The Last Days of Summer (34 page)

‘Didn't you?' He'd almost forgotten Katie was still there he'd been so focused on Joanne's eyes the last while. The startled look in them. Katie's angry words cut into him, but he does not let her rile him this time. He watches Joanne instead. Watches as she starts to look at him differently. Like he'd known she would. Like in his heart he'd prayed she wouldn't.

Eventually he whispers, ‘What do you think?'

The fear in Joanne's eyes muddies them, none of their usual shine. She swallows. ‘I don't know what to think.'

His broken face twists into a crooked smile, swollen jaw hurting as it does so. ‘Sometimes,' he says softly, ‘I don't know what to think myself.'

‘Bullshit,' Katie says, stepping onto the bank and pulling her sister up by her arm. ‘Come on, Lady, let's go.'

‘Go where?' She's frightened and confused, brow furrowed.

‘Home.'

Joanne rises, fear still darkening her face. He catches her wrist as she turns to follow her sister, careful not to
grip it too tightly. ‘Do you hate me now?' he snarls, the anger in him so quick to rise, so quick to turn him man to beast. Instantly he regrets the wild in his tone.

Slowly, she shakes her head. ‘I dunno,' she whispers softly. Tears gather in her eyes, but do not fall.

Her words prick him. Pinch him. Catch his breath. He'd been certain she would hate him after knowing what he'd done. He clutches her wrist more tightly. Closes his eyes a long moment, then opens them. ‘You don't hate me?' Confusion wrinkles his brow between his bruised temples. ‘Aren't you afraid of me?'

‘I don't know,' she whispers, and shakes her head again.

Desperation rises in his gut, mixing with hope. A feeling foreign to him. He
needs
her not to hate him.
Needs
her not to grow up just yet, not to look at him with a woman's eyes and a woman's judgement.

‘Are we friends still?' His voice sounds husky, too caught up in his throat.

Wide eyes blink back at him, dark with fear. ‘I don't know,' she whispers again, her words so soft he can barely hear her.

He tries to smile, to reassure her, but it hurts too bad, and his twisted, swollen face smarts with the effort. ‘Ain't we friends still?' he asks again, the desperation boiling up as panic. He grips her wrist tighter.

Her body recoils from him. ‘Uncle Jasper?'

‘Yeah?'

‘You're hurting me.'

He drops her wrist instantly. Grabs her and pulls her to his chest and holds her there against him. ‘I'm sorry,'
he gasps. ‘I'm sorry. I would never hurt you.' He smooths her hair with his calloused hands.

‘Let go of her!' Katie screams.

Joanne pulls away from him as her sister wraps her in her arms. Frightened eyes blink up at his. ‘You wouldn't still hurt nobody, Uncle Jasper, would you?'

He hesitates. He remembers still how good it felt pushing himself inside Rose, watching the fear in her eyes grow, how good it felt to hit her, and how she'd laughed at his first blow when they'd been driving still. He'd had to hit her a second time, harder, to knock her out so he could drive her to the oil site, could bind her hands and feet. He looks at the little girl before him now, her innocence tarnished. He wishes he could take his words back. Just a few of them. The rougher ones her sister drove him to. Her windblown ponytail glows in the patchworked light. If she isn't an angel, he reckons, he don' know what is. ‘No,' he says softly, ‘I don't still intend to hurt nobody. I'm all done with trouble.'

They are almost to the truck when he grabs her wrist.Hard. Joanne's walked up ahead of them, and Katie instinctively gasps to scream when she feels his hands upon her. But one of his hands is over her mouth, and even if she were to scream, she realizes, no one but her little sister is around to hear her. There's no one out there for miles.

‘Don't scream,' he snarls, ‘or I will hurt again.' His breath is hot on her ear, her neck. She can feel his words as he speaks them, his lips are so close to her ear.

Ahead of them, Joanne bends down to prod a crayfish
hole with a stick. Jasper slowly removes his hand from Katie's mouth. She still wants to scream, but she swallows the urge back down. His other hand still grips her wrist tightly. She can feel his short, jagged nails cutting into her. She tries to twist away, but his grip holds strong. ‘You're hurting me,' she whispers, still trying to twist away.

