The Leftovers of a Life

by Anna Oney

  "We're home, boy," he whispered, patting Brute's side. "We're home."

  Emma chimed in. "Scuse me, could you loosen these knots?"

  "Yeah, yeah." He groaned. "Easy." Positioning himself before Emma's thigh, Reed poked at her leg like an adolescent, and said, "Damn, girl, look at them muscles in them legs." As he loosened the ropes binding her wrists, her wrists were brought back to life. At first, Emma's hands tingled, but it was a far better sensation than feeling as if they were being strangled to death.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "You're welcome." He smiled, grasping her hips. For a moment, Emma wondered why he had taken hold of her until he forcibly dragged her down.

  "Do you mind loosening them a smidge more?" Emma asked, nodding toward the rope binding her wrists.

  "Ain't happenin', honey."

  Facing the barn, Emma's sight was pulled toward a massive black sign constructed from thick steel with the words "THE BOGAN FARM." Bogan, Bogan, Bogan, she thought. I know that name. Where do I know it? The sign was rustic, like the barn itself. Nothing but bad patch up jobs, and wasted materials seemed to hold the building together.

  The sliding doors opening before them thwarted her attention from the sign. Once the door was fully opened, a man Emma had sworn she'd never forget was revealed. Memories of him coming in day after day, expecting her to approve a loan to improve the wellbeing of his home, resurfaced.

  When she was employed, Emma had been fully aware of the unpopularity of her chosen field. Her position within the bank hadn't been given much praise due to its coined phrase, "Unfortunately, we are unable to approve your request at this time."

  Back then, because the state was on the verge of condemning his home, he had been forced to approach Emma as a desperate man. The name of the man standing before her was Heskill Bogan.

  ***

  The day Heskill was told the news of his denial, Emma had been annoyed with her regular customers and ready to call it a day. She had spent the day processing loans sent to her queue and putting them into the system. On the off chance that the application sitting before her didn't require approval from higher management, Emma's job had been to determine whether it would be beneficial for their institution to approve or deny the customer's requests. It was never an easy task denying someone who she knew needed the money, but she couldn't approve everyone who walked through the door. After all, she was taught the bank was a business, not a charity.

  Everyone in town knew Heskill as a drunk and a person who lacked the necessary couth to survive in the world they had once inhabited, but that hadn't been the reason for the denial. That would have been breaking the code. It had been his debt-to-income ratio and lack of employment that had forced Emma's hand. Heskill had applied for a great sum of money he'd never be able to repay.

  Once Heskill had been denied by higher management, Emma's job was to break the news to him. He'd been so bad off he couldn't even afford a phone, so making a simple phone call was out of the question. Unfortunately, Emma had been forced to do the deed face-to-face.

  The news hadn't gone over well. After cursing Emma out, Heskill threatened the lives of everyone in her family, including her own. She ended the meeting by dropping the clipboard and sprinting for her vehicle.

  Back then, Emma had been frightened of Heskill, and had dreaded seeing him walk through the door. But her pity for him had outweighed her fear. During the days that had followed, Emma couldn't help but ask herself, "Could I have done more to help him?"

  ***

  People knew Heskill as a man who didn't easily forget—a man who allowed his anger to fester until it exploded, and as he stood before her, Emma's pity was rapidly replaced by fear. The graying beard covering his jaw gave the illusion that he was a kind, God-fearing man. But Emma knew better. This harsh world they'd been thrust into seemed to be one Heskill would thrive in.

  "Why, hello there, Red. It's been a while," he said, cradling a sawed-off shotgun. "Hasn't it?"

  No matter how hard Emma tugged at the ropes, they wouldn't budge. Her hands were bound, but the fool beside her had failed to bother with her legs. Catching Reed off guard, Emma wheeled about and slammed her wrists against his throat. Reed struggled to breathe as he clutched at his neck, and before he could think to subdue her, she was already strides away.

