by Cate Ashwood
After a moment, Ilene seemed to regain her composure. She still held John in the circle of her arms, but she took a steadying breath. Then she said to Raymond, “See now? Horsefeathers. I told you that was just rumors to throw everyone off or some such.”
John had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn’t much care.
Until he did.
“Gay. For heaven’s sake. Can’t they see how much he loved her? My son. Gay. One of them ho-mo-sexuals isn’t gonna go on like this about a girl, now is he?”
He pulled back to look at her. He’d thought all the fight had faded from him, but he’d been wrong. “Jesus Christ on a camel, Momma.”
“Do not go takin’ the Lord’s name in vain. I know you’re fallin’ apart right now, but you need—”
“What I need is for you to hear yourself,” John shouted. He’d never raised his voice to his mother, not in his memory, but there he was, letting all of his anger and pent-up frustration pour out of him in the worst possible way. “Chloe’s dead, Momma. Gone forever. The police think I did it, that I could… that I’d do somethin’ like that. They’re probably gonna put me in jail any minute now. And what you’re worried about is that I’m gay?”
There was a second where John thought his father might say something. Condemn him for yelling, or stand up for him, something. But instead, Ray stood there and let John and his mother fight it out on their own in the driveway.
Ilene’s expression crumbled for a moment. Her brow furrowed, her mouth tight, looking like she was trying not to cry again. “I know she’s gone, son, but I also know she rests with the Lord now. Our Chloe was saved a long time ago.”
John had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from screaming at her again.
“But you’re not gay,” Ilene insisted. “These kind of rumors need to be nipped in the bud.”
That felt like the final straw for John. He heard himself say, “Wanna bet? I like cock, Momma. Never have wanted a girl, never will. I been with more men than I can name, and I’m fallin’ in love with one of ’em now.”
Ilene started to turn away, tears welling in her eyes again. John grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her back to face him.
“I’ve just lost my best friend. I’m in a mess of trouble for somethin’ I’d never do. I—we all—got bigger problems to worry about just now.”
He waited for her to yell back at him, tell him he was lying or just deceived by hell’s demons, that she’d pray for him, but what she did hurt worse.
Ilene straightened herself up, inhaled an unsteady breath, and turned toward home, shaking John’s hand off as she went.
He stood there, watched her go.
Ray stayed put, took his flask from his jacket, and took a long pull from it before offering it to John.
“Thanks, Daddy, but I’m afraid if I start today, I’ll never stop.”
“Fair enough,” Raymond said. “I’ll have an extra one for ya.”
John reached for his pack of cigarettes and pulled out a smoke, lit it, and took a deep drag. “You got anything to say about any of this?”
Ray took another sip and then tucked his flask away. “Plenty,” he said. “But there’ll be time enough for all that later.”
He pulled John into a hug so tight and so sincere that it was almost alarming. His father had never been overly affectionate with John, not since early boyhood. A pat on the back for a job well done, a brief embrace at Christmas, and that was about it, under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were far from normal.
“I’m so sorry, son,” Ray whispered. His voice cracked on the words, and John knew he was hurting too. “You know how we all felt about her.”
Yeah, John knew.
“You’re gonna need to apologize to your momma,” Ray said as he pulled back. “You got a lotta grown-up problems right now, but cussin’ and shoutin’ isn’t how a grown-up handles things. We raised you better than that.”
John caught his eye, saw a heated glint there, but he saw the love too. “Yessir.” John hadn’t thought about it in the moment, hadn’t had the time or the presence of mind to stop himself, but he’d broken the cardinal rule: don’t disrespect your mother, no matter what she does. “I just need a little time first. But I will.”
Ray huffed a short, almost-laugh. “She needs more than a little time, I reckon.” He turned to go, but then he glanced over his shoulder at John and said, “Don’t let this… other stuff here get swept under the rug, ya hear? You got more to worry about right now than how she’s feelin’ or how things’ll shake out, but don’t let her ignore this just ’cause it’ll be easier.”
John had gotten a lot of good advice from his father in the past. Ray had taught him how to fish, how to hunt, how to be kind even when kindness was the furthest thing from his mind, but that right there was probably the most important thing his father had ever said to him.
“I’ll try, Daddy.”
“Do more than try.” Ray walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Nothin’ in this world is more important than family, John. Not a damn thing.”
John stood under the dogwood tree and watched his father go, waited until he’d disappeared inside before turning around. Melonie sat on John’s front steps, her hands clasped around her knees, tears running down her face.
There were so many reasons for her to be crying, John didn’t bother asking what was wrong. Instead he sat down next to her and finished his cigarette before saying anything. “How much of that did you see?”
“Pretty much all of it.”
“Birdy?”
Mel snorted a wet laugh. “I sent her inside after a point, but if she asks you why you like roosters so much, you know why.”
“Shit.” John nearly laughed. The sensation made him feel weirdly guilty. As if he weren’t allowed to laugh or find something amusing now, not with Chloe gone, not with her murderer still out there. “I’m sorry, Mel. I never meant for it to happen like that. Never meant for it to happen at all.”
