Meet me at my house, eleven in the morning. Bring Della. I just want to talk.
I ease myself up against the pillows and set the phone down. On my way back from the diner, I took some time to drive around Byway and the surrounding areas to get the lay of the land. I drove past the Caudill Mansion, and Brothers was right—getting a kid out of that place will be tough. That bothers me a lot, because I promised her I’d get Landis back, but now, I have concerns.
I stare into the dark.
Do I have it in me to cooperate with Brothers?
A little sniffle from her side of the bed breaks me from my thoughts. I turn, studying her inert form. Her core seizes, scrunching her limbs up into a fetal position. It’s dim in the loft, but I can see she’s still asleep. Her eyes are roaming beneath her lids.
She’s dreaming.
I slide back down and roll to my side beside her. She shifts, like she feels the movement in her sleep. Her body goes rigid, and a whimper comes from between her teeth. Without thinking, I grip her elbow and give her a little shake.
Her lids fly open, and she rips her arm back, eyes dark. There’s venom in them as she draws up against the pillows.
“Hey, Della,” I say, keeping my voice low, staying back to give her space. “You alright, baby?”
She stares, brow scrunched. I don’t move, waiting for her to come down from her nightmare. Finally, she gives her head a little shake.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
She doesn’t reach for me, and that breaks my heart, but she’s not pulling back either. I get out of bed and turn on the lamp.
“You want something to drink?” I ask.
She nods. “We’ve got some chamomile.”
I hold out my hand. “Come on, get out of bed. Shake it off and talk about it.”
Her mouth cracks in a tiny smile, and she takes my hand, letting me help her down to the kitchen. It’s raining. The droplets are loud on the tin roof, reverberating through the rocky ravine to the east. I take the kettle from beneath the sink, fill it up, and turn on the gas stove. She sits at the table, chewing the inside of her cheek.
I cross my arms, watching her. Finally, she looks up.
“Sorry to wake you,” she says.
“What’s going on?” I ask lightly.
Her throat bobs, and she digs at her thumbnail. “It’s just hard being away from my son. I keep having dreams I’m holding him, and somebody snatches him right out of my arms.”
She looks so lost, so small. I should feel pity, but instead, I’m angry. I’ve known men like Leland Caudill before, rich men with pockets that are never satisfied. They take until there’s nothing left for the rest of us. Della is stuck under the thumb of one of the worst of them.
Her story is an old one, repeated again and again. And yet, she’s fighting back.
“I’m getting your kid back for you, Della,” I say firmly.
She looks up, those eyes that glittered so bright in the stockyard, now dark.
“I want to believe that,” she whispers. “But I don’t understand why this really matters to you.”
My mind skims over the last twenty years out in Montana. It’s been a good time. Hell, maybe I wouldn’t trade it for a thing. But there’s this emptiness at the center of it. I didn’t have a name for it until I saw all my friends hitching up, having kids. Then, my house started feeling pretty big with only a single guy banging around in it.
She filled it up without trying, just walked in, and I was back in the cool valleys of my home, the parts of Kentucky I do miss.
I can’t stay here. My home isn’t my home anymore. But I could take this piece of it back with me in Della Caudill. I could make her my wife and get to feel golden sunshine every day until I die, but all those things…it’s too early to say them. So, I say something close to the truth.
“Nobody stepped in for me when I was a kid like him. I kinda feel like this is my chance to balance things out.”
She studies me. “You had a real tough time, huh?”