  A shot in the air was followed by the muffled sound of hooves stomping against the ground. Heskill could have shot her down within seconds, but he seemed to have chosen not to. Emma sensed that he had special plans for her—plans that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

  She ran through the stitch in her side and the everlasting ache in her legs. Taking her eyes from the path, hope rekindled Emma's spirit as she approached the edge of the woods. But it left her as soon as a rope encircled her waist. Suddenly she was slung backward, landing hard on her back. The air was knocked from her. Wheezing, Emma watched the rider dismount from his horse. The image was blurry, but she spotted the end of the rope secured tightly in his hand.

  Kneeling beside her, he placed his hand at the back of Emma's head and raised it to his canteen.

  "Here, drink," Reed said in a raspy voice. "You had a chance. Now it's gonna be put to a vote."

  "You . . . you might as well start digging the hole."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I'm the reason he lost his . . . his . . . home."

  "Oh God, you're the bank lady?"

  "Guilty."

  Reed didn't bother binding Emma a second time. The speed and force with which he had subdued her was enough to make her obedient . . . for the moment.

  At the threshold of the barn, Reed helped Emma from the saddle. Finding her footing, she stood tall with the judge, Heskill, standing before her and the jury, a group of nearly thirty people stationed behind him.

  Reed untied Emma's bag from Brute's back, and set it on the ground before her. Regrettably, Emma's rifle stayed secure in his hands.

  "Are you letting me go?"

  "Naw, we ain't lettin' you go," Heskill answered. "You see, you're different."

  "Different?"

  "You ain't beggin'. Why is it that every person we've stolen from has immediately started beggin' for their lives? And then here you come along and want to be thrown back into them woods."

  "I don't like company."

  "No, no, I don't think that's it," he said. "The only reason you ain't on your knees now is because you've got a home to go back to. And I bet . . . I bet it's much better than the one we've got here."

  "You've already stolen from me. I saw y'all coming up on my place, so I ran."

  "What about your pack there?"

  "Haven't you ever heard of an emergency pack?"

  "Reed." Heskill fumed with anger. "Where'd you find her?"

  "Don't 'member."

  "Boy, don't you lie to me!"

  "The sun must've fried my brain." He shrugged. "'Cause I can't 'member a thing."

  "Enough of this! Let's settle it all right now!" Heskill shouted, forcing Emma to her knees. "Red, here's how we're gonna do it. Give me somethin' to work with," he said. "When I came to you for help, how'd you put it? 'I'm gonna need some collateral or a down payment to help you out.' What a cruel and stupid thing to ask a broke and desperate man, don't you think? Take that pack and dump all your shit in front of you. Now, Red"—he paused—"the roles are reversed. You're no longer in a position to refuse anyone. Give me somethin' worth sparin' your life."

  "You were an unemployed drunk, Heskill. I could smell the fumes coming off your drunken ass from where I sat. I had a boss. It wasn't my choice. It was your own damn fault." Staring at the pack before her, Emma picked it up and dumped its contents on the ground. "Okay, Heskill, you see, I'm not gonna take the time to pick through my things. All that's gonna do is waste people's time, most importantly mine. I don't see anything here worth trading for a life."

  "Oh, come on now, Red." He smiled. "All we need for your life is a down payment."

  "I'll
let you do the picking, but just know—"

  "Know what?"

  "I will survive. I don't need any of this crap to live out there. All of this is just stuff. Things I brought only as a luxury. Things any country girl can do without. So take your pick."

  Just as Heskill raised the butt of his shotgun, Reed jumped between them, attempting to take the brunt of the blow but failed. The shotgun slammed against Emma's head, and her last thought was, Stella, don't find me.

  Knocked unconscious, Emma was surrounded by merciless strangers and an irate, dissatisfied customer—one who Emma had thought she'd never have to face again.

  Chapter 26:

  Tom

  Twenty-four hours was all the time that had lapsed since his long-overdue battle with Emma. For most of the day, he kept himself busy with daily chores and volunteered to help wherever he could be of use.

  Carol, "The Cat Lady," needed help repairing a roof leak.

  "Tom! Hey, Tom!" she shouted from her lawn. "Could you give me a hand?"

