Vengeance is Mine by Reavis Z Wortham

That is, if you still want to stay with me. If you don’t, I understand.”
    The lighter popped out. Sam put two cigarettes in her mouth and pressed the glowing end to the tips. Puffing them alive, she passed one to Anthony. “We shouldn’t have any more problems, now that we’re so far away from Daddy. How about you try not to shoot anyone anymore, and I’ll stay with you.”
    â€œYou must really like me.”
    â€œYou’re all right.”
    â€œGood, then we’re a couple, I guess.”
    You don’t get to choose who you fall in love with.
    She shivered as the car cut through the Oklahoma darkness.

Chapter Twelve
    On Saturday, Pepper and I went looking for Hootie. He’d been missing for most of the morning, but that wasn’t unusual. He liked to roam by himself. Miss Becky called him after dinner, but she got worried when he didn’t come home to eat.
    Miss Becky’s my grandmother, but everybody always called her “Miss” instead of Grandma or some of those stupid names kids hang on them, like Gaga or whatever. Even Grandpa and Uncle Cody called her Miss Becky.
    Not a soul in the world ever met that old lady that didn’t love her. The soft voice, her love for people, and her dedication to the Lord and her church, all defined that little old full-blood Choctaw woman. She gently and unconsciously shaped the lives of all those near her, and could always be relied on to remain calm in a crisis.
    Pearl Henson didn’t have a cow, but she always had fresh milk from Miss Becky’s cow. Wayne Clark was a successful businessman in Dallas, because he lived in the Parker’s spare bedroom for his senior year of high school when his parents died. She was constantly sending food and clothes to those in need, and there wasn’t a person in Center Springs who hadn’t set a table with fruit, meat, or vegetables she canned in her kitchen.
    Miss Becky tithed more than most, after she made sure the preacher at the Center Springs Assembly of God used a portion of that money for those who couldn’t afford food. Each year under her close supervision, another slice of that tithe went to the kids at church for their Christmas stocking full of fruit, nuts, candy, and a small toy.
    I was always fascinated by her rough, work-hardened hands that felt velvet soft when she touched us. Those hands planted and harvested food in the garden that went on our table and to others in need. They cradled babies, cooked, sewed, cleaned, and clasped together in prayer.
    There was no other person like her in our community.
    Me and Pepper stopped by Uncle Cody’s house, but Norma Faye said she hadn’t seen him. We ate a fried peach pie apiece, and then pedaled up to the store, thinking he might have followed Grandpa up there.
    We passed Oak Peterson’s general store, but I never liked to go in there. It was too dark, and Oak’s wandering left eye always scared me. The long hairs growing from the top of his nose weren’t right, neither.
    We coasted to Uncle Neal’s store, past the domino hall where someone rattled the rocks on the other side of the open door. The usual members of the Spit and Whittle Club were on the porch, talking about a murder. We leaned our bikes against the side of the building and listened for a minute.
    â€œI ’magine Tommy Lee got killed because he’s been into just about everything that ain’t legal.”
    â€œI heard he was selling drugs.”
    â€œIt was whiskey.”
    â€œHe got to stealing car batteries and such…”
    â€œHe didn’t do no such of a thing…”
    Pepper leaned in close. “These old windbags are talking to hear their heads rattle. They don’t know any more than we do. Let’s go in and get a Dr Pepper.”
    For once we agreed, but I didn’t even have a nickel in my pocket. “I ain’t got no money.”
    â€œWe’ll put it on Grandpa’s