by John Rector
THE GROVE
JOHN RECTOR
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright ©2010 John Rector
All rights reserved
This title was self-published, in a slightly different form, in 2009.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonEncore
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN: 978-1-935597-13-1
“We live, as we dream—alone…”
–Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
PART II
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
PART III
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PART I
SUNDAY
CHAPTER 1
I had a dream someone was in the house. Then I thought it might not be a dream and I opened my eyes.
The light from the window was bright and drilled into my head. I was in bed, still dressed. My shoes were on, and there were streaks of mud on the sheets. I sat up slowly then heard footsteps in the hallway.
“Morning, Dex.”
Greg stood in the doorway, dressed for work. I smiled, not sure why. I was used to seeing him in his uniform, but this time something about the badge struck me as funny.
He had a cup in his hand, and he held it out to me.
“I went ahead and made a pot. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind? It’s not like you let yourself in without being invited.”
“Suspicion of criminal activity,” he said. “If you like, you can file a complaint with the county on Monday.”
“There’s an idea.” I took a drink of the coffee. It was strong, and it burned when I swallowed. “So, what brings you out, Sheriff?”
“Just stopping by.”
I didn’t think a casual visit was the reason he was here, and I told him so.
“Well, maybe not.” Greg stepped toward the window and angled down to look out. “How you feeling? Doing OK?”
“Checking up on me?”
Greg made a low noise in the base of his throat then stepped back from the window and paced the room.
I set the coffee cup on the nightstand next to the empty Johnny Walker bottle. My .22 was there, too, but the clip was gone.
I looked up at Greg.
“You’ll get it back, don’t worry.”
“When?”
“Haven’t decided.”
I shook my head and went to stand. The floor shifted under me. Greg reached out, but I waved him off and staggered past him to the bathroom in the hall. I closed the door and leaned over the sink and stared at the mirror.
The reflection reminded me of my father.
I ran the water cold and tried to wash away the lines around my eyes, then went back to the bedroom and grabbed my coffee from the nightstand.
I walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. Greg was sitting at the table with the paper open. As I got closer, I saw it was the comics section.
I sat across from him, didn’t speak.
“Got a call from Liz this morning,” Greg said, not looking up. “Said she came by last night for a few of her things.”
“That’s right.”
“Said there was some kind of incident.”
I sipped my coffee.
Greg leaned back, stared at me. “Said you scared her pretty bad, Dex.”
I set the cup on the table. “Wasn’t my intention.”
“The way she tells it, you waved a gun in her face and told her the only good woman was one that wasn’t breathing.”
That sounded about right, but I kept quiet.
“You don’t see how that might’ve upset her a bit?”
“Jesus, Greg.”
“You still taking your pills?”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“You tell me. I haven’t had to come out here like this in years, and you and I both know it’s because of those pills. If you stopped taking them, it might explain your behavior last night.”
“What behavior?”
Greg crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you black out?”
I looked away.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember some.”
My voice came out harsher than I’d wanted. It made me sound defensive, and maybe I was. Greg was trying to rattle me, and it was working. He’s always known what buttons to push to get under my skin. He’s been doing it since we were kids.
Greg kept staring at me, silent.
“If you got something to say, say it.”
He paused. “Where’s your tractor, Dex?”
I didn’t want to—goddamn it, I didn’t want to—but I did anyway. I got up and crossed to the window and looked out at the spot beside the house where I kept the tractor.
It was gone.
“Liz said you threatened to plow your field under. You remember that?”
I shook my head and didn’t speak, just stared at the dark oil stains on the gravel where my tractor had been the day before.
Greg started to say something else, but I walked past him and out the back door.
In late summer, when the corn is at its highest, it’s impossible to see the entire field from the ground. This time, I didn’t need to. There was a wide break in the rows about thirty feet from the house.
I muttered under my breath and headed toward it.
Greg followed me to the break.
