Soil

by Jamie Kornegay

  He stared at her with nervous, tick-tocking eyes, with calculations and confessions, justifications and regrets. He stood up from the truck and looked at Jacob, who was in the backseat of the Maxima.

  “Jay, you need help,” she said. “You have—”

  “I killed a man,” he said. “That man back there, the one who shot Chipper.”

  She must have shown him an expression of disbelief.

  “I did, Sandy. I took his gun away and murdered him in cold blood.”

  She stood.

  “It was him or me,” he said. “Him or us.”

  She looked at Jacob.

  “Don’t worry, he didn’t see anything. The guy took me into the woods at gunpoint, and I waited until we were far away and I could get the drop on him. It was self-defense, yes, but mostly for Jacob. And for you. I was defending all of us. That’s all I’ve ever done.”

  “Oh, Jay . . .” She wished she weren’t hearing this. Was there some way to make him take it back?

  “The deputy knows. That’s why he’s coming for me. I have to go back and take my lashes.”

  He appeared calmer, more focused, as if confessing this had cured him.

  “Jay, you’re not planning to—”

  “The thing is, Sandy, I don’t know if I can get out of this. I’m going to do my damndest to try, but the odds of this coming out in my favor . . .”

  She couldn’t reconcile what he was telling her. It seemed like a dream, even her response. “Come back right now, we can all go together. We’ll leave, just like you said.” She was willing to accept culpability for him in this moment.

  “Dad!” Jacob cried, running toward them. “I think someone is in the woods back there!”

  Jay got up and walked slowly across the lot. The thought occurred to her to scoop up Jacob and run, get in the car and speed away. She clutched her son and they watched Jay approach the thicket. He stood before it a moment, clenching and unclenching his fist. He bent down and drew a handful of gravel. “Who’s in there?” he shouted and flung the rocks. A couple of quail launched out.

  He turned around with a smile on his face. It was the man they both knew. “You see,” he said, walking casually back to them. “It’s okay, it was nothing.”

  Jay touched his son on the shoulder and knelt down and fixed him in a gaze. “This is going to be hard, buddy, but you need to take one thing away from this today—don’t be afraid. Not of that man back there. Not of me. What that man did back there, that was because of me, okay? Not you, not Chipper.”

  “What do you mean, Dad?” asked Jacob, a little tremulous.

  “He was getting back at me for something I did.”

  “What did you do?” the boy asked.

  “Listen. I hurt his dog. In a moment of weakness. It’s because I was scared, and I made a bad decision. Now, your mom and I have taught you what’s right and what’s wrong, and when it comes time for you to make that decision, you can make the right one. Don’t ever be scared to do what’s right.”

  The boy listened to his father intently.

  “It’s not easy. Usually doing what’s right is the harder decision, so it’s natural to be scared. But you need to swallow that fear. Just do it like that, okay, like you’re chewing it up and swallowing it. You got me?”

  He put a piece of watermelon in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Just a piece of food you grew yourself.”

  “But what if he comes back?”

  “He won’t, Jacob. I promise. He’ll never come back.”

  The boy nodded, tears brimming. Jay kissed him and walked him over to the Maxima and put him in the front seat. He bent down and whispered to him softly, then fastened the seat belt and kissed him again and closed the door.

  He walked back to Sandy and took the jar from her hand. She was crying. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right.”

  “You can’t come with us,” she replied, somewhere between a question and a statement.

  “Did you keep my insurance going?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The life insurance. It was drafting every month.”

  “Why, Jay?”

  “Did you?” he demanded.

  She considered her finances. “Yes, I believe so. Everything switched to my account.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Listen, if something happens and I disappear . . .” He held her at arm’s length and studied her.

  “What?”

  “The lake house.”

  She nodded without understanding. He kissed her long on the mouth, and she relented, and then he shut the Bronco’s rear gate and climbed behind the wheel and cranked it and left her in a cloud of dust.

  She and Jacob drove home in silence. She was too consumed with thoughts to interrogate Jacob or to comfort him. She thought about calling Shoals and telling him to leave Jay alone. This was retribution, she knew, or outright insanity. She could tell him that she loved her husband but he wasn’t well. Or she could swear her own revenge, maybe threaten to call the sheriff, file a harassment suit. She had the phone out, her thoughts racing, but it wasn’t something to negotiate with Jacob sitting right there.

  She looked in the rearview mirror and thought she saw the Bronco barreling down on her, but it was just some impatient 4Runner that shot around her and disappeared over the lolling hills.

  Jacob was red-eyed and silent beside her. She asked him, “What happened to the man in the woods? Did he just leave?”

  He looked at her with sad eyes that pleaded not to make him tell, but she coerced him softly and finally he said he didn’t see them leave together, but they were both gone for a long time. It seemed like forever. And later he heard a gunshot far off in the distance and after a while his dad came back with blood on his face.

