surface of the water, Mutt watched the sail inflate and deflate for an hour while the lizard bobbed its head and tried to impress a suitor. When no suitor appeared, the lizard sped off the railing, launched itself off the stern, splashed in the crystal water, and swam across the spring, using its tail as a propeller. Reaching the opposite bank, it climbed up an overhanging vine and disappeared into the tree above.
The mud covering Mutt's body served a dual purpose; it protected him from the mosquitoes and the cool night air. Mutt clutched his hands together and pressed his back farther into the mud, keeping the tremors at bay, but his face twitched as if wired to an electrical outlet and receiving intermittent signals. For three months, he had succeeded in quieting the voices. The longest stretch in ten years. But now, having been held back and denied a voice, they crowded in and rushed him like an angry mob. He closed his eyes and felt like he was standing on worn, warm tracks in a dark, dank tunnel and listening for the coming train. The screaming grew louder, and he knew that this time they were powerful enough to win. Somewhere they had gained strength, and their shouting told him that he could die right here. Paralysis set in, and not even the sight of a four-foot water moccasin slithering across his feet brought him out of his hypnotic trance. In the recesses of his mind, where the thoughts traveled less than a thousand miles an hour, where he hid the good memories, he found Tucker and Miss Ella. Mutt was not afraid to die; he just didn't want to go without saying good-bye. And it was there that he went to sleep.
Chapter 6
THREE MILES EAST OF THE CLOPTON INTERSECTION, VISIbility had dropped to less than ten feet, slowing the Volvo to fifteen miles an hour. Fighting the wiper controls, the woman in the red baseball cap turned around to look at her sleeping son, safely buckled in, surrounded by bubble gum. When she reached to pull the covers up around his shoulders, she inadvertently pulled on the wheel and steered into the soft shoulder on the side of the road. She corrected too quickly; rain and mud sucked the tires into the ditch, and the Volvo slid to a quick stop underneath the looming darkness of an Alabama forest. There was not a single light in sight. She rammed the stick in reverse and pegged the accelerator, but that only slung mud and buried the front end farther. She looked at her watch. 3:47 a.m.
Great, she thought, just great.
The face of her cell phone read, "No Service."
Oh, that's even better. With Jase sleeping peacefully, she leaned back, cut the engine, and thought to herself, It could be worse.
My windshield wipers were the only thing keeping me awake at a few minutes to four. Two miles from the Clopton intersection, the road dipped, bringing my headlights with it and causing them to reflect off the taillights of the Volvo. It sat at an angle, leaning peacefully in the ditch.
Can't be, I thought to myself. Then I passed it and peered out my passenger window. Can too.
The thought of driving by, of pretending not to see, of playing possum did occur to me, but then I thought of the backseat. "I know-'Do unto others,' the good Samaritan, and all that stuff, but it's really late."
Don't you get smart with me. You're not too old for me to take a switch to.
Miss Ella had been dead almost eight years-well, seven years, ten months, and eight days. And she didn't give two cents about my career success-at least not on the surface. If she were here, she'd be proud but would never tolerate it in me. Pride was the very thing she wouldn't put up with. Not if the sins of the father really are carried down on the son. And according to the gospel of Miss Ella, they are. How do you argue with that? I just shook my head. "Yes ma'am."
I pulled off the road, backed up, and left the truck running. With the downpour growing more violent, the road rippled with two inches of water. I slid the umbrella from
The mud covering Mutt's body served a dual purpose; it protected him from the mosquitoes and the cool night air. Mutt clutched his hands together and pressed his back farther into the mud, keeping the tremors at bay, but his face twitched as if wired to an electrical outlet and receiving intermittent signals. For three months, he had succeeded in quieting the voices. The longest stretch in ten years. But now, having been held back and denied a voice, they crowded in and rushed him like an angry mob. He closed his eyes and felt like he was standing on worn, warm tracks in a dark, dank tunnel and listening for the coming train. The screaming grew louder, and he knew that this time they were powerful enough to win. Somewhere they had gained strength, and their shouting told him that he could die right here. Paralysis set in, and not even the sight of a four-foot water moccasin slithering across his feet brought him out of his hypnotic trance. In the recesses of his mind, where the thoughts traveled less than a thousand miles an hour, where he hid the good memories, he found Tucker and Miss Ella. Mutt was not afraid to die; he just didn't want to go without saying good-bye. And it was there that he went to sleep.
Chapter 6
THREE MILES EAST OF THE CLOPTON INTERSECTION, VISIbility had dropped to less than ten feet, slowing the Volvo to fifteen miles an hour. Fighting the wiper controls, the woman in the red baseball cap turned around to look at her sleeping son, safely buckled in, surrounded by bubble gum. When she reached to pull the covers up around his shoulders, she inadvertently pulled on the wheel and steered into the soft shoulder on the side of the road. She corrected too quickly; rain and mud sucked the tires into the ditch, and the Volvo slid to a quick stop underneath the looming darkness of an Alabama forest. There was not a single light in sight. She rammed the stick in reverse and pegged the accelerator, but that only slung mud and buried the front end farther. She looked at her watch. 3:47 a.m.
Great, she thought, just great.
The face of her cell phone read, "No Service."
Oh, that's even better. With Jase sleeping peacefully, she leaned back, cut the engine, and thought to herself, It could be worse.
My windshield wipers were the only thing keeping me awake at a few minutes to four. Two miles from the Clopton intersection, the road dipped, bringing my headlights with it and causing them to reflect off the taillights of the Volvo. It sat at an angle, leaning peacefully in the ditch.
Can't be, I thought to myself. Then I passed it and peered out my passenger window. Can too.
The thought of driving by, of pretending not to see, of playing possum did occur to me, but then I thought of the backseat. "I know-'Do unto others,' the good Samaritan, and all that stuff, but it's really late."
Don't you get smart with me. You're not too old for me to take a switch to.
Miss Ella had been dead almost eight years-well, seven years, ten months, and eight days. And she didn't give two cents about my career success-at least not on the surface. If she were here, she'd be proud but would never tolerate it in me. Pride was the very thing she wouldn't put up with. Not if the sins of the father really are carried down on the son. And according to the gospel of Miss Ella, they are. How do you argue with that? I just shook my head. "Yes ma'am."
I pulled off the road, backed up, and left the truck running. With the downpour growing more violent, the road rippled with two inches of water. I slid the umbrella from
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