Nothing But the Bones, page 31
Nails felt his hands shaking. She was alive. Dallas was alive. That information danced across his brain like a fresh fire. But the flame was already beginning to die out. He’d nearly gotten her killed before. He wasn’t going to do that again. He was a convicted felon now. She was free of him. He wasn’t bringing his shit into her life. He wasn’t making that mistake again. Not ever. He started to put the photos back into the file. Freddy looked confused.
“You don’t look all that happy, Nails. Your girl is alive. You can go to her. You’ve had too much of your life taken away already. You don’t need to waste the rest of it on this mountain. What’s the problem?”
Nails looked around the room at the faces of his friends. “I’m not going to ruin her life again, Freddy. She doesn’t deserve it. Look at these pictures. She looks happy. I’m not going to fuck that up.”
“Well, in that case, let me buy you a lottery ticket.”
Nails looked confused. “A lottery ticket?”
“Yeah. To win a John Deere tractor.”
“What do I need a tractor for?”
“To pull your head out of your ass. Because thinking you might be bad for that woman might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Take it easy, Freddy.” Kate moved her hand from Nails’s knee to his shoulder and leaned in to look him directly in the eye. “Nelson, maybe you’re right. I don’t know this woman, so I can’t speak on her. Maybe she doesn’t deserve it. But I do know you. And nobody deserves it more. There’s so much love in you for everyone else. For me and Clayton. For Freddy. For Riley. But none for yourself. Don’t let that happen. At least take that bag back to its rightful owner and find out. It’s public record that you’ve been released. She might be waiting.”
Nails shook his head. “Even if that were true, nobody is going to accept it. Her and me. The world ain’t built that way.”
Freddy laughed. “You’ve been gone a long time, buddy. The world is a different place these days. People love who they love. Nobody gives a shit about that anymore. You’re running out of excuses, Nails. And you’re running out of time. Life is too short.”
Nails’s mouth was dry, so he sipped from Clayton’s beer. Then he downed it. “She’s probably got someone, Freddy. It’s been nine years.”
“Oh, she does.”
Nails stared at him. That was a cruel response.
“Take a look at the last picture again.” Nails slid it to the top of the stack. It was a picture of Dallas—or Rachel now—sitting in a playground sandbox, holding up a toddler. “She’s got him,” Freddy said. “Those Cobb brothers told me that she adopted that boy two years ago. He’s her son.” Freddy leaned down and looked at the photo again. “I can’t tell what nationality the kid is but I’m guessing Cubano. Them Florida girls love their Cubanos.”
“That’s racist, Freddy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m old. And you’re just sitting there getting older.”
Nails stared at the pictures, flipping through them again and again, until he landed back on the photo of her with the little boy. He stared at it for a long time.
“Go, Nails. Take that duffle bag and go, and don’t look back. You can take any one of the cars I’ve got in the back lot. I suggest the Monte Carlo. She’s a beast on the open road.”
Gavin poked his head through the office door. “Hey Freddy, you really should get out here. It’s getting kinda rowdy.”
Clayton stood up and went to fish his badge out of his pocket, but Kate got up and stopped him. “No way, cowboy. You’re off duty tonight. So, you can buy me another beer if you want, but if you pin that thing to your shirt, you can look forward to sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Clayton held his hand out to Nails and the big man took it. “Whatever you decide. I’ve got your back, Nelson. That’s a promise.” Nails nodded. Kate gave him another hug, and soon he was in the office alone. He sat there for a while before tucking the file under his arm and grabbing the keys to the Monte Carlo from a hook beside the door. He stepped out of the office and saw Freddy behind the bar. The two men locked eyes and that was all that needed to happen. Freddy went back to work and Nails left through the side door.
He tossed the duffle bag in the backseat and got behind the wheel of the Monte Carlo. He turned the key in the ignition and the voice of some cereal box evangelist filled the interior of the car. Nails shut the man up by mashing the cassette tape from his pocket into the tape player. The familiar songs from R’s Mixtape took its place.
As he sat in the car, it occurred to him that almost a decade ago, he’d found himself alone in a parking lot, holding a stack of a cash and a phone number. He remembered the feeling of being ejected from his life—lost and unwanted. Now, he was in that same parking lot with another wad of cash in his pack and an address. But this time he didn’t feel like he was being cast out of where he belonged. He felt like he was about to go and find it.