“What?” Mel asked quietly. “Never meant to tell us or never meant to be a big ol’ gay boy?”
John couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He hadn’t expected Melonie to have a problem with it, but they were raised in the same town, in the same family, so who the hell knew? “Either. Both.”
After a long minute stretched out between them, heavier than the humid air, Melonie finally said, “You coulda told me, John.” She paused again and then added, “I understand you not wantin’ to make a big announcement or not tell Momma and Daddy, but… me? I wouldn’t have been shitty about it, and you shoulda known that.”
It struck John suddenly, how absurd it was that this was their topic of conversation. He couldn’t understand it. It seemed so stupid, so frivolous now. Inconsequential. Who cared? He liked taking it up the ass. Big goddamn deal. Chloe was dead and nothing else mattered. Maybe nothing would ever matter again.
On the other hand, maybe talking about John’s preference for dick was simply less painful, easier to focus on.
“I thought so,” he said as Mel leaned close to him. “But… there just never seemed to be a good time, ya know?” He didn’t add and what if I’d been wrong, but he thought it just the same.
Melonie lifted her head and looked at John. “I suppose that would’ve been an awkward conversation.” After a beat, she asked, “You okay? I mean… everything else?”
“Darlin’, I’m so far from okay, I couldn’t even find it on a map.”
“Yeah.” Mel let out a deep sigh. “That was a dumb question.”
“Does Birdy know yet? Did she hear me?”
Mel shook her head. “She came out just as you were yellin’ at Momma about cocks. I sent her inside. I didn’t know how to tell her. She loves Chloe so much.” After a beat, Mel added, “Hell, she knew Chloe better than I did and I’m… I don’t know. Still doesn’t feel real. Like. I keep thinkin’ they made a mistake or somethin’, that it’s not her, or….”
“I keep thinkin’ th
e same damn thing.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Melonie about the crime scene photo. He wanted to forget it himself. “But it’s true. Marty and Bell are sure. Andy’s beyond sure. He’s ready to haul me in for it.”
“Christ. Anyone who knows you can’t really believe that.”
“You’d think.” They sat together in the quiet of the evening, listening to the sounds of the countryside, the sounds of their home. He couldn’t smell dinner from his mother’s house, which meant she was still praying and reading her Bible if John had to guess. “I reckon we best get in there and make Birdy some supper.”
“Might should, yeah.”
Neither of them moved immediately, though. Not until the screen door opened behind them. John turned to see Birdy standing there, as if she’d been waiting to hear her name.
“Mawmaw looked real upset,” she said seriously, trying to ask questions without actually asking them.
John reached for her and scooted over so Birdy could sit between Melonie and him. “We’re all a little upset today, baby bird.”
IT TOOK hours to get Birdy settled down after he and Melonie told her what had happened to Chloe. They didn’t go into any great detail, didn’t tell Birdy they lived in the kind of world where she had to be careful, look over her shoulder. That just because she was a girl, she had a target on her back. Birdy deserved to live a few more years at least, not knowing those grim facts. Instead they told her that Chloe had gone on up to heaven early so she could be with Billy and the angels, so she could spend the rest of Birdy’s life watchin’ out for her.
Birdy didn’t much care for that and couldn’t stop crying for over an hour. When she finally fell asleep that night, she was curled up in John’s arms, the locket Chloe had given her clasped tightly in her tiny hand.
It was well past nightfall when he pulled up at Marty and Bell’s place. He wasn’t sure if he should go, wasn’t sure what all they’d heard, or if they believed the things Andy had been thinking. But he’d promised them, and that was that.
After only two quick knocks on their door, Marty answered. “John,” he said, stepping back so John could come inside. “I’m glad you came. Bell’s been worried about you.”
“I’m the last thing y’all need to be thinkin’ about right now.”
As they rounded the corner into the living room, John saw Bell sitting on the love seat with a blanket around her shoulders despite the warm evening. Their preacher, Bo Purdy, sat with her, holding her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose puffy. If he hadn’t known better, John would’ve thought she had a bad cold. But no. Bell just hadn’t stopped crying all day.
When she saw John, she got to her feet and came over to him so quickly, he worried she might slap him, might have thought things over and put him at the top of her suspect list too. Mercifully, though, she wrapped her arms around John’s shoulders and pulled him close.
He held her in a tight hug as she sobbed on his chest. “I wanna burn this house to the ground, John,” she whispered, her voice brittle, strained. “I want nothin’ left but ash and coal. I wanna turn the whole world black with the smoke.”
John knew how she felt. He wanted to destroy it all too, tear everything down so everyone could be as bitter and broken as he was. “I know” was all he could say.
Purdy came over. “Now, Miss Bell. You gotta stop talkin’ like that.” Purdy placed his hand on Bell’s shoulder. “It’s not good for you.” When Bell didn’t respond, he added, “God is with you, Bell. You just need to let him in so he can hold you up.”
John couldn’t help noticing the pained, hateful look on Bell’s face when she rounded on him.
“Bo Purdy,” she said, her voice stronger now but somehow more agonized. “I appreciate you coming here tonight. I do. But right now, there’s only one thing I need from your God.” She took a seething breath before going on. “I just need to know why he felt the need to take both of my babies from me.”
