by Hallie Lee
Jesse scowled aloud, prompting a wave of disapproval among his supporters.
“We all want the same things,” continued Luke. “We want better cell towers. Better roads. We want a better school system. Am I right?”
A murmur of assent spread, and suddenly Bella was on top of the bench, standing by Luke’s side. “Luke is right. We all deserve a say. A vote.”
Redflyer cursed under his breath, obviously recovered from his head injury. “A vote? That’s a waste of time. It’s all rigged against us.”
“If it’s rigged against you,” said Luke, his confidence rising, “it’s only because you aren’t registered to vote. That’s how you unrig it.”
“We passed out flyers today,” said Bella. “We put them in your mailboxes. There are easy instructions on how to get registered and how to sign the petition for incorporation.”
“This is your chance to be heard,” said Luke. “To be counted. If we’re incorporated, your district can elect people to represent you on the counsel. To champion you and your interests.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Jesse sniped. “Don’t fall for this fancy talk. This is a slippery slope and this kid,” he sneered at Luke, “is as slick as a shoe salesman.”
Charlie Wayne cleared his throat. “Well, that might be going a little too far. Old school, yes. A nerd, yes. A—”
“Charlie Wayne,” I stepped in. “You ain’t helping.”
“Just sayin’—slick ain’t a word I’d use to describe Luke here. But honest and good intentioned, sure.”
I nodded, pleased with Charlie Wayne’s clarification, because it seemed the kid was finally making an impact. A car door slammed somewhere beyond the post office, and my stomach dropped when I saw Robin hurrying over with a few of the young ones.
Sterling and Violet, along with Petey and Micah, trailed behind Robin, who I couldn’t help notice had acquired a pink flush on her cheeks after a few hours on the lake. When she grinned at me, my stomach dipped a notch or two. Or three.
Behind her were Lenny and Desi. As usual, Lenny lagged behind Desi’s purposeful march. I inwardly cringed as I considered the likely possibility that Desi would jump on the bench beside Luke, and call out anyone who looked at him crosswise.
Thankfully, she showed restraint, planting herself at a safe distance along the steps of the substation with the rest of her family. Luke, unaware, continued his oration with remarkable aplomb. “This is our town—”
“It’s not a town yet,” said Jesse. “And it won’t be if I have anything to do with it.” He harrumphed while a slew of his sycophants nodded in unison.
Luke ignored him. “Some of us have deep roots here. Our parents were raised here, and their parents before them. It’s our home, and it’s what we make it. Let’s make it good for everyone. Let’s all have a say.”
I almost choked on my taffy when there was a scattering of applause, and not all from Luke’s fan club perched on the steps of the substation.
Claire squinted. “What about nail salons? I’m in if we can get one here.”
“And a vet?” One of Dolly’s oldest customers, Mrs. Guidry, raised her brows. “I do hate going all the way to Belle Maison to take Juliet to the vet.”
“Yes,” Luke smiled at one and all. “And if you’ve ever dreamed of opening your own business, we can help make that a reality. Wouldn’t it be great to spend your dollars locally? Instead of spending all our money in Belle Maison, and helping them thrive?”
“Dang city slickers,” mumbled Sprite. “Think they’re better than us.”
“What about health care?” someone asked. “Could we have a hospital here?”
“Maybe not a hospital,” Luke answered honestly. “But perhaps an urgent care.”
Mutters of approval spread throughout the gathering. I watched as Bella looked up at Luke, and batted her eyelashes. He blushed, but I swear the kid stood a few inches taller.
“I believe in him,” Bella said, directing her gaze at the Creeks. “We can trust him. I promise.”
Quietdove gave me the all-clear regarding weapons, while Max directed Patty’s EMT van onto the scene. Seemed the only serious injuries were Redflyer’s head and Jesse’s ankles, and probably his pride.
Overall, the tense eruption had now been reduced to a simmer, and we could potentially wrap this up with Band-Aids, a few stitches, and several warnings. I glanced at Robin, finding her especially fetching with her stylish sunglasses perched atop her head.
