The Backwoods

Judy lay slumped on the old scroll-footed sofa.

“Judy? It’s me.”

Her head tilted aside, her mouth agape. She looked pallid and years older. Patricia’s heart tightened up when she noticed an open bottle of pills on the old tea table next to the couch. She rushed forward, then sighed in relief. just a bottle of vitamins . . .

But there was an irreducible instant when she’d believed that her sister was dead. She certainly looked it, lying there as if dropped amongst the tasseled pillows.

Judy stirred in her sleep, mouthing something unintelligible, but then real words formed:

“His head,” she whispered. “My God, his head . . .”

Patricia leaned over and gave several firm nudges. “Judy, wake up, wake up. I’m here.”

It was like looking at a countrified clone of herself; Patricia and Judy had near-identical faces, possessed similar figures and the same plenteous bosom. But Judy’s hair lacked the bright red fire of Patricia’s, and instead of being short and straight, it lay long and thick, with high bangs that their mother always called “kitchen-curtain hair.” Five stress-laden years with Dwayne as a husband had streaked her hair with some gray and had blanched the once-vibrant color from her cheeks.

“Judy? Wake up.”

The crow’s-feet at the comers of Judy’s eyes began to twitch. Her breasts rose quickly once; then she gasped herself out of sleep and was finally looking up at Patricia.

“Hi, Judy.”

No recognition at first, just a puzzled stare; then Judy’s arms shot forward and she hugged her sister for dear life. “Oh, God, thank God. I thought . . . Oh, Jesus, I was dreaming—a terrible dream.”

Patricia sat down and put her arm around Judy’s shoulder. “It was just a dream, and it’s over now. Everything’s fine.”

Judy actually shuddered in her sister’s arms. “Thank you for coming. I’ve just . . . I feel like I’m falling apart. I sleep all the time; I’ve just been so tired. The house is a mess; I haven’t even had the energy to pick up.”

“The house looks fine, Judy,” Patricia assured her. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, but things will get better.”

“I hope so. . . .”

Patricia could smell alcohol; whenever Judy got depressed, she drank, which only worsened matters. “Come on; you’re exhausted. Let’s get you up to bed.”

Judy offered no objection. She trudged up the carpeted stairs, clinging to her sister. She’s lost weight, too, Patricia observed. She felt thin, bony. Patricia helped her down the dark hall, passing more framed pictures that should seem familiar but somehow didn’t. The house was too quiet, save for when floorboards creaked, then the keening hinge of the bedroom door.

“I’m sorry I’m so out of it,” Judy finally said. “I shouldn’t have had that wine. I’m just so lonely now. . . . Doesn’t that sound pathetic?”

“Of course it doesn’t. You’ve suffered a loss. It takes time to work through it. But what you need more than anything tonight is a good night’s sleep.”

An exhausted nod. Patricia got Judy out of her housedress, then saw just how thin her sister had grown in her despair. Her ribs showed beneath the bra. She looked like she’d lost a cup size, too. She also had tears in her eyes. This is going to take a while, Patricia realized. She’s failling apart. She got her into bed and under the covers, then sat down beside her and held her hand. “You want me to get you something, some warm milk, water?”

Judy looked back at her very wanly, but she finally managed a smile. “No, I’m fine now that you’re here. I guess I’m not dealing well with being alone.”

You never did. “But where’s Ernie?” Patricia asked after the family yardman and housekeeper. “Don’t tell me he’s not working for you anymore. I can’t imagine him anywhere else.”

“He just keeps the yard in order now. Dwayne never liked him, so since the wedding Ernie’s stayed outside, never does anything in the house anymore.”

“Well, that can change now, can’t it? This is a big place, Judy. You can’t keep it up on the inside all by yourself, not with the crab company too.”

“I know, and it will change.” The tired smile even brightened then. “But when I saw Ernie this morning, I told him to make sure the yard was cut, ‘cos I didn’t want it all shaggy for you comin’. You shoulda seen the way his face lit up when I told him you’d be comin’ back for a spell.”

Patricia nearly blushed. Ernie Gooder had been her “boyfriend,” back in seventh grade. They’d stuck together like glue all through childhood, but as middle-school years faded—and her body ripened early—she’d lost interest in Ernie and potential sweetheart romances. Ernie was a tried-and-true local, would never think of leaving Agan’s Point, and, like most of the men in these rural areas, he was also a tried-and-true hayseed. He’d dropped out of school early to work his father’s farm and stagnate like so many who’d grown up here. They don’t know they can move somewhere else and make their lives better, she thought, but maybe she was being pretentious. There was nothing wrong with staying close to one’s roots and working the land, but it just seemed so shallow to Patricia, that or maybe she was just more adventuresome than everyone else. At any rate, Ernie’s crush on Patricia had never died, and he’d been disheartened when she’d left for college.

“He’s still got that torch burnin’ for you,” Judy said. “And he’s still as handsome as ever.”

“I’m sure he is,” Patricia played along, “but my husband’s still got all my bases covered.”

“Oh, I know, and I’m so glad you’re happy with Byron. How is he, by the way?”

“He’s fine . . . and you’re exhausted, so . . .” Patricia snapped off the bedside lamp. “You go to sleep, and we’ll have a big breakfast together in the morning.” She kissed her sister’s forehead, then stood back up. Judy wouldn’t let go of her hand.

“Oh, Patricia,” came the whisper. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you come all this way to be with me.”

“You’re my sister and I love you. Now go to sleep!”

But Judy’s eyes kept staring up. “I-I never told you . . .”

“Never told me what?”

“How . . . Dwayne died.”

“Of course you did.” Patricia bent the truth. Actually, her sister had never elaborated. “An accident, you said.”

Judy’s voice piped up like a child’s. “His head was cut off, and nobody knows how it happened.”

Patricia stood in a silent shock. She’s serious. . . . She had no idea what to say in response.

“And the head was never found,” Judy groaned out the rest.

Murder, not an accident. What condolence could she add now? But when Patricia looked again, Judy had already fallen asleep.

My God . . .

The windows stood open at the end of the hall, letting in the cicada sounds, and the house’s deep, old Colonial decor made her feel a thousand miles away from her condo in D.C. She stepped into her bedroom, felt odd at once, then backed out. Sleeping there would just remind her of more childhood memories, but she couldn’t stay in her parents’ old room, either—that would just be worse. One of the guest rooms downstairs, she decided, then drifted back down the stairs to go out and get her bags from the Caddy. The macabre distraction was sidetracking her: Dwayne’s head. Did she mean that somebody cut off Dwayne’s head?

She stopped midway down the step. How the heck did—

Her suitcases sat neatly stacked at the bottom of the steps.

“Didn’t know where ya’d wanna be sleepin’. . . .”

Ernie Gooder stepped from behind her baggage, looking up.

“We was expectin’ ya much earlier,” he said next, “like about noon.” He glanced to the window. “Looks like ya barely beat sundown.”

Patricia felt a shock: Judy wasn’t kidding. . . . Ernie had always been attractive: