One Came Home by Amy Timberlake

Author:Amy Timberlake
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780375869259
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

It was a nowhere place. It wasn’t even in Dog Hollow. It was a half day’s ride out of Dog Hollow.

As Billy and I rode the next morning, I was silent. I guess my head was working so hard there was no way to make talk too. I did worry about Long Ears taking it personally. Don’t know why. He was only a mule. But for some reason, I cared, so every once in a while I’d feed Long Ears a sugar cube, which made him like me better. I wish sugar cubes worked that well with people. I’d carry them in my coat pockets, my hat, my shoes.

“Lying off the side of the road” was the only description I’d heard when people explained the location of the body. Still, I’d imagined this place so many times that without hesitation I’d have described it as somewhere with sweeping vistas, a rock formation jutting into open air, and nearby, a knotty oak. The limbs of that oak would tangle in every direction, testifying to the struggles of wind, sun, fire, and rain, and yet there it stood, going on, full of leaves. The body, of course, would lie under this tree.

I’d like to point out that this is a sight short of what the place of someone’s death should look like. People are supposed to die at home. They’re supposed to have time to tell last wishes. They’re supposed to be able to pray, to repent for their sins, and to commend their soul to God. And the family? We’re supposed to be able to gather round the deathbed, hear those final words, watch the dying breathe their last, and witness their countenance. So given all this, I do not think the presence of a big oak tree was asking too much.

But no matter what I had imagined before, I had never imagined this: that we would pass the spot right up. This spot was that unremarkable. Billy figured it out—a sure miracle if there ever was one. He pulled Storm up short, took Sheriff McCabe’s diagram from the pouch around his neck, studied it, and then turned around. For about a mile, we couldn’t have gone any slower if we’d been strolling on foot. Finally, Billy stopped and got down off Storm.

I knew what that meant. “Are you sure?” I said.

If Billy felt any surprise at my finding my tongue, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded and stared down at the paper. He lifted his head to gaze at a rock, then pointed at it. “See that fissure? It’s the same on the diagram. This is it.”

My feet felt leaden as I eased myself off Long Ears. (I still hear the scuff sound my shoes made as they hit dirt.) After that, about all I could do was keep hold of Long Ears’ reins and stare about me.

This is all wrong, I thought. Not here. This was nowhere. Instead of being wide and generous, this was a squeezing, wrenching place, somewhere with a grip around the windpipe.

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