  Turning on his heel, Tom gave her a hearty wave and ran over. She seemed ecstatic to receive assistance from a handsome man. When he finished patching her roof, Tom climbed from the ladder to face an uncomfortable situation. Carol was waiting for him with her arms stretched out wide, offering him a hug. He was grateful for the distraction from Emma's words, but he turned down the kind gesture.

  "Sorry, ma'am," he said. Tom knew she craved human contact, but she would have to receive it from someone else. Leaving her wanting, Tom walked away, knowing her eyes were glued to his buttocks.

  After he cleared her driveway, Tom decided to see if Cooper was free. Since the day his younger brother had become Mrs. Maples's assistant, Tom had to tiptoe around a subject he needed to touch upon. Mrs. Maples's strong feelings for the boy didn't allow Cooper the time to behave like the twelve-year-old he actually was. Tom sensed she needed someone she felt confident enough passing the torch to, so she simply hadn't given Cooper's age much thought.

  Anticipating Mrs. Maples's rejection to his request for Cooper to have more playtime, Tom took a turn to the right and strolled up their driveway.

  He immediately noticed Darby's blue hair as she paced back and forth on the porch. Arriving at the steps, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

  Seeming nervous, Darby gnawed at her fingernails, and replied, "Oh, hey, Tom."

  "You need help with something?"

  "No, nothing like that."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Have you seen Emma around?"

  "Nope, I expect she's avoiding me."

  "What'd you do?"

  Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, "Told her I loved her."

  "Oh . . . no. I think I've messed up," she said, clasping a hand over her mouth. "She is a strange one."

  "You piss her off? She avoiding you too?"

  "No. Not exactly."

  "Go on, what'd you do?"

  "I promised her something I shouldn't have."

  "Are you gonna tell me the ending to this fascinating story or not?"

  "I promised . . . I promised . . . her . . . I promised I wouldn't tell you where she was going."

  "She left the road?"

  "Yes . . . she left yesterday."

  "You wait this long to tell me?" he said angrily as he cleared the steps.

  "I realized too late." She paused, tearing up. "If . . . if I'm truly her friend, the best thing to do would be to break my promise."

  "You broke it too late. You and I've been out there—she hasn't. Emma has no idea the way people are."

  "I know! I know!" She sobbed. "I screwed up. But if there is the smallest chance she could make it out alive, that's a good enough reason to go after her."

  "She doesn't want me to go. If she did she would've cared to tell me!"

  "Do you love her? Really?"

  "Yes, damn it, I do!" Tom began to lose control of his emotions, and his bottom lip quivered. He cut his eyes toward the floor of the porch, and added, "I love that woman. I know I do."

  "Then make her hate me and bring her home."

  "Does Doolie know about all this?"

  "Yes, well—" Darby began to speak, but the sight of Tom jumping from the porch stalled her. "Tom!" she shouted, chasing after him. "Wait!" She grabbed hold of the back of Tom's shirt.

  "Why'd he let her do something like this?"

  "Well—"

  "Well, what?!"

  "Well?"

  "If you say 'well' one more damn time, I swear I'm gonna rip that blue hair from your scalp and throw it in a ditch!"

  "She wasn't completely honest with him either."

  "That doesn't surprise me. What'd she tell him?"

  "She promised him you'd be going with her."

  "What?! Doolie . . . he at home?"

  "Yeah, where else would he be? He can't make it farther than his porch."

  "Don't get smart. I'm not the one who may've just killed their best friend," he said, realizing that if what he said was true, then part of the blame for his mother's death was on him.

  Years ago, when Tom had witnessed his mother being beaten, he'd kept a promise to his father: to never tell. Tom understood all too well that some secrets should never be kept. When they were, the result was unexpected. There was always the possibility of unforgivable and sometimes deadly consequences.

  Tom watched as Darby's eyes drowned in ashamed tears. As they glided over her cheeks, Tom wrapped his arm around her, and whispered, "It's not your fault; it's mine and hers. I should've known what she was doing, what she was planning. I should've fought harder. I walked out that door and let her push me away."

