County Line (26 page)

“… you have to know … exactly. You have to know what buttons to push— … right, exactly.”

Bella’s feet padded across the cracked and fading linoleum in the hall. Dale often talked about ripping out the linoleum and refinishing the oak he was certain he’d find underneath.

“—what I’m saying is James is the weak one … yes … he thinks he’s tough …”

Ruby Jane dropped a glass, heard it crack against the stainless steel basin.

“… comes down to it, he’s the one I can—”

Hidden by murky water, the broken glass sliced into her finger. Bella insisted it was a scratch, but she rode her bike to the urgent care clinic in Germantown anyway. Five stitches and a tetanus booster.

But she thought back to Bella’s unfinished conversation now as Jimmie stood trembling beside her. Hunched over, forearms on her knees, she could feel him in the dark, hear his quiet whimpers.

“Roo?”

The stink of vomit at her feet assaulted her nostrils. She wiped her mouth on her sweatshirt sleeve. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness at last. She could see his face now. Darting eyes, mottled cheeks. His mouth hung open, as if he had no strength to lift his jaw. He looked like something found growing in a damp basement.

He reached for her. “What am I going to do?” His voice quaked.

“Keep that away—” But the gun remained at his side. His empty hand hung between them.

“You gotta fix this, Roo.”

She shuddered and turned away, found herself facing Dale’s truck. “What I gotta do is get help.” Her stomach lurched again, but she bit back the rising bile and drew shaky breath.

“Roo, please—” He scooted around in front of her. “They’ll put me in jail. I can’t go to jail over him.”

She listened to the murmuring rain. “Maybe he’s okay.” The words sounded hollow.

“He’s not okay!” His reckless agitation buzzed in the night air. “Look at him. Aw, fuck, Roo. Look at him.”

Ruby Jane didn’t want to look at him. She could smell gunpowder in the air, a dark base note under the scent of rain and green corn.

“Jimmie …” She fought back another wave of nausea.

“You weren’t supposed to know. I was supposed to—” He shook his head, harder and harder.

“Jimmie—”

“You weren’t supposed to be here. I didn’t …” He turned to her suddenly. “You gotta do
some
thing.”

“What can I do?”

“You’ve always been smarter than me.”

“No.”

“It’s true. Even Mom says so.”

“Bella is full of shit.” Then the realization struck her, bright and sudden as lightning.

James is the weak one
.

Bella had been planning this for months.

Ruby Jane knew whatever passion or defiance brought her mother and father together had long since eroded into malice. Dale saw himself as tragic and unappreciated, a man who worked his ass off to provide for a pack of ingrates. In Bella’s mind, Dale was resigned to a life at the margins, the needs and hopes of his family—of his
wife
—be damned. A theatrical demand for a divorce was long overdue.

Instead, Bella had drifted into darker territory. Perhaps, after so many years of rebellion, she worried her parents would not welcome her back into the Denlinger fold. Dead Dale might offer more certainty, especially if there was insurance. For the cost of a single bullet Bella could receive a substantial payout and solve the problem of Dale all at once, without the muss and bother of what would surely be a bitter split. Drop the fucker and cash the check.

And besides, grieving widow looked a hell of a lot better than booze-addled divorcée.

Jimmie’s visit to Bella’s room earlier that evening wouldn’t have been his first. Even the pliable blockhead would need more than a single brainwashing session in The Studio to convince him to take a step so drastic. Ruby Jane pictured it unfolding over many months. Whispered confidences and assurances, promises of support no matter what happened.

“People have the right to protect themselves. The way your father treats you, …”
Swoon
.

If anyone had cause to hate Dale, Jimmie did. Ruby Jane had iced no end of Jimmie’s bruises, cleaned and bandaged no end of cuts—all by Dale’s hand. But left to himself, his feelings would never amount to more than a brooding enmity.

“Roo …?”

Jimmie stared, dead-eyed and helpless. In a week, he was supposed to leave for college, free at last of the stultifying weight of life on West Walnut. He couldn’t wait. Dorm living, frat parties, college girls—a new world. He planned to major in business, learn how to get rich. He even joked about taking care of Ruby Jane someday. Big brother looking out for his little sis. One more week and he’d be free.

While she was stuck here two more years.

Her eyes flooded. The big, dumb blockhead.

“Jimmie, I need you to think. What did Bella tell you to do?”

The question seemed to make no sense to him.

“What were you supposed to do after—” She shuddered. “After this.”

“After—?” His breath smelled of Jim Beam.

“Damn it,
focus
. Did you have a plan? What did she tell you to do?”

“I don’t know, Roo.” He hung his head, as if more ashamed of having no answer than shooting Dale. “She never said anything about …” He swallowed. “… after.”

An icy calm came over her. Bella had set Jimmie up. She expected him to get caught. Should Jimmie try to implicate her, assuming she hadn’t already convinced him it was all his idea, Bella would feign shock and innocence. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but I would
never
suggest such a thing to my son.” The drunken bitch was a master of deflection.

