Above the Waterfall (16 page)

“Believe what you want,” C.J. said, and paused. “I suppose I should ask why you're letting this end here instead of court.”

“Let's just say my last couple of weeks will be easier if it does.”

“If I get that Florida job,” C.J. said, pressing his hands against his knees to rise, “I'll never come back here, not even for a day.”

“Take this with you,” I said, and set the paper bag between us.

“What is it?”

I opened the bag so he could see.

“Scholarship money for your boys from the County Hemp Growers Association.”

C.J. looked around.

“Is somebody filming this?”

“I hope not.”

C.J. left the bag where it was.

“What do you expect me to do, Les? Show you I've got enough self-worth left not to take it? That I've still got enough of that Appalachian
pride
left in me? You could be mistaken. I learned early in life that I'd better look after myself, not other people.”

“That's not true of the morning we were working at your uncle's.”

“I didn't have time to think about what I was doing.”

“You did the same with Gerald in June. Like you said, you turned left instead of right.”

“So?”

“I've never had a moment like that,” I answered. “My first instinct, my nature, is always what's best for me.”

“And you see where my ‘nature' has gotten me.”

“It got you a family, C.J., sons and a wife who love you. I've seen them with you. It's obvious.”

For a few moments we didn't speak.

“This ‘scholarship' money,” C.J. said. “If I do take it, will your donors know who's receiving it? I'd rather not have them coming to my door sometime wanting it back.”

“No one but you and me will know about this.”

C.J. cursed softly.

“It's not money for you, C.J., but for your boys and it will help them. Like you said about Gerald's money, it will do some good.”

“Damnit,” C.J. said, and picked up the bag, setting it on his lap. He crinkled the bag tighter.

“If this is about paying me back for what happened on my uncle's farm that day,” C.J. said, “I can write you a note ‘Paid in Full.' ”

“That's not necessary.”

“Anything else on our agenda?”

“No.”

“Then I'm leaving,” C.J. said, and got up.

I watched him walk back to his car. He didn't thank me, but that seemed only fair.

When I returned to my office, the space seemed transformed although I'd left less than an hour earlier. It had the hollow feel of a house after the moving van departs. I heard it in my footsteps as I walked over to the window and looked out at the town. Jarvis knocked and came in. I told him what had happened. Not everything, but enough.

“Hell of a week,” Jarvis said. “If the next two are as bad as this one I may be retiring with you.”

“I doubt they will be,” I answered, but I knew something would surely happen involving Robin Lindsey, and I'd be making another trip to Ben and Martha's house. There'd likely be another meth bust, a few other calamities.

“What about that National Forest road?” Jarvis asked. “Should we keep checking it?”

“I doubt you'll catch anybody, but an occasional visit might make them think twice about being there.”

“Sounds good,” Jarvis said. “You want me to go get that ankle monitor off Gerald?”

“No, I'll do it.”

Jarvis nodded and went out to the main office.

Since I'd be pretty much emptying my savings account to pay Billy Orr, I called Pat Newton to accept the night watchman job. Then I sat down and thought about some things before going downstairs to get the diagonal cutters for the ankle monitor. I drove past the hospital and soon crossed over the Parkway onto Locust Creek Road. But before I went to Gerald's house, I turned off. I parked and walked onto the bridge. Becky was downstream with a group of children. I waved and then waited until she'd finished and the school bus had pulled out of the lot.

“I knew he was innocent,” she says, her voice muffled as she presses her head against my chest, her arms that encircle me tightening more.

“And you were right.”

We hold each other awhile longer, saying nothing until a camper pulls into the lot beside us.

“I need to talk to you,” I say, taking her hand and crossing over the bridge so we can be alone together.

Paw pads rock-sore and thorned from the long coming forth    climbing out of the world's
understory    those cave depths where swervelight leads    past a hand pressed fast to the wall
then out of the dark and onto land leveled    making its way through oilfields and highways
across the rio grande and then the colorado    in a bayou's dark water passing    under the shadow
of the last ivorybill    across flat black belt fields until land rolls and reddens    back into
mountains thick-treed and quick-watered    where one stream is found and it alone followed
guided upstream by the moon's silver shining    past a tangle of sticks the scat of an otter    and
now in this moment the front paw is lowered    in the silence of fast-filling sand    the first words
and last words are printed.

I was here

Heartfelt thanks to the following for their support and input on this novel: Warren Buckner, Jim Casada, Jill Gottesman, Dan Halpern, Eleanor Kriseman, Megan Lynch, Victoria Mathews, Phil Moore, Kathy Rash, Tom Rash, Michael Radescula, Marly Rusoff, Randall Wilhelm, and Western Carolina University. Most of all thanks to Ann, Caroline, and James.

RON RASH
is the author of the 2009 PEN/Faulkner finalist and
New York Times
bestselling novel
Serena
, in addition to four other prizewinning novels, including
The Cove
,
One Foot in Eden
,
Saints at the River
, and
The World Made Straight
; four collections of poems; and six collections of stories, among them
Burning Bright
, which won the 2010 Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award, and
Chemistry and Other Stories
, which was a finalist for the 2007 PEN/Faulkner Award. Twice the recipient of the O. Henry Prize, he teaches at Western Carolina University.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.

FICTION

Something Rich and Strange

The Ron Rash Reader

Nothing Gold Can Stay

The Cove

Burning Bright

Serena

The World Made Straight

Saints at the River

One Foot in Eden

Chemistry and Other Stories

Casualties

The Night the New Jesus Fell to Earth

POETRY

Waking

Raising the Dead

Among the Believers

Eureka Mill

Cover design by Allison Saltzman

Cover photograph © by David Mould

ABOVE THE WATERFALL.
Copyright © 2015 by Ron Rash. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-234931-6

EPub Edition August 2015 ISBN 9780062349330

15  16  17  18  19    
OV
/
RRD
    10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1