Dark River Road Read online

  “If you didn’t have those high shoes on, you might be faster than a turtle.”

  She was breathing pretty hard. It made her chest rise and fall, and it looked like her boobs might just pop right out of the tight sweater she wore. He wished he hadn’t noticed that. A light on a high pole across the railroad tracks shed just enough of a fuzzy glow that he could see it reflected in her eyes. And on her bare skin above the vee of the sweater. Her short skirt stopped halfway between her knees and hips. Long legs seemed to go on forever.

  “If I take my shoes off, you’ll be in trouble,” she said.

  He might be in trouble anyway. He took a deep breath.

  “Mikey’s gonna get his operation,” he said, and Tansy’s eyes got really wide.

  “No. Really? This is good, right?”

  “Mama thinks so.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No, I think it’s good. I guess I just . . . worry.”

  “Doctors do miracles all the time, I hear. Mikey’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah. I know. I guess.”

  Tansy came really close. She reached up to put her hands on each side of his face, fingers long and cool against his skin. Lifting to her toes, she whispered, “I promise, Chantry. He’ll be okay.”

  He put his hands under her elbows to hold her, wanting the contact, the closeness, the feeling that he wasn’t alone after all. She put her head against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was. His arms went around her to hold her tightly. They stood like that for a little while, under the cold stars, just holding on to each other. He didn’t want it to end.

  It was the motor that finally broke them apart, not the headlights that somehow he hadn’t noticed. He realized a car was coming down the blacktop about the same time as Tansy. The lights were so bright he put a hand up to shield his eyes and stepped to the side of the road, pulling her along with him.

  It came to a screeching halt, gravel spitting out from the wheels when it slid to the edge of the blacktop. Dust hung in the beams of light, but he could see the gleaming chrome and bright red paint of Chris Quinton’s truck.

  Two doors swung open. He’d expected to see Chris and his usual friends, but it was just Chris and Cinda. She flew from the passenger side, eyes glittering up at him.

  “This is why you didn’t come to the dance? Because you’re with her?”

  “That’s not the reason.” He looked beyond her to Chris. He was staring at Tansy, eyes narrowed and his mouth flat.

  “No?” Cinda had something in her hand and she threw it at him. He caught it, an automatic reflex. It was a stuffed bear wearing a big red heart around its neck. “Then why didn’t you show up? Why are you standing here in the middle of the road making out with her? I came out here just to see you, and—oh, I never should have believed you—Chris was right all along.”

  “Cinda, wait.” He reached out to take her arm when she wheeled around, and Chris jumped forward.

  “Back off. You just screwed yourself—and probably Tansy, too.” He gave Chantry a rough shove that sent him back a couple of feet. He caught his balance and swung around ready to fight, but Chris wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were still on Tansy, and they were hot and mad.

  Chantry watched him. He recognized that look. Chris Quinton had it bad for Tansy. And he was just about to explode with anger that Chantry had been the one holding her and not him.

  Tansy stood with her hands planted on her hips, staring at Chris with narrowed eyes that reflected light. “Don’t you be jumpin’ to wrong conclusions, Chris Quinton. Chantry’s my friend. I told you that already.”

  “Yeah. Close friend. You think I’m stupid?”

  “I don’t think you wanna go there,” Tansy said in a low tone. “You made your choice.”

  Chantry looked from one to the other. He didn’t like the sound of this. His hand tightened on the stuffed bear.

  “No, I didn’t. You made it for me,” Chris said. He took a step toward her, which brought him within easy reach of Chantry.

  “Stop right there,” Chantry warned.

  Chris turned on him. “Yeah? Or what? You gonna do something?”

  There wasn’t any point in answering. He just waited. He’d already let Chris put his hands on him once without hitting him for it. He wouldn’t do it again.

  “Well come on, Callahan. Speak up. I can’t hear you—maybe because you still got shit in your ears from living in that shitty shack.”

