by Brinda Berry
“One,” I say and stand. “Two.”
Veronica dives off toward the side into the cool depths. She emerges, a rowdy smile breaking free when she sees my incredulous expression. “Three!”
10
Veronica
Four days earlier—July 25th, 8:30 pm, Shelby City
“You piece of crap. Please don’t fail me now,” I say as I turn the key in the ignition for the fourth time. Of all the times for mechanical failure, this feels strangely like an out of body experience, me stalled on the tracks of an emergency with a train bearing down.
I begin to sob uncontrollably and pat the dash with one hand while turning the key another time. “Sorry. Please start. Please.”
Earlier, Gunner had a flinty look in his eye that meant only one thing—he intended to beat the ever-loving shit out of my ex-boyfriend. As justifiable as it is, I have to stop him. My brother’s life is on the right path—no criminal offenses, a good business with Gimme Gas, a little savings.
A path much different from our parents in prison for cooking meth.
My entire life has been spent following Gunner’s path, quiet and law-abiding. Because Gunner is always looking out for me. Making sure I stay far away from trouble.
I choke out a frustrated scream, turn the key, and mash the gas pedal. The engine sputters to life in a weak grind, enough to propel the car forward and down the gravel driveway.
There are several choices of where Gunner might head. Beck’s house is the most logical place to find Shawn. I race down the highway, heedless of my speedometer. I never push the speed limit, and the car engine makes a frenetic knocking sound.
I pull into Beck’s neighborhood and look for his house. I’ve never been to Beck’s, but I know the street and so I look for his truck. After driving back and forth three times with no sign of the old white Ford, I admit Beck’s not around.
I drive to the second place I might find them. After every baseball game, the players congregate at Tucker’s house. Tucker is several years older than most of the people I know and one friend Gunner has warned me to stay away from, but he lives on a farm and has lots of land far from anyone who’d complain about loud music and rowdy baseball players. Everyone hangs out at a bonfire during the summer, drinking and talking trash about the game.
It’s dark and I can feel the bass of a Hank Williams Jr. song. The glow of the bonfire lights faces into a series of ghoulish images. I park my car along the road since the driveway’s already full of summer night revelers. My steps are even, calm. People here would stop Gunner and Shawn from fighting.
I spot Amy first, her arm wrapped around Tim in a too-familiar embrace. Her red cup wobbles in her hand, and I grimace.
“Hey.” I yell over the music, scanning the crowd around us.
Amy gives off a drunken, glowing smile.
Great.
“I love my friend,” she says, unhooking her arm from Tim’s and looping it through mine. “If I were a lesbian, I’d do you.”
“Thanks,” I answer, hoping she has enough clarity to avoid doing somebody tonight. I turn to Tim. “Seen my brother?”
Tim glances around. “Maybe. I saw him at the game.”
“Yeah. I know he played. But is he here?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Want me to help you look?” Tim pivots to study the crowd behind him and then looks back at Amy, who will fall down without his support.
“No. I can manage. You’ll take her home, right?”
“Maybe,” he says. He grins at me when I give him a murderous look. “Yes.” The word comes out as a groan. It’s probably not the first time he’s served as Amy’s designated driver. “You know I will.”
I shoot eye daggers at him. I don’t have time to joke around. The field is thick with people huddled in groups. Several trucks are parked and people sit on tailgates, coolers, and camping chairs. The bonfire is a huge stack of wood in the middle of the circle of trucks.
I make my way through several groups I knew from school. Now I only see them if they stop to get gas or if they’re friends with Gunner. Some stop me to ask why I won’t hang around and I wave them off. A couple of Gunner’s friends tell me they haven’t seen him, so I go inside the house. The music inside has a different beat. Gone is the country music vibe and a hip hop sound plays, a singer rapping about serving time. I tunnel through several people huddled close like football players on the field.
“Have you seen Gunner?” The group of girls all shake their heads and look around for him. Gunner gets noticed whenever he goes places, and they’d know if he were here. Someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to find Beck. A mischievous grin tips one corner of his mouth, and he’s oblivious to my distress.