Coda
Chapter Seventy
He took his time making the trip to Virginia. He drove during the day so he could take in the country and stopped whenever he got tired. Along the way, he treated himself to a few decent hotels and more than a few hot showers. He bought himself some new clothes and a new pair of boots. He even got himself a prepaid cell phone and took the time to learn how to use it. He knew he still needed to deal with his parole officer but being a good friend of the new sheriff of McFalls County gave him all the time he needed.
It was late afternoon on a Wednesday when he arrived in the sleepy town of Big Island, Virginia. He thought it was an odd name for a place nestled in the rocky landscape of the Blue Ridge Mountains—nowhere close to the sea—and he still wasn’t sure showing up here was a good idea. But he took the hairpin turns and narrow roads into town anyway. He double-checked the address written on the back of the photo, although he didn’t need to. He’d memorized it before he’d even gotten out of Georgia. The sun was low behind the hazy backdrop of mountains and the skyline burned, painting the world with shades of pink and yellow. He could feel his own heartbeat as he pulled up in front of the simple stick-framed house and sat for a minute to try and calm himself down. The house was blue. The shutters on the windows were bright white, red-tipped azaleas lined the yard. The brick porch was covered with various potted plants and ferns. Children’s toys were everywhere. The front yard had two Japanese maples and a green plastic sandbox shaped like a turtle. When Nails spotted the little boy sitting in it, holding a small shovel and a bucket, he almost drove away in a panic, but he didn’t. He cut the engine, rubbed the sweat from his palms on his jeans, and got out of the car. The little boy watched him curiously as Nails slowly walked up the pavers to the house. He was sure the kid would be frightened of him, but he held up his good hand anyway and said, “Hello.”
The little boy waved back but looked unsure of the big strange man walking across his yard. Nails could feel it in his bones that any minute now the kid would scream. This was a bad idea. He had no business here. Disrupting lives and scaring children. It had been too long. Dallas had come out here for a reason. To get away. For a fresh start. Nails would just be a reminder of the horrible past she’d hidden herself away from. He was bringing the trauma right back to her doorstep. He shook his head and closed his eyes. “No,” he said under his breath and turned back to the car. He’d only taken a few steps before he heard the creak of a screen door open behind him. He froze when he heard a voice—her voice. A sound that crushed his chest.
“Nelson? Come inside.”
Nails must’ve heard that wrong. He heard what he wanted to hear. It had been nine years. She wouldn’t just invite him to come inside as if she’d seen him yesterday. He knew he should just keep walking, but he couldn’t get his legs to move. He couldn’t turn around, either. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how he was supposed to act. How could he be so stupid to bring all the horror of what they’d gone through back to her doorstep?
She repeated herself. “Nelson, come in and get cleaned up for dinner.”
Hearing that confused Nails even more. It had only been four days of her life—nine years ago. And now here she was saying his name like she talked to him every day since. That couldn’t be right. He found the guts to face her. She stood tall on the front porch as beautiful as he remembered. Even more so. The girl he knew was gone. The woman she’d become left him weak. Her hair was longer now and the color of summer wheat in the sun. Her cotton dress pressed against her legs in the breeze, and he couldn’t speak. He hadn’t had that problem in years but there he was, standing in front of the one person he’d spent every day of the last nine years thinking about and now he was a mute fool all over again. There was no way this could end well. She didn’t need this. She came to this place to hide from him. To hide from the past. She didn’t want anything to do with him. The little boy waved at Nails again before running up the steps toward his mother. “Do as I said, Nelson, and I’ll be right in.” She rustled the kid’s hair as he went inside. Nails felt his chest go tight. He had it wrong. The child’s name was Nelson. If she came here to hide, it wasn’t from him.
Once the boy disappeared into the house, Dallas took the steps, slowly at first, in her bare Grocery Store Feet. She walked toward him but gradually began to run. Before Nails could react, she jumped up and grabbed him. She hugged his neck, her feet dangling several inches above the grass. She was as light as paper mache. Nails put his hands on her hips, careful not to hold her too tight. Still afraid she might vanish in his arms like some trick of the light. But she was no illusion. She was real. He wasn’t going to seize up this time. He would hug her back. He closed his eyes as she squeezed him tighter, and instantly everything else in his mind faded away. All his mistakes. All the violence. All the constant noise in his head. It all went quiet. All the pain he’d ever caused or endured. It all gave way under the weight of this moment.
