drive her nuts and she’d leave me alone. Maybe Mark would have lost interest in playing games he’d shunned for nine years and want to watch the Cowboys with me. We’d cheer Troy, yell for Emmitt, call for Moose, and applaud Bill Bates. We’d pretend we had normal lives, for just a while.
Unfortunately the game wasn’t on till midafternoon. Clo and Candace watched me. I began to read the Austin American-Statesman sports section with extreme concentration.
It didn’t work.
“Truda Shivers called early this morning,” Candace said, ignoring that I was obviously reading an article of great importance. “She wanted to know what the funeral plans were for Trey. She suggested that since Trey and Clevey had so many of the same friends, that we might consider a double funeral. At St.-George’s-on-the- River.”
I set down my cup on the paper. I couldn’t hide. I shouldn’t hide. “What about Nola? She might have plans for his funeral.”
“We don’t even know how long he and Nola have been together,” Candace said. “I think that Mark has more of a right to plan his father’s funeral than Nola Kinnard does.”
The doorbell rang. I hurried to answer it. I found Hart Quadlander and Scott Kinnard together on my porch.
Scott looked much better than the last time I’d seen him, fetally huddled on the rain-soaked porch of the house Trey died in. He wore faded jeans, sneakers, and a threadbare plaid shirt that needed mending. A ragged knapsack hung over one bony shoulder. His brown hair was neatly combed, but redness rimmed his hazel eyes. He looked tired.
Hart stood behind him, ill at ease. He was nattily dressed in a dark jacket, jeans, and a stiff white button- down shirt, looking every inch the gentleman rancher. Hart I’d expected to see; he was a friend of Trey’s. Scott I hadn’t. Considering how his mother had been railing against Sister in the police station, I wouldn’t have thought she’d permit her son within ten feet of our house.
“Hi, Scott. How are you doing?” I felt a sharp pang of regret. I’d promised myself I’d check on Scott after I took care of Mark. I hadn’t. Nola’s ranting voice in the police station hadn’t made me feel like I could call up her kid and see how he was. But I shouldn’t have ignored Scott because his mother was a nutcase.
He shrugged. “I guess okay. I haven’t slept real well since Trey died.” He glanced up at Hart Quadlander. “I-I told Mom I wanted to go out and see the horse farm, but I really wanted Mr. Quadlander to bring me over here. Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Uh, sure,” I said, opening the door. “Hart, would you like some coffee? Or pie? We’re about knee-deep in pies and casseroles. Scott, can I get you something?”
“No.” Scott looked at the tables full of food. He blinked solemnly at me. “Y’all must have a lot of friends. Only one lady brought any food to our house, and it wasn’t very good. Tuna casserole.”
My heart felt like a stone. Even if Nola and her son were strangers in town, Mirabeau should have reached out. We hadn’t. “Well, would you like something to eat?”
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry, thank you.”
Hart’s eyes met mine. “Scott has something to give you, Jordy.”
“Maybe we could talk in private?” Scott asked.
I nodded and ushered him toward the back of the house. I meant to introduce him to Clo and Candace, but he walked straight past them with such singular purpose that I just followed him.
The air on the back porch felt cool and fresh, as though the long days of rain had scrubbed it clean. I treated myself to a deep, cleansing breath.
“This is a nice house,” he said. “I miss having a regular house. Mom and I tend not to stay in one place long.”
It struck me then that Scott seemed more like a shrunken adult than a growing boy. His eyes took in the details of our home with a mature detachment as opposed to youthful enthusiasm. Maybe all the zest was gone from Scott right now. I remembered how I’d seen him crying to break your heart and I’d done nothing. Would he have let me help him? I watched Scott, sensing he felt uncertain of how to begin now that we were alone.
“I take it y’all traveled around to the rodeos.” I gestured toward a white wicker chair and he sat nervously on the edge of the cushion.
“Yeah, sometimes. We got to see a lot of places, mostly Texas and Louisiana and Oklahoma. Sometimes Mississippi. Sometimes I go with her, sometimes not.”
“Where do you stay if you’re not traveling with her?”
“Wherever she dumps me.” His eyes didn’t hold bitterness about the statement. “Until Trey came along. He made mom take me with them.” He glanced around. “Your, uh, sister, she’s not here, is she?”
“No, she’s not. She and my nephew are out.”
“Well, okay. Mr. Quadlander said her car wasn’t in the driveway, so I thought maybe it’d be okay if you and I talked.” He fished in his knapsack. “I found these. Actually, Trey showed them to me a while back. I don’t have no use for them, so I figured y’all would want them back.”
He handed me a stack of photos. I started sorting through them, my mouth feeling dry. A wedding photo of Trey and Sister, both of their faces aglow with the expectation of a life to be lived together. Sister looked beautiful and happy. Pictures of Mark, at least ten of them, in various stages of childhood: crawling, toothless-grinned baby; waddling toddler; graceful boy smiling into the sunshine, shading his face with the flat of one hand, a baseball mitt on the other. An old photo of Sister, Trey, and Mark together, when Mark was barely a year old. The pictures were worn with handling.
The final two photos were surprises. A picture of Mama and Trey, from some vaguely remembered Fourth of July family celebration, Mama caught unawares by Trey and smiling broadly into the lens, Trey hugging her close. I recalled, suddenly, vividly, taking this picture myself. As I’d lowered the lens Trey had kissed Mama loudly on the cheek, saying, “You just got to share her with me, Plum, since I don’t got a mama of m’own.” He and Sister were newlyweds then and Trey was drunk with the joy of having a family that consisted of more than an inebriated father. I remembered the blush that had crept up Mama’s cheek at his words and the nearly solemn way she’d hugged him.
The final photo was of me. It was a picture made when I’d come home from Houston during college. I stared at the photo for a long minute. It showed me drinking a beer in the backyard, Daddy in the distance, coaxing flame from a grill. I looked heavier from a diet of college food and cold beer, and I looked irritated, as though I couldn’t be bothered having my picture taken. I remembered Trey’s words as he took the photo: “Smile like you’ve gotten smart at school, Plum.” My grin, solely for the camera, looked forced and blank. Trey and Sister were married by then, and I was going to prestigious Rice and never coming to live in Mirabeau again. My snotty attitude showed clearly on my face.
That was what he had to remember me by. I turned the photo over, OUR SCOLER PLUM was written in Trey’s close scrawl, in faded black ink. Never could spell cat to save his life.
I felt a tinge of nausea and stood.
“Thanks, Scott, thanks for bringing these by. It was thoughtful of you.”
“I don’t have no use for them,” he said quietly.
“Scott.” I waited till his eyes met mine. “I want you to tell me why Trey came home.”
He stared at the weathered boards of the porch.
“Scott, did you hear me?”
“He came home to get better. Okay? I don’t know anything else!” He got up, a flurry of activity.
“What do you mean, anything else? What else is there to know?”
“Look, Mr. Poteet, I brought you the pictures. Okay? I didn’t have to do that! I don’t want to be involved in whatever’s going on here.” He glanced at me over a shoulder and I could see he was close to tears. “I can’t do nothin’ to help Trey now. I wish I could, but I can’t. Mom and I are leaving soon. I just wanna forget we ever came to this stupid town.”
“Do you know something, Scott? Because if you do, you better tell the police right away.” Practice what you preach, I scolded myself again, thinking of the fabric safely tucked away upstairs.
“Yeah, right.” Scott huffed. “My mom says the police chief dates your sister. And my mom thinks your sister killed Trey.”
“I’m sure your mother must be very upset. I could tell she cared about Trey-”
