James handed him his documentation. The officer took the papers and walked back to his cruiser without a word. Ten minutes later, the officer returned and handed James his documents.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asked.
“No,” James replied.
“Where you headed?”
“You should know that. You spent ten minutes looking at my address.”
Officer Strickland smacked the truck door with his flashlight. James jolted upright in his seat. The officer grinned. “You better watch your mouth, boy. I said, ‘Where you headed?’”
“Home.”
“Now was that so hard? People always gotta be so damn hardheaded. And why are you drivin’ on my roads at ten on a Monday night?”
James gritted his teeth. “I have class until 8:30. I did some paperwork, then I went to Dot’s Diner for dinner. Now I’m on my way home.”
“I know you’re new around here, so I’ll fill you in on a couple things. First off, people here treat police officers with respect. We don’t have that us-against-them crap you see on the news. This ain’t Ferguson. This is a small town, and everyone knows everyone. So, if you break the law, we’ll know about it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right then. Be safe now.” Officer Strickland tapped on the door with his flashlight as he walked away.
* * *
James dumped leaves into the wheelbarrow with his pitchfork. The soil under the leaves was dark and crumbly. He spotted Brittany hiking the woody trail just beyond his property line.
“Brittany,” James called out.
She gave a wave and headed toward James.
“Hey, Brittany,” James said with a smile as she approached. “I’m following your expert advice from yesterday.” He forked another load of leaves into the wheelbarrow.
She blushed. “You listened to me?”
James shoved the fork in the wheelbarrow and turned to Brittany. She wore baggy jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and a scarf that covered her neck.
“Of course I did,” he said. “It was good advice. You know, when I pulled out these leaves, the soil underneath was black and loose, not gray and compacted like my garden.”
“My grammy used to say, ‘Nature’s the best teacher.’” Brittany tucked her brown hair behind her ears.
“Sounds like she was a great lady.”
She nodded, her head down.
“Are you growing anything at your house?” James asked.
She looked up. “Mr. Harold don’t like fruits and vegetables. He says he’s a meat-and-potatoes man.”
James frowned. “So you don’t eat any fruits or vegetables?”
“I get ’em from the woods sometimes.”
“Really?” James asked with raised eyebrows.
She nodded. “I could show you.”
As they walked around his property, she pointed out the oxalis he had growing in his front yard.
“It tastes lemony,” she said.
James agreed as he munched on the cloverlike plant.
“Don’t eat too much of it. It’s a little poisonous.”
James grinned. “A little poisonous?”
She giggled and pointed out another plant. “This is goosefoot,” she said. “It’s kinda like spinach.”
James munched on a dark green leaf. “It does taste like spinach.”
“I seen you got a shagbark hickory too.” She led James into the woods separating their houses. She patted the enormous hickory trunk. The bark was loose and shaggy. Golf-ball-size green nuts littered the forest floor. Most still had the green shell covering, but some were cracking open, exposing the rock-hard light-brown shell inside. She picked up a nut. “You can eat these too. They can be tough to open. I use some stones, but my grammy used a nutcracker. They taste like pecans.”
James picked up a nut, the green covering already off.
“That one’s no good,” she said.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It got that little hole. Means it got worms inside.”
James tossed the nut. “What about fruit?”
“In the summer, I get lots of berries.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling. “For fall I know a spot that got persimmons and pawpaws. Nobody knows ’bout it neither.”
“I never had a persimmon. And what the heck is a pawpaw?”
She laughed. “You never heard of a pawpaw? It tastes kinda like banana custard, but you gotta try it for yourself, because nothin’s like it. Only a few pawpaws left for the season. I could take you sometime.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“We could go tomorrow or Friday. Mr. Harold’s a volunteer firefighter. He’s at the firehouse those days.”
James pursed his lips. “Does Harold not want you outside?”
She shrugged. “When he’s nappin’, I can go outside. He says I make too much noise.”
“I work nights, so my days are free. Why don’t we do it tomorrow?”
She smiled. “I’ll come here. It’s on the way to the pawpaws. I gotta get goin’. He might be up soon.” She hurried toward the trail.
“What time?” James called out.
She turned around. “When he goes to the firehouse.”
* * *
James followed Brittany through the forest. She moved gracefully, avoiding rocks and branches along the rustic trail. Her baggy jeans were rolled up several times at her feet, the belt cinched tight around her tiny waist. James stumbled along, his breathing elevated. She turned around and smiled. Her facial features were small and buttonlike.
“You need a break, Mr. James?”
He nodded.
They sat on a fallen tree trunk. She adjusted her scarf, covering up her neck. James pulled two water bottles from his backpack. He handed one to Brittany.
“I packed one for you,” he said in response to her wide eyes.
She took the water bottle and sipped. James guzzled his.
“I brought some trail mix too,” he said, pulling out two Ziploc bags filled with a variety of nuts and M&M chocolate candies.