He edges closer to me and places his mouth near my ear. “You having a good time?”
I pull him to the door. His huge quarterback hand engulfs mine and he has a cocky look on his face, as if he thinks I have something else in mind.
“Get the fool grin off your face.” I strain to see if we are alone in the darkness of the backyard.
He must hear my tone because he drops my hand and looks around. “What’s going on?”
“Shawn was at the house. He accused me of messing around with you. He wasn’t nice.”
“That shit-for-brains,” he mutters. “Somebody needs to teach him respect.”
I take a deep breath. “Gunner is really mad. I think he’s going to do something crazy. You have to find him.”
“I got his back.”
“Yeah, well, not if he finds Shawn. You’ve got to help me.”
“I’ll go find Gunner. How long ago did you see him?”
“Thirty … maybe forty-five minutes ago. Maybe longer. I don’t know.” My voice shakes a little despite the fact I know everything will be all right now. Beck won’t let anything happen.
“What’s wrong with your eyes? Have you been crying? What exactly happened with dickbreath?”
“We can talk later, Beck.”
Beck nods and turns away. He’s almost gone, a large figure jogging into the night. “Beck,” I yell. “Be careful. Shawn was looking for you.”
The night is thumping with the bass of someone’s stereo turned up louder than an emergency siren. The moon glows in a star-filled sky. There are more people here than at the ballparks earlier.
I get into my car and drive for an hour back through town and to the trailer. It shouldn’t be so difficult to find someone in a small place like Shelby City. You can’t turn around without stepping on someone. Finally, I give up and return to the party in case Beck returns. I sit with my head on the steering wheel. Without my phone, I’m handicapped. I should’ve gone with Beck.
Peck. Peck. Peck. The knock on my window nearly makes me pee my pants. I exhale when I see it’s Amy, then glare.
Her knuckles mash apologetically on the glass. She’s as wasted as I thought she’d be. Gunner was right to tell me I should stay away from her these days.
I roll down the glass and wait for her to speak.
“You’re still here?” she asks.
“Yeah. What do you need?”
“Everyone keeps asking for you.” Her eyebrows draw together in drunk confusion.
“Who’s asking?” I open the door and step out. My chest is tight and I’m lightheaded. “Where?” I grab her arms. “Where, Amy?”
She points to the woods. “Gunner said he’d be back. He was gonna talk to somebody.”
I release her arms and turn to grab a flashlight from my glove compartment. The crowd has thinned since earlier, as it always does—people finding corners of the universe to make out in private, drink too much, smoke some weed. I’m ignoring my name as it’s called, finding my way to the edge of the woods where Amy pointed. Once or twice I step on uneven ground, falter, and right myself.
The property might be so full of armadillo holes it’s ankle breaking, but at least it’s cleared by a tractor. When I arrive at the last of the cleared land, I slow and try to control my breathing. The sound
of my heart boom, boom, booms in my ears. My lungs ache from the sudden exertion. Sweat trickles between my breasts.
Amy said Gunner was talking to someone. I hold my breath and step forward, soundless footsteps on the grass. She had to be wrong.
Something rustles ahead, beyond a thicket of pines. My imagination creates sounds from the wind, from the far-off laughs of the partiers, from small animals moving in the woods.
I scold myself for being afraid of my own shadow when it’s nothing. I walk forward a few hundred feet to be sure I can’t hear Gunner. Someone coughs.
I click on the flashlight. At first, I’m uncertain of what I see. Beck. Beck carrying someone.
“Who is that?” My hands are steady despite the unsteadiness of my heartbeat, which is unable to establish uniform timing.
“Fucking scared me,” Beck mutters. He stands in a shallow creek, wet and muddy.
“What happened?” I move closer. My feet feel like I’m wearing concrete shoes, ready to pull me down and drown me. I cannot move. Beck carries a body. The guy lies limply in his arms, his face smeared with something—blood or dirt. Recognition hits me in a brutal slam. “Shawn? Are you okay?” I shine my light on his face. He doesn’t answer and blood bubbles from his mouth as he coughs.
