the scope of her deer rifle, a cigarette lighter raised above his head. Had he lit it, he would have incinerated himself and everyone around him. She took the slack up on the trigger just like her dad had taught her, felt herself breathe out slow, squeezed, heard the report of the rifle…
She jumped slightly. Her father, startled by the movement, let go of her shoulders. “I’m not ready, Dad,” she said. “I’m just not ready.” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his broad chest. “I’m sorry.”
Her father hugged her tightly. “Okay,” he said. “When you’re ready, then.” He pulled away. “Those chops are gonna burn,” he said.
“Thanks, Dad,” Marie said softly. “Thanks for everything.”
He waved it off. “Least I can do,” he said. “Go get Ben washed up.”
Roy smiled to himself when he heard Stan’s muffled cry of release. The kid was shook up, out of his element. But he was also a homy sixteen-year-old. What Laurel was doing would bind the kid to them. Or at least, it would bind him to Laurel, and Roy could handle her.
He drove the van back down U.S. 74, through the flatlands of Robeson and Columbus Counties, headed for the coast. Laurel stayed in the back with Stan.
Roy thought about what was about to go down. He was about to claim what had been denied him for so long, what other people’s cowardice and deception had taken from him. He thought back to the days when everything had been opening up for him, when everything had seemed in his grasp. He had worked with the stars, and soon, he had known, he’d be one himself. Until the day when it all came crashing down. Because someone else couldn’t admit their own fuckup. Because it was easy to blame Roy. His knuckles turned white on the wheel. Soon, he thought to himself. Soon.
Just before reaching the Cape Fear River bridge, he took one of the exits in the snarl of ramps that sorts traffic to the various coast roads. A narrow two-lane blacktop paralleled the river, headed down toward the town of Southport. A few miles down, he turned down a dirt road toward the river. Laurel rejoined him, clambering over the front seat.
“He all right?” Roy said in a voice too low for their passenger to hear.
She nodded. “It’ll be okay, Roy, I promise,” she said.
“We ain’t pickin’ up every stray that comes along,” he said.
She grinned. “Look who’s talkin’.” He didn’t reply. He turned down a dirt road in the direction of the river. A weathered sign announced COMING SOON, RIVERWOODE. LUXURY HOMESITES FROM. The bottom of the sign where the price range was written had rotted and fallen off.
They bumped and jounced over the deeply rutted road until they came to a thick steel cable strung between two trees. Laurel grabbed a key ring from the glove box and hopped out. As she was undoing the padlock holding the cable, Stan appeared behind the passenger seat, peering out the front window.
“Where are we?” he said. He looked dazed.
“Home sweet home,” Roy said. “For another day or so at least.” Laurel got back in the van. She leaned back to peck Stan on the cheek.
After another quarter mile or so, the road emptied out into a clearing. They were on the bank of the river. Wire grass and stunted bushes struggled up from the sandy soil. A double-wide house trailer sat at one edge of the cleared space. Therewas a prefabricated metal shed on the other side of the clearing. Roy pulled up next to the trailer. They all got out.
“Wow,” Stan said, “you got a great view here.” He walked through the tall grass toward the riverbank. The Cape Fear River was broad and deep here. Far out on the channel, a massive container ship piled high with brightly colored rectangular boxes glided soundlessly up the river toward the port of Wilmington. Suddenly, Stan tripped. Then he seemed to become taller by a foot as he hopped up on something concealed in the tall grass.
“Hey,” he called back. There’s a
She jumped slightly. Her father, startled by the movement, let go of her shoulders. “I’m not ready, Dad,” she said. “I’m just not ready.” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his broad chest. “I’m sorry.”
Her father hugged her tightly. “Okay,” he said. “When you’re ready, then.” He pulled away. “Those chops are gonna burn,” he said.
“Thanks, Dad,” Marie said softly. “Thanks for everything.”
He waved it off. “Least I can do,” he said. “Go get Ben washed up.”
Roy smiled to himself when he heard Stan’s muffled cry of release. The kid was shook up, out of his element. But he was also a homy sixteen-year-old. What Laurel was doing would bind the kid to them. Or at least, it would bind him to Laurel, and Roy could handle her.
He drove the van back down U.S. 74, through the flatlands of Robeson and Columbus Counties, headed for the coast. Laurel stayed in the back with Stan.
Roy thought about what was about to go down. He was about to claim what had been denied him for so long, what other people’s cowardice and deception had taken from him. He thought back to the days when everything had been opening up for him, when everything had seemed in his grasp. He had worked with the stars, and soon, he had known, he’d be one himself. Until the day when it all came crashing down. Because someone else couldn’t admit their own fuckup. Because it was easy to blame Roy. His knuckles turned white on the wheel. Soon, he thought to himself. Soon.
Just before reaching the Cape Fear River bridge, he took one of the exits in the snarl of ramps that sorts traffic to the various coast roads. A narrow two-lane blacktop paralleled the river, headed down toward the town of Southport. A few miles down, he turned down a dirt road toward the river. Laurel rejoined him, clambering over the front seat.
“He all right?” Roy said in a voice too low for their passenger to hear.
She nodded. “It’ll be okay, Roy, I promise,” she said.
“We ain’t pickin’ up every stray that comes along,” he said.
She grinned. “Look who’s talkin’.” He didn’t reply. He turned down a dirt road in the direction of the river. A weathered sign announced COMING SOON, RIVERWOODE. LUXURY HOMESITES FROM. The bottom of the sign where the price range was written had rotted and fallen off.
They bumped and jounced over the deeply rutted road until they came to a thick steel cable strung between two trees. Laurel grabbed a key ring from the glove box and hopped out. As she was undoing the padlock holding the cable, Stan appeared behind the passenger seat, peering out the front window.
“Where are we?” he said. He looked dazed.
“Home sweet home,” Roy said. “For another day or so at least.” Laurel got back in the van. She leaned back to peck Stan on the cheek.
After another quarter mile or so, the road emptied out into a clearing. They were on the bank of the river. Wire grass and stunted bushes struggled up from the sandy soil. A double-wide house trailer sat at one edge of the cleared space. Therewas a prefabricated metal shed on the other side of the clearing. Roy pulled up next to the trailer. They all got out.
“Wow,” Stan said, “you got a great view here.” He walked through the tall grass toward the riverbank. The Cape Fear River was broad and deep here. Far out on the channel, a massive container ship piled high with brightly colored rectangular boxes glided soundlessly up the river toward the port of Wilmington. Suddenly, Stan tripped. Then he seemed to become taller by a foot as he hopped up on something concealed in the tall grass.
“Hey,” he called back. There’s a
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