Shelton was headed for the highway and then the north hills. It was time to find Portis Dale and the baby. Little Jenna had been gone long enough. He hummed along with the radio and reached for the pint bottle. He drove through the quiet streets in the storm.
Chapter Thirteen
I do not remember leaving Portis at the truck. I do not remember anything after the moment he died but a sound like a jet engine rising from the base of my brain and growing louder and louder until I was drowned inside of myself by the roaring.
I suppose I picked up Jenna and walked away, because the first thing I remember is being back in the woods and the baby crying. I did not try to comfort her because she was hungry and I had left the water in Portis’s ruck. I hadn’t had the wherewithal to grab it, and who knows how much distance I’d already put between us and that hillside.
I realized too that I was on the wrong side of the river. I had thought I was east of the Three Fingers and had planned to walk south back to the shanty, but the woods were too thin around me and the snow was falling hard through the gaps. I was walking in the open and the clouds helped my cover some but there was no quarter from the cold.
After a time I came to a woodpile, stacked between two birch and covered with a tarp. Beyond the woodpile was a trailer where I could hear a screen door swing on its hinges. The snow in the yard was drifted and there were no lights in the trailer as I came closer.
The forest was thin but the trees around me reached high and I could hear the branches rattle as the wind pushed through. Jenna was awake and she was fussy—thrashing in the papoose and kicking.
“One minute, sweetness,” I said. “And we’re going to get you inside.”
The trailer was one of Shelton’s. I knew he had a couple stashed in the hills, single-wides he used for cooking, and we were going to have to take our chances and go inside. There were no cars or sleds parked out front, and though I believed we were near the farmhouse I didn’t think it likely Shelton would have walked through the storm. I thought the trailer was probably empty and it was the best chance we had to find some water and some warmth.
I went to the back porch, caught the screen when it swung, and pinned it to the wall with my hand. I looked in through a panel window but it was pitch black inside and when I tried the door it was locked. I stepped back, let go of the screen for one second, and it swung loose and smacked me on the back of the head.
I screamed and stumbled off the porch. There was a throb at the top of my skull and it widened until it filled my nostrils and pushed up hard against the back of my eyeballs. I took a moment to gather myself and then spat at the snow. As I might have mentioned, it starts to seem personal.
I went for the woodpile next, grabbed a log, and propped it beneath a small window on the other end of the trailer. I stepped up and my face was level with the glass. Jenna was crying now and I turned to the side to protect her as I brushed away the snow and came to the crusted ice beneath.
I could not see through the window but I uncurled my fists and put my hands to its sides and pushed. I pushed until the freeze crackled and fell away from the seams and the window rose in its frame.
I stepped down to take off the pack. I got the formula and put it on the windowsill, then slid Jenna’s bottle in the pocket of my hoodie.
“Almost there now,” I said.
I peered inside with the flashlight and I could see a rust-stained tub and a sink and toilet. There was a drip coming from the ceiling and it plunked loudly in that small, tinny room. Finally, I took off the papoose with Jenna inside and tried to lower her into the sink. She cried out and reached for me and I snapped her back up.
“I know, baby girl,” I said. “It’s just for a minute.”
She cried harder the second time and in the end I had to force her into the sink. I came in next, dropping a few feet to the floor, where I reached for the formula and pulled the window shut behind me. Then I went for Jenna.
It was warm in the bathroom. There was heat pulsing through the register, but that didn’t worry me. I came back to the fact that there were no vehicles outside and figured Shelton must have forgot to flip the switch when he last left. I turned my flashlight toward the darkened hall and there was insulation falling from the ceiling tiles and trash strewn across the carpet. Typical Shelton. An empty trailer full of toxic waste, and he was pumping it with hot air.
There was water, too, and when I cranked the sink handle it sprang fast and hot from the faucet. I filled the bottle, mixed in the formula, and fed Jenna on the floor.
I leaned back against the tub as feeling hit my fingers like small flames at the ends of match tips. It felt good to have the papoose off, to let the muscles in my back uncoil.
“Eat, baby girl,” I said. “Eat.”
Jenna sucked down her bottle and then her breath came slow and steady. I knew she was going to fall asleep and that brought me comfort. I wanted to set her down, but mostly I was glad for our tiny, predictable pattern. She would eat and then she would sleep, and I was glad to have something the both of us could depend on.
I put her down in the papoose after she fell off and let her sleep on the tile. The formula was nearly empty when I filled the scoop; there was nothing left but a little pinch in the corner of the canister and that wouldn’t make us so much as a gulp. I hoped she gathered whatever rest she could now, because she’d be running on empty from here on in.
I walked into the hall with the flashlight and pushed through the trash. I was looking for a phone but there was only more filth. Emptied bottles of drain cleaner and lighter fluid, smoked soda bottles and tubing and black bubbles burned into the carpet.
I walked from one end of the trailer clear to the other and it was there in the hall between a bedroom and a storage closet that I found Carletta facedown on the floor.