  "I've known Emma long enough to know it'll take a bullet going through her head to convince her she's wrong."

  "Let's hope I find her before that happens."

  Tom pecked Darby on the head, and left her behind. He tried calming himself before confronting Doolie. Turning the corner, he ran the things he should and shouldn't say through his racing mind.

  He spotted Doolie in the carport, rocking in his chair while a bundle of the road's children listened intently to him. Doolie failed to notice Tom's presence until he arrived at the bottom of the steps. Doolie ordered the children inside, and rose from the chair, but pain in his lower back forced him to stay put.

  "What the hell are y'all doing back?"

  "I never left."

  "What do you mean?"

  Climbing the steps, Tom answered, "Your daughter is out there by herself."

  "God, no. No, no, no. Why would she do that? How could she lie to me?"

  "I'm guessing it has to do with you not being the easiest dude to approach."

  "Hey! She lied to your ass, too!"

  "You Clerys are the most stubborn people I've ever come across. Y'all just think you can go around doing anything you want!"

  "Who the hell you think you is talking to me like that?!"

  "I'm the one who's gonna have to go find her," Tom said. "Or do you feel you're up to the job?"

  Nearly tumbling from his chair, Doolie prepared to retaliate, but was startled to find his wife exiting their house. She held a finger to her lips, and exclaimed, "Shhh!" Glaring at the both of them, she asked, "What is going on out here? Y'all are scaring the kids."

  "Your daughter lied to us. It kinda hurt my feelings," Doolie replied.

  "Your feelings?" Tom cut in. "What about mine?"

  "You don't matter at all! We matter!" Doolie screamed, pointing from himself to his wife.

  "Don't you be mean to him." Shirley planted herself between them. "Emma loves that man."

  Together, the men gawked at her, and they both exclaimed, "What?!"

  Shaking her head, Shirley ranted, "I tell you what. I said, I tell you what! You men and your little ding-a-lings are the most clueless, self-centered, egotistical, biggest jackasses ever to walk this earth!"

  "Now, Shirley, calm down a minute. I don't think she's 'in love' with him."

  "She said she didn't wa
nt anything to do with me."

  "Why is it you think Emma didn't invite you along?" she asked, looking Tom over.

  "At first I thought it was because she couldn't stomach me anymore, but now I'm thinking she didn't want—"

  "She didn't want you to get hurt helping her, sugar."

  Suspicious, Doolie glanced toward his wife.

  "Did you know something about this, woman?"

  "I had a feeling," she said, "but I wasn't sure."

  "Why didn't you say anything?"

  "If we confronted her about it, she still would've left. She gets it from you!"

  Tom stood on the sidelines, watching the mystery unfold. He waited patiently until the bickering had ceased, and then spoke up.

  "Look, I'm gonna try and find her, but—"

  Together, husband and wife both said, "But what?"

  "What do you want me to do when she refuses to come with me? 'Cause you know she will."

  "Knock her out," Doolie replied. "And drag her ass back here."

  "You've got two children, remember? Griffin is our child, too!" Shirley argued. "You're just gonna sit there and forget about him?"

  "No, I'm not . . . but things have changed," Doolie said. "Emma's out there alone. And by now, who knows what's happened. If she's hurt, she needs to come back home to heal."

  "What'll happen if they come home without him?"

  "Then, baby, we'll regroup. I'm just trying to keep both of our kids from dying before their time. Don't worry yourself. Sooner or later, Griffin'll be home."

  "You should've left before now. You should've put our son first instead of the safety of the road. And now my girl's gone, too. Next time, I'm not keeping my mouth shut. Next time, you won't be able to stop me from doing what I know is right."

  "I don't have to explain why I do things the way that I do. And I'm not gonna start now."

  Shirley ignored him, and turned her attention to Tom.

  "Honey, you think you can find my baby girl?"

  "People who don't want to be found can be reckless. It'll be easy to track her down."

  "Then, sugar," she said as she reached up to grasp his shoulder, "be on your way."