‘Good,' he growls, his voice still low, his breath still hot upon her. ‘You 'n' I need to talk.'

Her heartbeat quickens. ‘ 'Bout what?'

‘ 'Bout what the fuck happened to my face last night,' he snarls. ‘What the fuck else do you think?'

His nails dig deeper into the soft flesh inside her wrist. Her heart pounds inside her chest. She wants to cry out. ‘I don't know anythin',' she stammers.

‘Bullshit.' His words spit at her. She can feel the heat of the sun warm upon her face.

She turns slightly to look at him. His eyes have gone dark with rage. ‘Uncle Jasper, I swear,' she stammers, ‘I don't know nothin'.'

‘You know who was there. I'd bet good money, too, you knew they was comin'.' His eyes judge her, and she can see he finds her lacking. ‘It's a shame,' he hisses, ‘something so pretty as you can never be trusted.'

‘Are you gonna hurt us?' Her throat feels tight and dry. She has to struggle to get her words out. She looks up ahead to where her sister still bends over the crayfish hole prodding it with a stick. At that moment Joanne glances at them and waves, then looks back down. She must not have seen, Katie thinks, how he's holding my wrist. She wonders where her mama is. Thinks of Josh.

‘I would never hurt her,' he says gruffly. ‘You keep actin' like we ain't family 'n' I can't make you that same promise. Now,' he says, ‘you know who all was there last night, don't you?'

She nods.

‘ 'N' you knew they was comin' for me, didn' you?' He twists her arm back behind her, his nails still cutting into her flesh.

‘Yes,' she gasps, ‘I knew.'

‘Good,' he says, ‘that's progress.' He twists her arm further behind her back and she gasps again, just a little, at the pain. ‘Now,' he whispers, lips so close to her ear that she can feel his breath still, can feel his words upon her, ‘you tell that boyfriend of yours 'n' his coward of a father 'n' all their pipsqueak friends, the only one of them got beef with me is Eddie. If he wants me gone, he can come face me like a man. You got that?'

She nods.

‘Good.' He releases her arm and she staggers forward, clutching her wrist. ‘You pass that on,' he says, ‘ 'n' you might want to think twice before you decide whose side you take.' He walks on past her then, up the path towards her sister. ‘What'd you find there?' he calls, his tone shifting softer, brighter, like a whole different man.

Joanne looks up and smiles. ‘There's a crayfish in there! If you lean down, you can see 'im.'

‘Well, I'll be …' He takes the stick from her and leans down over the dirt smokestack that leads down into its burrow.

Joanne looks down the path at Katie. ‘What's takin' you so long?' she calls, and turns back to her uncle.

Katie's heart smashes against her ribs. The world spins. She wants to sit down. She wants to cry. For a moment, she wants her uncle to look at her with a fraction of the kindness that fills him when he gazes at Joanne. Then her insides sour. Her wrist burns.
It's not fair.
She wants him never to touch her again. She wants to scream. She blinks to stop the world spinning, to stop the tears falling. Somehow she finds the strength to smile at her little sister. ‘Come on, Lady,' she calls, walking on past where they crouch beside the crayfish burrow, ‘let's get you on home.'

Lizzie hears his pickup on the country road long before she sees it. It stands out a mile anyway, she reckons, what with the bright red colour of it. She does not rise, though, when she first hears it, nor does she after she's turned and seen the truck approach. She didn't expect his visit, but a part of her is not surprised. She wipes her dirty hands on the jeans she wears. Uses the back of her wrist to wipe the sweat from her brow, then the same hand shades her eyes as she watches the truck approach. She doesn't stand till the pickup's pulled up her drive already. She turns then, following it with her gaze and body, lowering her hand that previously had blocked out the sun.

‘Afternoon, Reverend,' she says coolly, as the large man opens the door to his cab and squeezes himself out from behind the steering-wheel. A chime goes off with the door held open. Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

‘Afternoon, Elizabeth.' He descends from his pickup and slams the door shut behind him. The sudden silence
of the beeping makes the day sound newly quiet. He stands a moment, both hands made into fists, fists held to his hips, his elbows pointing out. Softly he clucks his tongue. ‘My, my,' he says, ‘sure is a shame what happened to this here garden.'

