Trunk grimaced at her position. “That must look really bad from where you’re sitting, Edith, but sure… way to really enjoy your job.” He chuckled again and crouched down, waiting for Mei’s mock-wave.
When Edith lifted Mei’s arm, she chose the one with no hand. “Even better… wave that stump at me.” Trunk said and loudly laughed… but as it raised, it seemed a hand wasn’t missing after all.
Shots rang out, and a moment later the grave now held more than one dead body.
37
Elmer and Emma were close now. Almost home and looking forward to some home-cooking from Edith. After the trouble they’d run into, Emma didn’t argue any more about heading off on her own. She’d quietly agreed to ride back to Elmer’s and leave from there.
She leaned up into the space between the hay bales to talk to Elmer, even though to do so, she had to yell. But, she was bored. After their getaway from the three drunks they hadn’t seen any action. She felt it was too dangerous to not have two sets of eyes on the road, and refused to hide anymore.
“Why don’t you restack some of the hay around the sides… make yourself some peep holes somewhere else and stop hovering over my shoulder,” Elmer grumbled as he bounced on the seat of his tractor. “You’re like a pesky gnat.” He waved his hand around his ear, as though shooing her away.
Emma didn’t answer for a moment. She was a long way from Elmer on the front of that wagon. He could barely hear her, in fact. But she knew that wasn’t what was bothering him. Elmer hadn’t mentioned killing the man he’d shot back there at all. He’d been very quiet. Was it tearing him up inside? “Am I really bothering you, Elmer?”
He fidgeted in his seat, took off his ball cap and scratched his head. “Yes,” he finally answered, in a cantankerous voice, and slipped the cap back on, giving the bill a little bend to crease it.
Emma didn’t believe him. “Are you thinking about how you killed a man?”
Elmer shook his head. “What in tarnation are you talking about, girl? I didn’t kill him… you did when you shot off his twig and berries. He was gonna die. Ain’t no help for that out here. I just helped him along. Stopped his pain. It was a mercy that I did for him, and I hope someone would do the same for me,” he ranted, in denial about his part.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Elmer blew out a big breath and looked over his shoulder, glancing at her, then put his eyes back on the dusty road. “What about you? Are you bothered by what you did?”
Emma didn’t hesitate. “Nope.”
After another few moments of silence, broken only by the sounds of the tractor, the tree frogs and the crickets, Emma spoke again—but what Elmer didn’t know, was that she was speaking from experience—of her own and her twin sisters in their early years. “If I’d been alone, that man would have sexually assaulted me, Elmer. And I’m not at all surprised by that. Those kinds of men are bad apples, and they’ve existed since the beginning of time. They’ve been getting away with it for generations when women were too scared to speak up. Or when they do tell, they’re either accused of lying or the judge lets the bad apples off with a slap on the hand. Then they go back out and do it again. With the power out now, and the phones down, we’re on our own out here. No cops. No judge and no jury. But you know what?”
Elmer gave her a sidelong glance, prompting her to finish.
“So are they.”
Elmer nodded his understanding, but she went on anyway. “Men are usually stronger than women. I’m okay with that… nothing like having my husband’s strong arms around me for protection; except when they’re not. That leaves me, and millions of other women, the weaker sex, and we’ve had to put up with far too much for far too long. Now, that gap in strength can be equalized with a bullet, at no cost. No consequence. Finally, I can do what I need to do to protect myself and then walk away and leave the rotten piece of fruit on the side of the road to wither and die with no help from anyone. I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it, either. Actually, I’ll sleep better for every one of the bad guys that I put down.”
Elmer spit off to the side of the tractor. “Good. You do what you have to do to keep yourself safe, missy. This world’s about to go crazier than a pet coon. Just be sure you don’t forget the majority of us men aren’t bad apples. Most of us are too sweet, even for apple pie.”
“You are,” Emma said with a smile.
She could see the tips of his ears turning pink.
Not being able to stand the silence, or respond to her compliment, he said, “Speaking of apple pie, that’s our turn up there. Maybe Edith will make us a pie for supper,” he said. “Give me some water and a cloth. I need to at least wash off my face and hands before I get there.”
Emma laughed.
Elmer had told her that he and Edith’s fiftieth wedding anniversary was coming up in a week, yet he still wanted to make himself presentable for her. She thought that was sweet, and hoped her and Dusty were still so much in love after five decades.
38
Jake pulled Ruby into the driveway at the old ranch-style brick home at 2315 Parpham Drive. The house was nestled in a grove of Oak trees on a large tract of land, at the end of a wooded street. The few other houses on the street they’d passed were uninhabited.
An old van was parked in the driveway, the gas cap wide open.
He kept the engine running. All eyes watched the windows and doors with nervous fingers hovering over triggers. The quiet was broken only by the sound of the engine, and the song of crickets and cicadas coming loudly from the trees, nearly drowning Ruby out.
The sun shone its beams brightly on a blue door with a flowered wreath. It slowly swung open, and as everyone held their breath the wheels of a very old wheelchair rolled into view, slowly creeping out of the dark house.
Jake squinted, as the driver of the chair took their time, moving out of the shadows into view.
It was an old lady, heavy in size, wearing a flowered house-dress that nearly matched the wreath. A tube snaked from her nose down the side of her chair to a portable oxygen tank hanging from the back. Stumpy legs poked out of her dress, crisscrossed with blue and green veins. Swollen feet with no ankles were barely shoved into black slides.
The loose skin on her arms waved against the chair in protest as she labored to turn the wheels. She huffed and puffed, and then grunted as she forced the chair over the metal plate of the door-frame. She came to a stop and tried to speak. “Can I help—”
Her voice broke off as she coughed uncontrollably, clutching her heavy bosom.
Jake stepped out of the truck, holding up a hand to everyone else to stay. “Ma’am,” he said, and nodded respectively. “May I step up to the porch?”
She waved him up, still trying to catch her breath.
Tina called out from the front of the truck. “Jake, I’ll talk to her.”
Jake threw up his hand to Tina, telling her to stay put. This was something he felt he had to do. It was his truck, after all. He felt as responsible as anyone. More, actually. He should have done something—anything—to avoid what had happened.
If he’d only figured out the bike was getting so close to them because they wanted them to stop; or to read a note… this could all have been avoided. Only an idiot wouldn’t have known. Why else would those kids have risked coming so close to a truck loaded down with guns?