Distilling Lies by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham

Author:Carolyn Dennis-Willingham [Dennis-Willingham, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: River Grove Books

CHAPTER 31

EMMA JUNE

Choppers sighed, satisfied that his midday meal had filled his belly. But I had forgotten what hunger felt like. Instead of grabbing something from the icebox, I sat in an empty house staring straight ahead. I was quickly becoming that old woman from the legend of Crazy Water, the one who slowly lost her mind. Except, unlike her, I had yet to find the healing spring to drink away my madness.

More time had passed without a word. I feared unspeakable news would blow in and crumble what was left in my hollow bones. I couldn’t find Mama any more than I could find a whisper in a whirlwind.

Before she disappeared, my idea of despair and melancholy meant missing a party or being unable to go to the river because of rain. But those were mere disappointments, a small black weevil in a massive barrel of shiny white rice. I hadn’t known how lucky and easy my life had been.

When Daddy was home, he spent his time staring out the window, fidgeting under the hood of Ol’ Bess, taking Choppers for long walks. Sometimes he swept the front porch or flicked a dust cloth across the furniture. On rare occasions, I would come home to find him listening to the High-Jinkers on the radio. His scowl would loosen enough to set free a dimpled grin.

The sound of Choppers’s gentle snoring was the only sign of life in our dormant house. Daddy and I had become two sapless bodies trying to survive, as listless as two pinwheels without a breeze.

The repeated blast of Roadrunner’s horn broke the silence.

“Emmy June! Emma June!” Miss Helen’s frantic shriek.

She bolted through the door, her orange hair poking up like cactus needles.

I lurched from the chair. “What is it? What happened? Is it Mama?”

“It’s Scooter. We … we don’t know where he is.” She held a hand to her chest, unable to catch her breath. “Miss Primrose … She said … Oh God, just hurry. Come with me to the sheriff’s office.”

“Where’s Leonard?” I asked as we scrambled inside Roadrunner.

“Out searching. Talking to neighbors,” she said, her hands trembling on the steering wheel.

Scooter never strayed far by himself. If he took a walk alone, he always stopped at the perimeter’s edge and hollered, “property line!” My stomach clenched thinking of the day Samuel and I had run into Wade at the school. Wade alone was bad enough. I had a feeling Moody was worse.

“What did Miss Primrose say?”

“That he didn’t come in from recess. Nobody saw him wander off.”

Tears rolled down Miss Helen’s face as she drove. “If anything happens to him …”

Miss Primrose knew she had to keep a watchful eye on Scooter. Her lack of attention was probably due to her need to powder her nose and apply lipstick every thirty minutes, or because she was constantly turning her back and spritzing perfume to mask the smell of our poverty-stricken students.

The motorcar screeched to a halt. I followed as Miss Helen burst through the sheriff’s door.

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