‘I take it you already know what happened, then.' She eyes him warily.

He hesitates. ‘I confess, yes, I heard.'

‘Why are you here, Reverend?'

He looks around at the scattered flowers by their feet, the crushed bushes, the tyre tracks that criss-cross through them. ‘May I come in?' he asks.

‘I'm afraid I ain't much in the humour today, Reverend, for a social call.'

He nods, still surveying the damaged garden spread before him. ‘I'm sorry, Elizabeth, to just drop in like this.' He flashes his brightest smile, and she watches as it falls.

‘No, you ain't.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You ain't sorry one bit, Reverend. You called on down here for a reason. I ain't got time to waste today 'n' I don't plan on wastin' your time neither. Why don't you just tell me what it is you want?'

He swallows. His fat face flushes red, though from embarrassment or the heat, she cannot tell. ‘All right, Elizabeth,' he says slowly. ‘I'll cut right to the chase if that's what you want. Yeah, I know what happened here last night. And, yes, before you ask, I knew that it was comin' too.'

She takes two short strides across the ruined garden to him and slaps him once, hard across the cheek. Hot,
angry tears well in her eyes and threaten to fall. ‘You bastard,' she hisses. ‘Mama thought you were her friend, but I can't name one nice turn you ever done this family.'

A darkness passes over his face, the same way a lingering cloud blocks out the sun. ‘I'd be careful, if I were you,' he says softly, ‘just how many enemies you make.'

‘Are you threatening me, Reverend?'

‘No.' He shakes his head. ‘Simply offering you some friendly advice. That's why I'm here, Elizabeth. Because I
was
friends with your mother, whatever you might believe. 'Cause she didn't deserve what she was put through. She was a fine good Christian woman, your mother. A fine good Christian indeed, 'n' I don't want to see no harm come to you 'n' your girls. I mean that, Elizabeth.'

Sweat runs down her spine to gather at the small of her back. She can feel it soaking into her blouse. She knows she must stink of body odour and earth. With a dirty hand she wipes her brow. ‘Would have been nice,' she says coolly, ‘if you'd given us a head's up on what was comin'.'

Pity fills his eyes, and she hates him for it. ‘You must have known,' he says. ‘Surely you knew some sort of trouble must be comin'.' She does not answer him, and he falls silent. ‘Is he here?' he asks at length.

‘No.'

‘Is he …' the reverend hesitates ‘… all right?'

She snorts. ‘Depends on your definition of “all right”, I guess.' She pauses. ‘They beat him pretty bad, but he'll live.' A sparrowhawk flies over them, casting its shadow long over the prairie, and they both turn and watch it for
a time. ‘I think they would have killed him,' she says quietly, ‘had I not come out.'

He nods. ‘I think they would have, too.'

Fire rises in her once again, so quick to flare, these days. ‘What do you want from me, Reverend? Why are you here?'

‘I came to make sure you were all right. You 'n' them girls of yours. It was nice seein' y'all come to church like that. I'm sure your mother was smilin'.'

‘Yeah, well.' Lizzie nudges a crushed rose with her foot, then looks out to the open prairie. ‘She sure ain't smilin' now.'

The shade from the house stretches its long shadow towards them, but it is not late enough yet for them to be sheltered and the sun feels hot on the top of Lizzie's head, like her whole scalp might catch fire with all the anger that boils up and rests inside her.

‘I can't help but feel,' he says quietly, ‘you blame me somehow for some part of this.' He holds out his hands to stop her. ‘No, don't object. But the truth is, Lizzie, I'm here 'cause I'm worried 'bout you 'n' them girls. I'm afraid there's revenge in Eddie's heart. 'N' revenge don't stop at much.'