Maybe I’d see if she’d like to meet Gerty, seeing as how the duplex was only a stroll away.
“All right, well great.” Charlie Wayne’s bug eyes widened behind his coke bottle glasses. “This has all been swell, but unless y’all are placing orders—” he motioned toward the folks still lined up at the Cozy Corner “—pick your trash up and scoot. See the big barrel? Come on, now. How hard can it be to throw trash in a barrel?”
A scattering of giddy laughter swept through the crowd, and I half expected someone to break into song, singing Kumbaya or something.
And then I heard a voice in the crowd. Anxious, jittery. “Wait everyone, is that smoke I smell?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Bad Juju
Wolfheart
I
took the long, scenic drive out of the creek, embracing the sunshine and the vivid hues of summer. The crepe myrtles erupted with bright pink buds and the billowing magnolia trees blossomed creamy white. All the colors seemed brighter today. Possibly because my once prized and fertile topography had been reduced to a sickly, dull gray.
Aimlessly, I’d driven by Desi and Lenny’s house, hoping to catch them home, but only the dogs, Ginger and Mary Ann, yapped at me through the window. Unable to return to the gloom of my dwelling, I decided to take refuge at Sacred Heart Catholic Church. Somehow the somber atmosphere and the dignified reverence of the austere church suited my mood. And if I were lucky, I’d run into Father Patrick.
I parked in the modest gravel lot and lowered my sunglasses as I headed to the entrance. The heavy cherry wood doors squeaked as I opened them. The church was dark, except for the muted colors filtering sun through the stained glassed windows.
I sauntered down the long nave, stopping to kneel and genuflect before settling into the hard-wooden pew. I sat, staring at the crucified Jesus at the head of the church, for much longer than I intended.
I desperately missed my sister. She’d known me better than anyone. She’d intuitively understood how the layers of unrelenting disappointment weighed on me, until eventually I became comfortable with despondency. Expected it. Embraced it. Thrived on it.
After the ill-fated bonfire at Megan’s, and the long journey back to health, my hopelessness grew like a tumor inside me. It evolved into defiance, and the town’s scorn, along with the consequences of my insolence, only fueled my anger.
It had been during that period of boldness that I’d met Desi and Robin. Eight years my junior, they and their classmates had been terrified of me, including young Ricky, the future Magnum P.I. of Shady Gully.
While I’d been earning my reputation as the town villain, Peony had been a young mother grieving the brutal murder of her husband, Axe. And during Peony’s years of profound sorrow, I’d been too self-consumed to rise above my own wallowing to recognize the depth of her anguish.
I supported her financially, sure, but she resented my dirty money, and she couldn’t depend on me emotionally. Unknowingly, I set in motion the perfect storm that had been Madhawk. I’d driven her right into his arms, and even worse, I hadn’t fought for her.
Once he came into the picture, I made myself scarce. Partly out of resentment because she’d allowed an interloper into our lives, but mostly out of guilt. Guilt because I’d been too in love with my own self-loathing to do the right thing. The guiltier I felt, the more I hated myself, and round and round it went
.
Meadow was a different story. Our mutual disdain for Madhawk brought us closer than ever, and I committed to spending time with her and providing a refuge from Madhawk. But I never imagined the turmoil in her young life, much less what fate had in store for her. And yet, once again, instead of rising to the occasion when the older, perverse Mitch got her pregnant, I sat back and let Madhawk solidify his place in my family.
The next decade was a haze of drugs, jail time, and physical skirmishes, most of which were with Madhawk. While he fancied himself a savior to Peony and the girls, he couldn’t manage to hold down a steady job, or pay the light bill.
Between getting friendly with the folks at the electric company, who sometimes accepted a little weed in lieu of payment, I traveled through Texas, Arkansas, and Mississippi in search of the despicable Mitch.
Bitter, and hardened by fury, I hadn’t trusted the law to do what needed to be done. Had I found the scumbag, I’d have killed him. But that, I understood now, would have ultimately ended me.