She gorged herself on trail mix with a slight grin, her legs kicking back and forth against the tree. She glanced at James’s left hand as he pulled nuts from his Ziploc bag.
“Are you married?” she asked.
James’s mouth was a flat line.
“You got that wedding ring,” she said.
“I was.” James took a deep breath, holding up his left hand. “I guess I shouldn’t be wearing this anymore.”
“Did she die?” she asked, as if it was a common question.
James nodded. “She did … car accident.”
Brittany looked at James for a moment. “I’m real sorry.”
“Thanks, Brittany. I appreciate that.”
“It’s okay if you still wanna wear the ring.”
James looked at her with a small smile.
“When my gram died, … it was the saddest time for me,” she said.
“Is that when you came here?”
She shook her head and stared at the trail mix. “I was only ten when she died. I had to go back home.”
“How was living at home?”
She shrugged and pushed herself off the log. “You wanna get movin’? We’re almost there.”
James followed Brittany off the trail. They hiked downhill, grabbing trees to stabilize their descent. At the bottom of the slope, the ground was spongy, the land flat. Small tropical-looking trees grew in a grove under the forest canopy. Oblong fruits the size of a child’s hand hung in sporadic clusters. Brittany turned around, beaming.
“We’re here,” she said.
James set his backpack on the ground and pulled out a couple plastic bags. He handed one to Brittany. “I thought we could take some back with us. I read online that you can freeze them.”
Brittany’s mouth turned down. “I can’t.”
“We can keep everything in my freezer. You can come by and eat them whene
ver you want.”
She nodded and tucked her straight hair behind her ears, exposing a bruise on her cheek.
James winced. “What happened to your cheek?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Must’ve hit it on somethin’. Doesn’t hurt.” She rushed into the pawpaw grove and called back to James. “I’m gonna find the best one for you.”
She returned with a kidney-shaped greenish-yellow fruit. “Try this one. It’s soft. You just cut it in half.”
James took the fruit, inspecting the dark bruising on the skin. He removed the knife from his scabbard and sliced the fruit long ways. Inside looked like vanilla custard, with four evenly spaced large black seeds.
“That is a good one,” she said.
“Can you hold these?” James asked, handing the halves to Brittany. “I have spoons.” He removed his backpack and pulled two plastic spoons from the side pocket.
They dug their spoons into the pudding.
James savored the flavor before swallowing. “Wow. It’s like mango, banana, and little bit of citrus mixed together. But that’s not even exactly right.”
Brittany beamed. “I told you it was like nothin’ you ever had.” Her face turned serious. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
His eyes were wide. “About what?”
“About this place. If people find out, we’ll never get none.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He smiled at Brittany. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“This is fun,” she said. “I could show you the persimmons tomorrow.”
“We could wait until Friday, if it’s easier for you.”
“The persimmons aren’t too far. I could get away. Harold always naps after I give him his lunch.”
“Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
“It’d be easy. They’re right off the trail, about halfway between us.”
“We could meet on the trail, so you don’t have to walk as far,” James said. “What time do you think?”
“Lunchtime,” she replied.
James grinned. “I was thinking more of an exact time.”
“He eats at twelve, so I guess 12:30.”
“I’ll leave at that time too. We’ll meet in the middle.”
Chapter 7
Pie in the Sky
James hooked wire fencing on green T-posts, encircling each fruit tree just beyond the drip line. Ugly but hopefully effective. He gazed up at the clouds, dark and heavy. He fished his phone from his pocket and checked the time. Already 12:27 p.m. I should get moving. Hopefully the rain holds off.
He hiked along the rocky path, wondering when he would run into Brittany. She’s quick. She’ll probably beat me to the halfway point. He glanced up at the clouds and picked up his pace.
A few trailers and cabins were visible from the trail. He counted each house, trying to remember how many were between his cabin and the single-wide trailer. I have to be over halfway there at this point. Maybe she got a late start. Maybe she thought it was going to rain. He thought about turning around. But what if I turned around and she was coming down the trail? She’d walk all the way to my house and get soaked in the process. He continued, quickening his pace, a sense of urgency coursing through him.
I have to be close to the trailer. Maybe I already passed it. You can’t see all the houses from the trail. He looked up at the clouds. They were closing in on the last remaining bits of blue. Five more minutes and I’m turning around. What are you doing anyway? I don’t know. She needs a friend. … Maybe I do too.
Between the hardwoods, he saw the back corner of the vinyl-sided trailer. I think that’s it. What now? You can hurry your ass home, so you don’t get soaked. She probably figured you were smart enough not to go outside when a storm’s coming. He heard glass shatter. His stomach turned. Shit. He heard a thud, followed by a high-pitched yelp. He broke into a sprint, crashing through the brush and briars. He ran around the trailer to the front door. A man was yelling.
“Get your fuckin’ dumb ass over here.”