“Move, Veronica. Move. I’ve got to take him to the hospital.”
“Ohgodohgodohgod—” I pull back.
“What have you done? Where’s Gunner. Where’s Gunner?” I am well aware I’m repeating myself, a frenzied scream in my voice.
“I got here too late. He and Gunner were fighting. Shawn fell back and hit his head on something hard in the creek. A rock. I don’t know. He’s not conscious.”
Beck walks through the brush away from the party. Away from the direction of the bonfire.
I struggle to keep up. My head buzzes with static and I close my eyes. “I think I’m going to pass out. Gunner did this because of me. Beck, it’s my fault.” I turn my head as bile rises suddenly in my throat. I fall to my knees, retching on the ground.
“No, Veronica. It’s not. I pulled my truck around to the old dirt road. I have to take Shawn to the hospital. He looks bad. I don’t know. This is really fucking bad.”
“Where’s Gunner?” I rub my hand frantically over my mouth. Mama’s voice snakes into my head. Get your hand off your mouth. I’ll spank you if I see you do it again.
“Listen to me. I told Gunner to go home and clean up the fucking blood. Change clothes. You can’t tell anyone what you’ve seen. If the police question you, you were never here.”
I get up from my knees. “What do you mean police?”
“Hey. It’s going to be all right. I’m going to take care of this. In case something really bad happens. Gunner won’t be blamed.”
Beck lowers his head to be eye level with me. I can’t stop shaking. My knees threaten to buckle.
“You okay?” He looks from me to Shawn as if torn.
I take a deep breath and turn to the back road. “Beck, don’t stop walking. I can’t lie to the police. You know what a bad liar I am. They’ll take one look at me and know I’m leaving something out.”
He lengthens his stride to a near run. “It had to be an accident. Right? Like manslaughter.”
“Of course it was. Beck. Of course it was. We’ll tell the police that Gunner…”
Beck gives an exasperated huff of air at my idea.
“Veronica. You know how it is. Sterlings own this town. They’ll lock him up. You’ll need an attorney. Attorneys take money. Lots.”
“We have to find Gunner.” I feel helpless as the day the police came and took Mama away in handcuffs.
“I know. For now, let me figure out what to do here. Can you do something for me? Go home and stay there. I’ll take care of this. Okay?”
“I don’t know, Beck.”
“Go home. Please, Veronica.”
“Do you think Gunner’s okay?”
“Go home.” Beck rubs both hands over his face. “Please. Gunner will be there and I’ll call and let you know what’s happening.”
I turn and run for my car.
* * *
I sit in the Gimme Gas parking lot. It’s dim because Gunner hasn’t replaced the broken spotlight near the trash bins. The clock in my car doesn’t work and I don’t have my phone, so there’s no way to tell the time.
Gimme Gas is Gunner’s pride, the reason he has hope for the future. The day Grandpa Tom gave Gunner the keys and ownership is the day we started believing in new beginnings. If Gunner did kill Shawn, it won’t matter he’s worked hard as a business owner. It won’t matter that he saves money to send me to college, even though all my friends left for schools last year. It won’t matter that he’s a good man who skipped fun times in his youth because there’d be no one home for his little sister.
I owe Gunner my life.
A perk to working at Gimme Gas is that I have a set of keys. I grab them and unlock the glass doors. It’s dark and the drink coolers hum in the eerie quiet.
The slush drink machine glows and gives me enough light to see.
We have things stocked in the store besides snacks and drinks. I walk to the aisle with the prepaid phones and choose one. It’ll have to do until I can find my phone.
I grab scissors from behind the counter and open the package. The trash can hasn’t been emptied, and I silently curse the lazy night help as I put my plastic phone’s wrapper in the bag. I tug on the bag to release it from the bin. Paper and a half-full cola spill onto the floor behind the counter. I stand with the bag in my hands.
