Love Is No Small Thing by Meghan Kenny

Author:Meghan Kenny
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LSU Press
Published: 2017-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

MAN IS THE MEASURE OF ALL THINGS

THE VANDERMIES INVITED Russell to their house in Ketchum for dinner. He drove on a dirt road that wound through the base of mountains that looked so smooth of sand they might slide down from the smallest movement upon them. It was dark and cool in the valley, but the sun was high, still on the tops of the hills and mountains where they would hike up to for dinner. He’d been here many times while working on the house, but he was still unsure of landmarks and turns; he looked for the wooden walk bridge that crossed over the Lost River half a mile before their driveway. The river ran to his right; birds flew back and forth over the road, low and fast, seeming to just miss the car by chance or luck. He came around a bend, sure the bridge was less than a mile away. Then, just ahead, Russell saw two four-wheelers on the rocky berm. There was a man waving him to stop.

Russell pulled over and rolled down his window. “What is it?”

“We’ve lost one,” the short hairy man said. “We’ve lost one, and you’ve got to help.”

“Lost what?” Russell said.

Another man, red-haired and large, came up from a dip behind the embankment and said, “I can’t see a goddamn thing. Can’t see or hear or nothing.”

Russell stayed in the car. The men wore worn canvas pants and long-sleeve shirts in the heat. They were tough, Russell thought. Men who could stand the heat in those clothes killed things, fixed busted engines, and spat on people if they felt like it.

“Is this an emergency? Can I call someone?” Russell stopped himself before he held up his cell phone. They already knew he wasn’t tough; he didn’t have to prove it. He wore a short-sleeve collared shirt and khakis. He hoped they couldn’t see the leather loafers he wore without socks. He’d bought them that day at a men’s store he’d never been in because of the prices. But when the Vandermies invited him for dinner, he knew the crowd would be wealthy, and it was his chance to make an impression.

“We don’t have time for that. We need your help,” the short man said.

“What I mean is, is this serious, is someone hurt?”

“It’s serious,” the redhead said, “or we wouldn’t be asking for help.”

“It’s just that I have a dinner to get to; people are waiting for me,” Russell said, pointing in front of him, as if people were down the road waving for him to hurry.

The short man walked toward the car. Russell hit the automatic lock and pushed in the clutch.

“Look, Jack,” the short man said, standing in front of the open driver’s side window. “Get out of your car and help us find what’s missing.” He stood close enough that Russell smelled his bourbon breath.

“My name isn’t Jack,” Russell said. “What are you two doing?”

The redhead cradled a shotgun, and spat chewing tobacco from the side of his mouth.

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