Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  “She’d probably really like to see you,” Dempsey said, and Chantry nodded. Maybe. If she did, she’d find him. There was a time for everything, he’d learned. He just had to wait.

  “I’d like to see her, too,” he said, then stood up. “Guess I better check into the motel. I don’t have a reservation, but it didn’t look too crowded when I passed.”

  “Cane Creek with a motel. Ain’t that something? Belongs to Dale Ledbetter, y’know. Built it a few years back, made ole Quinton so mad I thought he was gonna bust something important for a while. He nearly did, but came through it fine. Guess he’ll be like that dog of yours. Immortal.”

  Dempsey stood up, came around the table, and walked Chantry out onto the front porch. It was early afternoon, summer heat shimmering in the air, a desultory breeze stirring young soybean plants, baking the earth. Drawn like a magnet, his eyes went back to his childhood home. Ruined. Like so much else in his past. Only a few things had survived intact, and he’d do what he had to do to keep them safe. Trouble was, it meant putting them at risk first. Like wading into a hornet’s nest.

  He thought about that on the drive to the Best Western on the outskirts of Cane Creek, a neat, two-storied motel situated on Highway 1 not far from the cutoff to Tunica and the casinos. Cars coming up from the south could stop, but mostly it was used by truckers. Several rigs had been parked in the back when he’d passed earlier.

  It was inevitable, and he knew when he registered at the motel that word would get out he was back. In a small town, the news would spread quickly. It always had. And it did this time.

  He was getting ready to go back out to meet Doc when someone knocked at the door. He opened it to see Donny Ray Caldwell standing there, looking a lot like he had the last time he’d seen him. A little taller, maybe, a few creases around his brown eyes, but still cocky.

  “Well, shit-fire. It is you. Damn if this ain’t something. Never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Yeah.”

  Grinning, Donny shook his head. “Still talk a lot, I see. Guess some things don’t change. You’ve gotten a lot bigger, though. So what the hell are you doing back in Cane Creek?”

  “Came back to work with Doc Malone.”

  Chantry took a step back and Donny came in, flopped into one of the chairs at the small round table set in front of the window. “Mind?” He shook a cigarette from a pack, held it out to offer him one.

  “I’m good,” Chantry said, and pulled out the chair opposite. “I guess I should be curious enough to ask how you found out so quick.”

  “Cane Creek grapevine. My cousin works the front desk.”

  That figured. “So what’s up with you?” Shrugging, Donny said, “Not much. Working out at the cotton plant. It’s a job. Pays good enough, I guess. If you don’t mind working for old man Quinton.”

  “And you don’t mind.”

  “Not as long as he keeps paying me. Got a family now to support. Wife, two kids. What about you?”

  “Just me.”

  Silence fell, and he could see Donny wanted to ask more questions but debated putting himself out there. Then he shrugged, took another drag from his cigarette and said, “Whatever happened to that dog you had?”

  “He’s with my brother.”

  “Still alive. Damn. But I ain’t too surprised. You always did have a way of making things work out.”

  Chantry stared at him. “Is that the way you see it?”

  “Ain’t that the way it is?” After a brief pause, he looked away and said, “You got out. Not many here have managed that.”

  “Guess you could look at it that way. It was a hell of a trip, though.”

  Donny looked back at him, and something dark flickered in his eyes. “I know. Sorry, man. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “I know.” Chantry stood up. “I was on my way out when you got here. Maybe we could get together later, play some pool, have a few beers.”

  “Sure, man. I’d like that. Just like old times.”

  Just like old times. God, he hoped not.

  CHAPTER 27

  The clinic looked a lot like it had when he was a kid, but it’d been added on to in the rear, a huge addition with metal corrugated sides and roof, big enough for livestock. Big enough for a damn rodeo.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you’re expanding,” Chantry said, and Doc nodded.

  “Nope. Got more cattlemen around here now since Quinton sold off a huge piece of land close to the river. One of those big corporations came in to raise beef. Been good for the county. More diversity.”

  He knew what that meant. Less Quinton influence. Less dependence on his goodwill.

  “Guess it’s worked out pretty good, me needing to do my preceptorship somewhere and you needing some help, then.”

  Doc looked at him. Maybe a little more gray in his hair, but he still wore it long and pulled back in a ponytail, still wore tee shirts under open scrubs, still cadged his words. “Glad you saw it my way. Always thought Cane Creek’d be big enough for two vets one day.”

  “I never said—”

  “Got a new X-ray machine in last week. Cost me damn near a year’s worth of profit, but it’ll pay for itself soon enough. How do you like Mississippi State?”

  “Good school. Close enough to Memphis to get back and see Mikey for holidays.” And far enough away not to get sucked into family guilt. His grandmother was shameless that way. She used it to get him to come home for longer than the two days he preferred, played on every string she had to pull him deeper into the family fold. It just never felt right. He wished it did, but he couldn’t muster up the emotions she seemed to want, wouldn’t risk trying.

  Maybe he was damaged. Maybe he just didn’t have it inside anymore. It’d died, along with a lot of other things. Along with other people.