“Looks like you made it almost all the way to the grove before running the back end into the ravine. Good thing, too. You can’t afford to lose this crop.”
I stood at the edge of the corn and stared down the wide scar I’d cut the night before. The path curved a bit, but I only had to take a few steps to see my tractor sitting fifty yards down, tipped up, its back wheels planted in the ravine that ran alongside the cottonwood grove.
Liz had been at me for years to cut those trees out, but I wouldn’t do it. She called it wasted land, and I suppose she had a point. The grove cut into the edge of the field, creating a bend that was a hassle come harvest. It would’ve been much easier to dig it out and be done with it, but I liked it.
The field behind the grove was sheltered and quiet, the cottonwoods on one side and a low line of hills on the other. From back
there you couldn’t see the house or the road, and better still, no one could see you.
I’d had to throw a few kids out of there from time to time, but I was never angry about it. Growing up in this part of the world was boring, and the grove was a perfect spot to have a couple beers or get high or do whatever else they wanted to do without being seen.
I didn’t blame them, but I didn’t need them stomping through my field and leaving beer cans and fast food bags behind to attract the rats, either.
I still remembered what it was like being a kid. I just didn’t care anymore.
“You gonna want help pulling her out?”
I shook my head. “I’ll get her.”
Once I said it, I regretted it. There was mud back there, and I knew that would make things tough. And if it rained, tough would become impossible.
“If you change your mind, you can give me a call. I’ll bring the truck by. Got a new winch. Wouldn’t mind trying her out.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
He nodded, and for a moment we both just stood there, staring at the tractor. Then Greg spoke.
“You ever think it might be for the best? Her leaving and all?”
He must’ve read the look on my face because when he spoke again he stumbled over his words.
“I was only thinking of the way things have gone since—” He held up his hands, stopping himself. “Look, Dex, all I’m saying is you two have been through things no couple should have to go through. Maybe a new start, for both of you, is the best—”
I walked away, leaving him alone.
When I got back to the house, I took a beer from the refrigerator then went out to the front porch and sat on one of the wicker chairs Liz had picked up from the county crafts show the year before. A minute later, Greg came around the side of the house and stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. He saw the bottle and shook his head.
“You know it ain’t even noon yet?”
“I got nothing planned today.”
He looked like he was about to say something else, but I cut him off.
“How about the clip to my gun?”
Greg smiled. “I don’t think so, Dex. At least not today.”
“When?”
He started toward his cruiser in the driveway. “You can get it at dinner this weekend, if you want to come. Julie would love to see you, same with the boys.”
“I don’t know.”
He reached into his pocket and held up the clip. “That’s the price I’m asking.”
“I’m pretty sure what you’re doing is illegal, Sheriff.”
Greg laughed and waved back over his shoulder. He got into the cruiser and backed down the driveway, then turned out onto the road. A thick trail of dust lifted into the air behind him and shone white in the sun before drifting over the cornfield and dissolving in the breeze.
I stayed on the porch and watched his cruiser crest the hill and disappear on the other side.
CHAPTER 2
I turned on the shower and stood under the water until it ran cold. There was a dull ache building behind my eyes, and I knew from experience that it was going to get worse before it got better. I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten, but nothing came to me.
When I went into the bedroom to get dressed, I found some pants and a semi-clean shirt on the floor. I slid them on then crossed the room to Liz’s closet and opened the door. Most of her clothes were still hanging inside. I ran my hand back and forth along the line of fabric, then stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed.
I sat there for a while, staring into her closet and listening to the sounds of the house.
Empty houses have unique noises, almost like the rooms themselves are listening. The sensation of being observed felt so real that I couldn’t pull myself away.
I kept going back to what Greg had said, wondering if Liz and I were better off apart. The more I thought about it, the angrier I felt. I knew Greg wouldn’t say anything unless he thought it would help, but I couldn’t figure out what the hell he’d been thinking.
