“STEP IT UP,” King said and clapped a big hand on the middle of Victor’s back so hard it stung Victor’s flesh and made him wince as he bent over a pile of tomato stakes, stapling Take Back Vermont signs to them. He handed a pile of signs over to Banks and Graves to load into their cars. The three men had been at it for hours and Victor felt he might pass out on his feet; but it kept his mind occupied, for the most part.
As King marched toward his truck he pounded a fist in the center of Victor’s back again, barked: “Stack ‘em neater. We need to get ‘em out of the vehicles easy and fast.”
Victor rubbed his back where King had struck him. Fran had begged Victor not to come here tonight. She understood the cause was just, but insisted their priority was Brad. Victor had argued that he needed to keep to part of his normal routine, so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed with helplessness and distress. Now, he saw, she’d been right. He sighed and closed his eyes.
“That guy,” someone whispered.
Victor opened his eyes to see Daryn Banks glancing at King, who was loading his truck.
“What?” Victor said, looking to make certain King remained out of earshot.
“Nothing, sorry.” Daryn shrugged. “Judge not.” He smiled. His eyes and easy manner made a person feel like you’d known him all his life. A gift, that.
“What is it?” Victor said.
Daryn glanced at King. “He’s just crude, for a man of God. And. Punching you like that.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You shouldn’t take it. I wonder sometimes if he uses the Bible, and our faith, not out of love for the word of God, but out of his own mean-spiritedness.”
Victor thought about the fist-sized knot of pain where King had just pounded his spine. He thought about Fran’s take on the man. Had Victor blindly followed King? He wondered now if King had left the sign in Merryfield’s yard. Someone had. And King had been the one out that way the night of the murder; a murder for which Brad was now charged.
“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn,” Daryn said. “I hope your son is faring OK. I’ve been praying.”
“Thanks,” Victor said. “Some folks we believed were friends have distanced themselves.”
Daryn reflected. “They’ll come around. I’d bet. We should put together a prayer circle for your boy.” He lay a hand on Victor’s back, where King had punched it.
“OK, ladies,” King snarled as he strode from his truck, glaring at the two men and punching Victor square in the back, the pain flaring up again. “Back to work. This isn’t a circle jerk.”
Victor kept an eye on King as the pain throbbed through his back.