Praise Jesus and his unfailing mercy, I breathed a prayer up toward the giant crucifix.
He brought me back slowly, and gently, even as I rejected him again and again. I still did what I did, sold drugs, caroused, and reveled in my rebellion—but I gradually worked my way back to my family.
And it had been on such an occasion that a courageous pack of wolves cemented my bond with my sister.
•
We sat on the ground together, fully accepting whatever happened next. Either the wolves would attack us and shred us alive, or the mama wolf would present us with a gift. Our bodies were electric with the dozens of wolves’ eyes marking us from the darkened woods, while our backs were warmed by Bella’s and Meadow’s concerned gazes from the window.
“Steady now,” said Peony. “They’re deciding if we’re worthy.”
“Of dinner?”
“Shhhh.” She cracked a smile.
“They’re all hurt,” I said lightly.
“And only one pup. Something evil got them.”
“Or someone,” I muttered.
Since Peony and I had always been comfortable with silence, the minutes slipped by easily. We’d grown up being shuffled from shanty to shanty, never quite knowing the genuineness of the hospitality, so we’d quickly learned the advantages of remaining meek, and showing deference to one’s host.
“Here she comes,” Peony glanced at me, excitement coloring her cheeks.
It was then I knew all was forgiven. In that moment, Peony, who was surely an angel herself, drew me back as her baby brother, her childhood companion, and her best friend. All my bad choices, as well as my shameful behavior, fell away.
I was forgiven.
The mama wolf regarded us as she hobbled over with her squirmy pup. Finally, she set the gray wolf pup a few feet from us. “Don’t move,” Peony said in a cooing tone, but I understood the words were meant for me.
We watched, respectfully, as the injured wolf licked her pup with an eye for detail, carefully spiffing him to a pristine gray. “He’s magnificent,” Peony told the injured mama in compliment. “You must be proud.”
After a little restlessness spread to the rest of the pack, the mama wolf sat next to her pup, and exchanged a long, meaningful look with my sister. “We’ll take good care of him,” Peony said tenderly. “I promise.”
The injured mama wolf cast her eyes on me for only a second, and then limped into the woods to join her waiting packmates.
My sister stroked the wide-eyed wolf pup, who mewed and squiggled against her thigh. “Well, what are we going to name you?”
We named him Hania. And he changed everything.
•
Hania became the project that brought Peony and I closer than ever.
Hania grew stronger, and his coat shone thick and gray, with a regal ring of white under his collar. We kept him full and satisfied with a healthy diet of fresh meat, and against the odds, and likely due to his attachment to Peony, we domesticated him. Hania rarely bothered the chickens or other random strays who passed through hoping for a free meal and a warm bed for the night.
He did, however, terrify Madhawk. Whenever Madhawk entered a room, Hania’s hackles would rise, and he’d let out a low, guttural growl. Perhaps fearful of the formidable force Hania would grow into, Madhawk tried a few times to hurt him. But Hania was more than just strong. He was wise.
Once, Hania pretended to be asleep as Madhawk crept out to the barn with a loaded pistol dangling at his thigh. About to shout a warning, I noticed a slight shudder along Hania’s lower legs. I watched, amazed, as Hania allowed Madhawk to move in closer. Just as Madhawk lifted his pistol, Hania rushed him, and within seconds, Madhawk’s trigger hand was shredded.
Their dislike for one another grew more intense over the years, especially as Madhawk became more aggressive with Peony. Hania’s fierce devotion and loyalty to my sister comforted me, because his constant presence tempered Madhawk’s violent tendencies.
Occasionally, when I’d catch a tentativeness in the way Madhawk held himself, a wince as he reached for something, or a drag in his walk, I understood the mistreatment of my sister continued. But also that Peony’s protector made sure there were consequences.
•
“Ah,” Father Patrick interrupted my morbid thoughts. “Is it too bright in the Lord’s house for you, Mr. Wolf?” He indicated my sunglasses as he angled his pudgy frame into the pew ahead of me. “Or perhaps you’re incognito for a reason?” He scratched his fingers along his red beard curiously.