Her left arm was twisted and tucked beneath her stomach and both legs splayed behind her in a V. She wasn’t dead. I could see her shoulders rise with breath and when I rolled her over she groaned and looked up. She was alive but her eyes were as flat and still as stones.
“It’s me,” I said. “Mama. It’s Percy.”
“Sweetgirl,” she whispered, and reached for me.
The thing that surprised me most was my own surprise. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought Mama might be there. The trailer was as logical a place as any for her to wait out the storm, and when she wasn’t at the farmhouse I should have known she would have gone somewhere nearby to cook up a batch and gotten stranded. I should have known she would resurface at the moment Jenna needed me most, after I’d already lost Portis and nearly forgotten why I’d come to the hills in the first place.
I lifted her from the shoulders and pulled her close to my chest. Her arms had gone limp and her hair was grease-damp and clumped together in strings. She was in a tattered sweatshirt and blue jeans and smelled like burned shit. She looked like she’d been spit out by the storm itself.
“Mama,” I said. “I’m right here.”
Carletta cried in my arms, and when I cried back I couldn’t be exactly sure why. I was wild with anger, but I was relieved too. Or at least I was so emptied out and exhausted that it felt like relief. Mama was alive and I was there to hold her.
“It’s okay, Mama,” I said. “I’m here now.”
I backed against the wall for balance and pushed myself up with Carletta’s arms draped around my shoulders. She was wobbly on her feet and she leaned hard against me. I told her she was doing great and steadied her against a hip. I put my arm around her waist and walked her down the hall.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Everything is going to be okay, Mama.”
We walked into the bathroom and I eased her down to the floor. She didn’t say anything about Jenna, if she noticed her at all. Mama just hugged her arms close to her chest and sat staring at the rotting tile floor. She was mumbling something about the cold.
I set Jenna in the hall just outsi
de the door and scanned the carpet around her for chemical spills or anything sharp. I checked the ceiling above for leaks and then gave her another glance. She was sleeping deeply. She was as sweet as she could be.
I went back to Mama, flipped the switch in the bathroom, and let the overhead blink on. It was yellowy and dim, and there was a buzzing in the bulb as it burned. Mama coughed and her chest rattled with phlegm.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I said.
I turned on the shower and the head sputtered and spat until the stream pushed through clean. I put my hand in to test the temperature and it was warm.
“I’m so cold,” she said.
“The water’s nice,” I said.
I helped her pull off her sweatshirt and in the light I could see the purple crisscross of veins over her chest and arms and then the brownish, misshapen splotches on her neck and shoulders. Mama leaned forward to step out of her pants and when she saw the sides of her shit-streaked thighs she started to sob.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, and held to the edge of the tub for balance.
“Let’s just get you cleaned up,” I said.
I guided her into the shower and asked if she had anything clean to wear. She stood shivering, arms wrapped around her shoulders as the water washed over.
“I’ve got a bag,” she said. “There might be something in my bag.”
“Where’s your bag, Mama?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and cried harder. “I don’t know where my bag is, sweetness. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll go look.”
The bag was in the bedroom and there were some clean enough clothes inside, but what gave me pause was the baby blanket I found in the end pocket.
The thing is, not all junkies are like you see in the movies. They’re not always crashing cars and setting shit on fire. Sometimes it isn’t all that dramatic. Mama, for instance, loved nothing more than to sit on the couch and knit while she got stoned. All winter long she’d been working on a blanket for my nephew, Tanner, and I couldn’t believe she’d actually finished it.
I held it to my face and felt the softness of the yarn. It was baby blue and edged in red. Carletta had sized it a twin because she wanted to make something Tanner could grow into, and I will readily admit I never thought she’d see it through. That blanket was a scraggly square of yarn the last I saw, but it seemed she’d used her high in the hills to fuel a cross-stitch binge.
Starr might not have spoken to Mama since she moved to Portland, but I thought the blanket could be enough to get her to drop a card in the mail. Maybe a nice little thank-you note and a photo of Tanner to boot. I knew we might never be a family like you see on television, where everybody’s tribulations bring them closer and make them stronger in the end—but I believed we could still be something. A blanket might not seem like much to most, but I swear it swelled my heart as I folded it in a square and left it beside the bag.
I found a dusty glass in the kitchen, ran some cool water, then returned to the bathroom to find Mama sitting in the tub, shivering. The shower was off and I handed her the glass and told her to drink.
“The water went cold,” she said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Go ahead and drink. Have a little bit, at least.”
She forced a sip, then another. She gave the glass back, then pulled her legs up and circled her arms around her shins. Her teeth were chattering as she leaned forward and rested her head on her knees.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think there’s any towels.”
“Oh,” Carletta said, and her voice cracked hard. “Oh, sweet one.”
I kneeled on the linoleum and reached into the tub and held her wet body against my own. Mama cried and I could feel the thump of each sob as it rang through her ribs. Mama’s sadness was always physical like that—it was its own special type of violence.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m right here, Mama. Everything will be okay.”