James banged on the door. The house went quiet, except for the Lamisil commercial on the television. There were hushed voices and soft steps. The blinds parted for a moment. James banged on the door again. Harold yanked it open. He stood, his arms crossed, guarding the threshold. The middle-aged man was thin and short, with a full head of hair and a salt-and-pepper beard to match. His skin was pale, with blotchy red chafing under his eyes and over his eyebrows.
“What the hell you want?” he asked. His teeth were yellow, one missing from the bottom row. He smelled like cigarettes.
“I can hear what you’re doing,” James replied, his jaw set tight.
“You best get the fuck off my property before I get my shotgun.”
“Brittany,” James called out. “Are you okay?”
Harold’s eyes were wide. “You been talkin’ to my girl?” He stepped out of the doorway and poked James in the chest with a bony finger.
James backed up. “Don’t touch me.”
Brittany appeared at the doorway behind Harold. Her lip was split, her eye black. Bruising was evident on her neck. She looked like a little girl in loose pajamas.
“Go on home before you get yaself hurt,” Harold said.
James pushed past the scrawny man toward Brittany. “Are you okay?” James asked.
She nodded, her head down.
Harold stepped in front and pushed her inside. She hit the wall behind her and fell in a heap. She pulled her legs to her chest, tucking her chin, and covering her head with her arms. Harold tried to slam the front door, but James stuck his foot inside, forced his way in, and stood between Harold and Brittany.
“You’re not going touch her anymore,” James said.
Harold punched James in the jaw with a weak right cross. James was stunned by the blow but uninjured. He shoved the little man, and Harold stumbled backward, falling on the soiled carpet. He scurried to his feet, and James pushed him back down.
He pointed at Harold. “Don’t fucking move.”
Harold gritted his teeth, but he stayed on the floor.
James turned to Brittany, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed his hand, and they left the trailer.
Harold yelled from the front door. “You ain’t gettin’ your stuff, you little whore. You best be watchin’ your back.”
Brittany hiked with James along the trail in her dirty slippers. She glanced back, her brow furrowed. James pulled her forward. Once they were a safe distance from the trailer, James stopped and inspected her face.
“Are you okay?” he asked. One eye was black and swollen, partially shut. Her lower lip was split, blood trickled to her chin. Her neck was covered in bluish-black bruises.
“I have to go back,” she said. “It’s gonna be really bad if I don’t.”
“Do you want to go back?”
She shook her hanging head. “But I have to. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“We’ll figure it out. Let’s get to my cabin, so we can get you cleaned up, and I can make some calls.” He glanced up at the sky. “It’s about to pour.”
They entered his cabin. He sat her down at the kitchen table, cleaned her lip, and gave her some ice for her eye.
“I’m calling the police,” he said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.
She put down the ice, recoiling, her eyes wide. “No, please don’t.” She shook her head. “It won’t do no good.”
“What he did to you is assault. All you have to do is tell the police what’s happening, and they can make it stop.”
“They won’t. He’s—”
“I’m sorry. I can’t sit by and do nothing anymore.” James dialed 9-1-1.
Brittany sat in silence, icing her eye. James paced, looking out the windows, waiting for the police. He glanced at the clock on his phone. Jesus Christ, it’s been twenty minutes. Where the hell are they? James took the melted ice, and Brittany laid d
own on the love seat. He gave her a flannel comforter. She covered up and closed her eyes. An hour later, a single police car crept up the driveway. Officer Dale Strickland stepped out of the cruiser. James met him on the porch before he had a chance to knock. He wore dark shades and moved as if he was out for an autumn stroll.
He lifted his chin to James. “Are you James Fisher?”
“Yes. We met before.”
“And you witnessed an assault?” He didn’t acknowledge that they had met.
“Yes.”
James told the officer what he had seen and heard.
“And the complainant is here, in your custody?” Officer Strickland asked.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t consider her in my custody. She’s here of her own free will.”
The officer smirked. James opened the door. “Brittany, we’re coming in.”
She sat up on the love seat. Officer Strickland marched through the door and turned to James. “I’d like to interview her alone,” he said.
James waited outside as Officer Strickland talked to Brittany. James peered through the window. Her head was down as the officer spoke. After five minutes of what appeared to be a one-sided conversation, the officer departed the cabin.
“Are you going to arrest him?” James asked Officer Strickland.
One side of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin. A few raindrops pelted his shirt. “You gotta have a complainin’ victim. And you didn’t actually see him hit her, did you?”
James scowled. “I saw him push her pretty hard.”
“It ain’t enough.”
The rain began in earnest. The officer jogged to his cruiser. Thunder cracked in the distance. James entered the cabin, the downpour pounding the roof. Brittany sat on the love seat, her knees pulled to her chest, her head down. She was more shell-shocked now than before she spoke to the officer.
“Are you okay?” James asked.
She was silent.
“Brittany, are you all right?”
She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Why’d you have to do that? I told you it wasn’t goin’ do no good.”
“What did he say?” James grabbed a wooden chair, positioned it in front of the love seat, and sat down.
She clenched her fists. “He told me to keep my mouth shut. What’d you think he was gonna say?”
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