“She’s very determined,” Bucky said.
“I would choose a different word,” said the salesman, who thought Rachel was out of earshot. She eavesdropped and pretended to study fake flowers. There was a wedding, after all, and Krystal had become so tacky in ten years that she might welcome such an arrangement.
“I hope it’s not a swear word,” Bucky said, and puffed up his chest.
“No,” said the salesman. “Picky. That’s what I meant.”
“That house is her baby,” said Bucky. “She wants everything to be perfect.”
“What does that have to do with Audrey Hepburn?”
“Dunno,” admitted Bucky. “Sorry.”
The vinyl had to be delivered. A giant flatbed truck followed them back to Quinn, and the driver was kind of cute, just like the vinyl was kind of brown.
It took an hour and a half to slide the sheets off the truck and pile them on the patio.
Putting up the siding required all four of their arms, a ladder, and a sawhorse. After Bucky drilled the first piece into place, they stood back and admired it. It was like a whole new trailer house, at least this section of it.
They were hanging the second piece when the shouting started. It came from Krystal’s trailer, and it was definitely Bert.
“Jesus Christ,” said Bucky, drill in hand. “I thought he stopped drinking.”
“Doesn’t stop him from being an asshole,” said Rachel.
Bucky screwed in the final corner of the second piece, and the shouting continued, louder this time. The baby started crying, and Rachel listened for Jake but could not hear him. Krystal’s car was gone, so Bert had to be yelling at Jake. Bert never yelled at the baby.
A thump and a crash, and Bucky leaped from the ladder and grabbed Rachel before she could run to the gate.
“Stop,” he said. He pointed to Jake’s bedroom window. Jake’s legs emerged, as he perched on the sill, and pushed himself up to the roof.
Jake’s head was covered by the hood of a cowl-neck sweater, three sizes too big for him. He was crying.
“Are you okay?”
“Go away,” he said, in a quiet voice. He buried his face in wool. The sweater hung down to his knees.
“Get him down from there,” commanded Rachel.
“Don’t talk to Bert,” said Bucky. “Let me do that.”
“No,” said Rachel. “You’re taller. Get Jake off the roof. He’s not in his right mind.”
“Neither are you,” said Bucky. “You don’t know what Bert is capable of.”
“That,” said Rachel, pointing at Jake, curled up into a ball, sobbing.
Rachel jumped up Krystal’s steps and let loose on the door.
Bert opened it and stared at her silently.
“Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
“Yes,” said Bert. “I do.” He moved to shut the door, but Rachel put her foot in the way.
“What’s wrong with Jake?”
“Everything,” said Bert, not red-faced or sweating, strange for a man who had just been shouting at top volume. Behind him, the baby was crying.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what you did,” said Rachel.
“He’s the one that did something. And you don’t have any right to talk. I know all about . . .” He stopped himself. “You’re not a good person.”
“I’m calling Krystal,” she said.
“I already did.”
“You can’t yell at him like that.”
“You need to get off my porch. Right now. I’ve got a baby who’s crying, and I don’t give a fig what you think.”
“Did you hit him?”
“Lady, if you don’t get off my front porch, I’m gonna go get my shotgun, and maybe that will make you shut the fuck up.” Now his face was red. “Sorry for swearing.”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“Go ahead,” said Bert. “Get gone.”
Rachel stepped backward as Bert slammed the door in her face.
Rachel ran around the trailer, just in time to see Jake sliding into Bucky’s hands. She stopped when she saw Bucky pull the boy close, Jake still sobbing, Bucky holding him as if he weighed nothing. Jake was small for his age, but Bucky had volunteer fireman muscles.
He carried Jake into the house, and Rachel picked up the phone as Bucky deposited him onto the couch.
Rachel called the volunteer dispatcher.
“Quinn Dispatch. What’s your emergency?” Rachel didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but she recognized the disinterest. It was an epidemic in this town. Laverna was right about volunteers.
“I need the police. A child has been abused.”
“Is this Rachel Flood?”
“Jesus,” said Rachel. “Yes. Can you please send somebody? Do you need my address?”
“We all know where you live,” said the woman.
“That’s fucking creepy,” said Rachel. “Send them now, please.”
Twenty minutes later, the police had not arrived. Bucky sat down next to Jake, who leaned into him. Bucky had his eyes closed, and tapped his foot nervously.
Jake stopped crying and pulled the sweater back. One eye was swollen shut.