The Weight of Blood by Laura McHugh Page A

The problem was, I didn’t know what to do about it. I paced around the garage, working it over in my head.
    Crete didn’t come around the next day. Ransome told me he’d gone to Arkansas on business, but he’d left a new work schedule. I would have Thursdays off. When she spread out the tarp at lunchtime and sat to one side to make room for me, I told her I needed to rest. I ate crackers and beef jerky alone in the garage. Ransome was staking tomato plants on the far side of the field when I came out, but she’d left a plastic cup of tea outside my door. I brushed ants from the rim and drank.
    I practically jumped on Carl when he came into the restaurant that night, and he couldn’t have looked happier to have my attention. I’d been worried he’d have to work on Thursday, and he did, but he assured me his hours could be rearranged. He’d have plenty of time to drive me to town, though he wouldn’t hear of dropping me off. He insisted that he’d take me to eat at the bakery and help with my errands. You’ll need somebody to show you where everything is, he said. I’d gone through the slender phone book and written down the address of the grocery store and the one attorney who had an ad in the yellow pages. They were on the same street, one block apart.
    He showed up at my door the next morning freshly scrubbed and reeking of Old Spice. “You look nice today,” he said, holding the door of the truck open for me. He was obviously delusional. I hadn’t bothered to fix myself up in the least. My hair was wet, my eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. “I shouldn’t say that,” he corrected, smiling. “You look nice every day.”
    His sweetness was almost unbearable after the crappy couple of days I’d had, and I couldn’t look at him. I stared down at my lap. I was wearing a yellow sundress I’d borrowed from Crystal and never given back.
    â€œHey, are you doing okay?” he asked. From the corner of my eye, I saw his hand move toward me and then pull back. “Feeling homesick?”
    He always seemed to think homesickness was the worst problem you could have. I shook my head. I missed the memory of home, but home as I remembered it no longer existed. The most important pieces of my former life were dead and buried, and I couldn’t reclaim them by going back. “I’m fine,” I said. We drove down the blacktop, and I watched the lush greenery flow by.
    â€œI hope those guys at the restaurant aren’t getting you down,” he said.
    I didn’t want to talk about any of the things that were really bothering me, most notably his brother. So I nodded. “They’re jerks.”
    Carl cleared his throat. “The one with the beard? I … heard him say something the other night.”
    I didn’t know which one he was talking about. I was pretty sure they all had some kind of facial hair and were equally offensive.
    â€œI’m fixing to have a talk with Joe Bill Sump,” he said gruffly. “I’m gonna clear things up a bit. Don’t you worry about him.”
    Joe Bill? That was probably the worst name I’d ever heard. I had to smile a little at the thought of Carl sticking up for me.
    We reached the city limits of Henbane, population 707. The welcome sign was peppered with holes, as if someone had blasted it with a shotgun. A two-story limestone courthouse dominated the tree-lined town square, and shops surrounded it on three sides. Henbane was the county seat, Carl explained, the biggest town in Ozark County. I imagined the entire population would fit on the courthouse lawn.
    The Donut Hole was no different from Dane’s in that everyone stared at me and the food was greasy. Carl insisted on paying, and I let him, since I didn’t have much cash. After breakfast, we crossed the square to the attorney’s office. I didn’t want to tell Carl I was seeing a lawyer