Purdy opened his mouth, probably about to offer another platitude, but Bell cut him off before the words could pass his lips.
“Why would God do that to me? To them? Why would he make them suffer like they did?” It seemed to John she had more to say, but maybe couldn’t, not through the sobs that had overwhelmed her.
Marty stepped closer, a hand on Bell’s back as she hid her face against John’s chest. He looked at Purdy and said, “Probably best you get goin’ now, Mr. Bo. Thank your wife for the casserole.”
Again Bo Purdy looked like he might say something else, but after one sharp look from Marty, he simply nodded. “Y’all give me a call if you need anything.”
“We will,” Marty said, though his tone made it sound like on a cold day in hell. He didn’t even show Purdy to the door.
Bell had pulled herself together, or as close to it as possible. “Can we get ya somethin’ to drink, John? Some food?”
“No, ma’am, I can’t stay too long.” He had so much to talk to them about, but he didn’t want to say a word about any of it.
Bell hooked her arm through John’s and took him back into the living room, pulled him down next to her on the love seat. Marty followed and perched himself on the coffee table in front of them.
“Listen,” John said, not sure what to say next. “There’re some things y’all need to know and… I don’t rightly know how to say it.”
Bell and Marty exchanged looks that John couldn’t read, and then Bell said, “Son, if I thought for one second you were the one who… I’d have cut you open myself and fed you to my uncle’s hogs.”
And just then, plain as day, John could see every bit of Chloe in Bell. It hurt to look at her for a minute. He stared down at his shoes, so relieved he didn’t know what to say.
Marty cleared his throat. “As for the rest,” he said quietly, “I can’t say I understand that kind of… relationship, but whatever went on between y’all is y’all’s business.” Then his voice cracked just slightly. “Or was, anyway.”
John’s heart pounded so hard he thought he might pass out. The last thing in the world he’d wanted was to give Marty and Bell any more grief than what they were already dealing with. If they’d thought he had been responsible—in any way—for Chloe’s death, or if they thought she’d wasted her life on him, or anything really, he didn’t think he could’ve handled it. Hearing those words meant more to John than he could say. “Thank you,” he whispered before finally looking up again.
Bell took a deep breath, as if speaking was too difficult, but she knew she had to. “They won’t release her to us until they’ve settled everything, so we’ve decided we’ll have a memorial for her next week.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she went on. “When we can put her to rest, it’ll be down yon at Oakland’s, next to her brother.”
Marty’s eyes shimmered and his brow creased, but he said, “Just kin for the burial.” He paused long enough for John’s heart to break, thinking he would no longer be counted among their family. Then Marty said firmly, as if he were declaring an order of war, “We’ll expect you there with us.”
John let himself close his eyes for a beat before looking at Marty again. “Come hell or high water.” Or death row. But he didn’t feel the need to add that. “Can I get you anything? Do anything for y’all?”
Bell wiped her nose on a tissue and looked at John, grief etched into every line on her face. “No one can do anything for me now. If you can’t bring her home to me, there’s nothin’ else I need.”
John had known the answer before he’d asked the question, but hearing her say it so plainly made it all the more painful.
HE DIDN’T know what time he’d finally nodded off. John felt like he’d lain awake all night, tangled in his sheets, listening to the steady grind of the air conditioner, the whirl of the fans. When his phone rang, sometime after sunup, he caught it on the second ring.
“John,” Mel said, her voice edged with panic, enough to have John sitting up straight. All he could think of was that Thompson had come
out of nowhere and done something to her or Birdy.
“I’m up, what’s happened?”
“Listen here,” she said, whispering. “I don’t know what you wanna do with this—I can’t tell ya what’s best—but…. They’ve got a warrant for ya, and they’re comin’ for ya right now.”
“They who?”
“Andy sent Jay and Carl out just now. If you’re lucky, you’ve got about ten minutes. I heard ’em talkin’ about it outside the diner.”
“Christ Almighty.” John had never moved so fast in his life. “Give Birdy a kiss for me.” He ended the call and tossed it on the bed as he got dressed and grabbed his backpack. He’d never done anything so stupid in all his life, but faced with the idea of a grungy jail cell, hoping the local PD—boys he’d called friends most of his life—could see their way clear of things for him, well, that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.
He left his credit cards and debits cards on the kitchen table with the keys to his truck, grabbed his .45 and anything else he could think to stuff into his pack, and ran out the back door as fast as his feet would carry him.
Chapter Eighteen
THE NEWS that they were going for John hit Matt like a wall of cement blocks three layers deep. The orders had come from their captain, and the moment the warrant had been handed over, Matt looked at Andy, knowing the desperation was written all over his face. He didn’t care. Matt needed a lifeline, some flicker of hope that this would all work out.
Andy might not be the last person who could give that to him, but he wasn’t at the top of the list either. The badges they wore obligated them to do all sorts of shit they didn’t like, but today felt like the darkest task yet.
When it came time, Matt didn’t know if he had it in him to slip the handcuffs around John’s wrists.