Page 28 of On the Land, We Shoot Straight

H

e and the missus went into town for lunch at the bar later that day.

They passed the Willys, and Charmaine stopped to talk to them.

Grady watched as Old Man Willy’s wife fawned over Charmaine and her city clothes and exciting career lawyering in the city, all of it delivered with the barbs of a woman stuck out here.

Nevertheless, Grady knew what he and Charmaine looked like.

The two of them together on the mostly deserted street—the only sound the odd truck starting up, revving, idling and then puttering on to the road before driving off and being swallowed up by the distance and nothingness around them.

They looked like what Old Man Willy and his missus wished they’d looked like in their heyday—fit, tall and tan, with blonde hair and blue eyes—all the quintessential elements of attractiveness.

But that was all surface, wasn’t it? And Grady might not know much about much, but he reckoned the heart of it wasn’t what Old Man Willy’s wife was coveting with her deferential yet carefully concealed look of judgment.

Grady nodded as Charmaine extricated them from the conversation, her pressed white pants, black flats and hundred-dollar designer t-shirt at odds with Old Lady Willy’s fading floral dress billowing in the cooling wind.

As he held the door open for Charmaine to go in first, he thought consciously for the first time if that was the reason he’d married her—she was someone you wanted to be seen walking down the street with.

Ever out of place here, sure, but envied all the same and able to weather that envy like it wouldn’t and couldn’t touch her.

She was city-born, the daughter of his mother’s best friend from high school, and their match when Grady was nineteen made his mama smile when not much else did.

He didn’t marry her on account of that, but made his peace with needing to have a wife and figured she was a fine choice.

And all the better because her work as a prosecutor kept her in the city and left him to the solitude he’d grown comfortable in after the first hellish year finding his feet running things on his own at seventeen after his daddy died.

She sat, picked up the menu, tucked her hair behind her ear and gave Grady a flirtatious smile from where her head was tilted down.

And yeah, Grady got why he married her, the few years she had on him adding a layer of sophistication to the beauty, but for the first time he recognized that it’d never had anything to do with love.

“Tell me about this trial,” he said.

“You want to hear about my work?” Her smile grew, and she raised an eyebrow.

Fair enough. Grady cracked a smile.

“White wine and a garden salad?” he said and got up to get it.

“Thank you.”

Charmaine was gazing out the window at the barren street when Grady sat back down.

“It’s a shitty case,” she said, eyes outside. “The guy’s gonna get off.”

Grady sipped his beer and waited for her to continue. She kept her eyes outside. She wasn’t looking at the street, Grady knew; she was seeing the whole case play out, her losing and having to face some kids full of apologies.

Charmaine returned to the room and sipped her drink. “The defense will tear them to shreds and these two boys, well”—she met Grady’s eyes, and her look was solemn—“they won’t hold up.”

Grady blew out a breath and looked around at the old velvet furniture in the room, the place decked out like it was still the nineteenth century.

“I dunno why you do it.”

She snorted and finished her drink as her salad was placed in front of her.

“I’ll have another one,” she said to Donna and smiled expectantly. Donna acquiesced even though no one got table service here, but Charmaine was just like that; someone you felt you had to say yes to, like her mere presence changed the rules of the game.

“You do know why I do it,” she said once Donna was gone.

“Just makin’ conversation,” Grady replied as Donna came back with Charmaine’s wine and Grady’s steak.

“Let me know if you needin’ anything else,” Donna said to Grady. She smiled politely at Charmaine and hurried off.

Charmaine shot out a wry laugh at her retreating form. “It’s a wonder she doesn’t just proposition you in front of me.”

Grady cut into his steak, took a mouthful and chewed. Charmaine picked at her salad and drank her wine.

“I known her since school,” he said once he’d finished.

“Yes, I know.”

And this was all rote, Grady thought. The trial. The barmaid. All could’ve been written down and run without Grady even here. They’d said it all before. Only thing was, this time, Grady felt like something was off in the banter. Like the humorous tone had shifted and taken on a sharp edge.

“You done?” he asked.

“Think I’ll have another drink,” she replied and went up to get it.

Grady finished his beer and tuned out the sound of her trilling laughter at something Donna was saying. Yeah, the people around here might be fake with her, but that wasn’t a one-way street.

Charmaine had another three wines and a shot of tequila before they left, and Grady carried her passed-out body into the house. He took her up the stairs and laid her on the bed as the sun was setting. Grady knew she liked a drink. This was more than a drink.

He went downstairs, made a coffee and listened to the quiet of the house.

It felt empty. He wondered how Cole was doing.

He went out to the porch, sat and thought about where he’d be by now and where he’d decided to camp.

Grady was going to suggest camping as far from that pasture’s dam as possible on account of the mosquitos, but he never got around to it because Cole was gone before he got up.

He’d probably settled for the edge of the field near the sheep, let Chloe wander free, not even bothering to hobble her, just trusting she’d come back to him in the morning.

Grady finished his coffee, went inside and sprawled on the couch. He picked up the book Cole was reading and started from the beginning.