I removed my shades, considering his clerical garb, which seemed in sharp contrast to his casual, jovial manner.
“Oh please, I beg of you,” he said. “Spend me a yarn about some scandalous secret mission. Perhaps you’re about to take off to Peru to wrestle a notorious drug lord. No?” He guffawed. “How about a jaunt to Tahiti to meet a glamorous, shapely spy, dead set on turning her into a double agent?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Afraid not, Father. How are things with you?”
“Business is quite good actually. No doubt it will continue that way as long as Cane and Abel carry on as they do down the road.”
I laughed again. Twice in one day.
“Shame on me. Gossiping is wrong. Now I’ll have to go to confession.”
“Are you going to confess to yourself?” I teased.
“I’ll have you know, Mr. Wolf, I’m a very good listener.” He considered me. “Sorry to hear about your incredible garden. Simply tragic. Especially those tomatoes. All gone up to create a heavenly marinara for our Lord, I suppose.”
“I’ll replant. Eventually. Maybe grapes this time.” When his bright blue eyes widened in delight, I added, “I’ll need a taster.”
“Splendid! I’ll be happy to volunteer.” He frowned at me. “That’s right, you don’t touch the stuff, do you? Indeed. It’s a horrible, nasty, habit. I’ll take care of it so you don’t have to, don’t you worry.”
I chuckled, as Father Patrick was known for his love of rich food, and fine wine.
He appeared thoughtful. “Perhaps a nice chardonnay grape to start? They’re fairly easy to grow, or so I’ve heard. But you absolutely must have a cabernet sauvignon grape vine. They’ll provide delicious medium to full bodied wines. Dry, with tannins and acid to balance.” He twirled an imaginary wine glass. “Ahhh.” Sipped. “Bold. With legs. Simply excellent.”
“I have no idea what any of that means.”
“Leave it to me.” He considered me. “How are Bella and Meadow? The fire must have been frightening. Especially on the heels of what happened to that saintly sister of yours.”
“It’s been hard, but they’re good. Bella is getting ready for her big debut Sunday.”
“Exquisite! I plan to attend. After Mass, of course.” He waved off my shock. “There’s plenty
of our Lord to go around, now isn’t there?” He leaned over, adding in a conspiratorial tone, “That preacher in Kentucky is quite good, isn’t he? A true man of God, and extremely charismatic. I stream online, like the cool kids do, and I must say, he’s quite gifted—”
My cell phone buzzed. “Sorry, Father.”
“No worries. Rules were made to be broken. That’s what keeps me busy.”
“Hello?” I answered. “What’s wrong?” I stared at Father Patrick as I listened to Bella. “Okay. I’m coming now.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady my pounding heart.
“Trouble?” asked Father Patrick.
“At the four way stop.”
•
I rolled first past Dolly’s Diva Dome, and then James’s church, and finally, Jesse’s Church of Christ. I regarded the small figure scrambling out the rear of the church, probably where the back vestry or hall would be.
Fireman stopped abruptly when he spotted my truck. I opened the passenger door, waiting for him to climb the hill back to the road. He hesitated. “What?” he asked defensively.
“I just thought you might need a ride.”
He climbed into the cab, his demeanor unusually surly and unsettled.
I drove a little further before the scattering of people lining the four way stop came into view. “Wow. Quite a scene.” I glanced at Fireman, who still reeked of soot and smoke. I sniffed my own shirt, assuming it smelled as well. “It’s impossible to get that smell out of your nose, huh? Even after a shower.”
His gaze remained fixed straight ahead. Finally, he remarked, “Jesse hit Redflyer with a baseball bat, but the sheriff didn’t do anything. Just like he didn’t do anything when Jesse set your garden on fire.” He anxiously tapped his fingers along the leg of his pants.
I narrowed my eyes, catching a whiff of gasoline.
“It’s not fair,” he muttered. “You should just park there. You can’t get through because of the crowd anyway.”