Liz and I weren’t better off. We were miles from better off, and he knew it.
The pain behind my eyes turned sharp, and I forced myself to get up and head to the kitchen. I needed to eat and to clear my head before going out to the ravine.
I found some ham slices and a can of Cheez Whiz in the refrigerator, and made a sandwich using two crusts of bread. It was all I had in the house. If I wanted to eat again, I’d need to go into town and do some shopping.
The idea killed my appetite, but I ate anyway.
The sandwich was dry, and when I finished it I grabbed a beer. It was enough to keep me going.
I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes. The breeze coming through the window was as gentle as a kiss, and it felt good on my skin.
After a moment I reached for the phone on the wall and held the receiver to my ear and dialed Liz’s mother’s number. I let it ring once; then hung up.
What was I going to say to her?
If what Greg said was true, if I’d threatened to kill her, what could I say? She’d expect an apology. More than likely she’d want me to beg her for forgiveness, and that wasn’t going to happen.
She was the one who’d left me, the one who’d packed up and walked out with no warning, but she didn’t care about that, wouldn’t even want to talk about that.
No, she would want to talk about my pills, and my blackouts. Nothing about her. She didn’t care about the fog that came with taking the pills, or how the color drained out of everything, a little more every day.
None of that mattered to her.
All she’d want to know was that I was taking them. Nothing else was important. But I wasn’t going to deal with that anymore, especially now that she was gone.
I finished my beer and dropped the empty bottle in the sink, then opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and took down a bottle of Johnny Walker. I broke the seal.
The pain in my head faded with each swallow.
The more I thought about Liz, the more I wondered if Greg was right after all. Even if she did come back, things wouldn’t be the way they were. She’d told me the night she left that I’d always remind her of Clara.
That wasn’t something I could fight.
I took another drink, then capped the bottle and went down the hall to the bedroom. I opened my closet and grabbed a large cardboard box off the top shelf. It was marked “winter” and filled with sweaters. I dumped them on the bed, then opened Liz’s closet and started tearing clothes off hangers and throwing them in the box.
I was going to make it easy for her.
For us both.
I’d emptied half the closet before I stopped and looked down at the dress in my hand.
It was like a snapshot.
I could remember her wearing it several times over the years, but right then all I saw was the first time. The Fourth of July. The night we grilled hamburgers in the backyard and ate outside on the porch and watched the fireworks bloom over the cornfields.
I remembered Clara saying the dress made her look thin and the way Liz laughed and smiled and told her she was a charmer.
I remembered the way she looked crossing the bedroom toward me later that night, the dress moving against her skin like a shadow, fluid and soft and warm.
I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the dress in my lap. There were no tears, but I didn’t move from that spot for a long time.
When I did get up, I hung all her clothes back in the closet, one by one, then went outside and crossed the field toward my tractor, still stuck in the ravine.
CHAPTER 3
I didn’t think anything was broken, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
I took off my shirt and wrapped the sleeve tight around my hand. I could feel my heart beat under it as I leaned back against the tractor. A slow red stain soaked through the sleeve, and blood pooled in my palm.
I considered going back to the house and driv
ing into town to the medical clinic, but I didn’t see the point. It would stop. I hadn’t drunk that much, and I could clean my hand when I finished getting the tractor out.
I’d gotten close, even managed to get one of the back wheels free, and I’d almost had the other one out when the board I was using to brace the tire snapped and dug into my hand. It wasn’t until I saw the blood running down my arm that I realized what had happened.
I hadn’t felt a thing.
I shook the blood out of my palm then unwrapped it and rewrapped it with the other sleeve. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, and I felt better about not going back to the house. The day was already slipping away, and I didn’t want to stop just because of a little scratch.
With my hand wrapped tight again, I looked around for another board or rock I could use to brace the tire in the mud. I didn’t see anything, so I climbed up the far side of the ravine and walked into the cottonwoods.