a long minute, she said nothing. A car turned onto the road, and in its headlights she was drawn and beautiful. “You hurt me, Jackson.” A pause. “I don’t think I can let you hurt me like that again. But then you left that message . . .” She broke then, and a tiny sob escaped before she clamped down again.
“I meant it. All of it.”
“I’ve got to go,” she suddenly declared. Her hand found the ignition.
“Wait,” I said. “Let me go home with you. Back to the farm.” I would tell her everything—about Jean, about Ezra, but mostly about my feelings for her, and about the shame I’d hidden from her all those years. “There’s so much to say.”
“No.” Her voice was sharp and loud. Then softer: “I can’t go there. Not again.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t. If I did, I fear you would destroy me, and I’ve decided that nothing is worth that.” She put her truck into gear. “Not even you.”
“Vanessa, wait.”
“Don’t follow me, Jackson.”
Then she was gone, and I stared at her taillights; they grew smaller, turned, and disappeared. I closed my eyes but could still see red. Eventually, I went home, parked between a Mercedes and a BMW, and entered the kitchen through the garage. There was laughter in the dining room beyond; it rolled across me as I walked into the room.
“Oh, there you are,” my wife said. “Just in time for the second course.”
Then she was up and sweeping toward me, a smile creasing her face beneath eyes I could not read. There were two other couples there, the Wersters and a pair I couldn’t name. They were smiling, amused, and suddenly Barbara was at my side, smelling of perfume and wine. She brushed at my shirt. Up close, I saw that she was worried. No, I thought. She looked terrified. She leaned into me, hugged me, and said very quietly, “Please don’t make a scene.” Then she leaned back. “We’ve been worried about you.”
I looked beyond her; everybody was nodding and smiling, perfectly groomed above a linen cloth and polished silver. Red wine in cut crystal held the light of a dozen candles, and I thought of Jean and the melted wax on her wobbly kitchen table. I saw her in orange prison fatigues, in line for lunch as something brown and lukewarm was slapped from a spoon onto a molded metal tray. The image cut so deeply, I had to close my eyes. And when I opened them, Bert Werster still sat in my chair. “I’ll go change,” I said, then turned and walked out. I passed through the kitchen, picked up a bottle of bourbon, and walked straight out the back door.
As it closed behind me, I heard another burst of laughter. Outside, in the night air, I looked at the sky and tried to bleed away the tension. Then I heard more laughter, like the sound of passing traffic, and knew that it would not be that easy. How long, I wondered, until they realized I wasn’t coming back? What excuse would Barbara offer for the imperfection of her marriage?
I walked around back, where I found Bone scrabbling to get under the fence. I put him in the truck, and I drove us away from that place without a backward glance. I couldn’t save Jean, not tonight. But Vanessa was in pain, and I decided that it was time to deal with this shit once and for all. So as I watched the road, bright in the headlights, I thought of what I would say to Vanessa. I thought of the day we’d met. The day we’d jumped for Jimmy. I was twelve years old, and they said I was a hero. They said I was brave, but I wouldn’t know about that. What I remember was being scared, and then being ashamed.
His name was Jimmy Waycaster. Everybody called him “Jimmy-One-T.” There was a reason for that.
CHAPTER 15
Jimmy had only one testicle, a fact that followed him when he transferred in from some place out of county. His parents had no other children, which didn’t stop Coach from putting him at shortstop the next spring. First game of the season, and Jimmy took one on the second pitch. When Jimmy dropped, there was stunned and absolute silence. Until he started screaming.
As it turned out, Jimmy’s family was poor. And the surgery to save his last testicle was expensive. One of the other parents organized it, and two weeks later