to get a job as a counselor. Or social worker, she wasn’t sure. They’d sat down, the two of them, and written it all down. School, that was what it came down to. It was a hurdle and you had to jump it.
Time for a refill. The sky was dark and the stars were coming out, one by one. She remembered Virgil turning to her, it was Billy’s senior year during a football game, Billy had just scored for the Eagles.
Where would you be if you’d taken Bud Harris up on his offer—six years into a government job, guaranteed retirement, health, pension. Billy would have grown up in the city, away from all this. No, she thought, you couldn’t. Not when it was handed to you like that, you couldn’t take it.
You got your hopes too high. Not for yourself, but for Billy. Thought he could be something he is not. But of course it was always like that. Love always blocked your view of the truth. And now…
Whatever happens, she thought. You are going to do your best and that’s all. She sat there like that and cried for a while. Enough, she finally thought. Get up. No more drinking. She pitched the vodka bottle over the porch railing and into the yard.
A truck came up the road then, she saw the headlights and then it pulled into the driveway, wondered who it was and stumbled over the step going back into the house. Harris was standing there out front, in his uniform.
He saw she’d been crying and he opened his arms and she leaned into him.
“You want to come inside?”
“I thought I better tell you some things first.”
She closed her eyes and knew it would be bad.
“It’s standard procedure in big cases like this but they took him to Fayette. Also I made him shave and get cleaned up for the mugshot but most likely his picture will be in the paper tomorrow.”
“How does it look?”
“It’s not in our favor. Not unless he starts telling us what happened.”
“Fayette is the new one,” she said. She forced herself to say it: “The one where all those guards got stabbed.”
“Billy knows how to take care of himself. He’s a big boy and they won’t mess with him much, even in a place like that.”
“Can we get him out of there?”
“The DA has all the say in where he goes, given the charge.”
“I wish I’d voted for Cecil Small now.”
“Me, too,” said Harris.
“It’s all a big game to them, isn’t it? They’ve got no idea what they really do to people.”
“No,” said Harris. “I don’t think any of them do.”
She’d set her drink down on the porch rail and she picked it up and finished it.
“This isn’t your fault. You did more than anyone could.”
She shrugged. “I made one bad decision but I made it every day.”
“Some people go their whole lives like that.”
“I guess.”
“What are you drinking,” he said.
“Screwdriver.”
It was quiet for a second.
“Do you want one?” she said.
“Do you have anything for grownups?”
“Not really.”
“In that case I’ll have one.”
“I have to find the bottle. I just tossed it into the yard.”
“I’ll get it,” he said, laughing. They went into the house and Harris took out his flashlight and went out back and returned a few seconds later with the bottle. Then he stood looking out the back window, or maybe just looking at their reflections, as she made the drinks.
“Get your tomatoes in yet?”
She nodded.
“I’ll get mine in soon, I hope.”
She nodded and looked at him. He took a sip of his drink and smiled at her. He was average height, average everything, he looked small standing there in the kitchen in his uniform. But that was not the impression he gave to others, in a room full of people everyone gave him a berth, it was a way he’d learned to act. But right now, even wearing his gunbelt, he was just himself. That was the thing about Harris—he was happy to drop his act. It was the difference between him and Virgil, who was always judging things, sizing you up, even when he was smiling. That was another thing which had never occurred to her before.
“I feel like an idiot for all those things I said yesterday,” she said. “I was upset but I know it doesn’t excuse them.”
“I feel like that every morning.” He grinned. “We can sit down.” They went into the living room to the couch, she sat down on one end and he sat somewhere near the middle.
“You can slide over here if you want.”
He did and they sat quietly for a while and held hands. He adjusted his gunbelt so it wasn’t pressing into her and closed his eyes and laid his head on her shoulder. His body went slack as if they had just made love. It was dark but they didn’t turn on the lights. She had looked at him. A good- looking man in his way, his long face that changed expressions so easily. He might have made a good clown, he could exaggerate the shape of his face that way, he was a funny person. She ran her hand over the smooth top of his head, the short soft hair on the sides and back. Plenty of men his age would have grown it long, combed it over to hide their bald spot. He trimmed it himself once a week with clippers. As if he had nothing to hide. She’d once suggested he shave it all off, like the cop on that cable show, but he’d dismissed that as vanity.
Maybe it’s just your body telling you to do this, knowing you need someone to take care of you. Just the body being practical. Not the heart. But that was not the way it felt. Her neck was tingling where his breath touched it and the feeling was running down her body. She put her hand on his belt but he lifted it away.
“Because you’re on the clock?” she said.
“I’m still waiting to be convinced why it should work now when it’s never worked before.”
“You came over, though.”
“I seem to be here.”
“We can try again.”
She put her hand on his lap a second time.
“I wonder sometimes if you know you’re not being fair.”
“I don’t mean it.”
“I know. That doesn’t make it any better.”
He gently slid away from her, then stood up in the dark trailer. She found herself looking at his pants, just beneath his belt, and he noticed her looking.
“Christ, Grace,” he said. He started laughing.
“I’m unstoppable.”
“Maybe.” He looked around at things, but mostly out the windows. He cleared his throat. “Let’s just give it a couple days or something. Let you take it easy awhile.”
