Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  Mikey immediately set up a howl and lurched toward him, his movements clumsy in the heavy braces. Clasping him around the middle, he buried his face in Chantry’s stomach.

  “No, Chantry. If you go, I’m goin’.”

  Chantry put a hand on Mikey’s head, letting his soft hair slip through his fingers. “You’ll be okay, sport. This is Mama’s mother. I wouldn’t leave you with anyone else.”

  His grandmother put out her hand but didn’t try to touch him. “Chantry—of course. Why don’t you stay the night? It’s late. If you wish to leave in the morning, we won’t try to hold you.”

  He wanted to. God, he was so tired. But his grandfather looked so stiff and disapproving, and he’d had enough nasty surprises not to trust that he wouldn’t wake up to police standing over him. He shook his head.

  “It’s okay. Mikey’ll be fine once I’m gone. He’s just tired. And hungry.”

  “All right, if you won’t stay the night, at least let me feed you. I’m sure you could use a good meal, and even your dog looks hungry.”

  He dragged in a deep breath, wavering. Mikey’s arms tightened around his waist and he lifted a tear-stained face to look up at him. He blew out a sigh. “Okay. But I’m not staying.”

  “That’s your decision. Come along, Mikey. It’s okay. Chantry’s coming with us. We’ll see what we can find in the kitchen.”

  Chantry shot a wary look toward his grandfather, who’d glanced down at Shadow with a frown.

  “I don’t allow dogs in my house,” he said, and Chantry narrowed his eyes.

  “Then I ain’t coming in either.”

  “Bring the dog, Chantry,” his grandmother said, and when her husband turned to look at her, she gave him a stare like Mama had used on Rainey more than once. It was a Don’t argue with me look that had always worked on Rainey, too.

  Maybe if he hadn’t been so tired he’d have just done what he wanted and left right then, taken Shadow with him and walked away before he ended up talked into staying the night. But he was and he didn’t, and after a big meal of ham and turkey and stuffed eggs and four different kinds of dessert, his grandmother and Mikey persuaded him to stay at least one night. Just one. He’d be free to leave in the morning. So he let himself be talked into going upstairs, even though Shadow had to stay downstairs on a blanket in the laundry room. Some time in the night, the door opened to the guest room where he lay by himself in a bed with clean sheets and a thick carpet on the floor, and Shadow slipped in to leap up on the mattress and curl up beside him. He sat up at once, but the door shut with a soft click. After a moment, he lay back down and hugged Shadow to him.

  He didn’t want to fall asleep. He knew he should get up and leave before anyone got up the next morning, before Mikey offered more arguments, but he fell asleep before he could. When he woke, sunlight streamed in the windows and Shadow was gone. The smell of bacon frying made his stomach growl and explained Shadow’s desertion.

  His head hurt, but he got up and dressed, then made the bed before picking up the backpack and going downstairs. Bettie was in the kitchen, Mikey at the table, swinging his legs and looking much better than he had the night before. He looked over with a smile, eyes bright.

  “Hey, Chantry.”

  “Hey, sport.”

  “Pancakes. Syrup. Maple syrup. And bacon. Miss Bettie fixed it for us. She has a house out back where she stays, and she said she has two boys that are grown up now but I remind her of one of them. If you hurry up and eat, she’ll show us the pool. The swimming pool.”

  “Uh huh.” Chantry slid Bettie a wary glance, but she only smiled at him and slid a few more pancakes onto a plate. “You know I’m not staying, Mikey.”

  Mikey’s smile vanished. “But I like it here.”

  “You’re staying. I’ll . . . come back to see you.”

  “You’re gonna miss my birthday? It’s in only fourteen days. But you ain’t never missed my birthday, Chantry.”

  Chantry looked at Mikey. “Haven’t ever missed it,” he corrected after a minute, thinking of Mama and choices and consequences.

  “Time later to make decisions,” Miss Bettie said then, and put a big plate of pancakes and bacon on the table. “It’s always easier to think when you’re not hungry. Besides, that monster of a dog is waiting for your leftovers.”

