“If I were you, I’d be thankful for small favors.” Tilford says under his breath.
Sheriff lets out a long sigh. “At least you know they’re being safe.”
“No, you don’t under—” I swallow the rest of my sentence. That’s the last thing this family needs right now.
“And where were you that night? The night of the Harvest Festival.”
I lean back in my chair. “Haven’t we already been over this?”
Tilford starts scribbling down notes; the sound of pen scraping against paper sets my teeth on edge.
“Look, are you going to do anything about this or not?”
Sheriff gives me a sympathetic nod. “I’ll get out to the trailer park, put out some feelers. Like you said, Jess is a good girl. She’s probably on a lark. She’ll come home when she’s ready. I see it all the time. Promise me you won’t be going out there. Leave it to the law. You hear me, son?”
I nod and stand up, signaling that it’s time for them to do the same.
“Oh and Clay, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you have any tattoos or marks on your body?”
“Plenty of scars from playing ball. You know that.”
“Anything unusual? Something that looks like this.” He pulls out a folded-up piece of paper from his breast pocket and hands it to me.
The upside-down U with two dots above and below. I try to keep my face as expressionless as possible, but I can feel a bead of sweat running down my temple.
“Nope.” I hand it back to him.
“Never seen it before?” he asks. “Huh. How about that.”
“Why?”
“No reason.” The right side of his mouth twitches. “You wouldn’t be hiding it, would you? Somewhere in plain sight.”
“I think I’d know if I had a brand.”
“See, that’s funny.” He scratches his jaw. “I never said a word about a brand.”
I feel my insides crumble. “I think it’s best you get on your way,” I say as I lead them out of the kitchen.
“Do you hear it?” my mom calls out as we pass the living room.
“Ruth, is that you?” Sheriff doubles back, flicking on the light.
She’s standing in front of the couch, her body a tight wire, pointing at the wall above the mantel.
“I’ll be…” Ely stares at the wall. “Strange time of year for flies … wouldn’t you say so, Clay?”
Tilford swats the air in front of him. “Looks like you need an exterminator.”
“He’s coming … he’s coming for all of us,” Mom whispers.
“Who’s coming?” Ely asks.
“Just ignore her—”
“The seed will inherit the earth,” she says. “And the sinners will rejoice as the blood of the golden calf rains down on the innocent…”
“Okay … I told you this wasn’t a good time. She’s not feeling well,” I say as I take Sheriff’s arm, leading him to the front door.
“… and animals will fornicate with humans,” Mom yells from the living room. “And the stars will fall down from the sky. The gateway to the underworld will open up, swallowing all that is good and holy and right…”
I get them out the door and we all seem to take a deep breath at the same time.
“Looks like you’ve got a real problem in there, Clay,” Sheriff says.
“The mom, or the flies?” Tilford chuckles.
“Look, I know, okay?” I drag my hand through my hair. “She’ll be fine in a few days. It’ll pass. I promise.”
They start to walk back to their car when Sheriff says, “Oh and Clay … one last thing.”
I turn, my shoulders collapsing a little.
“How long has it been since you got a haircut?”
“About a year, I guess.”
“So, you started growing it out after your dad died? Any particular reason?”
“I always kept it buzzed for football, but when I stopped playing, I just didn’t feel the need.”
“But now you’re playing again … and on the council. Interesting.” He presses his lips together and bobs his head. “I’ll make a note of that.”
*
AS I pass the living room, I flick off the light again.
I can’t even look at her. It hurts too much.
I take a shower. The water’s scalding hot and never wanes. I try not to think about the reasons why—Mom stopped bathing weeks ago and Jess is gone. It makes me shudder in the warmth.
Wiping the steam from the mirror, I drag my hands through my hair, pulling it back from my face. It’s weird how Sheriff was asking me about my hair … and all that talk about the mark … asking me if I was hiding it in plain sight.
And that’s when it hits me.
My hair.
The priests checked my body, but what if it’s on my scalp.… like Miss Granger’s?
48
I GRASP the sides of the sink to steady myself and take in a few deep huffs of air before I start rummaging through the cabinet, looking for my clippers. They’re in the back, wedged between an empty box of Tampax and some Elmo bubble bath. With shaking hands, I turn it on. The blades are rusted, the batteries old, but it still works. My eyes are blurry, stinging with tears, as I rake the clippers along my scalp, shearing off clumps of heavy dark-blond hair.