Philipp Meyer - American Rust

“I need one.” He cut the end off and lit it and stood by the open window. He seemed to be collecting himself.

“I don't know if you know this, because when I went to your house to talk to you, you had already taken off. They charged Billy with killing that man but it now appears they'll have to let him go. And you they've never heard of and I'm guessing that since Billy hasn't given you up yet, he probably won't ever, especially once his lawyer hears about these new developments. Which I'll call her as soon as we're done here.”

“When did he get locked up?”

“I don't remember exactly. Last week sometime?”

“What was he charged with?”

“He was charged with killing that man,” said Harris. “With murder.”

“He didn't say anything?”

Harris shook his head.

Isaac was quiet a minute. “I'm going to leave here,” he said. “I should probably go live with my sister in Connecticut.” He was surprised to hear himself say it. But it felt right.

“That's a good idea,” Harris told him.

“So what happens to Billy?”

“Probably after a month, give or take, they'll have no choice but to release him.” He walked away from the window and took a pen and a notepad from his desk. “Listen, you start feeling bad about something, you come see me. I'm going to give you my cell number and my home number, too, just call me and I'll meet you.”

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” said Isaac. “I think I feel fine.”

“You did the right thing, you know that? I wish I could give you something for coming down here, because I don't think I've known many people who would have done it. But now …” He shrugged. “Time for you to go home.”

— —

Isaac felt himself walk out of the office, down the steps, and onto the road toward town. The clouds were beginning to move. He was halfway through town and nearly to the river when it occurred to him that he'd decided to trust Harris. The others as well. He would try that and see how it turned out.

A few blocks more and he crossed the old railroad and stood on the bank in the reeds. His mind was quiet. He stood watching the sun on the slow river, he knelt and put his hand into it, the ripples growing out, there was light on the dome of the cathedral and the windows of all the houses, a pair of terns headed for open water and soon that would be him, gone.

He watched Isaac leave, shutting the door politely behind him. He wondered if he would be able to keep quiet. It all could have been a disaster. It might still be.

He hadn't told Isaac that Billy Poe had been stabbed and nearly died, after refusing to see his lawyer for several days. A different person than you thought. Grace didn't know yet. He could not be the one to tell her. He could feel his head begin to swim but sooner or later the DA would come around asking and he would have to get himself in order. His fingers ached and the pain was radiating up his arm, the wound on his rib cage refused to close, it ought to be stitched but tape would have to do.

He had to get up. There was a story to get straight about where he had been last night, he needed to go over the truck with a Q-tip. New tires, probably. The tires — that was being too careful. Maybe not. Hell hath no fury like a spurned lawyer. He grinned at his little joke and then felt a lightness come over him. Both of those boys were worth saving, he thought. That is something you wouldn't have known.

Ho hadn't called in relief — he'd stayed the entire night himself. He'd known something was happening. All of them, he thought. All of these people. Harris knew he had to get up but it was two days since he'd really slept, the sun was coming in the window now, he'd been waiting for it, it was easing across the floor, it was moving so slowly he watched it inch across every grain of wood, he would rest another minute and feel it on his face. Then he would start his day.

He knew he'd been in the hospital for a while but it seemed like he was waking up for the first time. It was daylight and hot in the room, there was a parking lot outside his window and on the other side of the parking lot there were houses and an old man watering a planter box.

A woman, a nurse he guessed, opened the curtain.

“Here I am,” he said.

“You're lucky,” she said. “You lost so much blood your heart stopped. You're lucky you're young.”

“I'll trade you anytime you want.”

“We were worried you'd have brain damage.”

“I probably do, but it ain't from that.”

She smiled but went on checking things.

“Did I say anything while I was out?”

She shrugged. She didn't know what he was talking about.

“What's going to happen to me?”

“They want to take you back but we're keeping you a few more days. You can't move around too much, you've got too much stitched up inside you.”

“Am I going back to Fayette?”

“You're going back somewhere,” she said. “But I doubt they'll take you back there.”

“Can I have visitors?”

“No,” she said.

“Can I call my mother?”

“Maybe tonight.” She started to walk out. “There's a state policeman outside the door. Just so you know.”

Later that day there was a knock at the back door. She was lying on the couch. She hadn't eaten in three days and she hadn't heard any car come up the road.

There were footsteps at the back of the trailer and a short sturdy man appeared in the living room, taking note of her on the couch, then making a circuit of the house. She didn't recognize him. He went in and out of all the rooms before returning to stand next to her. Here it comes, she thought. This is the one they sent for you.

“I'm Ho,” said the man. “I'm a friend of Chief Harris.”

She stared. He wasn't wearing a uniform.

“I hear you have family in Houston.”

“Where's Bud Harris?”

Ho shook his head. “He's a busy man.”

She felt a wave pass over her and then fade again. She closed her eyes.

“Has anyone else come over here, or tried to contact you?”

“No,” she said quietly. “You're the first person I've seen.”

“That's good,” he said. “That's good news.”

“Would you tell me what happened?”

Ho cleared his throat and glanced around the room. “Your son is going to be fine,” he told her. “But you can't stay here.”

“When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“You know I haven't talked to my brother in years.”

Ho shrugged.

“Can't I see Bud?”

“You have to pack now,” he said gently.

She nodded. She was beginning to smell food very strongly.

“He said I ought to bring you something to eat.”

“He would.”

“I used to hear him talk about you.”

He knelt next to her and he must have noticed how dirty she was, she was suddenly conscious of it, but he didn't react. He lifted her gently and got a pillow behind her. He took a small container from a bag.

“Here,” he said. “Nice and slow.”

“I don't know if I can.”

But when he brought the food to her lips, she opened her mouth to accept it.

— —

She stood looking out the window a long time, there was nothing moving, a quiet cool night. She closed her eyes and she could see her son walking, it was summer and the road was baked and dusty and he reached the end and there was nothing left. He was looking out over things, it was all gone, the trailer was a burned shell, even the trees around it had burned. Poe stood looking for a long time and then he was walking back down the road, toward a new place. Making his way toward her.