  She checked the rearview mirror, tried to show no emotion. She couldn’t comprehend it all, and in the place of that understanding came panic. She thought of all the news dramas about husbands who crack, come home and murder their children and spouses before turning the gun on themselves. What if he came back and bound them, doused the shitbox in gasoline and sent them all up in flames to make a statement? Was he capable of it? Or what if Shoals returned, his pride wounded to the point of sadomasochism or some other violent perversion? What about the parking lot thugs, the rabid basement creatures? Ever since reading In Cold Blood in high school, she was terrified of random evil, the world flipping inside out to reveal a glimpse of hell. There were pockets everywhere waiting to be reversed.

  Just then her guts began to hiss and twist. The fruit had soured in her belly and been lit afire by the tequila. She was growing weary, short of breath, close to sudden unmanageable grief. Her eyes misted, and she held it all back until she could no longer even see the road for being underwater. The curves came quicker and darker. The wheels caught the shoulder and the car shuddered. Jacob squealed and so did the brakes.

  They fishtailed to the side and stopped dead in a dust cloud, and she poured out of the car and ran for the thick waist-high ditch weeds, where she barfed unmercifully, followed by a jag of sobbing. It lasted only a moment. The tickle of puffy grains in her ear reminded her of Jacob. She wiped her mouth and turned back to the car. He was staring stonily out at her, his face melting into a violent sunset through the half-reflected car door glass. It was Jay the boy, who hadn’t a clue what to do with so much love.

  41

  By the time Shoals reached the reservoir, the sky was bruised from a storm head clobbering the west. He should have gone straight to Tockawah Bottom but wanted to swing by the cabin and pick up his old friend Luther, a short-barrel twelve-gauge with a pistol grip and a nasty spread. When he pulled into the driveway, he was surprised to find the sheriff’s squad car already there. This was out of place. The sheriff wasn’t one to pay social calls.

  The front door was open a sliver. He walked in c
autiously, looked around for anything out of place. Nothing was disturbed. From the living room he could see out the sliding glass door to the back porch, where his uncle watched the lake from a rocking chair, stroking Suzie-Q beside him. Something wasn’t right. His uncle cast a soft glance backward when he stepped through the sliding door. Suzie jumped up to be petted.

  “Hey there, Uncle Bud,” said Shoals. “What’s up?”

  “Hope you don’t mind me waiting here, but we need to talk,” the sheriff said.

  “Everything all right.” He said it certain, willing it to be so.

  “Have a seat.”

  Shoals sat down on a stump he used for a footrest. He didn’t like the feel of this. Hadn’t he imagined this scenario before? He braced for the worst, some sudden tragedy. God, I’ll do anything if you let it not be Mama, he bargained.

  “Danny, we’ve got a problem,” his uncle said.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s that Spiller girl and all of that mess with the video camera. It aint going away, Danny.”

  Shoals huffed in relief. “Uncle Bud, I told you, all that’s been taken care of. Jim Tom said I’m not liable. It’s not going to court. She’s gonna keep her mouth shut.”

  “Danny, you know as well as I that she aint keeping her mouth shut. And it’s just a matter of time before that big old husband of hers finds you out alone somewhere.”

  “If it comes to that, I can take care of myself.”

  “Well, that aint what I’m so worried about. It’s the fallout from this. We’re spending more time than we ought to trying to keep a lid on it. It’s not the first time we’ve had to cover up some of your hanky-panky.”

  “Well what do you want me to do?”

  The sheriff pulled a brochure from his coat pocket and passed it to Danny. A glossy trifold with photos of flowers and patios, lakes and trees.

  “Garden Walk? What is this?”

  His uncle sat there a moment, his mouth tight. “It’s a treatment facility outside Tuscaloosa. I think you need to check yourself in, Danny. It’s time to face facts. You’ve got a serious problem.”

  He didn’t drink that much. Just for a good time and not that often in public.

  “Walk in my kitchen right now and tell me how many liquor bottles I have,” he demanded.

  “It’s not for that.”

  “You want me to go to Alabama for sex rehab?”

  “Compulsive behavior therapy. I think you should, yes.”

  “All due respect, Uncle Bud, but that’s the stupidest damn shit I’ve ever heard. I’m not a sex addict! So I like a little nooky now and again. Since when is that a cause for treatment? Me and half the world are on a damn near constant hunt for it.”

  “Danny, it’s affecting your work. It’s affecting my work. It’s affecting the way we conduct business in our office. It’s affecting the citizens of Bayard County. How does it look when people catch wind there’s a deputy on my squad trying to peep on their wife or sister getting out of the shower? And not only that, videotaping it for who knows what purpose. How safe do you think that makes them feel?”

  Shoals was wide-eyed and indefensible.

  “You sure got a lot of videotapes in there around your TV. What would I find if I went in and stuck one in that tape player?”

  “Hunting shows! Movies and stuff. Go look for yourself.”

  “All right,” said the sheriff and stood up.

  Shoals jumped up and nearly threw a block. “Hold on now, Uncle Bud. Let me just get this straight. Do you think I’m some kind of pervert or something?”

  “That’s not for me to judge. But I think you need help. I think this is affecting your work and your life in a bad way, and I want to help you get straight. You do me no good like this.”

  “So what happens if I don’t agree?”

  “Then you don’t come back to work.”

  “So that’s it then? I’m fired?”

