Chapter Three
Curtis
After church on Sunday, I spent most of the afternoon down at the bar on Fifth Street. I ordered myself a plate of potato crisps and chicken wings and a couple tall glasses of warm ale. There’s nothing like a good ale on a quiet afternoon to get your mind off things you’re better off not worrying about. Old Vic from the motorcycle repair shop came and sat down next to me, and we talked for about an hour. His son just enlisted in the Marines. He wanted to know what it was like when Zach went overseas.
“Couldn’t rightly tell you,” I told him. “I love the guy, but he’s my brother, not my son.”
Vic looked disappointed. I gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Look, he’ll go over there for a bit, and he’ll come home when he’s ready. Might even bag himself a girl in the process.”
“Is that what happened to Zach?”
I shook my head. “No, but hope springs eternal.”
Vic laughed. “I’ll drink to that.” We clinked glasses.
I went home, watered my plants, and turned on the radio. It was one of those old-timey country stations, the kind that you listen to late at night when you’re driving through Texas on your way from one middle-of-nowhere town to another. Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton were singing a duet, and it made me think of those long lonely nights just after Christine’s death. “I won’t tell them how lost I am without you,” Porter sang, and I went over to turn it off. There are some songs you just can’t listen to in the same way after going through a thing like that.
The next morning, Mama was back at it, asking me when I was going to get married again. “It’s been over a year now,” she said. “I think you ought to at least start thinking about it.”
I rolled my eyes; I wished I could turn her off. “Feels like it’s only been a few days, to be honest. I wake up some mornings, and the weight is still heavy on my chest. If I asked a girl out right now, that’s the kind of thing they’d have to deal with, and I don’t want to put anyone through that.”
“She could help you through it,” said Mama, as if it was that easy. “I can’t always be there for you, but someone else could.”
I thought about Saturday night, about waking up in the middle of the night to find a girl in my bed, and shame blossomed on my face.
“Anyway,” she said, “what have you got going on today?”
I took off my hat and set it down on the linoleum countertop. “Well, Dad and I are going out trail riding. I’m not looking forward to it, as hot as it’s been.”
“It’s a shame you can’t stay inside today where it’s cool.”
“If I thought I had that option, I would, believe me.” I poured myself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher that Mama had just made. “Anyway, a bunch of us are heading us toward Rio Pass. They say the temperature is supposed to get up into the hundreds, so I hope Dad brought a lot of water.”
Hearing his name called, Dad came shuffling out of the back room. He was wearing a pair of faded denim jeans with torn knees and a cactus-print t-shirt. “Yeah, I bought water,” he said. “You think I’m stupid?”
“It’s getting bad out there,” I said. “They were saying on the radio this morning that there’s been reports of livestock dying because they can’t take the heat. Farmers going out to feed their goats, and all the goats have died. This keeps up for too long, and you might not have to worry about keeping the hogs penned.”
“Well, they got out again last night,” said Dad, scowling. “Between the heat and the coyotes and them digging holes in the yard, we’re not going to have ‘em for much longer. I’ve tried, but there’s only so much I can do.”
He covered his face with his balled-up fists and sank down into his chair in frustration. I recognized that look: it was the look of a man who had thrown all his energy into a problem only to be defeated by it.
“And I don’t care what Darren says,” he said, “I’ve tried penning them up, and it don’t work. They either knock down the pen, or they dig their way out of it. I might just have to sell ‘em and cut my losses. At least we’ve still got the cows and the goats, and they’re not trying to escape.”
He led me outside into the back pasture. Sure enough, there were holes all the way down into the dirt, as if the hogs were trying to dig their way to China. “You know, Dad,” I said, “you ought to do what we used to do with the dogs when they got loose: get some rope and tie it around their necks and tie the other end of the rope to a fencepost.”
“Ain’t got enough rope,” said Dad.
“I’ll get some when I go to the store on my way home tonight. I guarantee you those hogs will never get out again, not if they can’t move more than twenty feet.”
I went back into the house and drank the rest of my tea. Through the kitchen window, Mama and I could see Dad kicking the fence-posts in frustration.
“Might be time to start thinkin’ about putting him out to pasture,” I said quietly.
“He knows it’s about time for him to hang up his spurs,” said Mama. “He just can’t bring himself to do it.”
