Chapter Twelve

I FUMED AS I unpacked the supplies from Twitch’s office. Momma grabbed at bits and pieces of it as quickly as I put it down.

“Lorraine, Lorraine, are you listening?” Dad grabbed my arm.

“Yes, I’m listening. Did Momma call Doctor Jacks?”

“No, she said he’s probably been drinking at the tavern or elsewhere and isn’t fit for providing medical aid.” Dad went on to tell me Momma had catalogued Ricky’s condition by phone to a doctor at the hospital in Langston. By a conservative estimate Ricky had a broken jaw which Momma had immobilized with a pair of pantyhose tied up around his head. I prayed to God they were new pantyhose so Ricky didn’t have to breathe the smell of sweat and secretions that could get caught in that awful invention once it had been worn. He’d already suffered more than enough.

Ricky probably had a concussion, broken ribs, too many cuts and abrasions to count, and likely internal bleeding and ruptures that couldn’t be confirmed until he underwent x-rays and more poking and prodding at a hospital.

Based on the phone consultation, Momma injected Ricky with some morphine Twitch had. She inserted an IV drip of fluids and splinted his broken fingers with tape and tongue depressors. I helped Momma cut away the rest of Ricky’s clothing. We cleaned and dabbed antiseptic creams on the cuts and scratches and wrapped him in clean bedsheets.

Dad blew up the air mattress with the air compressor. He put the mattress by the station wagon. He made a quick assessment of Twitch, shook his head, and turned back to me. Dad asked me to help carry Ricky out of the house. Momma trailed behind us with the IV bag. We placed him on the mattress and slid him, air mattress and all, into the back of the station wagon. Momma hung the IV bag from the Jesus bar. It was a cozy nest considering the circumstances.

The seats down in the station wagon left room for only a driver and passenger in the car with Ricky. Momma sat in the passenger seat, but she had Ricky’s head within reach so she could monitor his breathing and pet his head on the way to the hospital. No room for me. I suggested I could drive separately, but Momma reminded me that Allan needed minding.

“What about Kenny?” I asked. “He’s his dad.”

“Kenny’s not home yet,” Momma said through the car window as Dad drove away from the house. “I don’t know where the boy is.”

What in the hell? Twitch had stopped retching, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to offer to drive him home or trust him to take proper care of Allan if he woke up in the night.

I went upstairs in disbelief that Kenny hadn’t come home yet. Maybe he’d got a ride with somebody else. No Kenny. Allan slept sprawled out on his side of the bed. No evidence of anyone having wrinkled the other side where Kenny usually slept. I checked Ricky’s room. His posters of male bodybuilders and the color wheel of hair dye stared back at me from the empty room. No Kenny bunking there either. I checked my room. I don’t know why I bothered. Maybe I just couldn’t believe that fool, Kenny, was AWOL when our family needed him. I went back downstairs.

Bottles clinked together as Twitch found two Grain Belts in the toilet tank where Momma usually hid them. He sat at the table, opened them both, but didn’t offer either one to me.

“I’m going to drink these and then fall asleep on the couch over there until your dad gets home and can take me home. Any objections?”

I shook my head. I wanted to tell him I hoped he drowned on the beer, but I gave him the silent treatment instead. When that lost its appeal, I went back upstairs, undressed, and took over Kenny’s room with Allan. Wherever the hell Kenny ended up, he could just find somewhere else to sleep. He should have been home. It gnawed at me. I supposed he was with Ramona again. They’d done something together or with Allan once and sometimes twice every week since they’d met. I worried it was only a matter of days before Kenny wouldn’t come home at all and it meant he might take Little Man away. Damn it. Allan. Allan. Allan. I crawled in bed with Allan.

I didn’t expect to sleep. The thought of sleeping scared me because I figured the nightmares of Becky’s death would now be a double feature with what I saw when Dad and I found Ricky. What does it mean? Becky died. Ricky’s beaten? These are movies of the week, put it on Jerry Springer type events. How could they happen to our family in Bend, Minnesota? Ricky was just hanging there in front of the car lights. Somebody hurt him and left him there. Somebody wants him dead.

The adrenaline must have worn off because surprisingly, I slept. I also dreamed.

First, I had the sweet sensation of stroking silky hair, but the dream changed. I felt hand on my hip as I slept on my side. Then a body pressed up against the length of me—spooning me. Warm breath tickled my neck just ahead of a cool nose nuzzled below my ear. I dreamed. I turned. I expected to lace my arms around Charity and find Charity’s lips with my mouth.

Screams pulled me from my sweet dream. First my screams, then Kenny’s screams, and then Allan’s screams.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?”

“I was sleeping until you attacked me.”

“Attacked you? I didn’t attack you. I rolled over in my bed.”

“Why were you up against me like that?”

“Like what? Why are you in my bed? That’s a better question in my book.”

“You barely know how to read a book.”

“That’s low, Lorraine.” Kenny stood up.

I noticed he was naked and had an erection, but that disturbed me less than what I noticed next. His eye was bruised and his lip was swollen. I shifted across the bed and grabbed his hands and examined his knuckles. They were scraped and swollen.

