“You said you did something bad. You said something about Rachel,” I remind him.
He peels his gloves off, flips back his hair, revealing a dark purple bruise in a hook around his eye.
“What happened to your face?”
He brushes his cheek, pokes it in a tender spot and flinches. “Well, Officer, I don’t really recall.”
He is sitting on a bathroom floor, trashed in the middle of the day, but he still has a cavalier quality. He stinks of whiskey and pheromones. I think if the roles were reversed, if I were the one drunk in the afternoon, how disgusting I would seem. I express legitimate concerns and people think I’m crazy. I am alone and people think there is something wrong with me. Jed is slouched on the floor and he is still sexy. I still feel like I need to impress him.
He smiles, like he’s remembering something I wish I could forget. “I guess I was a li’l drunk last night.”
“You seem pretty drunk right now.”
He frowns; alcohol makes his reactions abrupt and childlike. “Someone broke into my house. Someone was fucking with my wife’s stuff. I got a reason to be upset.”
“You’re only taking it out on yourself.”
He frowns again, and his eyes find focus. He recognizes the sentiment. “You were in my house.”
My chest tightens. I can lie, but I know I should have told him all along. “I was looking for you.”
He slaps his leg. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
“Because I— You cleaned my cabin. I felt bad.”
He smiles, like he’s proud of knowing he was right about me. “You weren’t looking for me.” He drops his chin. “You were looking for evidence. You can’t help yourself.” He fiddles with the cap of his bottle, like he’s debating whether he should take another drink. “Can’t help thinking everyone’s no good.” He spins the cap. “I’ll tell you something, darlin’. You may be a good person, but you’re good because you think you’re bad, and one day that’s gonna catch up with you.”
I squat, crouch down on the ground, closer to him. “What were you going to say, about Rachel?”
He holds my gaze for a second, and I can see that he is disappointed, that he wanted something else from me. “Rachel, Rachel, Rachel,” he says, and I think he envies you. He shakes his head, slides back against the wall. “Aww, what does it matter what I say to you? You’re gonna think what you wanna think.” And he pops the bottle cap and takes another drink.
* * *
—
That night I have dinner with your parents. As we are wrapping up, your father makes a sucking sound, pokes his finger beneath his teeth. “That Jed sure is starting to lose it,” he says.
There is a finality to his words that matches the sky outside the windows.
“I told you he was bad news.” Your mother stands to clear the plates.
“Some people can’t take it out here. They start to go cuck-koo,” he says in his silly voice. “Cabin fever. We had this guest once— Hey, Addy, remember? She was a drinker too, had a phone installed in her cabin, and one night she calls us up to say there was someone trying to break into her cabin. Remember that, Addy?”
“Oh, yes!” Addy smiles. “You said, ‘Can you describe them to me?’ And she said, ‘Yes, absolutely. It’s Bill Clinton.’”
He slaps his knee. “Wearing a tutu!”
“So we went over there with our guns—”
“And found an empty bottle of Jack and prescription pills on the table.”
“And we said, ‘We don’t mean to offend you—’”
“‘But we think you might be just a wee bit intoxicated.’” They both explode in laughter.
I wait a suitable amount of time to say, “But what about Jed?”
Your father mops his brow. “He wasn’t there.”
“No, I mean, why do you say he’s losing it?”
“Oh, right, well, for one thing, he smells like a distillery—”
“Always has,” your mother adds.
“And on top of that, he shows up to work this morning with a big ole shiner and says he ran into a wall! You’d think he had a concussion, the way he was stumbling around.” He waves a hand. “I just set him up in one of the family cabins. I couldn’t do anything with him.”
“He needs to go.” Your mother sets her hands on her hips. “I told you he needs to go.”
“You may be right.” Your father clucks, pokes another finger between his teeth. “Don’t know how he’d make it on the road though, as loaded as he is. Probably end up in the river.”
“It’s none of our concern what happens to them when they leave here,” your mother says.
My first urge is to defend Jed, but what can I say? He is a drunk and he’s probably not a good employee, and even if I can’t quite believe he killed his wife, there is something he is keeping from me. But he has been kind to me. I push my fork across the plate. “I think Jed’s nice.”
They both look up at the same time. Their jaws drop, their eyes widen, so they look like brother and sister. They are alarmed that I am voicing an opinion, alarmed that it is different from theirs, possibly alarmed that different opinions exist, on their land, in their kingdom, in their home.
Then your father explodes with laughter. And your mother joins him. They both laugh for a good long time.
He shakes his head, wipes tears from his eyes. “Of course you do! I can’t imagine why!” And they both chuckle. “Well”—your father presses a hand to his belly and catches his breath—“be satisfied in knowing you’re not the first young lady to succumb to his, er, charms.”
I think of you. “Did Rachel—”
Your father’s eyes widen. Your mother’s face goes pale. “Oh, no!” your father says eventually. “Rachel couldn’t stand him. She used to call him the Slow Ranger.” He taps his temple to make clear what you meant. You also slept with him, if Jed is to be believed.
“But then who did you mean?”
Your father is still catching his breath, so it takes him a moment to say, “Oh, he gets around. You wouldn’t think it, to look at the state of him, but I’d bet he’s had ‘relations’ with half the ladies at Happy Camp.” I feel disgusted with myself, as if I am responsible for all the women Jed has slept with.
You mother nods. “I’m convinced that’s why his wife left.”