At least Charlie knew when to stop fighting. She stayed sullen all the way to Doc’s. Even though little had been resolved, she had said more to her mother than ever before. Now that it was out, all she could do was wait to see what Kit would do. Charlie was afraid of the most likely outcome: that her mom would do nothing.
She was so absorbed in thinking about the dustup with Kit that she hadn’t prepared herself for the scene at Doc’s. When she saw what had happened, the ragged second mouth under Warbucks’s jaw, the sticky lake of blood, she was nearly sick. Kit hosed away the gore while Doc curried the stallion’s coat. When they finished, Charlie helped dry him with towels, then cover him with a large tarp to keep the bugs off him. County came by with a flatbed and a crane and dragged the body slowly up the ramp and onto the truck. Doc cried into a hankie, said a prayer, and kissed him on the muzzle before they hauled him off.
Charlie took up chores without being asked, eager to have something to do, to feel that she was being helpful. Hardly anyone spoke a word until dinner. A thick gumbo of chicken and venison sausage simmered on the stove, filling the room with steam and spice. Kit, detached and brooding, pumped great scalding spoonfuls of the stew into her mouth. Doc cleared her throat to puncture the silence. Charlie was exhausted and hungry but couldn’t bring herself to eat meat today, not after sending Warbucks to become dog food.
“What’s the plan, exactly?” Charlie said. “Why are we really staying here?”
From a glass bottle Doc sipped some peaty spirit, then tucked it away in the pocket of her overalls. She heaved herself up and shuffled around the table, gathering the dishes. She must have known better than to jump between fighting dogs.
Kit looked at Charlie but did not answer.
Charlie wanted to pluck out Kit’s eyes and squash them. She shoved the table toward her mom, got up, and left through the kitchen door.
Outside, the air still smelled of warm dirt and manure. She turned over a feed bucket and sat, smoldering like an ember in a haystack. Damn that crazy bitch to hell. She flicked the loose edge of a scab on her elbow and thought about Manny, how closely he listened to her, how interested he was. How he was smart, like smarter than the whole town put together, and she wondered what it would be like if she could have grown up with him instead of Kit. Or what they could have been like as a family. When he first came around she’d made a secret wish that Kit would fall for him. She got the feeling that Kit was into him, even before she knew who he was. Now that Kit was acting more and more deranged, Charlie just wished he could take her away, from her mom, from Dirk and Sandy and Leigh Prentiss, from the whole goddamn town and every backward idiot in it.
From a cluster of shrubs, she heard a slight, stealthy noise. The sound of someone trying to be quiet. At first, she froze, listening and scanning the dim arena. A duet of June bugs hurled themselves at the light by the kitchen door. After a moment, she heard the sound again, whatever it was, moving more boldly. She picked up a dusty horseshoe from a bucket near her feet and backed up to the wall of the barn, waiting. She could call for help if she needed to, but she didn’t want to draw attention just yet. There was more sulking to do.
A form appeared, a sinister face. She chucked the U-shaped weapon reflexively, poorly, a couple of yards from its target. A creature, fat and furry, scurried into the faint light cast from the kitchen, and hissed. A possum, toothy and smiling like a demon. She threw another horseshoe at it, aiming carefully, this one just glancing off the hump of the creature’s back. The possum stiffened and fell to the ground.
Charlie felt a vise grip on the back of her neck.
“Stop that, you,” Doc said.
Charlie slouched away and rubbed the sore spot. “What’s the big deal?” she said.
“You can’t punish an innocent animal just because you’re quarreling with your mama,” Doc said and marched her over to where the animal lay curled, mouth agape. “It’s low character.”
“Oh please,” Charlie said, a little stung by Doc’s reprimand. “Possums are devils. They’re pests. You should have let me kill it.”
“You don’t mean that, sha,” Doc said and waved her arms around Charlie as if clearing the air of stink. “You’ve got the wrong idea about them. Possums are more than that, don’t you know?” She squatted and stroked the possum from head to tail. “They’re shy creatures, never harmed a single human being. And they’re scavengers, you know, nature’s sanitation workers. But they’re better than buzzards at cleaning carcasses because possums, they eat the bones. I think people take one look at ’em and think they’re evil, just cause they’re ugly—what would that make me then?” She wheezed a laugh and slapped Charlie on the back.
Charlie looked at the house and saw her mom cleaning, her crazy-ass haircut, that jagged fringe in the middle of her forehead, like a kid had found a sharp set of scissors. And all those battle scars. Charlie was both determined to distinguish herself as nothing like her mother and deeply troubled by their sameness.
“You know the best thing about possums?” Doc asked. “They take care of their young.”
Charlie considered this and nudged the animal with her boot. “Why do they just freeze up like that?”
“Look here, and listen. All God’s little critters do something different when a threat comes upon ’em. Some fight. The ones with the long claws and teeth, your big felines and your canines. Some of ’em, like horses, they run away.”
Doc leaned down and pressed her ear to the possum’s belly. Charlie swayed back, as if the animal would spring to life any moment.
Doc pulled Charlie by the hand. “Listen to the heartbeat, see?”
Charlie knelt and put her ear to the fur, softer than she had expected. The heart pumped at less than a beat per second.
“It’s not pretending; this creature is preparing to die. The brain shuts off all their feelings and they go to sleep so that if they get eaten, they don’t feel the teeth sinking into them. Good thing is predators don’t usually like dead meat, so they pass on by. Isn’t it beautiful? Nature is forgiving, always looking out for us, always finding a way to do the best thing.”
Charlie looked at the empty stall and felt sad for Doc. “I’m sorry about Warbucks.”
Doc took a cleansing breath. She squeezed Charlie on the neck again, gently this time, and went inside.