The Waters by Bonnie Jo Campbell

Author:Bonnie Jo Campbell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2024-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

­Freedom has a cost.

On the second to last Saturday in August, Jamie Standish pulled into Wild Will’s front yard and parked his blue diesel Ford truck next to Larry Darling’s white Chevy with the dog cage bolted to the bed. On the left side of Standish’s bumper, a sticker said, “I’m pro-­life!” and on the right side, “You can have my gun . . . when you pry it out of my cold dead hands.” Larry Darling’s bumper stickers said, “If you can read this, you’re too close” and “I love cats. They taste just like chicken.” If Molly’s Buick sedan had been there that day, her bumper stickers would have countered with “Support gun control” and “Sane Cat Lady.”

Even before pulling the key out of the ignition, Standish tipped up a bottle of peppermint schnapps. He took a long swig, though it made his belly burn. He couldn’t tell anymore when he was hungry or thirsty. After the schnapps, he took a big swallow of minty Pepto Bismol. Then he got out of the cab, patted the pistol in his front pocket.

“Good boy, Rocky,” Standish said to the dog in the cage in the back of Larry’s truck. He knocked on the side of the truck bed as a test. Rocky stayed still. When Standish caught sight of Roger ducking down behind the tailgate, he said, “You’re not making trouble, are you, Rodge?”

“No, sir,” Roger said.

“Good boy,” Standish said. “Don’t mess with Larry’s dog. He’s in training.”

The red-­and-­white Herefords, way off in the field, ignored the party as usual, but Triumph and Aster were standing at the fence line with their ears pointed forward, watching the pit bull in the cage. They were always prepared to chase a dog or coyote out of the pasture if necessary or kick it if it wouldn’t leave on its own. In this way, they protected Titus’s cattle too.

Donkey had moved around the front of the white truck by now to get a good view of Standish. His boots were tied loosely, and he walked in a mincing way that told Donkey his feet hurt with each step. She wondered if it would help if he took off his shoes and went barefoot like her; he probably needed to build up some calluses.

“You aren’t making trouble, are you, Rodge?” Donkey said, imitating Standish’s tenor voice and capturing his nasal tone pretty well. It was the first time all afternoon she was able to make Roger laugh.

“That guy’s truck is a piece of shit,” Roger said, imitating other men he’d heard. He climbed into the bed of Larry’s newer truck, moved around the dog cage, and peered through the back window, into the cab. The dog didn’t turn his head but stayed still with tensed muscles.

A third truck, one with a camper top, was blocking Donkey’s only view of Rose Cottage, and so she had to imagine Herself sitting outside on the landing with Ozma tied to a tree nearby, both of them small in the distance.

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