another.
Gwen followed. They walked single file, ducking low-hanging branches, sidestepping tufts of wet grass, each foot closer to the roiling muddy water.
“Was he your first?” Gwen said.
Liz marched faster and Gwen allowed her a ten-pace lead. The creek tunneled through copses of vibrant green trees, walled by emerald shrubs so that every turn was a mystery and she couldn’t see more than a few steps ahead. The path finally separated from the creek bank. Liz passed out of sight and around a bend to the right.
Gwen said, “I didn’t mean anything. Of course he was your first.”
Liz didn’t answer and Gwen rounded the turn.
“Wha—!”
Liz stepped toward her, red-faced, eyes rimmed with water. “What is it with you?”
“What?”
“Why won’t you let up?” Liz stepped closer.
Gwen felt Liz’s breath warm across her face. “I don’t know—”
“Yes you do,” Liz said. “Just shut up. Stop asking.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. Why’s it so important? I got pregnant. It happens. It happens!”
“I know.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“No.”
“I didn’t want him. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t DO anything!”
“What?”
“Nothing. Stop. Won’t you?”
“Okay.”
“No! Dammit,” Liz said, leaning forward. Her eyes flared and her mouth smiled confusion.
“What happened?”
Liz swallowed then cleared her throat and spat. “Never mind.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Now I pack a revolver. Doctor Coates was a southpaw; the holster hangs on my left hip. I haven’t fired it, but I learned how it works with the chamber empty, and I’m satisfied that when I pull the hammer and squeeze the trigger with the cylinder full of bullets, it will fire. If it fails, I’ll take it God made a mistake when the carbine misfired.
I stand on the porch not knowing the hour, feeling days have passed since this morning. Snow falls. It only looks aggressive when you let your eyes blur and take the whole panorama in at once, thousands of acres of sky, all filled with invading snowflakes, each one barely a wisp of water but combined with a billion brothers, enough to make life screech to a halt on half a continent.
Across the lake and a mile beyond the woods at the far shore, Fay Haudesert or Cal or Jordan has discovered Burt in the barn. Follow these footsteps off the porch and across the lake, and keep going through the woods along the side hill, across the Haudesert fields, and eventually they wind up at Burt Haudesert’s barn. Eventually my boot prints smear Burt Haudesert’s blood. These prints link me to a specific event that his kin are just now beginning to comprehend. These prints are real enough evidence for angry men. Cal and Jordan will follow them. The sheriff and his deputies will follow them. They’ll all arrive here and want to retaliate for something that is impossible to avenge. They’ll want to lay blame, and they’ll be unable to see that the person who deserves all the blame—and the person who deserves all the credit—is already dead. They’ll find me and I’ll either again receive unmerited grace, or they’ll execute me.
Or I’ll kill them. God puts teeth on a wolf cub, just like its mother.
I step inside the house. Leave the door closed but unlocked. Why bother when the window is covered by cardboard?
My eyes adjust from the snow glare after a minute. Dr. Coates’s roll-top desk beckons. I can’t sit on the sofa and wait to die, and I can’t bundle up and walk into the storm, trusting I’ll survive the cold. Not when there’s a fireplace and logs and food and guns here. But while I’m here I’ve got little to do save wait, and it becomes tiresome. I sit in the banker’s chair, with wheels on the bottom and a leather cushion, and drag closer to the desktop. Letters in slots and papers scattered willy-nilly. Letters cast aside, opened with a clean slit the way people of culture do. And another letter, in the middle of the writing pad, penned
Gwen followed. They walked single file, ducking low-hanging branches, sidestepping tufts of wet grass, each foot closer to the roiling muddy water.
“Was he your first?” Gwen said.
Liz marched faster and Gwen allowed her a ten-pace lead. The creek tunneled through copses of vibrant green trees, walled by emerald shrubs so that every turn was a mystery and she couldn’t see more than a few steps ahead. The path finally separated from the creek bank. Liz passed out of sight and around a bend to the right.
Gwen said, “I didn’t mean anything. Of course he was your first.”
Liz didn’t answer and Gwen rounded the turn.
“Wha—!”
Liz stepped toward her, red-faced, eyes rimmed with water. “What is it with you?”
“What?”
“Why won’t you let up?” Liz stepped closer.
Gwen felt Liz’s breath warm across her face. “I don’t know—”
“Yes you do,” Liz said. “Just shut up. Stop asking.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. Why’s it so important? I got pregnant. It happens. It happens!”
“I know.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“No.”
“I didn’t want him. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t DO anything!”
“What?”
“Nothing. Stop. Won’t you?”
“Okay.”
“No! Dammit,” Liz said, leaning forward. Her eyes flared and her mouth smiled confusion.
“What happened?”
Liz swallowed then cleared her throat and spat. “Never mind.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Now I pack a revolver. Doctor Coates was a southpaw; the holster hangs on my left hip. I haven’t fired it, but I learned how it works with the chamber empty, and I’m satisfied that when I pull the hammer and squeeze the trigger with the cylinder full of bullets, it will fire. If it fails, I’ll take it God made a mistake when the carbine misfired.
I stand on the porch not knowing the hour, feeling days have passed since this morning. Snow falls. It only looks aggressive when you let your eyes blur and take the whole panorama in at once, thousands of acres of sky, all filled with invading snowflakes, each one barely a wisp of water but combined with a billion brothers, enough to make life screech to a halt on half a continent.
Across the lake and a mile beyond the woods at the far shore, Fay Haudesert or Cal or Jordan has discovered Burt in the barn. Follow these footsteps off the porch and across the lake, and keep going through the woods along the side hill, across the Haudesert fields, and eventually they wind up at Burt Haudesert’s barn. Eventually my boot prints smear Burt Haudesert’s blood. These prints link me to a specific event that his kin are just now beginning to comprehend. These prints are real enough evidence for angry men. Cal and Jordan will follow them. The sheriff and his deputies will follow them. They’ll all arrive here and want to retaliate for something that is impossible to avenge. They’ll want to lay blame, and they’ll be unable to see that the person who deserves all the blame—and the person who deserves all the credit—is already dead. They’ll find me and I’ll either again receive unmerited grace, or they’ll execute me.
Or I’ll kill them. God puts teeth on a wolf cub, just like its mother.
I step inside the house. Leave the door closed but unlocked. Why bother when the window is covered by cardboard?
My eyes adjust from the snow glare after a minute. Dr. Coates’s roll-top desk beckons. I can’t sit on the sofa and wait to die, and I can’t bundle up and walk into the storm, trusting I’ll survive the cold. Not when there’s a fireplace and logs and food and guns here. But while I’m here I’ve got little to do save wait, and it becomes tiresome. I sit in the banker’s chair, with wheels on the bottom and a leather cushion, and drag closer to the desktop. Letters in slots and papers scattered willy-nilly. Letters cast aside, opened with a clean slit the way people of culture do. And another letter, in the middle of the writing pad, penned
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