  When Chantry still didn’t say anything Chris got braver. He got up in his face, just as tall as Chantry and bigger in these last few months, like he’d been working out. He was so close now he could see the way Chris’s eyes had gone all dark in the dim light, and he had white lines that pressed deep on each side of his mouth like he was gritting his teeth.

  “Trash. Sugarditch trash out here living like pigs. You’re a joke, Callahan. You know that? It’s a big joke that you think you’re good enough to be with my cousin. You won’t ever be good enough for anything more than shoveling shit.”

  Chantry was aware of Cinda and Tansy off to one side, staring at them like they didn’t know if they should do anything. Cinda looked all wide-eyed but Tansy looked mad. She knew this wasn’t about Cinda.

  Chris bowed his back and flexed his arms like a banty rooster fluffing out its feathers to look bigger. He even strutted a little bit, made a half-circle around Chantry like he was sizing him up. And then he shoved him again, a hard jab with the heel of his hand against Chantry’s shoulder.

  Chantry hit him. Quick, hard, a shot to the nose meant to make his eyes water and take him off-guard. Chris stumbled back, howling in surprise and pain, but Chantry didn’t wait for him to recover. He followed that first blow with another, this time on the jaw so hard it rocked him back several feet.

  Cinda let out a scream but Tansy was savvy enough to have already gotten out of the way and stood to one side. Cinda’s white coat flashed in the gloom and hazy headlights as she went backward. Chantry paused to see if she was okay, but Chris flew at him and caught him around the middle and they both went down.

  When he was little and Beau and Rafe had got him down, he’d learned not to think about anything else but what was happening, to just let the world beyond the reach of his fists disappear. It was like everything happened in slow-motion, voices and time dragging out so that he could gauge just where to hit, when to duck, and he’d be aware that he was being hit but didn’t really feel it. Not like he always did later when it was over and he felt every blow, every bruise, every cut. Maybe it was just an adrenalin rush, but all he knew was that when he got in a fight he meant to do what it took to win. Losing wasn’t an option.

  Chris was bigger and it was obvious he’d learned more about fighting than he had the last time they’d fought, but he still didn’t have the focus. He let his anger and outrage take over, so that he made stupid mistakes.

  They rolled in the gravel, and Chantry ended up on top. He had hold of Chris’s shirt in one hand, and he pounded him in the face with his fist a few times before Chris managed to block the punches with his forearm. Using his weight as leverage, he shoved him sideways and they ended up scrabbling in the gravel again. Chris got in a few good punches of his own, and then somehow they were standing up again slugging it out.

  As if from a great distance he heard Cinda screaming and Tansy tell her to shut up, but it was only background noise, like a TV left on in another room when the station went off the air.

  Chris popped him in the face again and blood spurted over his left eye. He felt it gush, felt it hot on his face and run into his eye even though there wasn’t any pain. He blinked it away and smashed his fist into Chris’s mouth and felt something give. Chris’s head snapped back and he went up against the front of his truck, and then sagged to his knees, holding a hand over his mouth.

  Chantry breathed hard and watched him, eyes narrowed against sweat, and blood blurring everything. He wasn’t ready to quit. He wanted to p
ound Chris Quinton into mush. There was a lot of satisfaction in seeing him go down.

  Chris was moaning and holding his mouth, and he blinked up at Chantry. His words were all wet and muffled. “You knocked out my toof, you bathtard.”

  Good. He just looked at him and waited. He wouldn’t hit Chris when he was down, but if he got to his feet again, it was back on. Cinda was still screaming and he glanced over at her. She stood by the side of the truck’s open door and she was looking back at him like she’d never seen him before. Maybe she hadn’t. Not like this. When he was in a fight, he lost himself somewhere; changed into somebody he didn’t even know. He didn’t know if that was good or not. It just was.

  After a minute, Chris looked up at him. He pulled to his feet with one hand holding onto the chrome grill of the truck. “Thi’ ain’t over,” he sputtered, blood dripping from his mouth, “but I gotta thave my toof.”

