Hellbender (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 2) (12 page)

“Chloe! I know CPR—”

“Sit down. If you want to do something, hold her hand.” Chloe ran to the cooler and grabbed a pint of blueberries. I held Alex’s hand, helpless to do anything else. Her face reddened, her eyes begged for relief, but I could only sit there. “Chloe!”

“Yelling isn’t going to make me move any faster, you know.” She grabbed a pitcher of water on her way back to the table.

“Call 911.”

“Henry! Chill. I got this.” With a spoon she smashed the blueberries against the side of the glass until only a purple paste remained. The sickly sugary fragrance of sunlight-induced sweetness, of ice cream stands making blueberry shakes on hot July nights nearly knocked me back into my seat. From the pitcher Chloe poured water and continued to stir.

“Just a second, kitten.” Chloe plucked a hair from Alex’s sweaty brow. “What are you doing?” I said.

“Shhh.” She wrapped the hair around her middle finger and made three crosses over Alex’s lips. Inaudible words flowed from Chloe’s mouth to Alex’s ear. Chloe pulled a silver coin out of her pocket, dropped it into the cup and tipped the purple liquid toward Alex’s gasping mouth. “Put the coin in your mouth, but don’t swallow it.”

With a gentle brush of her pinky, Chloe wiped a bit of the juice that dribbled down Alex’s chin.

Chloe’s whispers became more frantic as Alex emptied the glass. Her breathing hadn’t returned, so Chloe poured a little more water into the glass, swirled it then gave it to Alex to finish.

With a scream and a rush of tears, Alex’s exhalation flooded the room. She spit the coin back into the glass. One of the guys from the kitchen came around the counter and stared. Chloe let Alex rest her head on her shoulder and calmed her with a quiet lullaby. It didn’t take long for Alex’s tears to wet Chloe’s shirt.

“What was it, food poisoning?” I said.

“No, it wasn’t food poisoning. Hush up, Henry.” She handed Alex her tea.

Alex finally calmed down and began to drink without help. She sat back in the booth, still trembling.

“Was it allergies?” I said.

“For crying out loud. Keep your voice down.” Chloe snatched a fresh linen from an adjacent table and wiped Alex’s brow. “There, there. You’re all right now.”

“Did somebody call an ambulance?”

Chloe shook the coin from the glass and wiped it on her jeans before slipping it back into her pocket. “Men are so stupid. She isn’t sick, Henry.”

Alex’s hand fell onto the table and I grabbed it. She smiled faintly with my touch. “What’s wrong with her then?” I said.

With a clank, Chloe threw the spoon into the glass and cleaned up the scraps of paper, empty sugar packets and straw wrappers that littered the table. She stood up, sighed dramatically, then whispered softly in my ear. “What’s wrong is Janie’s old BFF put a drowning spell on her.”

Chloe began to leave, turned as if there was something else, then said, “Guess you all don’t need a box.”

FOUR

When I woke up to shut the window, I realized I hadn’t really been sleeping all that well to begin with. Maybe it was just being back in the house for the first time. Maybe I’d been dreaming old dreams. It didn’t help that my dad hadn’t cleaned a lick since I left in January. First thing I had to do was put away the chairs and planks Katy and Rachael used for the Sitting Up with Janie. Three days and nights taking turns staying awake so the body was never alone. So evil spirits couldn’t drag it down to hell, or whatever. Guess that was why I had to flip all the mirrors back around too.

I wrapped a quilt around my shoulders and ventured onto the porch. Sunlight was just beginning to crack Cabin Mountain. A shivering Alex, drawn either by the draft or by my absence, joined me on the creaking porch swing. She wore my baseball cap and one of my old hoodies.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I said. “Bad dreams.”

“About what?” I lifted my arm, an invitation to climb beneath the quilt with me. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Golden light in her hair made her look immortal. I knew she was anything but.

“Okay. But we’re safe here. Didn’t you see the SATOR squares beneath the window?” I tried to hide my sarcasm.

“Yeah. What’s that about?”

