Burning Bright - By Ron Rash Page 0,49

stood before a man he suddenly realized he knew hardly anything about. He didn’t know how many siblings Jim Coleman had or what kind of neighborhood in Chicago he’d grown up in or if he’d ever held a shotgun or hoe in his hand. He did not know if Jim Coleman had once been a churchgoer or had always spent his Sunday mornings working in his garage or yard.

“I’ve come to check on Jennifer,” Boyd said.

“She’s sleeping,” Jim answered.

“I’d still like to see her, if you don’t mind,” Boyd said, and showed Jim a sheet of paper. “I had Allison write down what they did in class today. She’d be real disappointed if I didn’t deliver this.”

For a moment Boyd thought he would say no, but Jim Coleman stepped aside.

“Come in then.”

He followed Jim down the hallway and up the stairs to Jennifer’s bedroom. The girl lay in her bed, the sheets pulled up to her neck. Sweat had matted the child’s hair, made her face a shiny paleness, like porcelain. In a few moments Janice joined them. She pressed her palm against Jennifer’s forehead and let it linger as though bestowing a blessing on the child.

“What was her temperature the last time you checked?” Boyd asked.

“One hundred and two. It goes up in the evening.”

“And it’s been four days now?”

“Yes,” Janice said. “Four days and four nights. I let her go to school Friday. I probably shouldn’t have.”

Boyd looked at Jennifer. He tried to put himself in her parents’ situation. He tried to imagine what words could connect what he’d witnessed in Madison County to some part of their experience in Chicago or Raleigh. But there were no such words. What he had learned in the North Carolina mountains was untranslatable to the Colemans.

“I think you need to get her to the hospital,” Boyd said.

“But the doctor says as soon as the antibiotics kick in she’ll be fine,” Janice said.

“You need to get her to the hospital,” Boyd said again.

“How can you know that?” Janice asked. “You’re not a doctor.”

“When I was a boy, I saw someone sick like this.” Boyd hesitated. “That person died.”

“Doctor Underwood said she’d be fine,” Jim said, “that plenty of kids have had this. He’s seen her twice.”

“You’re scaring me,” Janice said.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Boyd said. “Please take Jennifer to the hospital. Will you do that?”

Janice turned to her husband.

“Why is he saying these things?”

“You need to leave,” Jim Coleman said.

“Please,” Boyd said. “I know what I’m talking about.”

“Leave. Leave now,” Jim Coleman said.

Boyd walked back into his own yard. For a few minutes he stood there. The owl did not call but he knew it roosted in the scarlet oak, waiting.

“Janice just called and she’s royally pissed off,” Laura told him when he entered the house. “I told you not to go over there. They think you’re mentally disturbed, maybe even dangerous.”

Laura sat on the couch, and she motioned for Boyd to sit down also.

“Where’s Allison?” Boyd asked.

“I put her to bed,” Laura said. “You know, you’re upsetting Allison as well as the Colemans. You’re upsetting me too. Tell me what this is about, Boyd.”

For half an hour he tried to explain. When Boyd finished his wife placed one of her hands over his.

“I know where you grew up that people, uneducated people, believed such things.” Laura said when he’d finished. “But you don’t live in Madison County anymore, and you are educated. Maybe there is an owl out back. I haven’t heard it, but I’ll concede it could be out there. But even so it’s an owl, nothing more.”

Laura squeezed his hand.

“I’m getting you an appointment with Doctor Harmon. He’ll prescribe some Ambien so you can get some rest, maybe something else for the anxiety.”

Later that night he lay in bed, waiting for the owl to call. An hour passed on the red digits of the alarm clock and he tried to muster hope that the bird had left. He finally fell asleep for a few minutes, long enough to dream about his grandfather. They were in Madison County, in the farmhouse. Boyd was in the front room by himself, waiting though he didn’t know what for. Finally, the old man came out of his bedroom, dressed in his brogans and overalls, a sweat rag in his back pocket.

The corpse bird’s call roused him from the dream. Boyd put on pants and shoes and a sweatshirt. He took a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and went into the basement