Ralph Angel blew past the Indian casino, all bright and glowing, and for a moment he thought about Amber, wondered if she ever got that cherry-red pickup. He had just passed the turnoff where she lived when a car pulled out and sped to catch up with him. Another second and the icy blue and white lights flashed. Ralph Angel slowed, pulled onto the shoulder, cruised to a stop.
“License and registration, please.”
Ralph Angel recognized the voice. His heart drummed.
One Mississippi.
“Good evening, Officer. I’ve got my license right here.” His hands started to sweat.
Two Mississippi. Three.
The beam of the officer’s flashlight swept over Ralph Angel’s face, swept over the dashboard, swept across his shoulder, and hovered for a few extra seconds above the passenger seat.
“Step out of the car, please.” The officer’s voice was tense. Tenser than it had been before.
Ralph Angel squinted into the harsh light. He shielded his eyes. “Is there a problem?”
Four Mississippi.
“I said, step out of the car, please.”
“If it’s about the rental, I can explain.” Ralph Angel laughed nervously. “You see, I was going to turn it in. I got the contract in here, somewhere. I’ll pay what I owe. I swear.” His thoughts shifted to The Cane Cutter. After he took it from Charley’s dresser, he wrapped it in a towel, put it in the trunk. In the end, he hadn’t given it away; couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d just wanted to give Charley a good scare. Hold on to it for a couple days then give it back.
“I said, step out of the car. Now.”
Five Mississippi.
Ralph Angel saw the trooper pull his gun from its holster and take a measured step to the side. He listened as the trooper called for backup on his walkie-talkie, and it seemed like only seconds before he heard sirens in the distance. Ralph Angel reached down, slowly, to unbuckle his seat belt and saw what the trooper saw: John’s gun on the passenger seat where he’d tossed it. He heard a click as the trooper released his gun’s safety.
“I won’t tell you again, sir. Step out of the car. Do it now. Right. Now.”
Six Mississippi.
“Please, Officer. It ain’t how it looks. I got my kid with me, see? Just give me a second. Jesus. It’s not what you think. I swear to God.” Without thinking, Ralph Angel reached out his hand. “Please. I can explain.” And then he heard the trooper’s gun fire.
29
In the last week, Charley did everything she could think of to save her farm. She called her suppliers and pleaded for extensions. She went back to the banks. Miss Honey loaned her twelve hundred dollars. Violet asked her congregation for donations. Micah and Blue sold lemonade and baked cookies using Violet’s secret recipe. Denton and Alison insisted on forfeiting their cuts of the profits. Remy tried to work out a deal with the mills.
But nothing helped. The numbers were nowhere near adding up.
And so, on a beautiful, crisp Saturday in October, when a light wind rustled the cane and the roads were clogged with tractors hauling loads to the mill, Charley prepared to meet Landry and Baron.
In the kitchen, Micah’s Polaroids were spread over the table. Charley gathered them into a stack. Here was a picture of her standing at the edge of her fields looking exhausted and overwhelmed the first day they arrived; here was a picture of Miss Honey at the stove. Miss Honey didn’t like being photographed and Charley guessed Micah took it when she wasn’t looking. Here was a picture of Micah and Violet and Micah’s crawfish cake, and here was a picture of the cake that won first place, though they all agreed Micah’s was better. Here was a picture of Micah and Blue that Ralph Angel must have taken. Micah looked so serious, Charley thought, but she liked that she could see Miss Honey’s house in the background and that if you looked close, you could see where all the Christmas lights were still strung across the porch from last year. Blue must have taken the next two, because they were all blurry and out of focus. One was a picture of Ralph Angel’s car, the next, a picture of the bike Blue wanted for his birthday, which Charley remembered was still on sale downtown at the five-and-dime. Here was a picture of Blue and Ralph Angel, both of them smiling the same smile as Blue sat on Ralph Angel’s lap and Ralph Angel wrapped his arms around him. And finally, here was a picture of Micah standing in her garden the week she started it, the ground in the background dark and bare, the newly dug rows evenly spaced. Charley was tempted to ask Micah if she could keep it, but put it back on the table. There would be plenty of time for gardens; plenty of years left for pictures. Charley picked up the picture of Ralph Angel and Blue again, and felt a squeeze in her chest. Her brother was dead. She still couldn’t quite believe it.
At last, Charley slid the picture of Ralph Angel and Blue back into the stack. “I guess I’d better go,” she said, and slung her backpack over her shoulder.
“I just hate the thought of you having to cut a deal with those devils,” Violet said. “I still wish we could have done more.”
Charley loved that Violet wanted to keep fighting, even when it was clear they’d lost. “Three or four years, once I’ve paid off the debt, maybe I’ll try again,” she said.
The hardest part had been breaking the news to Denton and Alison. The morning after Ralph Angel shot John, she found them in the fields setting fire to the acres of dried cane leaves the combine had left behind. There was something unexpectedly beautiful about watching the cane burn.
“She sure looks better with her clothes on,” Alison had said, and after a few startled seconds, Charley realized he meant the cane looked bare without its leaves.
“Guess I’d better dig out my old fishing pole,” Denton had said, stoic as ever, and that was when Charley broke down.
Now Charley patted her pocket for her car keys. She hugged Violet and they stood by the sink, holding each other tightly before Charley pulled away. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
Someone knocked at the front door.
“I got it,” Micah yelled, and in a minute, she walked back into the kitchen followed by Hollywood.
Charley had not seen him since the shooting. Remembering the way he stood with his hands in his pockets looking down at the floor rather than at her, she understood why he hadn’t come around. But her heart swelled at the sight of him and she didn’t hold back.
“It’s great to see you,” Charley said. “How’ve you been?”
Hollywood shrugged. “I’m okay.” He wore his helmet instead of his baseball cap. “I was just on my way — I was heading over to — I mean, I thought I’d—”
“It’s fine,” Charley said, and gave him a look that said all of it — the awful peanut story, his tears of humiliation — was forgotten. “I’m just happy you stopped by. I’ve missed you.” She stepped toward him, extended her hand, pulled him close. When she stood back to give him space, she saw his face had flushed.
“We’ve all missed you, man,” Violet said.
And just then, Miss Honey stepped up from the den. “Is that Hollywood?” She marched over and swatted his arm with a rolled-up TV Guide. “Where’ve you been? My yard looks awful.”
Hollywood beamed then. “I’ve been missing y’all, too. How is everybody? How’s John?”
“He gets out of the hospital today,” Charley said. “We’re meeting Brother over there in a couple hours. As soon as I—” Her voice trailed off.