  Chantry stepped back, but didn’t let down his guard. He nodded. “Fine. Next time you feel like burning a cross, think a little harder about it.”

  Chris made a strangled sound and looked guilty. Cinda stopped screaming.

  Tansy sucked in a sharp breath.

  The night was suddenly quiet except for the hum of the truck motor. Chris spit out some blood, then he straightened up. He gave Chantry a look and backed to the driver’s door. “Get in,” he said without looking at his cousin.

  For a moment Chantry thought she wouldn’t; then Cinda grabbed hold of the door and made to climb inside. She stopped with one hand atop the truck cab and looked straight at him.

  “I hate you, Chantry Callahan.”

  Yeah. He figured she might after this. He just nodded. There wasn’t anything he could do about that. Not now. Probably not ever.

  The door slammed and Chris shoved the truck into reverse so fast the gears ground, then he backed up onto the blacktop road and roared off into the night, taillights glowing red and angry.

  He just stood there watching even when there wasn’t anything to see. After a minute, Tansy walked over to him. She held something in her hand, and he looked over at her. She lifted her brow at him.

  “Happy Valentine’s.”

  She shoved the white bear Cinda had brought into his hand. He didn’t even remember dropping it, but he must have. He looked down at it, at the big red heart around the bear’s neck that said I Love You, and blew out a long breath. Guess there wasn’t much room between love and hate sometimes. He looked up at Tansy after a minute. She was watching him with her eyes all careful so he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Then she shook her head.

  “Come on, Chantry. I think we’ve both had enough fun for one night.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Mama was mad at him about the fight. She put a butterfly bandage on the cut over his eye and doctored the cut on his lip and didn’t say a word to him the whole time. But he knew she was mad by the way she did it in short, abrupt movements.

  When she was done, she put away the ointment and bandages and turned to look at him with her arms wrapped tight around her chest, like she was holding in anger.

  “Chris Quinton, Chantry? What were you thinking? No, wait. You weren’t thinking, of course. You could not have been or you would have realized that decent people do not roll around in the dirt like animals.”

  He looked down at his hands. His knuckle still bled, probably from where he’d cut it on Chris’s tooth.

  “Look at me, Chantry Allen Callahan. Now.”

  She’d used his full name. He was really in trouble. His head came up and he looked her in the eyes. It was hard. He hated seeing her look at him like that, with anger and something like disappointment. She didn’t raise her voice, but she didn’t have to. He felt every word like a blow to the stomach.

  “Do you realize that you may well have jeopardized your little brother’s opportunity for surgery? Mr. Quinton may decide not to sign those papers if he is angry enough because of this. If that happens, Chantry, I will hold you responsible.”

  The light over the kitchen table seemed to suddenly go dim. He got cold clear down his back. He’d never thought of that.

  “You will go with me tomorrow, and you will apologize to Chris and his grandfather. Do you understand me?”

  He didn’t want to go, but he knew he had no choice. He sure didn’t owe Chris an apology, but if it hurt Mikey—he nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand. I’ll do it.”

  “You certainly will. Now go to bed. And stay there.”

  He guessed that was a reference to getting caught sneaking out. She didn’t trust him. He hated that just about more than anything else right now. Except maybe if Mikey couldn’t get his operation if old man Quinton got mad about the fight. That would be the worst thing to happen.

  Mama was waiting on him when he got off work at the clinic the next day, and she didn’t say a word all the way out to Six Oaks. She just drove Rainey’s old Dodge truck with both hands on the steering wheel and her eyes focused on the road. Mikey didn’t even seem to notice, but sat happily strapped into his seat in the middle like they were all going to the county fair. He held the white bear Chantry had tucked beside him the night before, the red heart with I Love You still around its neck.

