He walked the pallet into the clearing first, then came back for the gasoline and whiskey. He drank some whiskey, then set what was left of the bottle in the snow.
There was no way to dig through the frozen ground and give Bo a proper burial, but Shelton believed Old Bo might have preferred it like this anyway. To be set free in a wash of flames, to become ashes and air and be finally and fully released. Shelton thought it was more fitting to the lightness of Bo’s spirit than to be confined in the ground, to be buried beneath all that density and dirt. It might not be a beautiful summer afternoon, but it was still their spot and there was sky above them and the space between the pines to find it.
He cradled Bo in the blanket and walked him into the clearing. He set him down on the pallet and pulled the blanket back so Old Bo could see out into the field that one last time.
Now Shelton cried the stinging kind of tears. They were tears of grief, but somehow the hurt was clean and not polluted for once with his own shame and guilt. These tears were strictly for Old Bo, for the loss of his goodness and his brave and loyal heart.
The gas sloshed in the can as he lifted it and the scent cut through the wind and singed his eyes as he uncapped the nozzle and stepped closer to the pallet. He poured the gas over Old Bo and thought it looked a bit like he was seeing him enter the water from above. Like he was standing on some sandy lake floor and watching Bo swim toward him, his face slickened and surprised by the wet.
Shelton turned away and listened to the glug as the last of the gas descended, then heard it splash off the pallet and soak into the snow. Then came the lit matchbook and the flood of heat.
He stepped back from the fire and watched as it all came together, the ashes and the smoke and the snow and the sky, all of it one solid gray slate and the flames beneath it burning. He returned to his whiskey and thought it was probably time to head over to the trailer and cook him up some smoke. It was past time, truth be told. It was goddamn overdue.
He shut the truck off and decided to walk. It was quicker than going back out and coming in on the next trail, which wasn’t to mention the near two hundred pounds of buck that was lying dead in the middle of the two-track. No, Shelton figured a little stroll would do him some good anyway, help to clear his mind.
He finished his whiskey, tossed the bottle into the trees, and began his slow amble to the trailer. He watched the shadows from the fire and thought they were like lovely and languid dancers on the snow.
Chapter Seventeen
When I lifted from sleep in the trailer I reached for Jenna, but she was not there beside me. I blinked my eyes open and when I saw the empty carpet where she’d been, I felt my heart seize and go cold in my chest.
Then I heard a voice.
“She’s got a fever.”
I pushed myself off the floor and turned to see Shelton Potter sitting with Jenna cradled to his chest. He had his back against the far wall of the room and I had a dropping sensation, like I was falling into all that empty space between us.
I wanted to scream but I was too scared. I was too scared even to move. Shelton had Jenna and I knew that I could not pull her free, could not wrench her away as I had done with Carletta.
“I guess you’re the one who took her, then,” he said.
I looked from Shelton to the doorway where his shotgun was leaned. I doubted I could reach it and wield it in time and knew it would be foolish to try. I nodded.
“I didn’t think it would be a girl,” he said.
He rocked Jenna and she was so small against his body, like a loaf of bread tucked between his arms. She was not upset, though. She was not crying or trying to wriggle free.
“I love this baby,” he said. “I didn’t know I did at first. But I know now.”
“She’s a good girl,” I said.
I surprised myself when I spoke and I think it surprised Shelton too. He looked up at me like he had forgotten I was in the room. He cocked his head to the side and held me in his eyes and I felt the fear rise and burn at the base of my throat. Then he returned his gaze to Jenna.
“You’re Carletta’s girl,” he said. “The young one.”
“Percy,” I said.
“Why’d you take this baby, Percy?”
“She was crying out,” I said. “She was right there by the window with the snow blowing in on her and you and Kayla were crashed. I couldn’t just leave her there.”
“And what were you doing in my house?”
“Looking for Carletta.”
“You weren’t trying to steal nothing?”
“No,” I said. “I am not a thief and I did not drive clear into the north hills in a blizzard to try and steal your drugs.”
“No. You just stole this baby.”
“I was trying to help her. I am trying to help her.”
“I am trying to help her, too,” Shelton said. “I’ve been out here looking for her for I don’t know how long. Feels like forever.”
“Your boy Arrow was going to gas her. He would have killed her if he hadn’t killed himself first.”
“Arrow McGraw is not my boy.”