As if she can feel my gaze weighing heavy on her, she glances over her shoulder. “We going or not?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about leaving right then, and not about the school. “We are.”
The river twines insistently around my calves, gently tugging me, as though into an embrace. I look down at the swirling eddies of my river and then back at her.
I don’t know how to say goodbye to either of you. I recite it in my mind like a prayer to any God who ever cared enough to listen to me—a petition not for something I want, but to know what I want.
“You ever think about what the murder rate in Longmire’s county must be like, relative to the population?” Delaney asks, as the end credits roll. She sits cross-legged on the couch between Papaw and me.
Papaw chuckles and wheezes.
Delaney continues. “A tiny rural county in Wyoming, and yet every episode has at least one murder. Walt Longmire’s actually maybe the worst law enforcement officer in the world.”
Papaw coughs with laughter. He points at me. “This here’s what I mean by her insights.”
“She’s ruining the show,” I say incredulously.
“She ain’t either.”
“You cried when the horse died at the end of the episode,” Delaney says. She loves to tease him. He adores her teasing.
“And what’s it to you, Tess?” Papaw clears his throat and coughs. “That horse gave a fine performance. He ought to win a horse Oscar.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Delaney says.
“Listen, now, before you leave for your babysitting, I been meaning to tell you how proud I am of you, getting into that school.”
“Aw, Pep.” Delaney lays her head on his shoulder and hugs him sideways.
“You go off to that fancy school, see if you can’t come up with something to beat this tickle in my throat I got, okay?” Papaw says it like a joke, but a stripe of seriousness runs through it.
“I will. I promise,” she says quietly, no jest in her voice whatsoever—only the unshakable resolve of someone sworn to ride out and meet Death in battle.
There’s no one I’d trust more to fight him.
* * *
We go out on the porch and sit for a while, chatting aimlessly. Blushing, Delaney asks to use our shower before she goes. Her hot water heater is broken and she’s afraid to shower at her half brothers’ house. She doesn’t feel safe around their dad or his friends.
She rejoins us, her russet hair damp on her shoulders like autumn leaves stuck to a window after rain, smelling like fake Granny Smith apples and Ivory soap. She tells Papaw about gympie gympie. He’s duly horrified and she’s unduly delighted. Her ride arrives and she leaves to babysit.
It begins sprinkling, the muted notes sounding like someone trying to slowly and secretly open a plastic bag in a room full of sleeping people. The air grows dense with the shimmering perfume of rain, dewy honeysuckle, and mown grass.
Papaw coughs, wheezes, spits off the porch. There’s a faint peal of thunder, a bright flicker of lightning, and the rain thickens.
Mamaw drives up, her headlights illuminating the falling drops. I sense something wrong the moment she exits the car. Maybe people emit a distress chemical, like cut grass does.
I run to her. I’m useless against the falling rain, but at least I’m another set of hands if she needs them.
“I’ve got everything,” she murmurs, almost inaudibly. She’s empty-handed but for her purse—no usual pizza box.
I stay by her elbow until we clomp to the porch and out of the rain.
“You’re early,” Papaw says. “Come set with us.”
Mamaw sighs and looks away. “I might could use a moment or two alone, collect myself.” Her voice is faint and fragile.
Papaw looks alarmed. He pulls himself to his feet and takes a couple of steps in our direction.
“Set, Pep. I’ll be fine.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Bad night’s all. Full moon maybe.” Her voice has a slight hitch. She won’t look at either of us.
“Donna Bird?” Papaw says.
I study her face. I notice a bright-pink blotch just to the side of her left eye. She has a couple of drops of what looks like dried tomato sauce on the same side of her glasses. I reach out to touch, and she gently catches my hand and lowers it.
“I’m sorry I forgot the pizza,” she mumbles, and starts again for the door. “I’ll make some dinner.”
“Mamaw, will you please tell us what happened so we don’t worry?”
“We ain’t trying to pry,” Papaw says, “but…”
She draws a long, stuttering breath. “Neither of y’all can do anything foolish.”
My heart whirs. Papaw moves slowly back to his rocker and sinks into it. He coughs and wheezes. Stress makes his breathing worse. Mamaw sits in the rocker beside him, but I stay standing.
“It was a busy night and I’m training a new girl, and she messed up the order for Ruthie Cloud’s grandson. I don’t recall his name right off. Has the gold teeth and braided hair and tattoos.”
“Jason?” My heart drums on the wall of my chest like an animal dashing itself against the bars of its cage. Whatever she’s about to tell me, it’s my fault. He promised me he would make me sorry if I came between him and Delaney. My knees tremble. A sourness rises in the back of my throat.
“Jason. So she gets the order wrong. Gives him sausage instead of bacon. Well, Jason starts fussing at her, hollering. Being as ugly as can be. I go to see what’s the matter. He tells me. I says, ‘Sir, you are our customer. Your satisfaction is our first priority. We’ll make you a fresh pie.’ But that’s not good enough. So I says, ‘We’ll refund your money too. Keep the pie.’ Course that’s not good enough either. Says he wants a fresh pie, his money back, and twenty dollars for his trouble.”
“For his trouble? Hell.” Papaw shakes his head in disgust. “For his trouble.”
Mamaw continues. “I tell him, ‘Sir, I have offered you what I can. I’ve tried to do right by you. I cannot just give you money from the till. I will lose my job.’ Then he opens up his pizza box, and—” Her face crumples. She pulls off her glasses and presses a hand over her eyes. She begins weeping. “He slaps me with a slice, right over the eye. Fresh out of the oven. Pushes it hard in my face.” She breaks down sobbing.