By the time he caught his breath, the driver’s door got yanked open and three cops had him out of the truck and on the ground, yelling at him that he was under arrest and not to move.
For some reason, that made him want to fight. He kicked one of them on the shinbone and heard him yelp, then got slammed upside the head. His arms were jerked back behind him and up almost to his shoulder blades so that it felt like they were going to come loose from the sockets. He didn’t say a word, just gritted his teeth as they cuffed him and hauled him to his feet. Then he head-butted the nearest cop, catching him in the face. One of the cops punched him in the belly with his nightstick. He doubled over, retching. Then he had the vague thought that if he had to hurt, he could handle this kind of pain better than the other. He kicked the other cop.
After that, it was all a blur.
Chantry sat at a bare table in a room empty of anything but some chairs and one of those two-way mirrors. The Quinton County jail was a pretty new facility, with plenty of room for adult lawbreakers, but the juvenile section was limited. They’d put him in here for some reason, but still had him cuffed to the back of the chair. He hurt all over. It was easier to focus on the pain than it was his future. They said he was going to be charged for driving without a license, stealing a car, resisting arrest, and three counts of assaulting an officer. It didn’t look good.
So far, he hadn’t even gotten a phone call. He didn’t want to call Mama anyway. She’d be so upset with him, and he had no explanation. Not a rational one. He still didn’t know why he’d run. He’d known he wouldn’t get away. Even if Rainey told the police that he hadn’t stolen the truck, which he doubted he’d do, resisting arrest and assaulting an officer was enough to keep him in jail for a while. It’d been a stupid thing to do, but he couldn’t undo it now.
He tried to get comfortable, but in the straight-backed metal and plastic chair, it was near impossible. His wrists hurt where the cuffs pinched, and with his arms pulled behind him it put a strain on his shoulders. There was more blood on his tee shirt than just Rainey’s, and he thought some of it might be his own. He really couldn’t remember anything but some pissed-off police.
When the door opened he looked up, expecting to see one of the cops coming back to ask more questions. Instead, Mama and Rainey stepped inside. He sat up as straight as he could, but it was too hard to look Mama in the face. He stared down at the floor until Rainey said he looked like hell; then he shot him a look from the corners of his eyes. He didn’t look much better. He had a splint over his nose and a cut on his cheek, but other than that, he looked strangely satisfied.
Hatred washed over him, so swift, unexpected, and strong, that he couldn’t say anything. It burned in his throat, made his belly clench and his jaw tight. He wished he’d killed him.
As if he knew what Chantry was thinking, Rainey took a step back and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
One of the cops came into the room holding a clipboard with some papers. He pulled out a chair for Mama then took the seat across from Chantry at the little table. He looked over at him. “You’re a fortunate young man. You didn’t kill anyone. It could have been a different story if you’d hit another car or someone crossing the road.”
Chantry looked away. He’d already thought of that. It made him queasy.
The cop shook his head and glanced over at Mama. “Mrs. Lassiter, I’m not sure you’re doing the right thing. There have to be consequences for breaking the law. Boys who don’t learn that lesson early end up doing hard time in prison.”
“My son is not a criminal, Sergeant Gordon, but I agree there must be consequences. He should never have tried to evade the police. However, as I have already told you, he had my permission to take the truck. I know he doesn’t have his license, but he is fifteen and has a permit. It was my unfortunate decision to send him on an errand without informing my husband.”
Chantry lifted his head to look at her. Mama had never told a lie in her life that he knew about, and now she sat here and lied to the police like she’d been doing it every day. A wave of shame scalded him, that he’d put her in this position.
Sergeant Gordon didn’t look like he believed her, either. He glanced at Rainey’s face, then back at Chantry, but only nodded. “Since Mr. Ledbetter verifies your story and vouches for the boy, there will be no stolen car charges filed against him now that your husband has withdrawn his complaint. While there’s still the matter of resisting arrest and assaulting an officer, Mr. Ledbetter has provided counsel and assurance that your boy’ll be in court on the appointed day. This is a small town, Miz Lassiter. We don’t stand on ceremony a lot when there are questionable circumstances. But I’d like to remind you that sword cuts both ways. We’ll be keeping a close eye on him.”
Nothing was said by anyone all the way home. Mrs. Rowan gave them a ride, and looked really glad when she finally dropped them off in front of the house. Mama took Mikey’s hand and walked up onto the front porch, but Rainey stopped Chantry before he could follow.
“Nunh uh. You and me are goin’ out back to the garage, boy.”
He glanced at Mama but she kept going toward the front door. Rainey grabbed hold of the front of Chantry’s tee shirt with his left hand, wadding it up and holding tight to him so he couldn’t back away. Then Rainey’s right hand dropped to his belt buckle.
“Last time you took me off-guard,” he said, and behind the nose splint, his eyes narrowed with that satisfied look in them again. “This time, you get what’s comin’ to you.”
Mama didn’t look back, but went into the house and let the screen door slam shut behind her. Chantry suddenly understood. Consequences. He just hadn’t thought she’d abandon him to Rainey. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it felt like a betrayal.
