potbelly and whipped off his belt. “Look here,” he said. We saw specks of blood and short gray hairs stuck to the belt buckle. Ringles stepped back and whacked the deer on its rump. “That’ll last to winter,” he told Mrs. McBride. “Stew, steaks, chops, a whole damn smorgasbord. All free. And a nice little rack for over the fireplace to boot.”
“You owe me,” Shirley said. She was smiling.
Buck Ringles winked at her. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get everything you’re owed and more.”
“Oh, I will, will I?”
Gracie turned and stormed out.
“Where you going?” Buck Ringles called after her.
“She don’t know,” Shirley said. “She’s always pissed off about something. It’ll pass. How about another beer?”
Darlene and I found Gracie in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest.
“It’s boring here,” I said. “Let’s go back to Jitters.”
Gracie gave me a look filled with anger. She turned to Darlene. “Tell him to go away.”
“What did I do?”
Darlene sat down next to Gracie. “He didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“But it happened,” Gracie said. “Tell him to leave.”
“So the deer’s dead,” I said. “Everything dies, remember?”
“Get out of here.”
I turned to Darlene.
“What?” she said. “It’s not my house.”
“What if it was?”
“Tell him.”
Darlene looked at Gracie, then at me. “You better go.”
“What? No. No, I’m not going. This is dumb. Come on, let’s go down—”
“Get out,” Gracie said. “Do you hear me? I hate you.”
I heard her say it again, louder, as the kitchen door banged shut behind me.
five
I waited until I got into my truck to call Darlene.
“Esper,” she said.
“Good morning.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“My God, Gus, I am so—” She stopped herself. I imagined her holding the cell phone close to her face, ducking away from the sheriff and the other deputies. “I am so sick of being a girl.”
“What?”
“Being treated like a girl.”
“What happened?”
“Dingus sent me back to the department.”
“You’re at your desk?”
“I’m handling the frigging press. We’re off the record, by the way.”
I decided not to make a joke. The “press” would be me and the woman who went on the air for Channel Eight. I started my truck, pulled it into Mom’s driveway, threw it in reverse, and backed it onto Beach Drive.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Are they thinking—”
“Don’t you dare take their side.”
“I’m not. I just thought—”
“I know what you thought. You thought, This is my oldest friend, maybe I shouldn’t be working on this.”
“No.” I really hadn’t. Yet.
“Well, that’s what Dingus said. ‘Maybe you should take a little time, Darlene.’ He can kiss my buns.”
Dingus, I thought, might also have worried that she would tell me things she shouldn’t. He didn’t always mind me knowing things, but he liked to be the one who decided what I knew or didn’t and when.
“Maybe he’ll reconsider.”
“I’ll make him.”
I let the conversation pause as I veered onto Main Street and passed the old marina, Repicky’s, Enright’s, Sally’s, Audrey’s, and crossed Estelle where the businesses gave way to two-story houses on either side of the road, their sprawling front porches buried in snow.
“How are you really?”
“I’m pissed.”
“I know, but, I mean, you know, with Gracie and all.”
“Are you going to write a story?”
“I have to write something.”
“Like what?”
“Are you handling the press now?”
She softened her voice. “Like what, Gussy?”
The houses fell behind me and fields of white opened beyond both road shoulders. An occasional fence post knotted with barbed wire poked through the drifts. A new cell tower jutted into the sky high above the tree line.
“I don’t know. If I had to write it this minute, I don’t know how I could write anything but apparent suicide.
“You owe me,” Shirley said. She was smiling.
Buck Ringles winked at her. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get everything you’re owed and more.”
“Oh, I will, will I?”
Gracie turned and stormed out.
“Where you going?” Buck Ringles called after her.
“She don’t know,” Shirley said. “She’s always pissed off about something. It’ll pass. How about another beer?”
Darlene and I found Gracie in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest.
“It’s boring here,” I said. “Let’s go back to Jitters.”
Gracie gave me a look filled with anger. She turned to Darlene. “Tell him to go away.”
“What did I do?”
Darlene sat down next to Gracie. “He didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“But it happened,” Gracie said. “Tell him to leave.”
“So the deer’s dead,” I said. “Everything dies, remember?”
“Get out of here.”
I turned to Darlene.
“What?” she said. “It’s not my house.”
“What if it was?”
“Tell him.”
Darlene looked at Gracie, then at me. “You better go.”
“What? No. No, I’m not going. This is dumb. Come on, let’s go down—”
“Get out,” Gracie said. “Do you hear me? I hate you.”
I heard her say it again, louder, as the kitchen door banged shut behind me.
five
I waited until I got into my truck to call Darlene.
“Esper,” she said.
“Good morning.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“My God, Gus, I am so—” She stopped herself. I imagined her holding the cell phone close to her face, ducking away from the sheriff and the other deputies. “I am so sick of being a girl.”
“What?”
“Being treated like a girl.”
“What happened?”
“Dingus sent me back to the department.”
“You’re at your desk?”
“I’m handling the frigging press. We’re off the record, by the way.”
I decided not to make a joke. The “press” would be me and the woman who went on the air for Channel Eight. I started my truck, pulled it into Mom’s driveway, threw it in reverse, and backed it onto Beach Drive.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Are they thinking—”
“Don’t you dare take their side.”
“I’m not. I just thought—”
“I know what you thought. You thought, This is my oldest friend, maybe I shouldn’t be working on this.”
“No.” I really hadn’t. Yet.
“Well, that’s what Dingus said. ‘Maybe you should take a little time, Darlene.’ He can kiss my buns.”
Dingus, I thought, might also have worried that she would tell me things she shouldn’t. He didn’t always mind me knowing things, but he liked to be the one who decided what I knew or didn’t and when.
“Maybe he’ll reconsider.”
“I’ll make him.”
I let the conversation pause as I veered onto Main Street and passed the old marina, Repicky’s, Enright’s, Sally’s, Audrey’s, and crossed Estelle where the businesses gave way to two-story houses on either side of the road, their sprawling front porches buried in snow.
“How are you really?”
“I’m pissed.”
“I know, but, I mean, you know, with Gracie and all.”
“Are you going to write a story?”
“I have to write something.”
“Like what?”
“Are you handling the press now?”
She softened her voice. “Like what, Gussy?”
The houses fell behind me and fields of white opened beyond both road shoulders. An occasional fence post knotted with barbed wire poked through the drifts. A new cell tower jutted into the sky high above the tree line.
“I don’t know. If I had to write it this minute, I don’t know how I could write anything but apparent suicide.
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