  Shadow sat on his haunches by the table, eyes alert, nose quivering. A big blue ceramic bowl of water sat on the floor near the back door, with a smaller bowl beside it that had probably already held scraps. Miss Bettie looked like the kind of woman who’d be comfortable with dogs and boys.

  “Okay,” he said after another moment of thought, lured by the sweet smell of maple syrup and bacon, “I’ll eat first.”

  Mikey turned to Miss Bettie. “I’ll be seven in fourteen days. I’m nearly growed. Chantry said I could see the sharks one day when I’m growed, so I ‘spect pretty soon we’ll be doing that.”

  “Sharks? So you like sharks, do you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure do. They just swim so easy, and everything in the ocean makes way for them to go by, just like they know sharks do what they want because they’re strong. I like that.”

  “We have sharks over at the zoo,” Miss Bettie said then, and looked over at Chantry while she poured him a glass of cold milk. “Not as good as in the ocean, but pretty close.”

  Mikey stared at her with eyes gleaming, and Chantry looked down at his plate. He knew what she was doing. It just wasn’t her choice. He ate without talking, listening to Mikey rattle on about sharks and how his stuffed shark had got burned up in the fire that killed his daddy, and how Shadow was a shark, too, but not the same kind.

  “Mikey,” Chantry said, and gave him a warning look, “give it a rest.”

  Silence fell. Miss Bettie went back to cooking, and put more pancakes on a plate in the middle of the table. The kitchen was bright and cheery, maybe because it was her domain, while the rest of the house just seemed cold and closed-up. Even the upstairs guest rooms had a vacant feeling to them, like no one really lived there.

  He wondered where the doctor was, and why his grandmother wasn’t here, but didn’t intend to ask. The less he knew the easier it’d be to leave. He’d done what he’d set out to do, and Mikey would be cared for. If he’d had any doubts after meeting Mama’s daddy, meeting Mama’s mother had eased them. She’d take care of Mikey. She had that same fierce mama lion look in her eyes.

  When he’d eaten and Shadow took care of any leftovers, he stood up from the table. Miss Bettie looked over at him and said briskly, “Well, I guess you’ll be on your way now.”

  “Yeah. Guess so.”

  Mikey didn’t say anything, just looked into his half-empty glass of milk. He’d known it’d be hard to leave him, but there were a lot of hard things he’d had to do. He stood awkwardly for a minute, uncertain how to say goodbye.

  “Let me just fix you a few sandwiches to carry with you,” Miss Bettie said, and when he started to refuse, she added, “It’ll save money and time on the road. I’ll put in some food for the dog, too. Would that be okay?”

  He blew out a heavy breath and shrugged. “Sure. Fine. I’ll just . . . talk to Mikey a minute.”

  “Go out on the veranda where you can have some room to yourselves. It won’t take me long to get you some food together.”

  Sunshine warmed the flagstones on the porch Miss Bettie had called a veranda, and he jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned against a post while Mikey wobbled to a chair.

  “Look, sport, I know you don’t want me to go but it’ll be better this way.”

  “Better for you, maybe, but not for me.” Mikey looked down at his hands, head bent and his voice so low Chantry could barely hear him. “Where will you go?”

  “I’ll get a job, work construction, maybe. Landscaping. I learned stuff with Dempsey. I’ll be fine, and when I get some money together, I’ll come back to see you. You know I will.”

  “I know you’ll mean to. Things have a way of ge
tting all messed up, though.” Mikey lifted his head to look at him, eyes watery with tears. “If you leave me, Chantry, I won’t have no shark anymore. Who’ll I have to take care of?”

  He knew what he meant, and stared at him helplessly.

  Mikey stared back, and he looked so much like Mama right then that Chantry could barely breathe. The dog whined, and he looked over at him. His throat got all tight, and the hard knot in his chest got heavier.

  “Shadow can be your shark. I don’t need him anymore,” he said. “Besides, he’d only slow me down on the road, and I’d worry about what to do with him while I’m working. You take care of Shadow now, okay?”