  It hadn’t seemed right keeping it when Cinda hated him now, but except for a little dirt the bear was fine, so he’d given it to Mikey. He kinda wished he hadn’t. It made him feel really bad to see it.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d been inside Six Oaks, but the only other time was when he’d been let into the bathroom off the kitchen when he was helping Dempsey. Now they went in the front door. Mama didn’t seem to mind, but he felt uncomfortable. The house wasn’t cold like that house in Memphis had been, but just as grand. Floors gleamed, a chandelier hung overhead in the entrance hall and made light tinkly sounds like little bells when a draft moved the dangling crystals, and the house smelled fresh and clean.

  A man he recognized as Chris’s dad came out into the entrance hall after a moment, and his gaze went straight to Chantry. Colin Quinton was tall and blond, with the same pale gray eyes as Chris.

  “So this is the young man who sent my son to the emergency room in the middle of the night,” he said in a tone he probably thought was amused. “You don’t look as if you fared much better.”

  Chantry’s face looked pretty bad and he knew it. He didn’t really care. Mr. Quinton smiled in a way that let him know he was glad to see Chantry’s face all cut up.

  “Well, son, I hope you’ve both learned from this experience. Fighting doesn’t solve anything. It only creates more problems.”

  “Yessir,” he said when it seemed he was expected to agree.

  “Chantry has come to apologize,” Mama said, and Mr. Quinton’s eyes shifted to her.

  “Has he. I’m sure Chris will appreciate the gesture. I believe you have an appointment with my father?”

  “Yes.” Mama sounded a little nervous for the first time. “It is a wonderful thing he is doing for us. His assistance has made all the difference in getting our name on the list.”

  “He’s not without influence.” Colin Quinton lifted his brow and gave Mama an appraising look that Chantry didn’t quite like. “But I’m certain he has his reasons for being so generous. One hand washes the other, so to speak.”

  Color washed over Mama’s face, and Chantry wondered what he meant by that. But then a woman came out to say that Mr. Quinton would see them now, and Mama took Mikey’s hand and followed her. Because he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, he trailed behind, but felt Chris’s dad watching them as they went to a room off the end of the entrance hall.

  Bert Quinton sat behind a huge ornate desk set in front of a bank of windows that looked out over the back of the house. The dry creek bed that had been put in that summer was visible, white stones gleaming against grass that stayed green all year round.

  Chantry had only been this close to old man Quinton once before, and he hadn’t liked it then any better tha
n he liked it now. There was something scary about him, an intensity and strength of purpose that made Chris’s dad seem washed out by comparison. Bert Quinton had influence. He had the governor’s ear. Some said he had his hand in the governor’s pocket, too, but Chantry didn’t see how that’d be possible.

  Now he looked at Mama and Mikey and Chantry from eyes that were hard and sharp, and seemed to be able to see clear inside his head and know what he was thinking.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Lassiter. I appreciate your punctuality.” He had a curiously soft voice for a man who could say hard things on occasion, and sat back in his chair without getting up like most men did when a lady entered the room. “Please. Be seated.”

  Chantry stood back, holding Mikey’s hand while Mama took the chair he indicated with a careless wave of one hand. Every time he saw old man Quinton he was reminded of somebody but he wasn’t sure who. There was just something about him that made him think of someone else—like the godfather in that movie. Arrogance. Contempt. Or a willingness to employ cruelty if he thought it useful to gain his own ends.

  Mr. Quinton lifted a few papers from his desk and held them in one hand, looking at them as if deciding what to do. Then he looked up at Mama.

  “My secretary prepared the necessary paperwork. There are so few available spaces, you understand, that they must be assigned carefully. The most needy child receives treatment first, and on down the line. You understand that, don’t you, Carrie?”

  Mama’s hands went so tight in her lap that her knuckles got white. She nodded. “Certainly I do. That is why I appreciate your efforts on my son’s behalf. Your kindness and generosity are a blessing to our family, Mr. Quinton.” Her words sounded stiff.

  A faint smile lifted one side of his mouth. “You’ve been an exemplary addition to our educational staff. You’re dedicated to your pupils and to the school. Save for a few minor quibbles of late, I’ve not regretted hiring you for an instant.”