County Line Page 16

  “Jimmie, put it away.”

  “I dropped it.”

  “Find it.”

  Jimmie dropped to his knees to grope under the desk. She righted the stand. He pulled himself upright as she put the dictionary back in place, open to the D’s. She turned. His hands were tucked under his arms. She didn’t see the gun.

  “Roo—” His voice cracked.

  “Don’t talk. I’ll take care of this.” Her stomach turned over as the footsteps reached the landing.

  But it was Dorothy, not her grandfather, who opened the door. “What are you children doing here?”

  “We wanted to see. The door was unlocked.”

  Dorothy looked from her to Jimmie and back again, her gaze more worried than angry. “You need to run along.”

  The cook locked the door behind them with her own key and followed them down the spiral staircase. When they were alone again, Jimmie promised to return the gun to the hidden compartment as soon as possible.

  But now the gun was in his hand. A caustic reek clung to him.

  Moments before, light had flashed in the cab of Dale’s pickup.

  “Jimmie—”

  “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked.

  She looked over his shoulder at the truck. The driver’s side door hung partway open. Headlights bright, cab dark. No dome light.

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t mean it.” He seemed to choke on his words.

  She moved past him, her eyes burning.

  “It was an accident.”

  Dale slumped in the front seat, mouth loose, eyes half-open. His pallor matched his grey Dickies work shirt. A moist blotch darkened the area below the left pocket. Ruby Jane backed away from the truck.

  “Jimmie—”

  “I didn’t mean it. She made me—”

  She turned and staggered toward the opposite ditch. A stream of vomit preceded her.

  “I’m sorry.” Jimmie was behind her, right behind her. She felt his presence like a shadow, like a breath of cold, stale air.

  When he put a hand on her shoulder, she screamed.

  - 27 -

  Game Time, December 1988

  Ruby Jane’s eyes were fixed on a spot at the far end of the scorer’s table, the patch of floor beneath the feet of the opposing center: six feet of hard-muscled Femzilla, the girl who’d been making Clarice’s life miserable for the last twenty-nine-and-a-half minutes. Clarice hadn’t sat all game, was playing like it was tournament time, not an early-season, non-league game no one expected them to win.

  The wood beneath Femzilla’s feet didn’t buckle. The girl had held her ground in the paint like a granite obelisk all night. Ruby Jane wiped sweat out of her eyes. Down nine with ninety-three seconds to go.

  “Whittaker, eyes in, please.”

  Coach was feeling it. Feeling the chance in the air like the hum of an electrical transformer. Princeton girls were Division I, two years off a state championship, and had no interest in being shown up by a pack of Division II farm girls.

  “Ladies, we’re finishing as if there’s a twelve second clock, okay?” Coach didn’t wait for an answer. “These big girls are getting tired. Our speed can beat them. So I want clean shots up by ten, okay? Keep ‘em off-balance.” He drew himself, a field general tasting a change in the wind. “You know what to do, same thing you been doing all night. Bring it in.”

  Gabi inbounded to Ashley at half-court, who bounced to Ruby Jane on the outside. She held the ball half a tick, juked a move and pulled the Femzilla off Clarice with a dribble.

  “You not going past me.”

  Ruby Jane met her eyes, tried to read her intent. The words meant nothing. In her periphery, she absorbed the motion of the players. Someone called out, open, open. Femzilla pawed at the ball. Ruby Jane adjusted, spun on the ball of her foot and dropped a bounce pass to Clarice under the basket. Easy lay-up.

  “Try that again, bitch.”

  “Next time.” Ruby Jane backpedalled up the court. Coach shouted as she passed. “Great pass, Whittaker!” She fell back into D. Next time.

  But it wasn’t next time. Gabi went vertical to pull in a long rebound and dished to Clarice on the break. Ruby Jane pushed up court as Clarice dribbled at the double-team. But then she pulled up and dropped a nine-footer over the defenders, and they were back again.

  “Ain’t no next time, bitch.”