  It was the best thing. He knew that. Maybe he’d always known it. He shoved away from the post and went to the backpack he’d left on the floor, hefted it up to swing over his shoulder. All it held was the box of letters and photographs, pieces of a past he’d never been part of but that still had the power to change his life. Sometimes it didn’t seem fair, and sometimes it seemed like it was all that made any sense. The past shaped the present, even when it wasn’t his own. His past would only end up hurting Mikey, hurting the dog, and he’d figured out that there were times it was better to let go too early rather than too late. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to leave now before it was too late.

  Mikey looked up at him, but he knew better than to touch him or he’d never be able to walk away. It was the hardest thing he’d done yet, but he loved him enough.

  “Chan-treee,” Mikey wailed when he turned away, moving blindly across the flagstones to find the gate, find the way out before he made another mistake.

  He was almost to the end of the curved driveway that dipped to the street when a white and blue car swung in front of him, blocking the way. A blue light flashed on top, a quick burp of siren sounded, and he knew he’d waited too late.

  CHAPTER 24

  It shouldn’t have been such a surprise. When would he learn to pay attention to instinct instead of get bogged down in irrational emotion? The police here weren’t much different from those in Cane Creek, impersonal and efficient, bending him over the hood of their car, taking away the backpack and emptying his pockets, then cuffing him with his hands behind his back.

  One of them said, “You Chantry Callahan? Well, we’ve got a warrant for you.”

  By then, Miss Bettie had come out the front door, hurrying toward them with her hands out and shouting at them to stop. “No, no, you’re not supposed to do that.”

  “Stay back, ma’am,” one of the officers said, “we’ve got a runaway here that needs to go with us.”

  “Runaway? I’ll have you know that’s Doctor Callahan’s grandson, and I doubt very much he’ll appreciate you arresting him.” Miss Bettie looked furious. She wasn’t a tall woman, but she was sturdy, with reddish brown hair and dark eyes that spit sparks right now. “Mrs. Callahan’s in the house, and if you’ll just wait a moment, I’m sure she’ll tell you anything you need to know.”

  Chantry didn’t think it’d make much difference. In his experience, the police still liked to ask a lot of questions and make up their own minds about stuff. Besides, even if she wanted to, what could his grandmother say that’d make any difference?

  Maybe Mama had gotten her way of talking from her mother, because his grandmother did make a little difference. Whatever she said to the police when she came outside and spoke to them made them come inside to talk, and they all stood in the living room he’d seen only from the hallway. It had those big paintings on the wall of people in old clothes, with skinny dogs and muscled horses, and the furniture looked too spindly to hold the weight of a decent-sized man.

  Standing with his hands still cuffed behind him, Chantry stared at a painting of a little boy in a dress and tried not to focus on this latest betrayal. Miss Bettie had disappeared back into the kitchen, he guessed, and it was just his grandmother and him and the police now.

  “Ma’am,” one of the officers said, “we got a report that we’d find a runaway here. Mr. Bert Quinton down in Cane Creek, Mississippi says he stole a lot of money. Ten thousand dollars.”

  Chantry turned to look at him. He hadn’t expected that.

  The officer was polite but firm. “Apparently, this boy’s had a few run-ins with the law before. He’s got a record in Mississippi. Mr. Quinton wants him back in Cane Creek to face charges of theft.”

  “Mr. Quinton is mistaken.” She sounded angry but controlled. “I spoke to him earlier this morning when I called to ask about the details of my daughter’s death. He mentioned nothing to me about stolen money, and in fact, had no idea that Chantry was even here.”

  “Well, now that he knows, he wants him picked up for extradition to Mississippi. You’re welcome to have your attorney handle this, but the boy’s going with us for now.”

  His grandmother turned to look at Chantry, eyes searching his face as if trying to decide if he’d done what he was accused of doing. Even if he had the words, he didn’t have the energy to deny it. He just looked back at her. After a moment, she turned back to the police.

