Chapters (50)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication Page
- CONTENTS
- PART ONE: SHOTGUN GRAVY
- Sometimes she wakes…
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- PART TWO: BAIT DOG
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- PART THREE: THE FARM
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- PART FOUR: KISSING FIRE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- PART FIVE: BAIT GIRL
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- EPILOGUE: THE MESSAGE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
By three a.m. Steven still hasn’t come back, and so she and Guy do some shooting as Eddie dances behind them and Damita and Shane go off into the house. Guy’s got a little .22 target pistol—a Ruger—and they set up cans and bottles and some of Mama’s magazines and they shoot in the dark and sometimes hear the rewarding krish of a bottle breaking or the metallic clung of a can jumping off a fence rail and hitting the ground.
At three thirty a.m., Atlanta thinks she sees Chris standing there in the corn. Watching her and waving. But it’s just a shadow, a trick the moonlight plays on her, and then he’s gone because he was never really there.
At four a.m., Atlanta passes out in one of the patio chairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY
“It’s time.”
Guy wakes her.
She blinks. Her mouth tastes like fireplace ash. Wisps of smoke drift from the logs in the fire. Her skin crawls.
Atlanta lurches over the side of the patio chair and pukes. The chair is shit for balance, though, and as she throws up, the chair tilts left and she damn near falls in her own sick, just barely managing to roll out of the way.
Her head pounds. And spins. A hackey-sack kicked in the air again and again.
Atlanta steadies herself. Nudges an empty schnapps bottle out of the way.
Guy helps her up. Whitey sits back and watches.
“You look like a hairball that dog coughed up, yo,” he says as she gets her balance under her feet.
“I figure you’re bein’ generous,” she gurgles.
“Let’s go with dog shit, then.”
“That’s more like it.” Her lips smack together. The corners of her mouth feel dry and crusty. “It’s time?”
“It’s time.”
“I probably shouldn’t have had all that vodka. Or the schnapps. Or the Ritalin.”
Guy laughs. “I been there, ’Lanta, I been there.”
“I gotta go pee,” she says.
“Thanks for sharing.”
Her bladder is like a water balloon about to pop. She tries to make a beeline for the bathroom, but suddenly there’s Shane jumping up like a gopher at his hole. Big grin on his face. Mouth smeared with lipstick. Damita’s. His eyes might as well be goggly and on springs.
“Damita’s great,” he says, his voice dreamy and lost.
“Uh-huh,” she says, skirting past him. He trails after her.
“I got to touch her boobs,” he says.
“She let you?”
“She let me.”
“I’m real excited for you.”
“It’s all thanks to you.”
“You and her boobs are very welcome. I gotta pee. And maybe throw up again.”
His face scrunches up. “Yeah, you don’t look so hot.”
“Please move.”
“Sorry.”
Inside the bathroom, she pees like she’s trying to put out a house fire.
At least she doesn’t puke again.