Carl were too manly to take part in the game, and one of the church ladies won. She asked what her prize was, and her face turned all sour when Gabby said, “Bragging rights.” Birdie served cake, and Gabby carried the presents in and set them next to Lila's chair. Lila opened Ransome's first. It was a baby quilt made of what looked like old shirts. Lila ran her hands over the squares of plaids and florals, staring hard like she recognized the fabric. The quilt was backed with a soft flannel teddy-bear print. Lila folded it so the bear side showed and stuffed it back in the bag.

It turned out the church ladies had sewn matching pieces for the nursery: a crib skirt and bumper, curtains, pillow shams, and a diaper-changing pad. Birdie had made a rag rug for the floor and a cloth doll with an embroidered face and yarn hair. Lila couldn't talk, she just sat there with tears running down her face, so Gabby went over and hugged every one of those old ladies hard enough to crack their brittle ribs, because it was such a nice thing they'd done, even if Birdie had made them do it.

Next Gabby announced that the chair Lila was sitting in was a gift from Ray, and he hugged Lila and brushed at her tears, but they just kept coming. Finally, with Ray's help, Gabby brought in her own gift, a crib from the secondhand store that she'd cleaned and painted white. Lila kept saying it was too much, too much, but Gabby knew it was just right. She looked around for Crete, but he was gone and hadn't left a gift. Carl and Ray loaded everything into Carl's truck while the rest of them sat around eating. Gabby didn't get a chance to talk to Lila in private about the unread scrap of paper, and after a while she forgot about it. She was feeling good, a little high, even, that she'd pulled off the party. She, a piece of slut trash from the holler, had hosted a successful shower. Even Birdie looked at her with newfound respect.