  “Preceptorship lasts six months. You might feel differently by the time it ends,” Doc said, “but I can’t believe you chose Mississippi State over Auburn. Damn, boy. Still, since you did, it’s made it easier to get you to come here. That GI bill helps with veterinary school, I guess.”

  “Helps enough.”

  “We go out to Dale Ledbetter’s on Monday to inoculate some of his cattle. By the end of your residency, you’ll like it here, I bet. Ain’t the same as it used to be. “

  Chantry didn’t answer that because anything he said would sound wrong. They walked out front where the once gravel parking lot had been paved with asphalt and painted lines added, even a handicapped space. A metal sign with the name of the clinic had been sunk in concrete.

  “Kids kept tearing down my other sign,” Doc said. “Or running over it in their cars. Had to sink this sucker in a foot of concrete, and it’s still bent where some dumbass hit it one night.”

  “I can relate.”

  Doc grinned. “Yeah, you were something else for a while there. Never did any destructive stuff though. Not to others, anyway.”

  “There might be a few who’d argue that.”

  “People still like to talk. Small town gossip never dies, just takes on new forms and new lives every once in a while. Around here, you’re still a legend.”

  “I’m not surprised. I got credit for a lot of stuff I didn’t do.”

  “And the blame.”

  “Yeah. That, too.”

  “Come on home with me. We’ll feed you, put you up for the night.”

  “That’s okay. I appreciate it, but I got a room at the motel until I find a place to stay while I’m here. Thought I’d check around, hit a real estate office, see what I can find to rent.”

  Doc nodded, looked over at Chantry’s car, and then said slowly, “You know your coming back is going to stir up some shit.”

  “Nothing new, then.”

  “Probably not. Don’t let it bother you too much. If you can’t find a place to rent, I got a rental house that’s empty. Not the best place, maybe, but it’s got an air conditioner and a roof.”

  Chantry understood what he m
eant. It may be impossible for him to find a place to rent in Cane Creek, especially if Quinton still had enough influence.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Doc stuck out his hand. “Damn glad to have you back, Chantry. We’ll work well together.”

  Chantry took his hand. “It may not work out. If things start getting tough I’ll understand if you’d rather work with someone else. There’re other places I can go for my residency.”

  “There’s no other vet that wants you as badly as I do. We’ll work together. Always have thought we would one day.”

  Doc had more faith than he probably should, Chantry thought, but maybe he’d gotten to the place where he didn’t have to depend so much on Quinton’s goodwill and influence. It hadn’t always been that way. But even the mighty Mississippi changed its course over time. Things might be changing in Cane Creek after all.

  Some things did change and some didn’t. It wasn’t a big surprise that the woman behind the desk in the real estate office would remember him, and that she’d hesitate when he asked about renting a house for six months.

  “Six months? That’s . . . a long time for temporary housing. Perhaps the Best Western would suit your needs better.”

  He just looked at her, and something in his eyes flustered her for she looked away and began to shuffle papers, almost stammering as she said she just didn’t see anything at the moment but if he’d like to check back . . . her voice trailed into hopeful silence.

  “Not much need in checking back with you, I’d think,” Chantry said, and stood up. “You pretty much got your mind made up already.”

  “Oh my, well . . . it’s just that . . . you see . . .”

  “Yeah. I see.”

  He went outside and leaned up against the Range Rover to smoke a cigarette. Nasty habit he shouldn’t have ever started. He’d been cutting down, not smoking in his car, not in the house, just when he felt like he needed one. Coming back to Cane Creek might make that decision difficult to keep.

  Cane Creek had traffic lights now. The light on the corner turned green, and a line of cars moved forward, going down Main Street through town. A few new stores had been built, but most were the same—Buford’s Department Store, Tyler’s Drugs, real estate offices, a couple of banks. A new Sonic drive-in had been built across from the Dairy Queen, and both seemed to be doing a brisk business.

  Across the street the old court house dominated the square, flanked by parking spaces, the cupola on top still holding a clock. It’d been fixed, apparently. It chimed four times, deep and resonant.

  “Got the time, sailor?” someone asked from a car slowing down at the corner, and he looked up. Cathy Chandler grinned back at him from a new Ford with a kid in a car seat sitting in the back. He eyed her for a minute before nodding.

  “The clock says it’s four.”

  “And what time do you say it is, Chantry?”

  There was invitation in her brown eyes, in the curve of her mouth and the way her head tilted to one side so that she looked at him from under her lashes. He remembered how she’d always done that a lot. How she’d been the first girl he’d ever been with, too.

  “A long time, I guess,” he said after a minute.

  “Still more a man of action and not words, I see.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You look good, Chantry. Really good. Buff. Bet you’ve got six-pack abs, too. Maybe it’s been too long since we spent some time together.”

  His glance flicked to the kid in the rear seat, then back to her. “Looks like you’ve kept busy.”

