Thad buried his dog above April’s house in a long sweep of yellowed grass that bent as stiffly as rake tines any time the wind blew. The radio tower reached into the sky over the mountain and broke apart late-summer sun with metal bones that cast a skeleton shadow down upon where he dug.
Each spring, creeping phlox spread a pale blue blanket over the hillside. The color always seemed to burst unexpectedly like some delicious explosion that happened overnight. Thad had always heard that dogs were color-blind, but Loretta Lynn seemed to see those flowers bloom. The minute she saw them, she sprinted for the hill as if the flowers were trespassing, and upon discovering they were only flowers, squirmed around on her back with her tongue lapping about her jowls, like the whole world suddenly made sense again. Watching her made Thad happy. Even though the world was tearing apart at the stitches, seeing her roll around in those flowers that spring had made Thad laugh.
That spot had to be Loretta Lynn’s favorite place. That little patch of ground was probably the closest thing either of them would ever know to heaven, and that’s why he buried her there. He didn’t say a word as he dug. He didn’t even notice that Aiden stood behind him. He just worked until the hole was deep enough. Then he wrapped her in a blanket, placed her in the ground, and covered her body with dirt.
When the work was done and he leaned over the shovel, the grayed wooden handle seeming to hold him up like a scarecrow, he glared stone-eyed down to where Aiden was standing. The white T-shirt Thad wore was stretched about the neck, and he lifted the shirt from his belly to wipe sweat from his face.
“You know she was right,” Thad said after a long spell.
“What?” Aiden asked.
“She was right in there.” He stared into the sky trying to make sense of something that lacked reason.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aiden said.
“About all this having something to do with those girls.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I just know it,” Thad said.
“You think those two girls could do that?”
“Not those girls, Aiden, but that brother of hers, Julie’s brother, that Doug Dietz, you’re goddamn right I do.”
“I still don’t know what would make somebody do that.”
“I do,” Thad said. “And that’s my fault.”
“How the hell is it your fault?”
“Because I told them.”
“You told them what, Thad?”
“I told Julie about Wayne Bryson. I told her about what happened and what we took.”
“What the hell do you mean you told her?”
“I know I shouldn’t have said nothing.”
“Jesus Christ, Thad. Do you have any—”
“I know what I did, Aiden!” Thad screamed. “I’m the reason this happened. I know that.” Thad braced the shovel across his shoulder, hung his arms over the handle, and made his way down the hill.
“Well, what the fuck are we going to do?” Aiden asked as Thad came near.
“Ain’t but one way to make this right,” Thad said without even turning to look as he went by. His eyes were set on nothing at all as he headed toward the trailer. Something broke inside him then. His mind retreated to a place more familiar. There was a sergeant who told Thad the infantry were the hands of God, and that idea made sense to Thad because it was no different from what he had heard all his life growing up in church. The old-timers said some prayers needed feet. But there was evil in this world that had to be strangled. And so it wasn’t just a matter of giving those prayers legs. Sometimes a prayer needed hands just the same.