Page 51 of Broken Bayou
Tell her to leave now.
“That guy’s been in and out of jail ever since and now serving time in a federal pen for tax evasion.”
Rita keeps talking, but her words are indistinguishable from the rushing sound in my ears. The entire kitchen feels as if it’s tilted sideways. I plant my bare feet on the floor under the table to steady myself. “Wait,” I say, interrupting her. “Did you say he’s in prison?”
“That’s right,” she says.
I spring up from the table so fast that Rita recoils. I want to hug her, thank her, but I say, “You need to go.”
“What?” Rita blinks at me.
“I ... I forgot I have to be somewhere,” I lie. “I’m late.” I grab her purse from her chair and push it into her arms.
She fumbles with her bag. “Well, when can we pick this back up?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you.” I lead her back to the front door and practically shove her through it.
She stumbles onto the porch but recovers quickly and smooths her shirt. “I’m going to hold you to that. I can be your best friend or your worst enemy. It’s up to you. Personally, I think we’ll be friends. You’re a smart woman. You know I can help you. Share your story the right way.” She points her long finger at me. “Between that car and those barrels, I see a George Polk Award in my future.”
“Sounds good,” I say in a rush and slam the door in her face. I spin around and take the stairs two at a time up to the second floor and don’t stop until I’m in front of the television, fumbling with buttons on the VCR. I tap my hand on the side of my leg as I wait for the television to spark to life. He’s alive, I keep repeating to myself.
The tape starts to play where I left off. Mama and Mabry are no longer on screen. Just the car. I stare at the image and minutes tick by. Come on. As I wait, I force my mind backward again, to the night on the Delaroux property. Travis and I were near the bayou. He handedme his keys and was about to leave when he looked in the window of the convertible.
“What about all this other stuff? You dumping that too?”
I followed his gaze to the piles of crap behind the front seats, items moved from the old car to this one. “Maybe we could put it in your truck.”
“Fuck that. I’m not putting anything in my truck.”
“Come on, Travis. We’ll take it right to my aunts’ house. I can’t just leave it all in the car. It’s our stuff.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m starting to freak out.”
“You’refreaking out? What about me?”
“I told you I’d help you, but I don’t want to know anything else. I want to leave.”
“Please, Travis.”
His eyes darted around the property. He looked back at me. “Willa.”
“Please.”
He sighed. “Fine. I’ll see if I can find something to put it in. But you’re going to have to deal with it.”
He returned a few minutes later, dragging garbage bags. “Here,” he said. “Found these in one of the shacks.” He handed one to me as I leaned behind the front seat.
We emptied everything from the car to his truck; then I turned to him and said, “Time for you to leave.”
A loud bird whistles outside the upstairs window. My breath catches in my throat. The trunk. The trunk wasemptythat night. We emptied it. The bags I dragged home after leaving Travis’s truck at his house.
Oh my God. Rita’s right.
The screen changes in front of me. I concentrate on my breathing. I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll hyperventilate. The car is moving. Not moving out of the parking space but moving side to side, like it’s rocking in place. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely moving. Something moves in the cramped back area behind the driver’s seat. A shadow under the industrial lights overhead. Then the driver’s door flies open, and a man fallsout onto the concrete. He lays on the ground for several seconds. Then he scampers up, looks around, and runs.
I stop the tape, hit rewind, and watch again. And again. And again. Until I’m convinced my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. He got out of the trunk. A wild laugh builds in my throat but comes out sounding more like an animal’s cry.
Then I think of Travis mentioning the trunk to me. Raymond at the impound.My guess is, they found something good.Something was in that car when the police hauled it from the bayou, but it wasn’t my mother’s boss.Thank you, God.
