Sublime Messages

Four, A

Whitteman Beau Rouge was confused. At the tender age of eleven, he'd been told many things by his sister, and sometimes Ruby's notions didn't make a whole lot of sense. She'd told him their Daddy was a piece of shit. She'd told him their Mama was a whore. She'd told him their Daddy and Mama were the best parents in the world, that they loved him and her so much they wanted them to have freedom. She'd told him the Kirk boys were dangerous but also that the youngest one was kind of all right, better than the older two. She'd told him they'd be stuck where they were forever and also that they'd definitely get away from Lone Rock as soon as possible. She'd told him she loved him; she'd told him she hated him. But most of all, she'd told him conflicting bits of information about Damien Jensen: he was her one and only true love; he was the most horrible person on earth; he was the devil in the flesh; he was an angel sent from God; he was a fool and an idiot; he was ugly; he was to-die-for; he was a waste of time; he was the only thing that mattered . . . in short, it seemed Ruby was as confused about Damien as Whit was confused about her.

The boy kicked at the gravel as he wandered between the trailers. Another Sunday afternoon, another several hours without his sister. Besides school, the only time he was without Ruby was when she went to go smoke with Damien. At least, that's what he assumed they did, smoke and drink. What else would they be doing? Talking? They couldn't have that much to talk about.

Maybe he'd outgha go back to the house, sit and the porch and read some more. He'd been through his mythology book a thousand times, but it was something to do, after all. Because wandering around without Ruby was boring as heck (she would've said Hell, but Whit didn't cuss much; he knew it made Mama mad). 

He realized he was by the Hernandezes' when one of the dogs suddenly rammed itself against the chain link and started going to town barking. Whit shouldn't have been startled, but he'd been lost in his own unimportant thoughts. He jumped back, watching the animal gnaw with its powerful jaws at the metal diamonds, its saliva dripping and glimmering in the sunlight. Whit sighed, partially with relief and partially in frustration; somehow, he sympathized with that gross beast, wondered whether his invisible cage were really any better than that chain link fence. Maybe he could be friends with that dog. What was its name? He thought it was something like Chaco. Or maybe that was the other one. No matter. The dog started growling somewhere down in its throat when he drew near; they weren't going to be friends.

Whit kept walking, looking back at the dog, grateful it couldn't get out, and by the time he passed the Hernandez house, he was bored of the animal anyway. There had to be something to do!

"Whatchoo up to?"

Whit spun on his heel, saw that younger Kirk brother, the one that didn't look like the others—Arlo. "Just walking around," Whit replied.

Arlo leaned against the wall of the house nearest him, hands in pockets. Whit thought he stared a little too long and began to move away.

"Your sister here?"

Whit looked down at the crook of his arm, picked at a rash that'd been there for several weeks. (Ruby had told him not to pick, but he couldn't help himself.)

"You not gonna answer me?"

Arlo took a couple of steps toward him, and Whit could practically hear his sister in his head, telling him to run away, but curiosity held him there. "They find who shot the Ashers?"

"Huh?"

"Donny and his uncle. They find who shot them, yet?"

Arlo stopped moving. He was lean and wolfish, a hungry look about him, and Whit couldn't help being reminded of that story of the little girl who got eaten up by a wolf pretending to be her grandmother. Stupid girl.