CHAPTER 13
Chantry never knew what Mr. Ledbetter said to the judge, but all the charges against him ended up being dropped. He paid the three hundred dollars for the attorney out of the money he’d saved to buy Shadow, and all the rest he had to give Rainey to replace his truck.
Rainey acted like he was in high cotton, and Chantry kept his mouth shut and out of his way. He didn’t trust Mama not to abandon him again. Funny thing was, he blamed her more than Rainey. After all, he couldn’t really blame a snake for acting like a snake, but that didn’t mean he’d ever let Rainey put his hands on him again without a fight. Resentment had changed to a constantly simmering hatred for Rainey that he wasn’t sure he could control. He hated Rainey, was mad at Mama, and mad at God, too. Maybe especially. He’d thought they had a deal. God had kept Shadow alive and with him, and he’d stuck five dollars in the collection plate every week as payback for answering his prayer. Now even God had let him down. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised.
Everything changed. He still worked at the clinic, even after school started, but the sense of purpose that had driven him had somehow come unraveled. He still did a good job and Doc had no complaints, but there was something lacking in him that he couldn’t get back. He didn’t know what it was, or even if he wanted it back.
He was restless all the time now, something inside driving him to stay distracted, to keep from thinking about anything but the moment. At school, he kept to himself a lot, but that wasn’t anything new. He’d always done that. Now, though, there was an edge to his solitude. He started smoking behind the boys’ gym with Donny Ray Caldwell, and since he had extra money now that he wasn’t saving it to buy a dog, he always had enough to buy beer when they went out.
For some reason, girls seemed to find him fascinating. Cathy Chandler said it was because he had that whole “dangerous bad boy” thing going on, but he thought maybe it was because he just didn’t give a damn anymore. Not even the sight of Cinda Sheridan made him feel anything. If he saw her, he spoke, but that was it. And she didn’t seem to care one way or the other either. It felt sometimes like he’d walked through a door into an entirely new world.
There weren’t many in Cane Creek w
ho crossed him these days, and that included Chris Quinton and his two friends. Now when they saw him, they steered clear. It would have been funny if he didn’t think he’d like the chance to take them on. Fighting was the only thing he enjoyed anymore. It was a great distraction. A way to get rid of that awful feeling inside. For a little while, anyway.
He and Donny Ray Caldwell hung out at the local pool hall sometimes, the Wreck Room, named that because it looked like a train wreck. The building had a sagging porch and crumbling brick, but inside it had top of the line pool tables and a few shuffleboard tables. There wasn’t any drinking allowed on premises, but that didn’t mean it didn’t go on. As long as there wasn’t any trouble, no one said anything.
One night Sue Anne Hardy and Maryann Snowden showed up at the Wreck Room, and the way they walked straight up to Donny and Chantry let him know they were their reason for being there. Sue Anne had on a short skirt and one of those sweaters that showed off her curves, and she looked up at Chantry with a wide smile.
“Thought you’d be here.”
He looked at her, then leaned over to make his shot. He sunk four balls before he missed and it was Donny’s turn. Sue Anne sidled up next to him. Light from the hanging fixture that said Coca-Cola gleamed on her pale hair. “Why don’t you ever come to any of my parties?”
“No reason. Just haven’t had time, I guess.”
She looked around the pool room. Cigarette smoke was so thick it could have been cut with a knife and served on plates. “So, how about now? Got time?”
“I might after this game. Having a party?”
“Um. A small one. Just thought you and Donny might want to come over for a while. My parents are gone, and it’s lonely at the house with just me and Maryann.”
Chantry remembered how Maryann had called Tansy a slut, and looked over at her but didn’t say anything. Sue Anne’s parents were about on the same social level as Donny’s parents, with decent jobs that supported them nicely if not lavishly. Maryann lived down the street from Cinda on St. Clair Road. He shrugged.
“So how long are your parents gonna be gone?”
“They went to the dog track up in West Memphis. They won’t be back until late, maybe not even until morning. It all depends on if they’re winning or losing.”
“Right.” He lit a cigarette, squinted against the curl of smoke in his eyes and looked at her for a moment. “Sounds good to me.”
At a little after one that morning, Sue Anne’s parents arrived back home. Chantry and Donny climbed bare-assed out the bedroom window and dropped to the ground. The girls threw their clothes out after them.
“Their dogs must have lost the rabbit,” Donny whispered when they landed in thick bushes under the windows, and Chantry grinned while he felt around for his pants. The window was still open, and in a minute he heard Mr. Hardy say something to Sue Anne. Then he started shouting, and Chantry figured it was time to forget about getting dressed and run like hell.
He and Donny had almost made it to the car when the first shot went whizzing over their heads. Donny let out a scared holler and fell flat on the ground with his hands over his head, but Chantry kept going.
“Come on, dammit,” he yelled, “it’s just birdshot.”
While he didn’t really think Mr. Hardy would shoot them, he didn’t trust him not to be too mad and drunk to be careful. The second shot spatted off a light pole only two feet away. He had a choice: he could risk getting shot or caught, or he could go back and drag Donny’s sorry ass to the car since he had the keys. Swearing, he ran back to jerk Donny up from the wet grass and half drag him to the car. A third shot exploded the rear window. Hell, that wasn’t birdshot. He must have said that out loud, because somehow Donny found the keys in the pants he was holding and got the car started. They screeched away from the curb just as Mr. Hardy got to the end of the driveway with his rifle and took aim again.
