his robust coffee in
exchange for a gooey gob. He’d been somewhat less happy to report that he’d
made no progress on identifying Jay and that Danny Trees had neither seen nor
heard from the man.
Sasha savored the hot coffee as
she drove out of town toward Jed Craybill’s home. Tall trees, just starting to
bud, dotted the ribbon of highway between Springport and Firetown. Behind the
trees loomed even taller oil derricks. Through the closed car windows, she
heard the constant hum of the compressor stations bringing up the pressure of
the gas released from the shale into the gathering lines, so it could feed into
the large pipelines.
Twenty minutes outside town,
she pulled off the highway, turned right, and bounced along a partially paved
unmarked road. The car rose and fell, following the natural peaks and valleys
of the field.
Sasha held her mug out from her
body as coffee sloshed over the lip of the purportedly leak-proof lid. Steering
one-handed, she swerved to miss a large bird walking along the path.
She turned her head to get a
better look. It was some kind of waterfowl. A duck, maybe, or a goose. She
craned her neck but saw no water. Nothing but rows of long, wavy grass, still
bleached tan from the winter. Lonely green shoots peeked out here and there.
A weathered ranch-style house
came into view at the end of the lane. No other houses were in sight. Sasha
slowed the car as she neared the house and parked in front of the attached
carport, which listed slightly to the right, leaning into the house.
Jed stood near his front door.
He was holding a bag of bread. He sneezed loudly and pulled a handkerchief from
his pants pocket.
“Damn allergies.”
He nodded a greeting as she got
out of the car, pecan pie in hand.
“Hi, Jed. How are you this
afternoon?”
“Can’t complain,” he said, the
fact that he just had apparently lost on him. “Just got back from feeding the
ducks. That a pie from Bob’s?”
“Yes it is. Pecan. Marie tells
me it’s your favorite.”
“That’s right. Well, come on
in,” he said, turning toward the door.
He braced himself against the
door frame, jammed a key into the lock, and turned it fiercely. The door flew
open.
“It sticks,” he explained
unnecessarily.
Sasha followed him into a small
entryway. She wiped her feet on a colorful rag rug that sat just inside the
door and pulled the warped door shut behind her.
He shuffled through the living
room without stopping and went straight to the kitchen in the back of the
house. It was painted yellow. Red and white checked curtains framed the window
over the sink. The appliances were old and scratched but clean. A clock shaped
like an apple missing a bite hung over a square table shoehorned into the far
corner.
Dr. Kayser had described Jed’s
home as spare and worn, but tidy and clean. Looking around, Sasha concurred
with his assessment.
Jed stopped beside the
refrigerator and opened a rectangular metal box that sat on the counter. He
placed the loaf of bread inside and pulled the cover back down.
Sasha tried to recall the last
time she’d seen a breadbox and came up empty.
“Do you always feed the ducks?”
she asked.
Jed answered her without
turning around. “Lately. The creek runs through the yard out back.” He paused
and nodded toward the window. “But they won’t eat from that anymore.”
“Why not?”
He pulled two white dessert
plates, rimmed with blue, from the cabinet and took two forks from the
silverware drawer beneath it.
Then he turned around and said,
“I suspect they know it’s poisoned.”
“Poisoned?”
“Poisoned, polluted, what the
hell’s the difference? God knows what chemicals are running through that water
from all the fracking.”
He gestured with a pie cutter
at the window, making a jabbing motion in the air.
“You leased your mineral
rights? A gas and oil company is fracking on your land?” Sasha asked him.
Jed wheeled around. “Are you
out of your mind? I won’t
exchange for a gooey gob. He’d been somewhat less happy to report that he’d
made no progress on identifying Jay and that Danny Trees had neither seen nor
heard from the man.
Sasha savored the hot coffee as
she drove out of town toward Jed Craybill’s home. Tall trees, just starting to
bud, dotted the ribbon of highway between Springport and Firetown. Behind the
trees loomed even taller oil derricks. Through the closed car windows, she
heard the constant hum of the compressor stations bringing up the pressure of
the gas released from the shale into the gathering lines, so it could feed into
the large pipelines.
Twenty minutes outside town,
she pulled off the highway, turned right, and bounced along a partially paved
unmarked road. The car rose and fell, following the natural peaks and valleys
of the field.
Sasha held her mug out from her
body as coffee sloshed over the lip of the purportedly leak-proof lid. Steering
one-handed, she swerved to miss a large bird walking along the path.
She turned her head to get a
better look. It was some kind of waterfowl. A duck, maybe, or a goose. She
craned her neck but saw no water. Nothing but rows of long, wavy grass, still
bleached tan from the winter. Lonely green shoots peeked out here and there.
A weathered ranch-style house
came into view at the end of the lane. No other houses were in sight. Sasha
slowed the car as she neared the house and parked in front of the attached
carport, which listed slightly to the right, leaning into the house.
Jed stood near his front door.
He was holding a bag of bread. He sneezed loudly and pulled a handkerchief from
his pants pocket.
“Damn allergies.”
He nodded a greeting as she got
out of the car, pecan pie in hand.
“Hi, Jed. How are you this
afternoon?”
“Can’t complain,” he said, the
fact that he just had apparently lost on him. “Just got back from feeding the
ducks. That a pie from Bob’s?”
“Yes it is. Pecan. Marie tells
me it’s your favorite.”
“That’s right. Well, come on
in,” he said, turning toward the door.
He braced himself against the
door frame, jammed a key into the lock, and turned it fiercely. The door flew
open.
“It sticks,” he explained
unnecessarily.
Sasha followed him into a small
entryway. She wiped her feet on a colorful rag rug that sat just inside the
door and pulled the warped door shut behind her.
He shuffled through the living
room without stopping and went straight to the kitchen in the back of the
house. It was painted yellow. Red and white checked curtains framed the window
over the sink. The appliances were old and scratched but clean. A clock shaped
like an apple missing a bite hung over a square table shoehorned into the far
corner.
Dr. Kayser had described Jed’s
home as spare and worn, but tidy and clean. Looking around, Sasha concurred
with his assessment.
Jed stopped beside the
refrigerator and opened a rectangular metal box that sat on the counter. He
placed the loaf of bread inside and pulled the cover back down.
Sasha tried to recall the last
time she’d seen a breadbox and came up empty.
“Do you always feed the ducks?”
she asked.
Jed answered her without
turning around. “Lately. The creek runs through the yard out back.” He paused
and nodded toward the window. “But they won’t eat from that anymore.”
“Why not?”
He pulled two white dessert
plates, rimmed with blue, from the cabinet and took two forks from the
silverware drawer beneath it.
Then he turned around and said,
“I suspect they know it’s poisoned.”
“Poisoned?”
“Poisoned, polluted, what the
hell’s the difference? God knows what chemicals are running through that water
from all the fracking.”
He gestured with a pie cutter
at the window, making a jabbing motion in the air.
“You leased your mineral
rights? A gas and oil company is fracking on your land?” Sasha asked him.
Jed wheeled around. “Are you
out of your mind? I won’t