The Lost Saints of Tennessee by Amy Franklin-Willis Page B

something.”
    I take a sip of lukewarm coffee. “Thanks for coming.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. Get on with it.”
    â€œRemember when I got hurt at work last year?” Door number two it will be.
    She nods.
    â€œBoss moved me from doing trim work to installing the Formica floors and I slipped. Banged the hell out of my shoulder.” This part was all true. “The doctor prescribed codeine for the pain. The shoulder got better but it’s still not quite right. So I take a painkiller now and again. I brought them on this trip and did a dumb thing.”
    She grabs a piece of bacon off her plate and munches, looking skeptical.
    â€œLast night I came here for dinner and left the pills out on the nightstand with the top off. You know Tucker. The dog eats cow shit, for God’s sake. I came back and found him lying on the floor with the chewed-up bottle next to him, all of the pills gone.”
    My sister sifts through the words, calculating their accuracy. “That’s a good story,” she says.
    â€œWhat? You don’t believe me?” I work on sounding outraged. “I don’t need you to believe me, Rosie. Okay? What? You think I tried to do something else with the codeine? Like what? Go ahead. Say it.”
    A few heads turn in the direction of our table. I feel bad for the mom and two kids who don’t need to hear this.
    Rosie leans over the table, voice low. “You want to know what I think? I think you came here to kill yourself. I think you called me to say good-bye. I think you took those pills yourself and maybe gave some to Tucker so he wouldn’t be left without you, too.”
    I laugh, throwing my hands up. “Then why I am here? Shouldn’t I be dead?” I yell now, pointing at my chest. “I. Am. Here.”
    She shrugs. “I don’t know, Zeke. Christ. Will you calm the hell down? What’s the matter with you?”
    â€œYou’re calling me a liar, Rosie. And suggesting I tried to kill my own dog. Anything else?”
    I throw money on the table and stomp out of the restaurant. Not bad acting. Hill Street Blues here I come.
    â€œZeke, wait!” My sister hurries to cover the ground between the front door and the truck. I forget she hasn’t slept much in the past twenty-four hours, either.
    The morning clouds drift past, carried by a light wind. Saturday. The dog and I have made it to another Saturday. For some reason the thought makes me smile.
    â€œTell me one thing, okay?” She puts a hand on my arm. “What are you doing here? Why did you leave Clayton?”
    â€œThat’s two things.”
    Her hand drops. “This isn’t fucking funny.”
    â€œYou want to know why I came to beautiful Pigeon Forge?”
    She nods.
    Simple question. I stall and put my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, thinking of how to answer. My right hand hits the hard edge of something in the pocket. I pull it out. It’s the postcard from the fudge shop.
    I hold it out to her. “ This is why I came here.”
    Rosie takes the card and stares at it. “That’s a picture of a farm in the Smoky Mountains. You came here to buy a farm?”
    â€œI didn’t come to Pigeon Forge to stay here. I’m on my way to somewhere else.”
    â€œReally?” She is far from convinced.
    â€œTo Virginia. I’m going back to Lacey Farms. To see Cousin Georgia and Osborne. They sent me a letter a while ago and said they could use some help.”
    Might as well make it sound good.
    She hands the postcard back. “Why didn’t you tell anybody that?”
    I duck my head and try to look sheepish. “I should have. But I needed to get away from Clayton and think it through, you know? Clean mountain air and chocolate fudge never hurt anybody, right?”
    â€œI guess.” A look of confusion still clouds her face. Against her intuition, she is inclined to believe me.
    â€œI don’t know