  Ruby Jane didn’t see Femzilla, not as a person. She was an impediment, a thing to get past. An empty voice in a cavern of sound. Cheers from the bleachers, Ashley calling the play. Whistles, the squeak of soles on polished wood. Her breath in her ears.

  “Bitch, ain’t no next time.”

  “Next time.”

  Another rebound, this time under the basket. Clarice flipped the ball to Moira, who lost it. Gabi twisted past her and snagged the loose ball before Femzilla could snatch it up. The Princeton girls were faster than Coach liked to think, but Gabi dribbled through a closing gap as Clarice charged up the court. Ruby Jane broke half a step behind her, the impediment on her arm, hanging on tight. No whistle. Clarice had been hitting jumpers all night from eight, nine feet. But Princeton was learning and set up before she reached the top of the key. No one else was scoring. Ruby Jane glimpsed the clock above the backboard, under a minute, down five. The double-team closed on Clarice and she pulled up too deep. Ruby Jane broke for the basket.

  “Bitch, what—”

  Clarice passed, first goddamn time ever. Ruby Jane caught the ball, two hands, dropped a quick dribble.

  “—happened to your—” The defense rolled off Clarice, and the impediment stretched, a wall between her and the lay-up.

  “—old man anyway?”

  Ruby Jane didn’t see red—she saw white, the white-hot darkness of a long night under the trees. The impediment grinned, long-toothed. RJ lowered her shoulder and knocked her on her ass, moved into the gap beneath the net. Femzilla twisted toward the ref, screaming for the charge. Ruby Jane ignored her, heard no whistle. Wouldn’t have stopped if she had. She was already off her feet, feeling the air thrum. She slammed the ball through the hoop, caught the rim on her way down. Femzilla stared up at her, eyes like saucers. Ruby Jane dropped to the floor.

  The ref grinned and shook his head in disbelief. She looked down at Femzilla. “What was the question?” Princeton called time out—up three, forty-seconds to go—but it was too late. Clarice knocked out a monster block on Princeton’s next trip up, and then a fiercely grinning Gabi dished to a waiting Ruby Jane in the right corner. Nothing but net. Princeton never scored again.

  — + —

  On the bus afterwards, Clarice paused at Ruby Jane’s seat. “Bet you think you’re special now.”

  Ruby Jane stared through the dark window. There was only one way Femzilla could have known to ask that question. But she knew Clarice would have handled the hole in the woods no better than she handled the double team. “I’ve always been special.”

  Coach made a speech. No one listened. Too excited. He let them have their fun. They’d beat Princeton. Ruby Jane heard Clarice shout from the back seat. “Division-fucking-one!” Coach grinned. Plans were made for a party, but Ruby Jane didn’t participate. She felt good, tired, aware of every muscle. Glad she wasn’t part of the crowd. She looked forward to a long shower and sleep. Saturday night meant her mother wouldn’t be home, not til late and maybe not at all. From the seat beside her, Gabi squeezed her hand. Ruby Jane saw her face in the gleam of an oncoming headlight and smiled.

  A good night.

  Once off the bus, Clarice insisted everyone meet at her house. “Even you, Ruby.” No one was driving to Farmersville. Another time, she might have run home, but her legs were dead weights. Unable to resist, she climbed into Clarice’s Rabbit for the first time since being dumped on Gratis Road two months before.

  Gabi’s grandmother picked her up at the school. She was allowed to play basketball only so long as she came home immediately after every game. At Clarice’s
house, Ruby Jane hovered at the margins, her head pounding from the music, the voices, the shrieking laughter. She found herself unable to avoid being dragged into group hugs and exuberant, congratulatory gropes from people who normally wouldn’t spare two words for her.

  Hardy Berman handed her a drink. “What is it?”

  “Dunk Juice, baby. My own recipe. Drink up!”

