Swonger shrugged. “Pistols at dawn, dog.”
Gibson indicated he could live with that. As with Charles Merrick, Gibson couldn’t sustain any anger toward Deja or what she’d done. She didn’t owe him any loyalty. It had been an eye for an eye, and while hard, it also felt fair. Gibson hadn’t been there to speak for himself, so she’d taken it out on Nicole instead. And that was why Damon Ogden still had to answer for himself. The way Gibson saw it, Ogden had owed him loyalty—not to mention his life—but shown him none. That ledger he would balance.
Satisfied, Swonger fetched a spiral-bound notebook, and the two men spent the next few hours hashing out the details. Swonger made meticulous notes in an illegible scrawl, asking questions but never prying into Gibson’s business. His questions were sharp and raised points that hadn’t occurred to Gibson. Gibson marveled at how much Swonger had grown up in only eighteen months. Ultimately, they split the list into two deliveries. Gibson wasn’t working on a traditional clock, but the sooner the better—he didn’t know how long he could hold his ghosts at bay.
“When you need the first delivery?” Swonger asked.
“Soon as possible.”
“Give me a few days.”
“Good enough,” Gibson said and gave him the number of one of his burner phones. He pulled out a roll of bills wrapped in a thick rubber band. The proceeds from selling Merrick’s watch. “How much?”
Swonger sat back, stung. “Not taking your money, dog.”
“This is business, Swonger.”
“No, it ain’t, even. Put it away. You paid all you’re going to pay. You hear?”
“Thank you.”
The two men shook hands over the table, and Swonger smiled now that it was settled. “Ain’t nothing. Just tell me what it was all for someday.”
Gibson wasn’t sure there’d ever be a someday, but he promised that he would. Satisfied, Swonger walked him to the front door. From the top of the staircase that led to the second floor, a woman’s voice called his name. Gibson looked up to see Lea. She smiled down at him, but he was too astonished to smile back. Still, he felt an unexpected rush of happiness to see her.
Two thoughts occurred to him as he glanced at Swonger. First, there had been a time when Gibson had known Swonger’s mind thirty seconds before Swonger did. It scared him how easily he’d swallowed Swonger’s lie. Swallowed it without a moment’s hesitation. The madness that had ground him down in that cell had also eroded his ability to read people. If people had once been open books to him, then he was all but illiterate now. Second, he had no way to know if Swonger would hold up his end of their arrangement. He didn’t like having to take it on faith, but what other choice did he have?
As Lea started down the stairs, Swonger let out a cry and bounded up to meet her. She put her arm around his shoulder, and together they came down one stair at a time. She looked pale and terribly thin. Swonger chided her for being out of bed, but Lea shushed him. At the bottom of the stairs, she threw her arms around Gibson. Gibson hugged her back while Swonger fetched a quilt from another room. Swonger put it around her shoulders and eased her into an armchair. Swonger said he’d be right back and went to make Lea a pot of tea. Gibson pulled up a seat close to her.
“What happened?”
“I got shot,” she said with a wan smile.
“Eighteen months ago.”
“Not like the movies, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Bullet went in here.” She pointed to a spot above her right breast and then traced the bullet’s path. “Clipped my clavicle here, and then bounced south like a pinball. Collapsed a lung. Nicked my intestine. Four surgeries so far. They had to go back in three times to get all the bone fragments. Then the secondary infections. That was not my favorite part. One little bullet. A .22. Can you believe that?”
“Is he taking good care of you?”
Lea’s face brightened. “Mama Swonger? He’s pretty much kept me going. Same thing with the farm. I don’t even recognize that boy some days.”
“And you? Are you all right?”
Lea shrugged. “You ever wish you could talk sense to who you used to be?”
“Yeah, like either of us would have listened.”
Lea laughed at that until it turned into a coughing fit. Swonger hurried back from the kitchen with her tea and rubbed her back until it passed.
She thanked Swonger and looked at Gibson apologetically. “So enough of my tale of woe, what the hell happened to you?”
Seeing Lea in her weakened state, Gibson hesitated to put more stress on her, but she had a right to know what had happened to her mother and that her father was free again. He took a deep breath and told her. When Gibson came to how he found her mother, Lea looked away and wiped tears from her eyes. She took Swonger’s hand and held it tightly. Swonger didn’t take his eyes off her.
They’d all experienced the tragedy in Niobe but from different perspectives. Now, they spent the afternoon trading their war stories, filling in details for each other. Duke waited impatiently in the doorway, but Gibson needed this.
“Do you know where my father is now?” Lea asked.
“Only where I’d like him to be.”
“We were so stupid. We should have gotten out of West Virginia while we had the chance,” Lea said.
“Not sure we ever had one,” Swonger said.
The plain truth of that quieted them. They’d all been too arrogant, too righteous, to play it safe. Looking around the room, Gibson saw the price they’d paid for it. They all did. Lea looked suddenly tired and made a joke about a full day’s work. Gibson began to feel he’d overstayed his welcome. He made his good-byes. Lea kissed him on the cheek, and Swonger saw him out. At the car, the two men embraced, and Swonger clapped Gibson on the back before stepping back.
In a low voice, Gibson asked, “So are you two—”
Swonger shook his head vehemently. “Naw, it ain’t even like that. I just look after her, is all. She keeps the books for the farm. Has like a calculator in her head.”
“You should tell her. Life is short.”
Swonger looked back at the farmhouse. “Woman like that, dog. You think she don’t know?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN