Page 101 of The River We Remember

“You were only sixteen.”

“You should have seen me at sixteen.” She laughed, a small sound, then grew quiet again. “It was a part of the bargain.”

“Gudrun knew?”

“Gudrun knew.”

Charlie had nothing left to ask, and what was there to say?

The screen door creaked open.

J.P. said, “Are you ready to come in, Mom?”

“A few more minutes, Patrick,” Marta said. “It’s so lovely out here.”

“Call if you need me.”

“I will.”

He went back into the house.

Marta’s eyelids were half closed. “He’s such a help.”

“He’s growing into a good man. And handsome, too.”

She smiled in that dreamy, drugged way, her eyes fluttering closed, and she said, “Like his father.”

Which surprised Charlie. But she realized that what she saw of Jimmy Quinn was always from a place of profound dislike. Objectively, he probably was a handsome man. And there was probably good in him as well. Maybe if you lived with him day in and day out, if you lived with anyone that way, you eventually saw what good was there, no matter how small a measure that might be.

Marta was sleeping now. Charlie rose from the swing and tapped on the screen door. J.P. came in an instant.

“She’s fallen asleep,” Charlie said. “Would you like some help?”

“No, thanks. We can take care of her, Miss Bauer.”

Charlie wanted to ask him if it was hard taking care of the farm and his mother and being the one his sisters looked to for the advice and guidance that a father might have given. If they’d had one. A real one. Ever. Instead, she simply said, “Good night, J.P.,” and left him to the duty she knew he would see to well.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

TYLER CREASY WASN’T hard to find. Brody picked him up in the Blue Bonnet Bar & Grill, a little roadhouse dive a few miles east of Jewel, a place the sheriff knew from past experience was one of the man’s favorite haunts. Creasy was belligerent, but not so drunk that he gave Brody cause to consider a charge of resisting arrest or assaulting an officer. He went of his own volition, though not quietly. Brody was forced to listen to his ranting all the way back to town. And when, inside the jailhouse, Creasy realized he was going to be occupying the same cellblock as Noah Bluestone, he spat bullets.

“How can you lock me up with that lying murderer?” he shouted. “Bluestone, if I ever get my hands on you, you’re dead, you son of a bitch.”

Brody closed and locked Creasy’s cell door. “Keep it quiet.”

“You put me a stone’s throw from that Indian trash and then you tell me to be quiet? I’m gonna scream bloody murder, Dern.” He balled a fist and thrust it between the bars in Bluestone’s direction. “I’ll find a way to get back at you, redskin. You and everybody else in this shithole county.” He eyed Brody with menace. “I’ll make you pay, goddamn it. Every goddamn one of you.”

“I’m more than willing to cuff your hands behind your back,” Brody told him, “and stuff a sock in your mouth if that’s what it takes to keep you quiet. Your call.”

Creasy plopped onto the cot in his cell and gave Brody and Bluestone both a killing look.

“Sorry, Noah,” Brody said.

Bluestone responded with a shrug.

Brody left the door to the cellblock open. Hank Evans was at the desk. Brody thanked him for his long day of service and told him to go home.

Evans eyed the open cellblock door. “I don’t envy you tonight.”