Рита Браун - Tail Gait

Despite their drunken dreams of escape, the Downtown Mall and its surroundings was their home. The other alcoholics, the shopkeepers, the sheriff’s people, and even some of the patrons of those shops knew them.

The two men sat next to each other for another fifteen minutes, then Snoop said, “You gonna stay sober?”

A long sigh. “No.”

“The man’s dead. Seems like you should be happy.”

“I’m glad he’s dead. I wish I’d killed him. Wish I’d had the guts when I was young but then Olivia would have hated me. No win. Know what I mean?”

Snoop nodded. Frank had some sense, but then so did most of the guys down here. The lights might flicker upstairs, but they could think clearly enough between power outages. It wasn’t lack of brainpower that drove them to hide in the bottle. He was never really sure why he or anyone else sought refuge there. Maybe the inciting pain receded, but the drinking had become a habit. Once one was a bona fide drunk, those first deep pulls on the bottle felt like rapture.

“So?”

Frank shrugged. “Dunno. I walked out of the halfway house. Didn’t check out.”

Snoop nodded. “They’ll be looking for you.”

“Yeah, they will. I hid at the old man’s reception, but some of the guys from ’59 saw me.”

“Fifty-nine what?”

“Football team. Good year. Those were the guys who gave us jobs, off and on. I let them down.” Frank stared off. “Didn’t mean to.”

Snoop nodded. “Maybe you should go back to the halfway house. Then check out.”

“Aw, Snoop, I don’t have to learn a skill. I already got a skill: I can drink you under the table.”

They laughed.

“Got that right.” Snoop smiled broadly.

“And I have to be ‘reviewed.’ ” He tapped his head. “I’m not crazy. I might do crazy things, but I’m not crazy.”

Snoop poked at Frank with the letter opener he was holding on his lap. “What’s the craziest thing you ever done?”

“Hanging out with you!” Frank picked up a letter opener from the bucket and poked Snoop back.

“Thank you. Come on, what else?”

“Marrying three women. Man, one’s bad enough.”

Snoop roared and nearly tipped over in his chair. He knew Frank had no children, despite the wives. The men on the mall didn’t talk about the kids they’d left behind. Many had been in jail for missing child-support payments. That multiplied their feelings of worthlessness so the denials escalated, as did the drinking.

Snoop had four children, two grown now. He hadn’t seen them or the mother in five years. Couldn’t face them. Told himself she turned the kids against him, but truth was she hadn’t. He did.

The pair sat for a little longer. Snoop noticed a Charlottesville police car parking in the lot just above the Paramount, catty-corner from the main library, once the main post office.

He tipped his head. “Frank.”

Frank followed Snoop’s gaze, stood up. “I don’t want to go back. I belong here.”

“You gotta place to hide?”

“Yeah. Down by the new construction at the hospital. No one will be working tomorrow.”

Tomorrow was Sunday.

Snoop shook his head. “Can’t stay there forever.”

“No, but it will give me time to figure out how to get all these people off my back. Guess I shouldn’t have said I killed the professor. Was pretty well lit when I did.” He smiled. “Wish fulfillment.” As Frank started to leave, he leaned over to plunk Snoop’s opener back into the bucket.

“Take it,” said Snoop. “You might need it.”

“Maybe I’ll write you a letter.” Frank nodded his thanks and put it in his pocket. He melted into the crowd as he headed into a side street.

—

Harry and Fair reached the farm an hour before sunset. Her husband dropped her off, then drove to his clinic, as he had two horses there he wanted to check. On weekends an intern looked over any patients, but Fair liked to check in. He valued his human clients and often loved his equine ones.

Harry got out of her clothes in a hurry, and put on boots, jeans, and an old sweatshirt, then hurried outside to do chores. She blew through the water buckets, threw down hay, swept out the aisle, and then hopped in the old truck, two cats and the dog with her.

Minutes later, she turned onto the dirt road leading to Cooper’s place, passing the Jones family graveyard, a huge hickory in the middle of the place for the departed. The blackbirds favored that tree.

Pewter stared out the window. “If only they’d sleep.”

“Yeah?” Tucker thought the limbs were thick with birds.

“I could climb right up there and grab one.” The gray cat licked her lips.

Not especially motivated by thoughts of dispatching birds, Mrs. Murphy said, “They’d dive-bomb you.”

The conversation stopped as Harry stopped, cut the motor. She stepped down from the truck and lifted Tucker down. The cats easily jumped out. Harry reached back for a jar of honey she’d bought on the way back from Ginger’s reception.

The lights shone from Coop’s kitchen windows as the twilight deepened.

Harry knocked on the policewoman’s back door. “Your neighbor.”

Coop’s voice called out, “Come on in.”

The small visiting posse stepped into the clean, bright kitchen, a large butcher-block table in the middle of the room, a small eating alcove under a window.

Harry placed the honey on the butcher block. “You’ve been busy.”

“Had it with those old curtains.” Cooper noted a folded pile of curtains by the back door. “They’ve got to be older than you and I put together.”

“Well, there are people in Albemarle County who value antique curtains even if they do have smiling daisies on them.” Harry’s mouth curled upward, for they were just awful. “Brought you some honey.”

“Thanks. Sit down. What will you have?”

Harry looked at the wall clock. “If I drink black tea, I won’t go to sleep. Same with Co-Cola.”

“White tea? Or beer? Or bourbon?”

“White tea.” As Harry selected her bag from the offered box, Cooper put on the kettle, then pulled out two heavy mugs made in Bennington, Vermont.

“How did it go today?”

“A cast of thousands.” Harry filled her friend in on events: who was there, the endowed chair, the fund-raising. “Thought you might be there to direct traffic.”

“No.” Cooper shook her head. “Paperwork. Rick made me go to my desk. Do you know how much I hate paperwork? Harry, you can’t turn around without this and that to fill out and how anyone thinks they can actually get anything done is a mystery.”

Harry laughed. “It is awful. That’s why I make Fair do it.”

“Now, there is a good reason to get married.” Cooper brought over the teapot, then the cups and a bowl of sugar cubes, white and brown, plus granulated sugar in a bowl.

Neither woman took milk, but both had a weakness for sugar.

“Your choice of sugars.”

“M-m-m.” Cooper took a sip, raising her eyebrows. “Thanks to you, I’m learning to love tea.”

Harry smiled. “Took me years to like white tea, but now I do. Hey, I came to tell you about Frank Cresey lurking behind a pillar on the Rotunda. He slipped away, but wasn’t he in custody?”

“ Was is the operative word.” Cooper took another long sip as the three animals prowled the kitchen floor in case any crumbs fell. “Hold on.” The tall deputy rose, pulled out a few treats, and tossed them down, as these three were regular visitors.

Large though she was, Pewter snagged hers first.

“So he was released?” asked Harry.

“His stories about the murder”—Cooper twirled her hand upward—“impossible. Once he was sober, checked out by the psychologist, he was sent over to the halfway house. The report was that he was cleaned up, was well behaved, cooperative. Then he walked out. And right now we don’t have the manpower to pick him up. He’s harmless, basically.”