Once Upon a River Page 0,36
on a shard. Blood dripped onto the Annie Oakley book on the table, onto a depiction of a frowning Sitting Bull, who had given Annie the name Little Sure Shot. Margo felt embarrassed for these men to see she was reading a children’s book. It was meant for the nine-year-old she had been when Joanna had given it to her.
“Oh, damn,” he said when he saw the blood on her forearm. He bent his head and closed his mouth around the wound. And as he did, she noticed that the knuckles were bleeding on his scarred right hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Maggie. Your blood tastes sweet like wine.”
“What happened to your hand?” She settled into his lap. There was no rag on the table, so she used her sleeve to dab the blood off the book.
“You know, Pauly tells me he’s still off the drugs. I’m so fucking proud of my little brother. Brother,” he slurred, “I’m fucking proud, and I’m not going to deny it.”
“Oh, shut up, Brian,” Paul said.
Margo didn’t realize she was staring at Paul, but he turned sideways to see her through his better eye and said quietly, “Stop always staring at me that way. It drives me crazy. I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
Margo thought he would not have spoken to her so harshly if Brian were sober. When Paul entered the cabin, the other man appeared in the doorway behind him and raised his hand in greeting.
“Maggie, this is Johnny. A half-wit from Kalamazoo,” Paul said. The blond man with gray eyes followed Paul into the room, wavering, as drunk as Brian but lighter-bodied. “He’ll sleep on the couch, and I’ll sleep on the screen porch,” Paul said. “That way I won’t have to listen to any of these assholes snore.”
Brian stood and slurred, “I’m going to pass out.” He stumbled into the bedroom and fell onto the bed with his clothes on, including his big insulated canvas jacket. Margo wondered how on earth she would get into the bed and under the covers with him lying there like that.
Johnny winked at Margo as she unrolled her old army sleeping bag for him. “Paul says I’m a fool, but I know what I see.” Johnny laughed and plopped onto the couch.
“Yeah, you’re a fool,” Paul said. “You signed away your birthright for whiskey money.”
“I’m not a farmer,” Johnny said. “I never wanted to be a farmer.”
Paul shook his head and returned to the porch. Johnny did not seem inclined to do anything with the sleeping bag other than pet it with his hand. He looked at Margo and slurred the word “beautiful” a few times, and Margo found she didn’t mind the attention. She realized that Johnny was the blond guy who had been passed out on the Playbuoy, the man who fondled the deer carcass she had sold to Brian in Murrayville. That moment had been funny enough that she laughed a little remembering it. Of course, Johnny had not even seen her that day. And as drunk as he was now, he probably wouldn’t recognize her next time he saw her.
When Johnny fell over sideways, he finally pulled his legs up and shifted into a lying position. Margo leaned over and covered him as Brian had once covered her. When she adjusted the sleeping bag, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down close to him. To avoid having her face so close to his, she turned away and ended up sitting on the edge of the couch, her backside against his chest. He snaked both arms around her waist and then tickled her ribs until she giggled. He whispered, “You need to get out of this place and have a little fun, girl.”
He gradually loosened his grip until his arms were draped lightly around her. Margo had seen female dogs and pigs stand still for males when it was clear they meant to run away. She didn’t mind this weightless feeling of indecision.
“I wish it was summer,” he whispered. The kerosene lamp turned down low made Johnny’s skin look smooth, made his eyes glitter. He smelled good, she thought, less musky and less smoky than Brian. “We could go skinny-dipping.”
Margo didn’t intend for anything to happen with her and Johnny, but she wanted to remain in this strange moment for a while, to figure out what this feeling was. The moment did not seem to have anything to do with Brian. Instead, she was thinking about her