Page 13 of Show Me

Outside, the air feels colder than when I arrived. I inhale, taking the scent of clean air and grass deep into my lungs as the gravel crunches under my shoes.

Something moves at the edge of the property line. A coyote. A stray dog. It could be anything. I lived out here long enough to know better than to chase every sound.

I climb into my car, start the engine, and pull away, the barn shrinking in the rearview mirror.

The house. The job. The classes. I’ve got it.

I have to.

Chapter Six

Xavier

The temperature dropped overnight. Not enough for frost, but enough that my breath shows when I step out of the truck and onto the cracked asphalt at the end of Maple Street.

It’s late October in Brookhaven. The air smells like dry leaves, chimney smoke, and whatever Mrs. Donnelly two houses down is burning in her barrel that she swears is ‘just paper.’

Ruby Bennett’s place sits at the very end of the street where the pavement gives up and turns into gravel, as if the town ran out of money halfway through the project.

I didn’t plan to come out here. Didn’t think about it when I left the job site. Didn’t think about it when I turned down this road. Didn’t think about it until I was already here.

Four days. Four days since she stood in a hardware aisle arguing with drywall anchors and looking at me like she wasn’t sure if she should trust my advice. Four days since I said I’d stop by. Three days since I didn’t.

The house itself is solid. It’s older, with a wide front porch and peeling paint that was probably white once but has settled into something closer to tired cream.

It’s not a bad house. It just needs some work. I shut the truck door and stand there longer than necessary, hands in my jacket pockets, cataloging what I see from the driveway.

One section of the guttering is pulling loose near the corner. Porch rail leaning to the left. The roof patch on the south side is curling at the edges.

Movement catches my eye. Off to the side of the house, a pen sits beyond the yard.

Samson is a black adult potbellied pig with an attitude that matches his namesake before his hair was cut, fearless with a dash of recklessness. He nudges at the fence with determination as Delilah, a smaller pig with white flesh and a couple of black spots, circles slower, steady, as if she knows he doesn’t stand a chance of breaking free.

I grasp the fence, tugging back and forth. Solid. “You’ve got no hope, old man.” The larger pig gives out a loud squeal as if he disagrees with my assessment. “Sorry for your luck.”

Squirt, Ruby’s young pig, is nowhere to be seen. She’s been known to drag the young pig around like a purse dog instead of a pig that’ll be over 100 pounds when he’s fully grown. Inside, something moves past the window. Ruby.

I walk to the porch before I give myself time to think better of it.

The back door opens before I knock. Ruby steps out, sleeves pulled over her hands, hair twisted up in a knot that didn’t survive whatever she tried to do with it.

She stops when she sees me. Surprise flickers. Gone just as fast. “You do just show up places.”

I shrug. “You bought rolled insulation for completed walls.”

“That was one time.”

“It was four days ago.”

She leans against the doorframe, arms folding like she’s bracing for something. “I was exploring options.”

“You had paint samples named after clouds.”

One auburn brow arches upward as she taps her red painted toes on the deck. “They were different clouds.”

“They were white.”

Her mouth twitches despite herself. “You here to make fun of me or look at the house?”