  “I’ll hold your position, Danny. You go down to Garden Walk, you run your therapy, it’s a six-week deal. You perform your follow-up treatments, take whatever medication they prescribe, and show me you’re better, and bam, you’re back on the job.”

  “Medication? What do they give you, saltpeter or something?”

  “I have no living idea. I’m no medical professional. I do know they’re supposed to be one of the best programs in the Southeast. They say you can even study tai chi as part of your therapy.”

  “Tai chi? What does that have to do with sex?”

  “Hell, Danny, I don’t know. Something to do with focus, I reckon.”

  Shoals turned his back to his uncle and stared out at the water. This couldn’t have come at a worse time, here on the cusp of proving himself a valiant law officer. Does Mize get off scot-free while Shoals is penned up, simply for scratching an itch?

  He recalled stories from one boy who’d been in sex rehab. They made him dip his hands in blue dye every night before bed and checked his dick in the morning to make sure he hadn’t been massaging it all night. This guy said the treatment did nothing but taught him how to climax without touch, just his own dirty thoughts.

  More than anything, it was humiliating. This wasn’t what Danny Shoals was about. He would become a joke, a laughingstock. He would lose his edge as a law officer, not to speak of his persuasion as a man. You don’t clip an eagle’s wings. This was madness, a death sentence.

  “Does Mama know about this?”

  The sheriff winced. “She does.”

  “You told Mama? When?”

  “I haven’t spoken a word about it to her, but she heard it somewhere. That’s what I’m telling you, Danny. The word is out.”

  This was the most crushing guilt of all. No wonder she wouldn’t take his calls. She must think she raised a degenerate sex fiend. “Who else knows? You didn’t come up with this on your own.”

  “I discussed it with your aunt.”

  “And?”

  “And Jenny.” His cousin was the same age as him. They were close growing up, sometimes too close. “She helped us find the facility. It was her idea in a way.”

  She would be the architect. She lived in Atlanta now and was invested in all sorts of new-age crackerjack. Expressing her feelings and therapy were all part of her way, and now she’d decided everyone needed to confess. He imagined she was getting back at him for their teenage dalliance. Nothing major, just a little peekaboo, a little rubbing and tugging. They were such beautiful children.

  “She helped me understand that it’s an illness, and that it can be cured,” said the sheriff.

  “An illness? It’s a primal instinct!”

  Shoals couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Everyone would despise him now. Everyone would mistrust him. You couldn’t just fuck up quietly anymore in this world. Too many stood to gain from a public takedown. Mistakes were rebuilt twice as high in hindsight so they could all stand around and congratulate themselves when the whole mess came clattering down.

  The only way he could see through this was getting Mize. Time was wasting. He needed to get a quick grip on this situation, to win his uncle’s pity and then earn his respect. If he could make an arrest, things might cool down for him. Then he could take some time off, maybe go out West to the mountains and fish, clear his head a bit. That little Delta respite had definitely rubbed out a few kinks.

  “Okay,” he said, taking his seat on the stump, burying his head in his hands. “Okay, Uncle Bud. You’ve got me. I understand what I need to do.”

  The sheriff nodded. He preferred it this way. Quiet, simple duty rather than a lot of bluster and emotion.

  “I’m on my way to something. I feel like I’ve got a grip on this Boyers disappearance. A little piece that won’t flush. Let me go see about this, and then I’ll turn my stuff over and go wherever I need to.”r />
  “What do you have?”

  “This Mize fella out in Tockawah Bottom. He’s hiding something.”

  “Does Bynum know about this?”

  Shoals nodded. “I was just with Bynum. He gave me the green light.”

  The sheriff looked skeptical. “Need any help?”

  “No sir. I’ll be in to see you first thing in the morning.”

  “All right, Danny. Just keep your head up and your you-know-what in your britches, you hear me?”

  “I sure do, Uncle. Thanks for believing in me.”

  “We love you, Danny. I know this is embarrassing, but in six months it’ll all be water under the bridge.”

  Shoals felt a sob deep down trying to shimmy free. He threw his arms around his uncle for old times’ sake, but the sheriff flinched at physical love. He went cold and stiff, like maybe he thought his nephew was trying to throw a hunch on him.

  After his uncle left, Shoals pulled out a garbage bag and scooped up all his videos, locked them in the gun cabinet, and grabbed Luther and a box of shells. He drove toward Silage Town, and when he got within service range he called his mother. She didn’t pick up, but he left her a message, told her she didn’t need to be afraid to answer, that there was nothing wrong with him, that he’d been caught in a moment of weakness was all. He was only sorry that she had to imagine it or feel responsible in any way, and that at his uncle’s insistence he would be getting help. He was still her son after all, he said, and he still loved her more than any other woman.

  42

  Why had he confessed to a crime when it was only an accident? Well, maybe it was because he felt that everything he’d done—from burning the body and using the ashes for fertilizer to shooting the dog and tripping up the man who then blew his own head off, not to mention bringing his family out here and starving their needs—maybe it all added up to something like murder. There was no jury to decide this, only something he supposed. It was an equation without logic, or else the logic of nature, which he hardly understood.