The rain picked up. Broad flashes of lightning on the horizon resolved into distinct bolts to the north. The worst of the storm would pass them by, and with that thought the solution came to her in a long roll of thunder.

“Give me the gun.”

- 30 -

Mid-Season, February 1989

“How many times have you been here, Ruby?”

“I don’t know.” Her neck hurt. Her legs hurt. Her whole body ached during the season. She wasn’t getting enough sleep, and not enough roadwork.

“I do. Your next offense means a one-day suspension.”

“Just because I swear at Clarice.”

“It’s not only that.”

It wasn’t Mrs. Parmelee’s week for detention duty, but she’d come to Mister Halstead’s room and pulled Ruby Jane out. Apparently the higher powers had chosen Mrs. Parmelee as Ruby Jane’s unofficial head shrinker. They went to Mrs. Parmelee’s room, sat under the Cézanne print.

“Ruby, if you get a suspension you have to sit out a game.”

“Shit happens.”

“Ruby …” The compressed lips.

“Sorry.” But then she shook her head. “Is everyone afraid I’m going to miss a damn game? Is that why we’re here?”

“No one’s worried about that. Not even Coach.”

“Now
that
I don’t believe.”

Mrs. Parmelee smiled, conceding the point. Ruby Jane almost laughed. But then Mrs. Parmelee’s expression grew serious. “Honestly, I’m worried how you’re holding up. I know things are tough at home—”

“That’s not it.”

She instantly regretted the interruption. Mrs. Parmelee sat back and scrutinized the print on the bulletin board. The air felt as thick as syrup. A hot constriction formed behind Ruby Jane’s breastbone.

After a long, taut moment, Mrs. Parmelee stirred. “I’ve seen you looking at this. Do you like Cézanne?”

“I guess.”

“It’s from a difficult time in his life.” Mrs. Parmelee gazed at the painting for a moment, then closed her eyes. “Not that he ever made things easy for himself.” It felt like an accusation. She opened her eyes again. Ruby Jane looked away.

“I don’t believe I ever mentioned my ex-husband. Walter Parmelee.”

Ruby Jane couldn’t imagine Mrs. Parmelee with a life outside of school—she was part of the Valley View infrastructure, had been for eons. Ex-husband? The notion didn’t make sense. Ruby Jane shook her head.

“No, of course not. There would be no reason. One’s personal life is not the sort of thing one discusses with students.”

“I guess not.”

“But we’ve become more than student and teacher, don’t you think?”

Ruby Jane thought of her other detentions. “Sure, yeah.”

“Walter wasn’t a kind man. I shouldn’t say was. It’s not like he’s dead. He lives in Boston with his new wife.”

“You kept his name.”

“A matter of professional convenience.”

“What happened?”

“The specifics aren’t important. What is important is that I suffered through ten years of a very bad marriage, one I entered into too young and for the wrong reasons. Walter was cold. He could become violent if things didn’t go his way.”

Mrs. Parmelee paused and swallowed, then attempted a quick smile. Ruby Jane saw a tremor in her hand when she brushed a stray hair off her forehead. Ruby Jane turned back to
Bibemus Quarry
. She was unaccustomed to seeing adults vulnerable, unless she counted drunk off their ass as vulnerable.

“My brother is a district attorney for Montgomery County. He explained to Walter how far a motivated prosecutor can go in cases of spousal abuse. Roger helped me break away before the situation grew too dangerous.”

Ruby Jane looked at her. The skin around her eyes felt tight.

“What I’m trying to say is I know how difficult it is when someone who should love and protect you chooses to hurt you instead. Self-doubt and guilt overwhelm you. You blame yourself for the cruelty you suffer. You come to believe you deserve it. Why would they treat you so badly otherwise? I understand these feelings. And I understand not everyone has the choices I had. Sometimes you must take matters into your own hands.”

“Mrs. Parmelee, I—”

“Please, don’t tell me anything.” She gripped Ruby Jane’s forearm. “Don’t tell anyone anything.”

Ruby Jane wanted to pull free. To run, to hide. She imagined a shadowy crevice in Bibemus to which she could flee. She supposed Mrs. Parmelee was trying to comfort her, to let her know she wasn’t alone. Perhaps even offer a measure of absolution. But Ruby Jane couldn’t help but wonder how many others had made the same astute guess about what she had done to her father, and why.

- 31 -

Interview, April 1989

Her eyelids hung at half-mast but Ruby Jane wasn’t ready to sleep. Grammy Whittaker sat on Ruby Jane’s bed and gazed at the dark window. Outside, colored lights glowed in the night, Jimmie’s attempt to add a little holiday cheer to the house. A few of the thumb-sized bulbs were burned out, but Ruby Jane didn’t mind. Left to Dale and Bella, the place would look like Scrooge’s counting house.