By this time, lights had flashed on and neighbors came out on porches, and in the distance a siren wailed. Someone was screaming, and he looked back through where the rear window used to be to see Sue Anne holding on to her daddy’s arm to keep him from firing again. She wore just a tee shirt, and was mooning the entire street.
When they were on the other side of town, Donny looked over at Chantry and shook his head. “Hanging with you has its moments, dude. Some good. Some bad. Never dull.”
“Yeah. Story of my life.”
In a small town like Cane Creek, word got around pretty quick that Chantry and Donny Ray were up for almost anything. He should have figured it’d finally get back to Mama.
She cornered him one Saturday after he got off work at the clinic and came home to clean up before time for Donny to come by for him.
“Chantry, we need to talk.”
He glanced at her, a razor in one hand and soap still on his face. “I’m in a hurry right now. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”
She stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it to skewer him with a direct gaze that made him look at her closely. He hadn’t been this close to her since getting home from the Quinton County jail. He’d avoided her as much as possible.
“You are not yet sixteen, Chantry. You do not need to rush through life like this.”
He rinsed the razor under running water. “I’ll be sixteen in a few months.”
“You will be sixteen in June. This is November. And it does not matter if you are sixteen or if you are sixty, you still have to know that what you are doing is wrong.”
“Yeah, well there’s a lot of that going around, I hear.”
Mama’s mouth tightened. “Please try to understand, Chantry. I did what was best for you.”
“By marrying that bastard? By letting him hit me? By making me go through twelve years of hell? How is that best for me?”
He hadn’t meant to say all those things, and saw from Mama’s face that she was shocked. There was something else there, too, a fleeting glimpse of deep sorrow. Or anger. He wasn’t sure which it was. Maybe they were the same thing anyway.
“Chantry, you do not understand.”
“Then why don’t you try explaining it to me, Mama? I’d like to understand.” His hands clenched into knots on the edge of the white porcelain sink, and he stared down at the bits of soap clinging to the basin. “Try me.”
“There is so much . . . I have always planned on sitting down with you when you reach sixteen to tell you a few things. You should be old enough then to hear them.”
“Damn it all, I’m old enough now.”
Mama stared at him. She didn’t even tell him not to swear, she just looked at him like she hadn’t ever seen him before. “Perhaps you are,” she said after a moment, “but I do not think I’m ready. Not yet. I will say this—I married Rainey Lassiter for several reasons, the main one being my desire to protect you. Perhaps it would have worked if not for his accident. Some men have their self-perception tied up in their ability to work. Rainey is one of them. It is a form of pride, Chantry. Unfortunately, pride can be the ruin of a man’s character as well as the making of it.” She paused, then said more softly, “‘Pride goeth before a fall,’ it is said, and I know that to be true. Too much pride makes for a hard life. And a lonely one.”
This didn’t have much to do with why they were still here, as far as he could see. He shook his head. “You’re just afraid to leave Rainey. Don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”
Mama didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally he looked away from her, his jaw clenched so tight it made his throat hurt.
“Chantry, I know you blame me for the dog and for allowing Rainey to whip you that day. It was the lesser of two evils. He intended to press charges against you for assault and auto theft.”
“It—was just a dog. I don’t blame you for that,” he said roughly. “That’s all on Rainey.”
Mama sighed. “Yes.”
“But if he ever lays another hand on me, I’ll kill him.” He looked over at her. “I mean
it.”
“I see that you do.”
Straightening up, he pulled the towel a little tighter around his waist. “I’ve got to finish getting ready. Donny’s on his way after me.”
When he picked up the razor and turned on the tap water, Mama didn’t say anything, and after a moment, she opened the door and left, closing it softly behind her. He hung his head and stared down at the shaving soap swirling in the basin, and thought that his life was going down the drain just as fast.
That Sunday Mama woke him up early. He peered up at her blearily, then he glanced at the clock. It was nearly eight. He’d only been in bed three hours. “I’m not goin’ to church,” he muttered, but she pulled the covers off him.
“Yes, you are. You have missed nearly four months and it is time you did what is right. Get up and get dressed. I will have your breakfast ready.”
When Mama talked like that, he knew argument was useless. She’d badger him until he did what she said or he left the house. Either way, he wouldn’t get any more sleep.
It was a cold walk to church, and that woke him up pretty good. He carried Mikey so they could walk faster, juggling him up and down to make him laugh. His voice came out in little bursts of sound.
“Chan-treee,” he gargled, and put his arms around Chantry’s neck to hold on tight, “go fas-terrr.”
He did, and they got to the church steps well ahead of Mama. Mikey’s face was flushed with the cold and excitement, his eyes bright and clear as he demanded Chantry do it again. If he ever got his legs and feet fixed, he’d probably never stop running. He was that kind of kid.
“On the way home, sport.” Chantry set him down, let him balance on his feet before he let go. When he looked up, Chris Quinton was standing on the top step watching them.
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