  “This boy is not a thief. My attorney and I will meet you downtown, but I warn you—if one hair on my grandson’s head is harmed, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

  The Memphis police weren’t as rough with him as those in Cane Creek, but then, he didn’t try to resist when they put him in the car, either, just did what he was told and didn’t argue. The irony of his situation didn’t escape him. He was being accused of stealing money that had burned up with Rainey, his mother’s insurance money that Quinton had helped steal. The old man probably really did think he’d taken it. Ten thousand dollars.

  Like he’d want it. Like he’d ever be able to buy anything with it except what Mama had wanted for Mikey. He thought about that on the ride downtown, staring out the windows at the buildings they passed, thinking about Mama growing up here. Thinking about the fact that he was the reason she’d argued with her father and left in the first place. Maybe she’d stayed away for more reasons than that, though.

  The place they took him was far different than the juvenile detention center in Mississippi. There were a lot more kids for one thing, and for another, it was a lot like adult jail, with bars and concrete block walls, and prisoners in jumpsuits and shoes with no laces. It was the stuff of his nightmares, with hard-eyed kids and indifferent guards. They put him in a room by himself for now, took his boot laces and left him cuffed to a chair, waiting, he guessed, on his grandmother and her attorney.

  He didn’t hold out much hope for his future. Quinton was ruthless. Chris had warned him about that. Maybe he should have listened. He just didn’t know what he could have done different than he’d done.

  Police tactics must be pretty much the same everywhere, he thought when an officer came in to talk to him, asking questions about the missing money, if he’d stashed it somewhere and how much easier it’d be for him if he’d just tell the truth.

  “You mean easier for you,” Chantry said finally, “not for me. I know what happens once you find out what you want to know. Can’t help you out. I don’t have the money.”

  “You had over two hundred dollars in your pocket when you were picked up,” the officer said, and leaned back in his chair to look at Chantry. “Where’d you get that?”

  He didn’t answer. No point in betraying Dempsey when the outcome would be the same no matter what he said or did. The less old man Quinton knew, the better it was for everyone.

  When the second police officer came in, Chantry began to think he’d been left on his own after all, that his grandmother had changed her mind about an attorney. It wouldn’t surprise him. And he wouldn’t blame her, either. Not really. She’d first met him less than twenty-four hours ago, and since he had a history of trouble with the law, she may well figure he was guilty in spite of what she’d said. If he wanted to get out of this, he’d better think of a way on his own.

  This officer was fairly young, a black woman with a wide smil
e and sympathy gleaming in her eyes. He wasn’t fooled. If she could get him to confess, she’d do it without thinking twice.

  “Welcome to Memphis, Chantry,” she said, and pulled out a chair opposite him. “I’m Lieutenant Johnston. I’m a lot nicer than Griffin here. He gets bitchy. How ‘bout those cuffs? Too tight? We could see about taking them off, if you want.”

  Officer Griffin said something rude and glared at Chantry. “He’s just about to tell me how he managed to get away with ten thousand dollars. Leave the cuffs on. What you got to say to us, boy?”

  “Can’t you come up with something better than good cop, bad cop?”

  Lieutenant Johnston laughed, but Griffin reached out to kick his chair. Chantry looked at him, wondering if he should tell what had really happened, if anyone would believe him. Maybe they’d find some of the money, pieces of it, enough to know he was telling the truth. Maybe not. The explosion had been pretty bad. As far as he knew, Rainey was spread over half of Quinton County and the money with him.

  “Look,” Johnston said, “I know you’ve got a lot going on right now. While I’d like nothing better than to give you plenty of time to decide what you want to do, there’re people who want you back in Mississippi pretty quick. We can avoid that if you just tell the truth.”

  Part of him wanted to believe her, believe that she could stop the extradition, keep him out of Quinton’s reach, but logic whispered he should keep his mouth shut until he had a legal aid lawyer. It shouldn’t be that difficult to decide. But maybe he was just kidding himself. He’d been headed this way for a long time. There were consequences for what you didn’t do as well as what you did do.

  He looked up, saw Johnston give Griffin a glance, then the door behind him opened and his grandmother came striding in with a tall, narrow-shouldered man right behind her.

  “Chantry, don’t say a word,” his grandmother said. “This is Mr. Pace and he’s now your attorney.”