Fourmile (14 page)

I waited, watching the side of the yard where I’d last seen him. After a few minutes I thought I saw something flash across the house window and my eyes darted to the place and stayed there. I felt my heart beating through my temples.

“Gary,” I whispered.

The front door cracked slightly and hung there. Then it swung all the way open and Gary stepped onto the porch and looked at me. I let out a deep breath and eased lower in my seat. He left the door open and took a few steps into the yard before turning and looking back. I saw that his shirt was torn and noticed that his bandanna was gone. He started my way again, moving quickly, staring at the ground. When he slid onto the driver’s seat I saw his entire right arm was covered in blood.

“Gary!”

He leaned forward and used his left hand to pull his shirt over his head. Then he draped it over the bloody arm.

“Tie the sleeves tight just above my elbow,” he said.

I scooted over and took the two sleeves and began to fumble with them.

“Come on,” he said. “Hurry up.”

I focused and pulled a half hitch snug just below his biceps. He glanced at it.

“Tighter,” he said.

I grabbed the sleeves again and pulled them harder. He moved the arm away and turned the ignition and blood fell onto his knee and shoes. I looked at him and his face was tight and strained.

“What happened?”

He dropped his arm to his side and popped the clutch, the truck leaping forward. He had the truck redlined in first gear until we’d made the turn onto the dirt road. Then I heard the creak of the clutch spring again.

“Push the column shifter up for me,” he said.

I leaned over and shoved the shifter up. He let out the clutch pedal and we lurched ahead in second gear.

He shoved the clutch in again. “Third,” he said.

I pulled it down into third gear. The pine trees flashed by outside my window and red dust rose in a cloud behind us.

“What happened, Gary?”

“He cut me with an arrow. I’ll be okay.”

“He shot you with it?”

“No, he just cut me with it.”

“What’d you go in his house for?”

He didn’t answer me. We barely slowed at the blacktop before leaning into a hard turn. Gary straightened the truck and gunned it.

“Gary?”

“I shouldn’t have brought you,” he said. “It was stupid of me.”

“What’d you do to him?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “That’s enough questions, Foster. I’ve got to concentrate and I need you to stay ready on the gearshift.”

36

He stood at the kitchen sink, letting the tap run hot over his arm and fill the basin with water that looked like cherry Kool-Aid. I got some paper towels for him and brought them over. I saw the cut, a deep slice on the underside of his arm from wrist to elbow. The sight of it made me queasy and I turned away and stared at the floor.

“Call your mother,” he said. “Tell her to come home.”

I went to the phone and picked it up and there was no dial tone.

“Plug it in,” he said.

I connected it to the wall and dialed Mother at the post office.

“Mother,” I said.

“I’m so sorry about Joe, Foster. I’m—”

“Gary’s hurt,” I said. “We need you to come home.”

*   *   *

“I need you to find some things for me while we wait on her,” he said. “You need to hurry because I’m not going to be able to stand up much longer.”

“Okay,” I said.

“First, I want you to find some rubbing alcohol. Open it on the way back.”

I went into Mother’s bathroom and got the alcohol and brought it back to him open. He took it and held his arm over the sink and poured the entire bottle over it. Then he dropped the bottle and looked away and lowered his head and I saw his neck muscles rise. He made a sound from somewhere deep in his throat and leaned on his left elbow. There was blood everywhere now. The counter, the sink, his pants, the floor.

“Go get a towel and some tape,” he stammered.

“What—”

“Any kind. Start it for me.”

I ran and got a towel out of the bathroom and some duct tape out of the kitchen drawer. I lifted a corner of it and walked up behind him. He straightened and held his hand back to me and I put the tape in it.

“Wrap the towel tight around my arm.”

I did what he said and held it. Blood was already wicking through the white cloth. He bit the tape end and pulled out a length. He dragged it over the towel and dropped the spool. Then he reached under and grabbed it where it swung and threw it over again. He did this several times until the towel was secured.

“Tear it,” he said.

I leaned over and bit it and tore the spool free. He lowered himself to the floor and sat there with his eyes closed, breathing deep, the arm limp in his lap.