“If this is all I get. Just this. Just this one last snapshot in time. It would have to be enough. It would have to make it all worth it.”
Without loosening her grip around his neck, or letting her feet drop a single inch toward the grass, she leaned in closer to his ear. With breath that smelled like honeysuckle, she said, “You know you just said that out loud, right?”
He didn’t know that. And he laughed. Hard enough to hurt his belly.
She hugged even tighter. “So are you going to stick around this time?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise?”
“With all my heart.”
“Well, then come in the house, handsome. Because there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.”
Acknowledgments
Yeah, I know. I am fully aware that this novel is not what most of you thought would be coming next. But I reckon that was the point. If you made it to this page, then you are clearly willing to walk through fire with me—burns be damned. So, thank you. The world has enough bleakness in it right now. And there are plenty of writers out there happy to provide that if you want it. For me, I found myself, while writing this book, yearning to share a little hope. Hope that exists even in the darkest corners of the Deep South.
Love, the South, and crime are often interlaced. And in the end, all three might kick the shit out of you, but it’s still love that conquers all. I’ve yet to find anything that can compete. So thank you to the readers that stuck with me through this story. Because without you, I’d be talking to myself in a padded room.
I’d like to thank Judith Weber and Nat Sobel for not giving me an inch of ground to mess this up. For helping me make this one count. And of course, thank you to my editor, Kelley Ragland. Because without her, I’d be typing this into the ether, instead of the back of a published novel. I love you, Kelley—madly. You deserve the accolades because you’re a fucking queen.
This book isn’t like the rest of my catalog. It’s a story I felt like I needed to write. A love story for people who have suffered at the hands of ignorance, bigotry, and intolerance since I was a little kid. Before we knew how to see the differences in people as a good thing. It’s a story for people who could use a leg up in the world. People who wake up every day and think they are alone. This book is a little over three hundred pages of proof that you’re not. It’s for everyone who thinks they are at the end of something, when maybe it’s only the beginning. Being lonely is part of life. But being alone doesn’t have to be. It’s curable. By reading. By going outside. By answering the phone. By making the call yourself. This book is for you—because I get it. Because I am one of you.
Thank you to Jason Sheffield and Dan Adams for being constants without questions. Thank you to James Anderson, GP Gritton, David Hutchison, Steven Uhles, Peter Farris, Meagan Lucas, Jennifer Finney Boylan, Viet Thanh Nguyen, Sarah and Jimmy Quick, and Julie Cross. Thank you to Kate Lynn Moss for constantly telling me the unvarnished truth—for being my true north. Dallas owes you a great debt of gratitude as well. Thank you to Jennifer Panowich, who showed unconditional support of this hard-left turn I took. And hey, Lindsey Wallen, keep writing and us proud.
But lastly, and most importantly, thank you to the two most incredible women I know. Talia and Ivy Panowich. (Yes, they are both named after Batman villains.) Thank you for not just granting me the gift of being your father, but for helping me navigate a world that now belongs to you. My plan was always to leave the world a better place than I found it. Mission accomplished by handing you two the wheel. To say I’m proud of you would be an understatement. You taught me that sometimes I’m the one in the room who needs to sit down, shut up, and listen. So I can learn and understand. So I can be part of your world—a better world than mine.
I should also mention how important it is that everyone listen to Ethel Cain’s music. Or Morgan Wade’s. Or to read both Charles Bukowski and Pablo Neruda. But don’t get stuck inside one or the other. Be open to all of it. And eat food you can’t pronounce. Listen to people that don’t look or sound like you. Do it slowly. Enjoy it. And be grateful.
Also by Brian Panowich
Hard Cash Valley
Like Lions
Bull Mountain
About the Author
BRIAN PANOWICH is an award-winning author, a Georgia firefighter, and a father to four incredible children. His first novel, Bull Mountain, was a Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist, ITW Thriller Award winner for Best First Novel, Southern Book Prize winner, and a finalist for both the Anthony and the Barry Awards. He lives in Georgia with his family. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
Intro. 1989
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
1998. Side One
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Florida. Side Two
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
2007. Bonus Tracks
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Coda
Chapter Seventy
Acknowledgments
Also by Brian Panowich
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