It’s my fault. I hate Shawn and he’s going to die. And it’s my fault.
I should care he’s hurt. That he might be more than hurt. Had I thought I might be in love with him once? I’m back in the moment when he slammed me into the bedroom floor. When his fist hit my back and my mouth mashed on the carpet and my insides burned from the impact. I’d looked for something in my room to hit him with so he’d stop.
Shawn’s words from before our breakup ring in my head. You are mine. Don’t forget it. I’ll make your life hell if you try. I’ll do it because I love you.
I pick up the trash, take the bag to the storeroom, turn on the light, and shut myself in. No one from the street will know someone is in the store.
I lean back against the wall and slide to the floor. I can’t quit remembering the things Shawn said to me. The words are like tiny ghosts haunting me constantly.
Come on, he’d say. You know this feels good. I know you like it rough. Go ahead and pretend you don’t. It gets me off, baby.
My hands bob up and down, shaking with the effort to hold the phone’s instruction sheet still. It takes me a couple of minutes to read it. I activate the phone and punch in Beck’s number. I’m afraid to call Gunner.
Afraid he’ll blame me as I blame myself. Afraid he’ll say I betrayed him when he told me to stay away from Shawn. Afraid I’ve ruined his life.
“Hello.” Beck’s labored voice startles me even though I’d prayed he’d answer.
“Beck?”
“Veronica? Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. Is Gunner with you?”
“No. I’m taking care of this situation first. I’ve dropped Shawn at the hospital. I told the nurse in the emergency room that I found him at the party already beaten up.”
“Oh god. What are we doing?” I shiver as an image of Shawn appears in my mind, blood trickling down his face.
“Don’t ask. Are you at the trailer yet?”
“No.”
“Veronica, if something bad happens, no one will know but the two of us. Promise me you’ll never tell a soul about this night. Promise me,” he says and hesitates. He exhales loudly. “Promise me for Gunner’s sake.”
“I don’t know.” I rub my hand over my mouth and snatch my fingers away a second later. “You think Shawn’s going to die?”
I only hear Beck’s breathing for several seconds. “Gunner beat him hard. He hear
d some of the guys talking after the game. Shawn was out there mouthing off. He was saying things about you. Things no one should say. I didn’t want to tell you. It was bad. That guy is crazy.”
“I’ve gotta go.” I end the call and press the phone to my forehead.
I choke out a hysterical giggle which turns into a sob. Gunner’s goal in life was to keep us on the right side of the law. He’s done something awful to protect me and ruined it all. How can so much go wrong in one night?
Although the store is warm and the temperature outside is warmer, I wish for a jacket. My teeth click together in a post-stress chatter. I keep a bag with an extra change of clothes in the storeroom if I want to go out after my shift and don’t have time to drive home. I grab the bag, lock up, and get in my car.
I cannot go home.
11
Collin
Emerson, our weekly housekeeper, and Veronica stand facing me. The two angry women wait for me to declare the winner of their argument.
I knew Emerson wouldn’t like this. The girl is used to having her way and we basically let her rule the house while she does her thing.
Although Emerson looks like a piece of high-priced eye candy, she’s deliberate and efficient.
“It’s too early,” I state. A mild headache burns behind my eyes. I’d lain in bed last night unable to sleep because I could hear Jordy and Veronica playing pool in the game room.
Click. Laugh. Silence while I’d strained to listen. Click. More laughing.
I should’ve gotten out of bed and gone downstairs to play with them. But for some reason—okay, I knew the reason—I’d wanted to be alone with her. Not the third stick in a pool game for two.
“I don’t need help.” Emerson eyes Veronica. “I know the way I do things. It will mess up my method of getting it done right.” She cuts a meaningful glance at me. The girl is playing to my own need for things to be a certain way. I barely shake my head, warning her from this tactic.
Veronica gives Emerson an earnest smile. “It’s not like I’ll mess this up. You can assign duties. Would that be better?”