“Gary?” I said.

He didn’t answer me.

“Gary!”

He opened his eyes and cocked them up at me.

“You’re not going to die, are you?”

He cracked a smile and shook his head. I didn’t believe him.

“Don’t close your eyes,” I said.

“I told you I’d be okay,” he replied. “I’ve lost a lot of blood. I’m just a little weak.”

“Why don’t we call an ambulance?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay. I just need to sit here. Just stop talking to me for a while.”

*   *   *

I heard Mother’s car drive up and I was halfway to the front door by the time she came bursting in.

“What happened!” she said.

“Dax cut Gary’s arm. He’s on the kitchen floor.”

She brushed past me and I chased after her into the kitchen. I saw her look horrified at his arm.

“Gary!”

He looked up at her. “I’m okay,” he said. “Call the police and file a report.”

She knelt beside him and started to lift on his good arm. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

He pulled the arm down. “Don’t call the doctor, Linda. Don’t argue with me about that. Call the police and file a report. Tell them what Dax did to Joe last night. Tell them you’re scared.”

“What if they want to come here?”

“They probably will. Don’t mention me.”

“What happened, Gary?”

“Just do it, Linda. Then we’ll talk about the rest. No doctors.”

She started to say something but didn’t. Finally she nodded and stood and hurried to her bedroom. I stayed with Gary while she made the phone call. She came back and stood over him.

“They’re coming over,” she said. “They need to make a report.”

He nodded slowly. “Take me to Foster’s room so I can lie down.”

“Is he going to be okay, Mother?”

“Quiet, Foster,” she said. “I want you to start cleaning up this kitchen. I want it done fast. All the blood on the floor. Anywhere there’s blood.”

“You don’t have to invite them inside, Linda.”

“It makes me too nervous,” she said.

He nodded. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “Foster, drive the truck under the equipment shed after you’re finished.”

I started for the paper towels.

*   *   *

Mother took Gary down the hall and returned a few minutes later. She helped me clean the blood from the sink and the counter and the floor and the walls. Then she sent me outside to move the truck and spray off the back stoop with the hose.

When I was finished out back I went to my room and changed out of my bloody clothes. Then I walked into the kitchen just as the police began knocking on the door.

“Go back to your room and wait for me,” she said.

I walked into my room and saw that Gary wasn’t there. I heard Mother opening the front door and the voices of men. I backed out and went into Mother’s room and saw him in her bed lying on his back with his eyes closed. I pulled the door behind me and approached him. He opened his eyes and smiled at me. Then he put a finger to his lips. “I’m all right,” he said softly.

I felt myself starting to cry again all of a sudden. It was like something shaken up from inside me. I tried to swallow it away, but I was choking against it.

“Shhh,” he said.

I put my hand over my mouth and coughed and nodded, but I couldn’t stop the tears.

“Come here,” he said.

I felt like my legs were about to give out and I felt light-headed.

“Foster,” he said. “Come lie down.”

I crawled onto the bed and lay on my side facing him, coughing against my palm and trembling. He took his good hand and reached across himself and stroked my hair. “You did good,” he said.

I hugged him and cried into his shirt.

37

It wasn’t until Mother stood over us that I realized the sound of the men talking had stopped. She touched my shoulder, but I didn’t move. Finally she nudged me and I rolled over and looked at her. She was holding a box of dental floss and a sewing needle.

“I need to see his arm, Foster.”

I scooted to the end of the bed. I thought she would tell me to leave, but she didn’t. She sat down beside him and crossed her legs and started to gently peel off the duct tape. He stared at the ceiling fan.

“I don’t know anything about this,” she said.

“There’s not much to it,” he replied. “I’ve already cleaned it.”

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

He glanced at the arm, then looked at me, then looked at the ceiling fan again. “Dax poisoned the dog,” he said. “I went to talk to him about it. Things got out of hand.”

She got the tape off and unfolded the towel. I saw her face go ashen. She swallowed and looked away and fumbled with the dental floss.