“Protection. Magic. Rachael must’ve put them up after I left this winter. They’re meant to keep the devil away.”

She began to cry. I pulled her closer. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

I held her for some time. She finally said, “The air smells sweet. Makes it easier to breath.” She shuffled beneath the heavy quilt, a butterfly net for all the smells that drifted about my old home.

“Smells are better than photo albums,” I said, grateful to the subject change. “Like when I’m up in the Sods and I smell spruce I remember all the Yule trees we dragged down the mountain. Anytime I smell maple syrup I think of mom and Janie making buckwheats. Wood smoke—whatever. Dried wildflowers make me think of when my mom was still around.”

Alex picked her feet up from the cold porch and tucked them beneath the quilt. “To me, it smells like nobody can hurt us here.”

I wanted to tell her that wasn’t something I’d ever experienced. That, the smell of total security was one I wouldn’t ever recognize. I lied. “They can’t. Not here.”

“I believe you.”

Chirps from early morning birds out in the wide, rocky fields trickled into our conversation. Unlike Dolly Sods on the green mountain above, which were mainly spruce and aspen, this land’s forest was a mixture of many trees. White pine, hemlock, white oak, maple, laurel, and rhododendron filled the gaps between pasture and hay fields. Stone walls, perhaps built by the first set of hands ever to work this land, mingled with wooden split-rail fences built by my grandpap and his sons long ago. I pointed out old barns and springs to Alex, places that shook memories loose. Here, reminiscences were more plentiful than field stone, more abundant than the blackberry blossoms that fell over the walls in waves come summer.
A sure sign of an upcoming bad winter
, my dad used to say.

For a while I thought she’d drifted off while I was talking. So I shut up. After a few minutes, Alex said, “You talked to your mom lately?”

“No. It’s been ten years. Why?” I tried not to sound too overly emotional. Alex sat up and tried to say something, but I stopped her.

“Why would you ask that?” I got off the swing and walked to the edge of the porch. She sank into the swing and tried to hide beneath the quilt. “Janie and her talked all the time. I just assumed—”

“About what? Where is she?”

“I don’t know. Sorry. I thought…”

I held up my hand. “It’s fine. If she wanted to talk she would’ve found me. I need to grow up and get over it.”

Off to the west a puff of dust rose above the trees. I heard the crunch of tires on gravel. No matter who it was, it was somebody I didn’t want to see. “Alex, just wait up here for a second.”

My feet got wet from all the dew on the long grass. I walked to the edge of the driveway, stuck my hands in my pockets and waited. When I saw my pap’s old pickup coming up the hill I relaxed a little.

My Uncle Jamie drove, and they had a big load of firewood. My pap’s old revival tent hung over the tailgate. When they slowed to a stop I could see that my pap had a hard time hiding his surprise. I said, “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.” Guilt made me want to run back into the house.

Jamie said, “Well, hello there, stranger. You’re just in time to help us unload firewood. Why don’t you follow us on over?”

“You didn’t bring breakfast, did you?” I yawned.

He didn’t hear me. Instead, he put the truck in gear and crept toward the center of the field. I waved Alex over to join me.

She took off the hat and patted down her hair as she tip-toed through the grass. I said, “It’s all good in the hood,” and she smiled.

“Just take your time,” my pap yelled and he got out of the cab and stretched. “Wood ain’t going to jump out of the truck itself.”

We walked from the house Jamie and my dad built when my parents got married, toward the one Jamie and my dad built when Jamie got married many years earlier. They both had large porches with pillars that tapered to stone bases, and large eaves with gable trusses. In a way, the houses were like a testament to the relationship between my dad and his big brother. Jamie had maintained his, built a sunroom and a greenhouse for his wife. My dad’s had cardboard over the busted kitchen window and needed a new roof. And no reason to be maintained. In a way, our house, in the condition it was in, reminded me that my dad had been an honest worker at one time—a mine supervisor, in fact. He didn’t really become a drunk until the doctors found the spot on his lung. By then my mom was already gone. He must’ve figured there wasn’t much worth staying sober for.

