The Current - Tim Johnston Page 0,132

that was the drive home from the hospital after Poppa died, just the three of you now . . . and there was that drive out to the farmhouse after Danny had gone away the first time and you had to move and it was just you and Momma and Wyatt in the car, and this was like that again only without Wyatt, and the two of you just staying in your own heads and not saying anything, and it’s worse than if she just said Marky I know you’re not telling me something, I know Danny told you something, because that’s what she’s thinking but won’t say it because she doesn’t want you lying to her again . . . and you not saying what you know is just as bad as lying, but if you tell her, if you tell her everything then you break your promise to Danny and that’s even worse, isn’t it? And they were almost home before he looked at her again—he would say something, he didn’t know what, just say her name—“Momma . . .”

But she wouldn’t turn to look at him—she was looking straight ahead and she was looking at something more than just the road, and when he looked he saw it too: a white SUV parked in the driveway near the farmhouse, and he knew the SUV because it was the sheriff’s 2014 Chevy Tahoe.

“Oh God,” she said.

“It’s OK Momma.”

She turned into the drive and pulled up behind the SUV and put the car in park and cut the engine. They could see the sheriff looking at them in his rearview. Then the sheriff stepped out, putting his hat on, and walked toward them, and Rachel opened her own door and got to her feet and stood holding on to the door.

“Evening, folks,” the sheriff said, nodding to her and then to Marky, who stood behind her now, somehow, a presence felt more than seen, his breaths blowing by in white clouds. “Mrs. Young?” the sheriff said, and she tried to say yes but all of her attention was on his hand, watching to see if he would raise it to his hatbrim and remove the hat from his head. He didn’t do it. But neither did he give her any indication that he’d not driven out here to rip her heart from her chest.

He said, “Hey, Marky,” and Marky said, “Hey Sheriff Halsey,” and the sheriff began to say how sorry he was to just show up like this but he’d tried to call and—

“Sheriff,” she said. “What’s happened?”

“Well, ma’am, that’s a good question. All I know is I’ve got an abandoned vehicle about a half-mile mile shy of the Mississippi with plates that are registered to Daniel Paul Young of Amarillo Texas, whom I believe is your son. Your other son.”

“What kind of vehicle Sheriff Halsey?” said Marky.

The sheriff looked at him, and Rachel said, “He asked what kind of vehicle.”

“A dark-blue Ford F-150, two thousand and one.”

“XLT?” said Marky.

“Yes, sir.”

“Four-by-four?” said Marky.

“Yes, sir, I believe that’s right.”

“That’s Danny’s truck Momma.”

She was holding on to the door, but the door too began to sway and she stepped back until she felt her son’s chest against her and she found his hand and gripped it and he gripped back.

“What else, Sheriff?” she said.

“Well, I was hoping you might tell me. The keys were in the truck and it started right up, hadn’t run out of gas or anything like that. No flat tires.” The sheriff glanced down, then looked up again. “Mrs. Young, when did your son get back in town?”

She had to think a moment. “A week ago?” she said, looking at Marky.

“Eight days ago Sheriff it was Sunday night he was here when we came home.”

Rachel repeated this, and the sheriff nodded. “And did either of you notice anything about the condition of his truck then?”

“The condition of his truck?”

“Any, ah, holes in it, that you saw?”

“Holes, Sheriff?” Her heart was crashing. “More than one—?”

He looked at her. “You know about that, ma’am?”

“I know somebody took a shot at him in the park.”

“Momma—”

“What park was that, ma’am?”

“Henry Sibley.”

The sheriff stared at her. His lawman’s mind working. “Did he have any idea who shot at him?”

She shook her head. Then she said, “No.” Seeing that rifle in Gordon’s kitchen, beside the refrigerator.

But he wouldn’t do that . . . He wouldn’t.

The sheriff was silent. Marky silent too, breathing heavily behind her. Then the sheriff said, “Well, there’s just

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