  She sipped the sweet and sour concoction, heavy on grapefruit and carbonation. The bubbles felt good on her throat, and her sore muscles craved the sugar. Soon she was onto another, and another. Ashley Wourms cornered her to insist, “I always thought you were the greatest, Ruby Jane.” Even Clarice pretended to like her. There was talk, and Dunk Juice, and more talk. Moira Mackenzie insisted everyone feel her boobs, then got mad when Junus Malo took his turn. “You got no business feeling me up with Ashley right in the room, asshole.” More Dunk Juice. Later, she’d barely remember when Officer Callan appeared at the door, Bella beside him. The argument which followed was a blur of volleyed accusation.

  “You got some nerve bitching me out for drinking.”

  “I’m an adult. You’re lucky Officer Callan doesn’t arrest you.”

  She awoke Sunday wishing someone would saw her head off. Her mother was gone until nightfall, the only bright spot in a day made of shit.

  Monday morning, when Ruby Jane went out to catch the bus, Clarice was waiting for her at the end of the front walk. Alone.

  “Ruby, Ruby, Ruby. You said such interesting things about your father on Saturday night. I must hear all about it.”

  - 28 -

  Interview, April 1989

  The last thing she wanted to think about was the basketball team. Not the practices, not the games, not the season. Not the Dunk. In the long, empty days which followed that night in the woods, she found equilibrium in the swish of the ball through the hoop and the long road miles in the early mornings before the sultry air rose like steam above the fields. The team and the games—those barely registered. Win or lose, none of it mattered. Only motion, sweat, repeated effort. If Gabi hadn’t appeared at a crucial moment, the forlorn girl far from home, Ruby Jane might have skipped the season. She could get everything she needed on an empty court, shooting threes from the corner for hours. She played for the Spartans only because she knew no other way to protect Gabi from Clarice.

  Grabel pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. After a long silence, the cassette recorder clicked off with a loud pop. Grabel flipped the tape over. Ninety minutes a side, TDK C180. Jimmie preferred Memorex, C90s. He said the tape on the C180s were too thin to hold a clean signal for mix tapes. She supposed they were fine for voice recordings. Grabel looked at his watch. “Ruby Jane Whittaker interview continues, April 18, 1989, Eleven hundred hours. Tape one, side two.”

  Eleven hundred hours. What a fraud.

  She stretched her arms, fought back a yawn. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  He put his glasses back on. “It’s time for you to be honest with me.”

  “I’m being honest about needing to use the bathroom.”

  “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me the truth.”

  “No one helps anyone but themselves.”

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  “It’s not a matter of belief. It’s axiomatic.”

  “Big words for such a young girl.”

  “Even bigger for a dumb ass cop who couldn’t hack it in the city.”

  “I’d love to get into a debate about who can hack what with the girl who tossed up a brick in the regional tournament when she had her center open under the basket.”

  “She’s not my center.”

  “Of course not. She’s just a girl you sent to the hospital yesterday.”

  She deserved to end up in the morgue. But Ruby Jane knew better than to give voice to such a thought. “You don’t know shit about it.”

  He smiled and looked over at Nash. “When they start cursing you know you’re making progress.”

  Nash had been at that game. Ruby Jane remembered seeing him in the crowd shortly after the buzzer as the girls from Massillon celebrated at center court, swarmed by hundreds of their fans. Coach had rested a consoling hand on her shoulder, but her focus was on Nash. He smiled sadly, like he understood what she must be feeling. Other Spartan boosters were more grim, their disappointment as raw as an exposed nerve. After a moment Nash gave her a little wave. Then he was gone and she was pushing through the crowd to the locker room. In the shower, alone and still dressed, she let hot water run over her until at last Gabi brought a towel, helped her strip down and dry off. She was on the bus before the others had a chance to dress. When the team filed aboard and found their seats, Coach stood up at the front.

  “Tough night tonight, ladies.” He sounded like he was talking under water. “You have nothing to be ashamed of here. Not one of you.” Ruby Jane stole a glance around the bus, but no one was looking at her. “Massillon is a great team. We are a great team too, and we played a great game. But tonight, they were a little better than us. And that’s okay.” He exhaled slowly. “That’s okay.”