“Oh, Kenny! You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” He pulled his hands away and took the corner of the sheet to cover himself. It looked like Pinocchio playing at being a ghost.

“Did you beat him?”

“I wouldn’t really say I beat him. I hit him a few times and his balls are going to be sore for a long while.” Kenny laughed.

“Oh Kenny, why?” I wanted to weep.

“Why? It was him or me. The bastard choked me and would’ve finished the job if I hadn’t kicked him in the balls.”

“He’s so little—there’s no way he could overpower you.”

“Kicked him in the balls,” Allan said. “Dad, can Raine sleep with us every night?”

“No!” Kenny and I said in unison.

“Put some clothes on. I can’t talk to you when you are all hanging out like that.”

“Don’t boss me. You’re not my mother or my wife.” He dropped the sheet. “This is my room. I’ll hang out if I want.” His penis no longer saluted.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Allan held the covers up and peeked inside his underpants. “I’ll hang out if I want.”

“I just can’t believe you could do something like this to Ricky,” I said.

“Ricky?” Kenny scoffed. “I don’t know how it’s any skin off Ricky’s ass!”

“Real funny, Kenny.”

“Real funny, Dad,” Allan mimicked.

“It won’t be so funny when the sheriff comes looking for you for assault or murder if he dies.”

Kenny laughed. “That coward won’t dare press charges.”

I flew at Kenny. What I lacked in technique I made up for in the surprise of the attack. I took him to the floor and beat him with my fists which for some odd reason caused Kenny to get hard again. Jeesh.

All of a sudden Momma and Dad were upstairs. They’re home. How’s Ricky?

“Grandpa!” Allan ran to Dad. Momma, who had such a one-track mind about getting me matched up to a boy, misread the whole situation.

“Praise God, my prayers have been answered. Oh, oh, we’ll just leave you two alone. Come on, Allan. Your dad and Lorraine are going to pray together.”

“We are not.”

“She’s trying to kill me!” Kenny pointed at me.

Dad moved in front of Momma. “Hey, Allan will you help me out? Will you go feed the dogs?”

Allan ran out.

“Peggy, will you help Allan? I’ll stay here with the kids and sort out their religious experience.” He giggled himself into a coughing fit, but still guided Momma out of the bedroom by the shoulders.

Momma called back over her shoulder, “Just so you two know. I’m fine with you being in love.”

Dad closed the door once Momma left and scrutinized me.

“I hate him!” I said.

“Well, I hate you back!” Kenny crossed his arms in front of him.

“What in the blue blazes has gotten into you two? I’ve made one trip to the hospital tonight and I don’t plan to make another.”

Kenny turned to Dad. “Why were you at the hospital?”

“Like you don’t know.” I kicked him in the shin but got the worst end of the deal because I was barefoot.

“She’s possessed.”

“Lorraine, sit over there, cover yourself.” Dad pointed me to the bed and then directed Kenny. “Kenny, put on some pants.”

I scanned myself in just in a T-shirt and panties. I’d never been so exposed around Kenny. I was prepared to fight him in clothes, naked, or in a scuba suit. It didn’t matter to me.

“Dad, Kenny beat Ricky!”

“He did what?”

Kenny had only one leg in his jeans.

Dad shoved him and he fell back to the floor. “You beat that boy?” Dad started coughing. “How could you?”

“This family is all crazy!” Kenny yelled.

That remark didn’t sit well with Dad or me considering Becky had killed herself during a psychotic episode. Dad lunged for Kenny’s throat and I bit the first part of him I reached—his shoulder.

“Ouch! Stop that! I didn’t hurt Ricky!” Kenny wheezed before Dad completely choked off his air supply.

“What?” I wiped my mouth and pried Dad’s hands away from Kenny’s throat. “You said you hit him.”

Dad let go of Kenny.

“I never hit Ricky. I hit Russ.”

Dad reached for Kenny’s shoulder. “You hit Russ?”

I socked Kenny in the gut. “Why’d you hit Russ?”

“Why’d you think I hit Ricky?”

“Somebody beat Ricky,” Dad told Kenny.

“Well, Ricky was still roaming the Tavern when Ramona and I left and believe me, he was feeling no pain.”

“So, who beat Ricky?” I asked.

Kenny shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Why’d you hit Russ?” I didn’t hit him.

He lowered his eyes like he was sad or ashamed. “I’d rather not say.”

I waved my hand at the bite on his shoulder and the red marks on Kenny’s neck. “After all this, you better say.”

Kenny pushed himself into a sitting position and put his other leg in his trousers.

“I’ve been over visiting Ramona. I was a perfect gentleman, Mister Tyler.”

“Yeah, I know what a perfect gentleman you can be. Dad, did you know Kenny and Becky even had sex in the concession stand by the football field?”

“Yeah, well ask your daughter how she knows that. She knows because she flunked as a chaperone, but she aced spying on us like a pervert.”

I flew at him again, but Dad deflected me and pushed Kenny to the floor again.