“Sweetgirl,” she said, and stroked my hair.
“I saw you finished the blanket,” I said. “For Tanner. It’s beautiful.”
Mama started to come in and out then, mumbling about how sorry she was and how things were going to be different from now on. She was dry enough to dress so I got her out of the tub and slid on her jeans. I pulled her sweatshirt on and was startled by a glaring sliver of scalp—a wide, bone-white shore between patches of hair.
I tried to help her to her feet. I wanted to get her to the couch in the living room, but Carletta begged me to let her go.
“Just let me sleep, baby,” she said.
It might sound bad, but I quit struggling and set her down right there on the tile floor. If there was one skill Mama had it was sleeping anywhere her head dropped.
I left Mama and took Jenna down the hall to the bedroom, wrapped her in Tanner’s blanket, and set her down on the carpet. She was burning up with fever but the blanket’s fit was perfect and I thought it might help her to sweat it out. I sat down beside her and watched her breathe. I put my finger to her cheek and I started to cry. Portis was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
The first thing Shelton did when he returned to the farmhouse was tend to Kayla. He needed to keep her down, but decided to bypass the V and go a subtler, more gentle route.
He stopped at his secret drawer in the kitchen for a joint, then sat beside her on the floor and crossed his legs Indian style. He put his fingers to her pulse and felt the faint trace of a beat. He loved her, loved her so much it made his heart hurt, put an honest-to-God ache in his ribs.
The Talking Heads sang, Check out Mr. Businessman . . . He bought some wild, wild life.
Shelton lit the joint and took a drag, but it was only to generate some smoke to blow in Kayla’s direction. So she might be warmed and comforted in her sleep. So if she woke to the waiting terror she might have the edges of it blunted, if only for a moment.
He turned her over on her back, ran a finger down her cheek, and then blew a line of smoke into her mouth with a kiss. He watched it expel through her nose, then she coughed and some trailed out that lovely part in her lips. He kissed her forehead and then heard the phone buzz. It was Clemens.
Shelton wasn’t used to Rick’s boys calling him up on the phone and the truth was he was a little flattered by all the attention. He picked up and Clemens was breathing hard on the other end.
“We got bodies up on this hill,” he said. “Somebody burned to death. My money’s on Arrow McGraw, and Portis Dale is lying dead at the bottom of the hill by his truck. He was gut shot and there ain’t no baby.”
“There’s no baby?”
“Baby is gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“’Cause it was gone when I got here. Didn’t leave no note.”
“Portis is dead?”
“Stone cold.”
“Did you shoot him?”
“No. I found him like this.”
“Krebs said you planned to kill Portis Dale.”
“I did not.”
“Krebs said you borrowed his six-shooter and were ready to pull if needed.”
“Well,” said Clemens. “It sounds to me like we know who killed Portis.”
“Fucker lied to me.”
“Krebs is a piece of shit,” Clemens said. “I’ve warned you about him before.”
“So what happened to Jenna?”
“I don’t hardly want to say.”
“I think you should.”
“I don’t have any way of knowing really.”
“You got to say it, Clemens. Whatever it is.”
“I’m worried is all,” Clemens said. “I started thinking like maybe that Wolfdog took the baby. Dragged it off and God knows what. Portis usually does have that Wolfdog with him.”
“You think Wolfdog took the baby?”
“I think,” Clemens said. “But I don’t know.�
��
“Jesus, Lord,” said Shelton.
“I’m heading over right now,” Clemens said.
“To where?”
“The farmhouse.”
“For what?”
“We need to sit down and figure this thing through. We got dead bodies up here, Shelton. We can’t just leave them out.”
“I’m not home,” Shelton said, and looked out his window at the raging snow.
“Where you at?”
“Charlevoix the Beautiful.”
He supposed it was as good a place as any to pretend to be.
“Doing what?”
“Talking to some folks, might know something about this baby.”
“There ain’t nothing else to know. That baby is somewhere up in the hills.”
“That’s why you got to keep looking.”
“I plan to,” Clemens said. “But we’ve got to get a few things sorted first.”
“Like what?”
“Like, did Rick say any particulars on that reward?”
“Particulars?”
“I guess what I’m asking is, is this a dead-or-alive situation? In terms of the baby’s condition?”
“Condition?”
“I hate it has to be this way, but it’s a question needs to be asked.”
“You are a piece of freeze-dried shit, Clemens. You are worried about money while a baby has gone missing.”
“These are hard times now, Shelton. I’d appreciate it if you spared me your judgment.”
“There ain’t no reward for a dead baby, Clemens. She’s not a fugitive of the law. I’ll tell you what, though. Bring me back her dead body and I’ll give you a quarter, twenty-five whole cents, right before I shoot you through your skull.”
“You’d be a fool to talk to me like that a minute longer,” Clemens said.
“How’s that?”
“Because I know for a fact Krebs will try to pin this on you when it don’t stick to me. Conspiracy to murder, son. You put out the hit.”
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