  A couple of seats ahead, Clarice stirred and got to her feet. She looked around the bus, and for a moment her eyes lingered on Ruby Jane. She wore an uncertain expression, a mixture of anger and loss. “Coach is right.” Clarice’s voice was stronger than his, as if she was more sure of herself. “We played a great game, and whatever happened you know what we are? We’re champions.”

  Others lifted their heads.

  “First, we’re league champions. The Lady Spartans are league champions.”

  Someone else found their voice, tentative at first. “Spartans!”

  “Second, we’re district champions. Am I right?”

  “Lady Spartans!”

  “In the whole state of Ohio, there are only sixteen district champs. Two hundred and seventy-one schools started this season, and we stand among the elite! Am I right?”

  “Lady Spartans!”

  “We came this far together, and we’re going home together, as champions.”

  She sat down suddenly. Ruby Jane looked at Coach. Despite the dim light in the bus she could see the shine on his cheeks. He nodded, pride tempered by sorrow in his smile. “Thank you, Clarice. Thank you.” He turned to the bus driver. “Let’s go home.”

  As the bus pulled out, Ruby Jane leaned back in her seat. She was tired, and sore, and sad, but Clarice was right. For the first time in her life, she found herself agreeing with Clarice Moody, for feeling good because Clarice was her captain, the team’s captain. Their Femzilla.

  But as the bus turned on to the on ramp to I-75, Moira stuck her head over the seat back behind her. “Clarice can say what she wants. We all know who blew that shot.”

  — + —

  Grabel wouldn’t care about any of that. Background was good, but only when it served the narrative he’d already chosen: angry, self-involved girl lets her team down in the big game. She refuses to accept her failure, so she takes out her frustration on her teammates.

  History of violence and irrational behavior, your honor.

  “Let’s get back to your father’s disappearance.”

  “Do we have to call him that?”

  Emotionally detached from family and friends.

  He switched from the folder to a notebook taken from his shirt pocket. He flipped through the pages, tilting his head back to read through the lenses of his reading glasses. “Your mother told us you took her car the night your father went missing.”

  “I doubt she could recall something so specific. She can barely remember her own name when she’s been drinking.”

  “Where did you go?”

  Nash knew. One item on a long checklist of things Nash knew. Dale’s rages, Bella’s drunken manipulations. If he found his voice now—shared what he knew about that night and Bella’s car—

  “Ruby?”

  Nash had his eyes fixed on the swamp green floor.

&
nbsp; “I went out for a drive.”

  “You didn’t have your license yet.” She still didn’t. Bella refused to take her to the BMV for her driver’s test. “Was anyone with you?”

  Her heart rate jumped. She gripped her wrist and felt her pulse race. Inhaled through her nose. Her mind jumped to the night on Preble County Line Road, the darkness, the rolling clouds and rain. Jimmie with the gun. She took another deep breath. If she could hold herself together then, Grabel should be a snap now. He looked at her over the top of his glasses.

  “You have no clue what it’s like in my house. Sometimes I have to get out of there, any way I can.”

  “And you didn’t see your father that night?”

  She didn’t answer for a long time. “No one even knows he left that night. I hadn’t seen him in days.”

  “But you remember the night I’m referring to.”

  She would never forget. “It’s the only time I ever took my mother’s car.”

  “She told us you took it yesterday.”

  “The only time before yesterday.”

  “Did you see your father that night?”

  “I never even wanted to see him.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  There was no easy answer. Anything she said might awaken Nash. I saw you on the road not far from Dale’s truck that night. Nash knew enough—if little else—to make trouble for her. But he only brooded against the wall, mouth twisted and frowning.

  “Let’s set your father aside for a moment. Tell me about your brother.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it again.

  “We haven’t really talked about him. What can you tell me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you get along with him?”

  “Sure.”

  “No sibling rivalry?”

  “Not really. We’re in to different things.”

  “You’re both athletes.”

  “Wrestling and basketball aren’t quite the same thing.”

  “No, of course not.” Back to the goddamn folder. “When did you last see him?”