Page 48 of Beneath the Stain

Jefferson shook his head in disgust. “Everybody’s heard that. It’s why Mackey’s name is really McKay.”

Oh. Well, hell. “I had not heard that either,” Trav said, feeling stupid.

Obviously Jefferson felt the same way. “You ain’t done your homework, that’s all. But Kell and Grant sat Stevie down alone and asked him if anyone in his family had the last name of Jefferson.”

Trav narrowed his eyes. It was a child’s game, and the boys had played it to perfection. “Does somebodyoutsidehis family, who is still related byblood, like a half brother or a bastard brother or someone born out of wedlock, have the last name of Jefferson?” he asked, grimly amused.

There was no grimness in Jefferson’s amusement. “You figured that out right off, Mr. Ford—you ’bout got the whole town beat!”

Mackey’s hair was rough under his fingers, but Trav was okay with that. He’d let himself be distracted. “Well, no offense, Jefferson, but I’ve talked to Mackey, and that doesn’t sound hard to do.”

That fast, Jefferson was serious and sober. Trav felt bad. The boy—and Trav couldn’t delude himself anymore, they wereallboys—had been proud of himself for a moment, happy and free. One mention of their hometown and all that went away.

“Wasn’t hard to fool the town at all, Mr. Ford. Fool them about knowing who your daddy was, about so and so’s mom fooling around and so and so’s dad wanting to touch your ass when you didn’t want it touched. Fool them like Mackey did in a thousand different ways—wasn’t a hard place to fool. But it’s a damned hard place to get out of your head.”

Trav nodded. “Yeah. I believe it. Well, Mackey’s going to have to leave some of that stuff behind if he wants to move on with his life, you know?”

Jefferson snorted. “You still don’t know shit. But you asked more questions in half an hour than Gerry did in a year. You might not be a total asshole.”

Trav had nothing to say to that, but that was okay because in that moment, Heath’s announcement came on the television.

Trav turned the volume up, and Trav’s oldest friend announced to the whole world that the person responsible for Mackey’s aggravated assault (as the police were calling it to the press) had been captured. Trav turned down the television and sighed.

“What’s that mean?” Jefferson asked, subdued and not nearly as cocky as he’d just been.

“It means Mackey’s going to have to make a decision when he wakes up.”

“What’s that?”

Oh, this was such a shitty choice. “It means he can tell the cops to press for assault and maybe get two years from it, or it means he can tell the cops he was raped and this Charleston Klum can get fifteen or twenty years. But it’s going to have to be Mackey’s call.”

“I’m picking the thing that has me move the least,” Mackey slurred.

Trav turned to him, relief washing his body cold. “You little shit—how long have you been awake?”

“I heard, like… your last sentence.”

“Oh. That’s bad.” Trav didn’t have any words for how bad that was. “I… I’m so—”

“How come I don’t remember?”

“You were drugged out of your tiny little body, Mackey. I bet your head aches like—”

“Like it was popped off my tiny little body and used for soccer.”

Trav laughed helplessly, because it was a funny image and because the tightness in his chest, in his stomach, was so overwhelming that if he didn’t laugh soon, he’d throw up or forget to breathe or both.

“Yeah,” Trav said when he could talk. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Mackey grunted. “Jefferson?”

“Yeah, Mackey?”

“Go away.”

Jefferson squeezed Mackey’s shoulder, then Trav’s, and turned around to leave the room. “I’ll call that Debra person—she’ll send the car for me.”

Trav pulled up a chair and sat eye level with Mackey so he didn’t have to sit up.