“Tell you what. Just so we’re square on the matter; it ain’t nothing hard, it’s simple. You be with me, you know, in that way, like husband and wife, and I won’t say nothing to nobody. Not to Eugene, not to nobody. It’ll be our little secret.”
Rae Lynn could not believe her ears, and she gaped at Butch, appalled. At least he had the decency to flush a brilliant red after he spoke. This is his way of fixing things? God forbid. Speechless, she stood up and pointed at the door.
Butch stood too, and with a hint of anger, he said, “You think on it. You think on it good. There ought to be something to come out of what you done.”
He left, and she slammed the door and locked it. It was then, and only then, she broke down, allowed her grief to consume her.
Butch came a day later with a crudely made coffin. She was grateful, but it was quickly apparent he’d helped only on account of his idea of restitution for keeping his mouth shut. He’d even joked about it. This, as they went about digging poor Warren’s grave, near to his first wife, Ida Neill Cobb. Sakes alive, it was nothing but out-and-out blackmail. Who knew he’d turn out like this? When he made suggestions again as they were tamping down the last shovelful, she went inside, shut the door, and locked it again until he left.
A hellish week later, she stood at Warren’s grave, shooing away flies, trying to have a prayerful moment. The flies didn’t care about layers of dirt because they knew what was beneath the soil. The things of nightmarish dreams, of which she’d had plenty. It was why she was so tired. She kept seeing Warren, what he’d done, and the pitiful look he’d turned on her after she’d come back to the house. She’d cried tears of anger and remorse, but crying got her nowhere. She had to figure out what to do, how to handle Butch, especially after what he’d gone and done.
Just this morning, she’d gone to the post office to check the mail and was shocked to have a letter from Eugene. Back home, she ripped it open, and read:
Received a letter regarding my father’s passing from Mr. Butch Crandall, on your behalf, I presume. Arriving June 14th at 2:00 p.m. and expect full cooperation as I resolve the matters of my father’s estate as per his will. Mr. Crandall has indicated there are matters of importance that need discussion. Please make sure he is present. Sincerely, Eugene Cobb, Esquire.
She tucked it back into her apron pocket, but throughout the morning, she kept pulling it out and rereading his terse, short sentences. Its very presence made her feel like she was inside a pressure cooker about to explode. Thanks to Butch, Eugene would arrive in three days, and he expected Butch to be around as well.
Speak of the devil. Here he was in that old truck, heaving along the path and making her grit her teeth. Without Warren around, Butch had become more emboldened, showing up when he pleased, talking dirty. She always made sure she was outside when she heard him coming, but he still followed her around the yard like a puppy dog, talking about all manner of nasty things he’d like to do to her. He apparently thought this was enthralling to hear. It was to him, because she’d caught him messing with himself through his britches when she’d stepped out from behind the sheets she was hanging. He had the nerve to flick his tongue at her and laugh when she cussed him.
Rae Lynn grabbed a rusted pail filled with cracked corn and began throwing out kernels, murmuring to the hens as they clucked and pecked about her feet. She seethed while glancing at the sky. The sun only just up good enough to clear out the morning mist, and here he was already. He approached her and looked at the sky too, maybe recognizing it might be a tad early. It didn’t stop him from starting in on his sorry idea.
“What you reckon? Is today the day? It ought to be. All nice and sunny outside.”
Rae Lynn tossed corn. She shivered, though it was already hot. He came over and watched, shifting from foot to foot, maybe waiting for her to invite him inside.
Finally, he said, “You heard from Eugene?”
The lie skipped out of her mouth easy as spitting on the ground. “I ain’t heard from him.”
Butch rubbed his hands together. “Is that right? Huh.”
Rae Lynn took the bucket back to the shed and came out with the hoe. She showed no reaction to Butch being right by the door, though he’d startled her. She went to go by him and he grabbed her arm.
She yelled, “Let me go!”
He said, “Not till you hear what I got to say.”
Rae Lynn stopped pulling and stared at the ground.
“Like I done told you, you want me to keep my mouth shut about what I seen, you got to pay up. Here you went and shot your husband, my one and only friend, and now he’s dead. It ain’t no small thing. Fact of the matter is, I wrote ole Eugene myself. Told him his daddy has passed on and I had things to discuss with him.”