You Shouldn't Have Come Here(21)

She took her eyes off of the pit and looked in my direction—not at me but beyond, staring intently at the ranch like she was seeing it differently now. I wondered if she felt it. The curse. It was hard not to feel it. Death hung heavy in the air here.

I took a few steps toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed up, so I immediately pulled it back. “I wouldn’t let anything ever happen to you, Grace.”

Grace didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either. There was that silence I enjoyed between us. A low nasal whine came from above. We both looked up, watching several turkey vultures circle high in the air, waiting to swoop in for a meal.

“Don’t worry. They’re harmless,” I said. “They actually help keep the environment clean and prevent the spread of diseases.”

I wasn’t sure why I shared that fact with Grace. I guess I just wanted her to feel safer. My gaze went to her again. The dried rust-colored blood made her blue, blue eyes pop. I wondered what it was she was thinking. Was she upset? Was she intrigued? Was she planning her exit now?

“I’m going to shower,” she finally said.

Grace walked apprehensively toward the ranch. Her arms were folded against her chest like she was trying to close herself off from everything around her. Dragging my hand down my face, I blew out my cheeks. This wasn’t the Wyoming I wanted to show her. It was beautiful, yes, but even beautiful places were ugly. Flies buzzed around the bloody carcasses, swooping in and picking at the rotting meat. Death wasn’t pretty.

I shook my head and made my way up the driveway. Charlotte was loading up her car with the crates of eggs.

“How’s the princess?” she asked with a laugh.

“Char, don’t,” I warned.

“What? I told ya she don’t belong here.”

I rubbed my brow and let out a deep sigh. “Because she didn’t like falling into a pit of dead animals?”

“I mean, that part was gross, and I’d be disgusted too. But animals die all the time out here. This isn’t her world, Calvin. Can’t you see that?” Char tilted her head.

“Maybe it’s not mine either.”

“Don’t say that.” She folded in her lips, waiting for me to speak. When I didn’t, she asked, “How did you not report that pit to animal control earlier?”

“Didn’t see it. I don’t leave this ranch often because I don’t have the time to. This place takes up most of my life. Too much to look after. Too much to worry about.”

Char gave me a sympathetic look. “I think this place has a hold on you, Calvin, and you’re punishing yourself for things you had no control over. We’re worried about you.”

“Who’s we?”

“Betty, myself, and Joe too, I’m sure.” Charlotte placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.” Her hand grazed the side of my face, and when she looked at me, there was an intensity beneath her eyes. I had seen it once before, and I knew what it meant . . . to her. But I didn’t feel the same way.

I turned my head and let her hand fall away.

Char finished loading the last crate into the back of her car and looked to me.

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” she said, closing the trunk of her car.

I drew my brows together. “Saturday?”

“Yeah, Calvin. Your birthday barbecue bash. I told you months ago you weren’t spending it alone, and you agreed.” She dusted her hands off and walked to the driver’s side door.

“Shit. I completely forgot.”

“You’re the only person I know under the age of forty that forgets about their birthday. It’s weird,” Char said, getting into her car.

“It’s not weird. It’s just another day.”

“Will Little Miss New York be in attendance?” Charlotte smirked.

“If she’s still here, I’m sure. Might have scared her off with that elk cemetery.” I kicked at the gravel.

“One can hope,” she said with a laugh.

“Char, come on. Be nice. For me?”

“Fine, I’ll be nice—only for you.” Char tilted her head. “Speaking of nice. Would you be so kind as to come over and fix the leaky pipe under my sink? Pretty please,” she begged, pushing out her lower lip.

“Of course.”

“You’re the best, Calvin.” She closed her car door, and I headed toward my truck.

Char rolled down the window and called out. “Hey, Calvin.”

I turned back. “Yeah.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about after she leaves.”

I shifted my stance and slid a hand into my front pocket. “You can tell me now.”

“No, it can wait.” Charlotte turned the key in the ignition.

“What if she doesn’t leave?” I said with a laugh, only half joking.

She put the car in drive and looked over at me. “Then I’ll throw her out myself.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment but then she flashed a smile that could only best be described as sinister.





13.

Grace


Curled up on the sofa next to the fireplace, I watched the flames dance, switching from hues of orange and yellow to blue. My skin felt hot to the touch because I had scrubbed it raw in the shower. Despite that, I could still feel the sticky blood on me, the maggots crawling over my skin, the rubbery sinew that seemed to grab on and never let go. The smell still lingered at the tip of my nose—a mix of iron, rotten eggs, mothballs, garlic, and feces. There was also a sweetness to it all. No one ever mentions that death has a sweet odor like the smell of a fresh-cut lawn or a ripe banana. Hexanol and butanol are responsible for that pleasant scent just after death sets in.