“Jesus Christ,” Kenny said. “If somebody knocks me on my ass one more time I’m going to…”

“Watch your language!” Dad and I said in unison.

“Okay, okay, truce!” Dad said. “Nobody touch anybody. Let’s sort this out.”

We were all on the bedroom floor.

“Kenny, you hit Russ?” Dad nodded for Kenny to go on with his story.

“Yes.”

“Tell us why.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to throttle me again or let her bite me.” Kenny cast his eyes at Dad.

“You’re safe, son, just tell us what happened.”

“I left the Tavern at ten and went to see Ramona. Russ came home about midnight or a little after—he’d still been at the Lake Tavern when I left. Anyway, he was already in a foul mood, but got really mad—I guess because I me and Ramona were taking up the TV.”

“What show?” I tested him.

“I don’t know,” Kenny said.

“Figures.”

“It was Clint Eastwood and he had Asian neighbors. Can I keep going?” Kenny asked.

“Gran Torino. I liked that movie,” Dad said. “It’s a bit white man as savior for me, but I liked it.”

I gave Dad an impatient stare. Movie reviews could wait. “Kenny, go ahead with your story.”

“Russ came home from the Tavern already pissed off,” Kenny said. “He said something like, ‘Why’re you still here? Don’t you have a son to take care of?’ He said it real snotty. I tried to joke with him, but he got nastier and said I had it easy. I could have whatever I wanted. Then he tried to punch me.”

“Then what happened?” Dad asked.

“You kicked him in the balls.”

“Yeah, I kicked him in the balls and punched him once, maybe twice—just so he wouldn’t come after me again. Just look at my eye and my lip. I won’t be able to…” He stopped himself. Probably thought I’d bite him again if he mentioned not being able to kiss Ramona for a week because of a swollen lip. Poor baby.

“And Ricky was at the Tavern when you left?” Dad asked.

“The place was pretty well packed. Did something happen to Ricky? He drank quite a bit, but he seemed in control of himself and having a good time.”

“Somebody beat him up and tied him to the wooden fence by that approach west of the County line.” Dad averted his eyes and swallowed hard like just saying it made him feel like throwing up.

“Shit, I don’t believe it.”

“Lorraine and I went looking for him. Somebody called here and said Ricky was in trouble. I don’t know how they knew about it or if they did it themselves. I was half asleep. I don’t know if I’d have recognized the voice in daylight, but I sure as hell didn’t recognize the voice on the phone in the middle of the night. We found his car and then we found him—he’s barely alive.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Kenny looked sick.

“I don’t know,” Dad said. “His jaw’s broke, some ribs are broken, his fingers are broke; he took a hell of a beating besides getting stabbed with something. He hadn’t yet regained consciousness when Peggy and I left the hospital.”

There was a church-like silence for a while.

Kenny surveyed me. “Jeez, Lorraine, you thought I could do that to Ricky?”

Embarrassment pinched my ass, but Kenny’s the last person I’d admit that to. “Oh, come on, don’t look so wounded. A few years back I thought you killed my sister and buried her in your yard. My trust in you has grown appreciably even with this mistake.” I did feel badly about using violence. “I’m sorry I bit you.”

“I’m sorry I tried to strangle you,” Dad said as he got off the floor. “Well, I better go tell Peggy what I know. Her eavesdropping ability has been put to the test on this one. Come down when you’re decent. Kenny, I’ll need you to make a list of everybody you saw at the Tavern last night. Sheriff’s going to want that once I call him.”

“Yes, sir.” Kenny flinched when Dad came toward him. “You aren’t going to knock me down again, are you?”

“No, son.” He hugged Kenny in the A-frame sort of way men hug each other so they don’t appear queer. Then he hugged me with the same A-frame hug dads use on their daughters once their daughters get breasts and their period.

I pulled him tight. I hope you know you’re my anchor. All this…all this how could I bear it? After I let him go, I would’ve followed him out, but Kenny grabbed my arm.

“Lorraine, I’m sorry about my dream. I didn’t know you were in the bed—then I had this dream. It was so real. I could even smell her, you know?”

“Ramona?”

“No. Becky. You’re so much alike and you take care of Little Man.”

Nobody ever talked about Becky and me being alike.

“Sometimes, I sort of forget she’s gone and then I remember…I miss her all over again. I don’t think that’ll ever go away.”

“Maybe the way we feel about our first love never goes away.”

“Maybe. That’s what I’m afraid of. Maybe I’ll never be able to let Becky go enough to love somebody else. I mean, Ramona is great, but…”

“But what? Becky is gone. Nobody knows that better than us. Sometimes, there is no other choice but to move on because our first love isn’t there for us anymore.”

Against my nature, but I hugged the big goof. His bare chest was smooth against my face. He hugged me back—no A-frame poor excuse for a hug. Our fronts made contact and we held each other tight. I suppose we clung to each other for all we’d lost and maybe even for the future losses we anticipated. Kenny lost the love of his life. Am I about to learn how that feels? Then we let go.