The Ranger - Ace Atkins [72]
“Caddy can do what she likes.”
“I mean, about Anna Lee?”
“I won’t lie,” Quinn said. “Ever since I got back, Anna Lee has acted like I’ve wronged her. I guess we remember events in different ways.”
His mother didn’t say anything.
“And I don’t want to hear a word about how she was trying not to get hurt,” he said. “You know how many boys in my unit get the same shitty letters? All that brokenhearted BS looks like it’s written by the same person. I just wish one girl would own up that she was tired of her boyfriend being away and wanted to screw around.”
“You believe that?”
“Are we gonna go to Sonic or what?”
“We can go to the Sonic.”
“You mind if I ask you something?”
His mother waited.
“All those times Dad left, headed out to wherever he went, did you get mad?”
“He had to make money.”
“Even though he wasn’t always on a job.”
“Quinn, I love you,” she said. “But don’t try and rope me into your dilemma.”
“Can you do me a favor before I leave?” Quinn asked.
“Anything.”
“All right.” Quinn smiled, put his hand on her back. “How’bout we take Jason to say good-bye to his great-uncle.”
Jean Colson just shook her head.
So they stood there, looking down at the ground. Jason had wandered off one row over to pet a stone bunny that had been placed over a grave. The cemetery was big and flat and treeless, reminding Quinn of something that a farmer would design, not landscaped, only long, even rows of headstones waiting for the final reaping. The stone for his uncle had his name and birth and death, underscoring he was a Christian. Nothing about his military service, or that he’d been sheriff. On the mound of dirt, dead and dying flowers lay in the cold. A big wreath shaped like a gun had been sent by the Mississippi Law Enforcement Association.
“That’s not in good taste,” Quinn said.
“What happened wasn’t for public knowledge.”
“So, you want to say a few words?” Quinn asked.
She shook her head.
“It would mean a lot.”
“I don’t know.”
“Might make you feel better.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. She inhaled for a moment before she began. “Okay . . . You were a good brother when you acted right,” she said. “You could be fair but not always. Some folks might have said you were pigheaded and stupid, and I think that did play a role in this final stupid act you’ve left us with. But who am I to judge? I don’t judge you, Hamp. I’m your sister. I guess you can’t hold a dead man accountable to things that have been said. But he’s here with me and part of this family, and even to this day I want to kick over this headstone for you ever calling that boy a”—she was whispering now—“a damn mistake. Only mistake I know is self-pity.”
His mother kept her mouth open, breathing, like she was about to add a little more, but then she took a step back and simply said, “Amen.”
“Amen,” Quinn said.
The wind across the treeless graves seemed even colder, light fading down even at four p.m., Quinn recalling how damn desolate this county could be during the wintertime and then how green and alive it could be during planting season. He reached for a yellowed rose from the flower gun and set it at the base of the headstone.
“Is that it?” his mother asked.
He nodded.
Quinn’s cell phone continued to buzz in his coat pocket. He reached to switch it back off but saw it was Lillie. He answered it as his mother went to scoop up Jason, both of them still at the grave site.
“Where are you?” Lillie asked.
“A little family time.”
“Can you get over to your uncle’s place?”
“Sure. Can it wait?”
“There’s been some trouble. You need to get out here right now.”
25
Quinn drove over the Sarter Creek bridge and stopped his truck with a skid on the gravel drive, running for the burning barn caught up in flames and smoke. A big shed had gone up, too, but the fire had already ripped through it, and all that was left was a heap of crackling and snapping wood. Lillie met him on the hill and said she’d called the fire department, volunteers arriving in spurts, spilling from pickup trucks and old cars. The red engine was the