“You can’t worry about hurting me,” he said. “You’ve just got to sew it up before I lose any more blood.”

“Go get another towel, Foster,” she said.

I got up and went into her bathroom to get a towel.

“You shouldn’t have taken him,” I heard her say.

“I know. I shouldn’t have … I didn’t expect it to go like it did.”

“Should I be scared?”

“Of Dax?”

I didn’t hear her reply.

“We don’t need to worry about him for a while,” he said. “He’s in pretty bad shape.”

I came back with the towel and gave it to her. The cut was separating and blood rose into the valley of the cut like a spring boil. She put the towel under it and began threading the needle.

“I’m going to see it through,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”

She held the needle and thread over his arm and studied the wound. She took a deep breath.

“Start near my wrist,” he said. “I think it’s deepest there.”

“What if it cut something important?” she said. “What if there’s something in there that needs to be fixed?”

“I can make a fist. I think everything works.”

“Okay,” she said. “Here I go.”

She leaned over and closed the lip of the wound with her fingers. Blood ran over the sides of his arm. She glanced at him, but his face held no expression. She ran the needle through and pulled the floss to the knot at the end. He didn’t flinch.

“All right?” she asked.

“Keep going.”

She ran the needle through again and pulled the first suture snug. Then she had more confidence and made steady progress up the arm.

“How did it happen?” she asked.

“He stabbed at me with a hunting arrow. I tried to grab it and it slid through my hands.”

She winced and kept working. Eventually there was what looked like a tiny, waxy white railroad track in a mess of blood. Then she took the edge of the towel and blotted most of it clean.

“Go get some alcohol, Foster,” she said.

“I think we used it all.”

“I’ve got a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide in my bathroom drawer. Go get that.”

I left again.

“What makes you so sure he won’t come tonight, Gary?” I heard her ask.

“I ripped some wires out of his truck and cut his phone line. It’s going to take him a while to crawl up that dirt road and get some help.”

“Crawl?”

“I beat him senseless,” he said with no remorse. “I had to stop myself. I wanted to kill him.”

Silence.

“He’s got friends,” she said.

“I’ve seen them.”

I returned with the bottle. She poured a thin line down the track of sutures and it rose and bubbled white. After a few seconds she dabbed it dry and got up and went into the bathroom. I heard the sink come on and in a minute she came back wiping her hands on a washcloth.

“Okay.” She sighed. “What next?”

“Go get my pistol, Foster.”

I looked at Mother and she moved her chin for me to go on. I left the room and went outside into a twilight that was quieter than any I remembered. Kabo rose from the back stoop and looked at me with a question. I reached down and scratched him behind the ears. “He’s all right, boy,” I said. Then it hit me that Joe was gone. And it seemed like something that had happened a long time ago—something that wasn’t even real. But the pain of it was so mixed in with everything else that it fell flat and was impossible to dwell on.

I got the pistol out of his pack and brought it back to him. Mother was still standing where I’d left her and I could tell they’d been talking about something. I put the pistol on the bed and he reached across his stomach and took it.

“Let’s go, Foster,” Mother said. “Gary needs to rest.”

38

I followed her into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and started pulling out leftovers. “Go into your room and pack some clothes,” she said. “We’re going to Granddaddy’s tonight.”

“What?”

She straightened and looked at me. “You heard what I said, Foster. Please just do what I say. I’m really tired.”

I slowly shook my head.

“Foster,” she warned, “now’s not the time for this.”

“We’re not leaving him here like that.”

“Go pack your clothes,” she said again.

“He won’t be here when we get back.”

“Yes he will.”

“No he won’t! And you know it!”

She took a step toward me. I turned and bolted out the back door.

“Foster!” she yelled.

I kept running until I was in front of the barn and turned and walked backward, facing the house. She stood in the doorway watching me. She rubbed her hand over her face with frustration. I turned and went through the bay doors and lay down in the dirt next to his pack. Kabo trotted up and settled next to me and whined from deep in his throat. The refrigerator clacked and hummed from the far corner and the moths darted about the overhead bulb. It was so empty.