  “Married and almost divorced. Remember Brad Durbin? Yeah, I see you do. He was an asshole then and he’s a bigger asshole now. But he pays his child-support on time so I make do.” A car honked behind her and she stuck her arm out the window and motioned impatiently for them to go around. The movement made her breasts jiggle. She wore red shorts and a tank top that made him remember just how close they’d been once. As if she knew what he was thinking, she put out her tongue to wet her lips, a slow drag that would have definitely intrigued him when they were younger. But he wasn’t a kid anymore, and not that easily tempted.

  “So, Chantry, how long you gonna be staying in town?”

  He shrugged. “Haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “Well, look me up. I could help you pass the time while you’re here.”

  He was sure she could. When she scribbled her phone number on a scrap of paper and held it out, he took it, more to keep the moment from getting awkward than for any other reason. Coming back to Cane Creek might just stir things up like Doc said. But wasn’t that why he was here?

  Before going back to the motel he took the scenic tour, checked out the new buildings, the old school, the park. No one seemed to pay much attention to him as long as he was in the car, the Range Rover he’d bought from his grandmother even when she’d tried to make him take it as a gift. He knew better. There were always strings attached, and if he couldn’t pay for it up-front, he’d just as soon not sit around waiting for that string to get yanked. Miss Pat said he was cynical and she despaired of ever getting through to him, and maybe she was right. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her. He did. She loved him, and he knew that. She’d tried to do what she could to make him happy those two years he’d spent with them, but it’d been too late. He never could get past what she called his “walls.” In an odd way, he was closer to Doctor Mike than he was her, maybe because he understood him more, appreciated an honesty that was unemotional even if a bit brutal at times. After those first weeks he was there his grandfather unbent enough to acknowledge him as a person in his own right, and after a year or two, as his grandson. Everything took time. That’s what he tried to get through to Mikey, who said that Chantry should just “get over it” and stop acting like a jerk.

  “Just come home, asshole,” he’d said on the phone, “and stop being the Lone Ranger.”

  It wasn’t that simple. For a person to go home, they had to have one. Mikey didn’t get that. He adapted easier. Accepted the inevitable and went on, just rolled with the flow and put it down to experience. Resolved it somehow. He wished he could do that.

  On the surface, Cane Creek was a pretty town. Quaint, some might even call it, with its mixture of historical old homes and gracious newer ones, the quiet, tree-lined streets and the abundance of churches. But beyond the pretty park lay Sugarditch, across the tracks and sandwiched between fields, the trailers and houses set on cinder blocks and sinking into the red Mississippi clay a little more each year like dispirited transplants.

  And Chantry knew the darker side of town, too, places beyond the main streets in the back alleys, the places he’d frequented at one time. There wasn’t much he hadn’t seen here at one time or the other.

  It was crazy, but he found himself in the parking lot of the Tap Room, and he sat there for a while just looking at it. Not much had changed here, except maybe the parking lot repaved. Out back the dirt was paved, too, a stretch of black asphalt instead of the gravel and mud that’d been there the night Beau and Rafe caught him. They had to be out of prison by now for that drug deal, but he was willing to bet they hadn’t learned a damn thing. His step-brothers never had been quick on the uptake.

  He didn’t go in, just sat there a while, watching men like Rainey walk in and stagger out. A way station to hell. He’d seen places like it all over the world and they were pretty much the same. In any language, any skin color, humans had an amazing capacity for self-destruction. He ought to know.

  When he parked the black Range Rover in the motel parking lot he saw the desk clerk at the lobby window staring out like she was waiting on something. Donny’s cousin, probably, and ready to make a full report on his activities. Not that he’d ever been able to get away with much anyway, but he hadn’t quite expected such intense scrutiny. Maybe from Quinton, but he hadn’t thought too many other people would care he’d come back.

  He’d stopped at a store and bought dinner, a hot pizza and six
pack of cold beer, and he took it up to his room. The message light on his phone was flashing. He ignored it for a while, ate the pizza and drank two of the beers, then tinkered with the controls on the air conditioning unit to cool the room. It was stuffy, the air too warm. He hadn’t heard the compressor kick on. After a few minutes, he called the front desk to report it out of order, then he checked his phone messages. There were three.

  The first was from Doc, telling him just to show up out at Dale Ledbetter’s Monday since he had a few things to do before he got there, and the second was from the real estate agent he’d talked to earlier. It seemed a rental house had become available after all, and the owner was willing to rent it for only six months if he was still interested. That was a big surprise. The third message was from Cathy Chandler Durbin, telling him to give her a call. That wasn’t such a big surprise.

  He had no intention of getting tangled up with her again. It’d been great when they were kids, but they’d both moved on. He liked his relationships with women to be casual, with both knowing it was for the moment and no chance of a future. Cathy could be trouble.

  Cable TV offered nothing interesting, so he stripped off his shirt and headed for the shower. When he got out, he heard knocking at the door. The air conditioner repairman he’d been promised. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to the door.

  When he opened it Cathy stood there, leaned up against the door frame with a sultry smile and six pack of beer. She’d changed into a dress that hugged her curves, done something with her brown hair to make it all loose and soft around her face. Her eyes moved over him slowly.

  “Damn, I knew you’d look like that. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”