She is quiet a long moment. A starling calls out from a nearby shrub before falling silent. A cloud passes by the sun, but is not dense enough to fully mute its light. ‘I don't blame you, Reverend,' she says. ‘I know we dug our own graves. I know chances are we're diggin' 'em still. Might have helped us some small bit, though, had you urged folks to be a bit more forgivin'. Way I see it, forgiveness is just what we gotta do to try to move on past this. I didn't
used to see things like that, I'll admit. There's a lot in my life I been bitter towards. A lot of hurt I clung to. I'm startin' to think lately, though, maybe we all would have been a whole lot better off had we just begun forgivin' a long, long time ago.'

The reverend opens his mouth then closes it. He sighs. ‘I don't believe you've forgiven him.'

She smiles. A sad smile that does not reach her eyes. ‘That's the problem, Reverend. This town don't know forgiveness. I ain't no grand exception.'

He smiles, too, a sadness of his own darkening its shine. ‘None of you deserved what he put you through.'

She shrugs. ‘It ain't about deservin'.'

‘Tell him to leave, Elizabeth. Tell him to go. Him stayin' won't bring no good to you 'n' to them girls.'

‘He got nowhere to go, Reverend. I told you that before. 'N' anyhow, Mama would never have cast him out.'

He surveys the scattered flowers all crushed and spread around them. ‘Really is a shame,' he says, ‘about this garden. Them roses was the finest I think I ever seen.'

She lets the stillness settle around them. Bees buzz in and around the fallen flowers, gathering what pollen they can, the hum of them composing their own symphony.

He shuffles his feet on the gravel drive, the heels of his boots digging into the ground. ‘If there's anything I can do –'

‘No, Reverend. There ain't nothin' you can do for us. Not now. I'm not sure there ever was. Facts remain, 'n' not one of us can forgive Jasper, 'n' not one of us can keep trouble from keepin' on comin'.'

‘This ain't just about forgiveness, Lizzie.'

She looks at him a long moment. ‘No,' she says, ‘maybe not. But it got somethin' to do with it, all the same.'

‘You trust him?' he asks. ‘You trust him round your child?'

She smiles. Sadness shining in her eyes. ‘That's the one thing as of late that I got faith in, Reverend. He loves that girl, as much as he is able.'

‘And Katie? It ain't right a teenage girl bein' so close to a man like that. Whole town's sayin' it.'

‘Why don't you leave my daughters out of this?' No softness in Lizzie's tone, no space for argument.

He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. Nods once. Puts his hat back on and dips it slightly to her. He turns to go, then stops, his hand on the pickup door handle. He turns back to her. ‘You know,' he says quietly, ‘he'll never find welcome here.'

‘Yes,' she says, ‘I know.'

Katie slows the pickup to a stop in front of their house, up on the country road. She does not pull down their drive. She does not cut the engine. Looking straight ahead, she says, ‘Y'all best get on out here. Tell Mom I won' be home too late.'

‘Where you goin'?'

‘None of your business!' As soon as the words leave her lips, she wishes she'd spoken them less harshly.

Tears well in Joanne's eyes, but do not fall. She turns to slide down the seat and out of the passenger door. Jasper has risen and exited the vehicle already. He stands on the shoulder, feet half on the grass, holding the door open for her.

‘Jo?'

Her sister turns.

Katie is suddenly uncertain what to say. Nothing seems quite adequate. Nothing seems enough. ‘Be careful, OK?' she says. ‘Everything's gonna be OK.' Tears gather in her own eyes.

‘Nothing's OK, Katie.' Joanne pushes past their uncle and starts up the path, the garden still in ruins despite what must have been her mom's best efforts to patch it up.

Katie wants to call after her, but she doesn't. She's not quite sure what stops her. Maybe it is because nothing does seem right any more, nothing does seem good. Maybe the kid's right, she thinks, maybe things won't be OK.

Jasper closes the truck door and leans in the open window. It strikes her as almost comical the way the open window frames him, like he's living in a picture frame, his bruised disfigured face the last picture on earth any sane person would frame. She can still feel his fingers around her wrist, jabbing into her flesh. The cuts his nails dug into her skin still smart. But there is nothing, she thinks, comical about this man. Not even bruised there, framed in her car-door window.