“Well, keep working on him. One of these days, that heat is gonna catch up with him. I’d rather he quit before it got to that point. Honestly, I don’t even know why he insisted on going on this trail ride. A man in his health, at his age, nothing good can come of it.”
“I wish both of you would stay in and spend the day with me,” said Mama sadly. “I hate to think of my boys out there in the blazing summer heat, being set upon by rattlers and chiggers and fire ants.”
“I don’t like it, either,” I said. “But it’s work.”
Mama and I had had this conversation more than once. She’d been lonely ever since Zach had left, wishing she had spent more time with us growing up.
“You know you don’t even need to work if you don’t want to,” she said, resting a hand on my arm. “We have enough money to support all of you.”
I scoffed. “Try telling Dad that.”
“Your dad would never quit working, even if he had a million dollars. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He’d probably go crazy if he was pent up in a mansion with nothing to do. At least the farm keeps him entertained, gives him a place to go so he’s not in my hair all the time. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t brought up retirement yet.”
I nodded.
“Anyway,” she said, “I like having him around, and I like having you around. I wish you were here more. I know work keeps you busy, but you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I can’t understand why anyone would subject themselves to the heat if they didn’t have to.”
I thought I could see what she was getting at. “As much as I love you, Mama,” I said, “I can’t stay here and let you take care of me. I’ve gotta make my own way in the world.”
“Well, it was just a thought,” she said. I could tell from the disappointed tone in her voice it had been a lot more than that.
“I’m doing alright for myself,” I said. “I’ve got a decent-sized house in town, a dog that loves me, and I see you about five times a week. I’m willing to bet there’s a lot of folks who are a lot worse off. Plus”—and here I took her by the hand and spun her around—“not everybody gets to have your breakfasts every morning.”
Mama laughed. “Well, if you’d come over more often you could have more than just breakfast. You know the tiny house next to the barn, the one we’ve been using for storage ever since Marshall and Braxton moved out—I’m thinking about renting it out. If you rented it, you wouldn’t even have to drive over here to eat my bacon and biscuits in the mornings.”
I shook my head firmly. “Mama, as tempting as that sounds, I really like where I’m living right now. Me and Jake, we’ve got a good thing going. I feel like I’ve just gotten back into the routine of normal living after walking around half-dead for a long time. I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”
“Well, if you say so,” said Mama. She drew her robe tight around her frail body. “But if you ever change your mind, we sure would love to have you.”
***
That day’s ride ended up being even hotter than I had expected, and about as frustrating. Anytime you go on a ride like this, you’ll get a mixture of old hands who have ridden the trail a couple dozen times and know their way around, and folks who are tagging along just because their boyfriend or girlfriend wanted them to come. Those are the ones who irritate me because they don’t really know what they’re doing, and it holds the rest of us back.
For example: today, Brian Dunham brought along his girlfriend, one of those East Coast women who’d probably never been on a hike in her life. Every quarter-mile or so, we had to slow down because she thought she was coming loose in her saddle and was about to fall off the horse. I can’t say I would have been much upset if she had, but Brian insisted on making the rest of us wait until it was straightened out. Every time. She and Brian wouldn’t even be dating in another week, but until then, the whole team had to deal with it.
I was glad when we made it to Rio Pass and started heading home.
It was late in the day when Dad and I finally made it back to the house. I told Dad I would finish tying up the horses. He went into the house to cool down while I led Rita and Nessie into the barn. They were both tired and didn’t complain too much as I untied them and hosed them down.
As I was finishing up, I saw a movement in the hay out of the corner of my eye. At first, I thought it must have been a rat, but a rat wouldn’t have made the commotion it was making. It was too big for that.
Without a second’s thought, I grabbed the gardening hoe from where it stood in the corner. With an effortless motion, I planted it smack in the middle of the pile with all my strength. Sure enough, a second later one of those gigantic Texas rattlers came slithering out, looking ticked.
Quick as I could, I buried the hoe between its head and its body, cleanly separating one from the other.
I took the snake’s still-writhing body and threw it to Frack, our barn cat. He batted at the tail with evident excitement.
“You can have it,” I said, mopping the sweat from my face. “And any other snake you find in here. I hate those things, and I don’t want to see any more of ‘em slithering around in here, you hear?”
The cat let out a yowl of understanding and went on playing with the snake.