Champ, my grandfather’s old collie dog, meandered over to Alex and me, then led us back over to his truck. He was too old and too tired to chase the farm cats that came across the field from the big barn. My pap nodded toward Alex, then took off his ball cap, revealing a full head of hair that was still more slate than gray. He waited a long moment, coughed, then finally said, “Well, well.”

He smiled at Alex. “At least you had good reason to stay away.”

Jamie grabbed my hand and shook it until it was nearly numb. “I’ll be damned. When Rachael called I almost didn’t believe it, but here you are.” The soft rasp of his voice reminded me so much of my dad’s, even though they looked nothing alike. Wire-rimmed glasses and an oxford shirt gave him the stereotypical academic look. His bristly mustache was almost completely gray.

“Alex, I’d like you to meet my pap, John Henry Collins, carpenter, farmer. Not a bad guy, once you get to know him.” I laughed even though the familiarity I’d assumed wasn’t totally appropriate.

He held her hand like it was an apple blossom. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. He kissed her back.

My pap said, “Henry left some out, but I can fill you in later.”

“What did I leave out?” I said. “Drunkard. Nuisance—”

“Oh, stop it, Dad,” Jamie said.

“And I’d like you to meet my Uncle Jamie. Ben’s dad. You remember Ben from the funeral, right?”

Jamie gave her a business-like handshake and a nod. It was only at times like these I realized how shy he was.

“Where’s Ben?” I asked.

“He’ll be up. Had to run to Parsons.” His soft voice unspooled slowly, like an old ballad sung around a campfire. He sang his well-annunciated words, rather than just spoke them.

“Parsons?” I asked. “What the hell’s he doing in Parsons?” Jamie said, “We’ll talk later.”

My pap let him finish, and said, “Went to pick up your old man. That’s what he’s doing in Parsons. You see,” he turned to Alex, “men in this family have real bad allergies.” I knew what was coming, and got real mad. Even Jamie seemed to wince.

Before my pap could finish his joke I cut him off. “Allergic to whiskey. You ever hear that joke? It’s an old one. He’s going to say every time my old man drinks it he breaks out in handcuffs. Apparently, shit like that’s still funny up here.”

“C’mon, Henry,” my pap said, clasping my shoulder and shaking it a few times. “It ain’t like that. Just having a little fun.”

“Whatever. I’d like you guys to meet Alex. Ramsey.” I said her last name to hide my own fears that they’d discover her relationship to the Lewises.

My pap, still gripping my shoulder, said, “So, you leave without saying ‘dog’ and now here you are again like you never left. What do we have to do to keep you coming and going like this?” Pap released me and started pulling wood out of the back of the truck. “Would’ve done a pig if we had known you were coming.”

“You got the tent though, huh?” I said.

My pap said, “We’re having some family over. A big to-do for the holiday, so don’t get it in your head it’s all for you. Can I expect to see you there tonight?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Henry! Of course we’ll be there. Should we bring anything?” Alex said. She’d been half-listening, half playing with a trio of kittens that wandered out from the weeds at the edge of the field.

“No, sugar. Just be there. And bring him.” My pap tilted his head toward me. “So where’ve you been?”

“Maybe later,” I said. “After I’ve had a drink or two.”

Alex, in an attempt to feel like she was contributing, said, “You should tell them about Ohiopyle. About Darren and Billy?”

I tried to cut her off, but my tongue wasn’t fast enough. “No. Not now.”

“Billy Lewis?” Pap said. “Odelia’s kid? Tell me that son of a bitch has been sniffing around.”

“No,” Jamie said. “You’re a bit addled. I believe Odelia’s their aunt. She just raised those boys up as her own.” Jamie had said ‘I believe,’ but I knew that he knew exactly who she was. He just did that to cover up for my pap’s forgetfulness.

“Odelia can’t help being ugly, but she could just stay home. Don’t get involved with them,” Pap said. “Things have been quiet. After twenty years of bickering and pettiness…”

“What do you mean? Like, until recently they hadn’t been?”