It hurt to talk about Paul in the past tense. It didn’t feel real. It felt like a bad dream that was happening to someone else, and Ruth herself was only an observer.

“Oh, Pete,” she said. “Don’t leave me.”

Pete scooted closer to her. “I’ll be coming back in a few days.”

She threw her arms around him and moaned into his chest. She missed Paul. She missed everything about him.

She drew back.

“Your shirt,” she said. “Is that Paul’s old shirt?”

It was. It was the shirt he’d always worn. Green plaid with red in it. She breathed Paul in. It was Paul’s scent Pete wore. And it brought it all back to her. The way Paul used to hold her in the early mornings, overlooking the tobacco fields of her youth. The way he talked to her—like she was every bit as adult as he was. Paul had always talked to her differently than he talked to anyone else.

“Don’t go, Pete.”

“I’m just dropping the dogs off in Mobile and coming right back. Don’t worry.”

“But what if something happens and you never come back?”

“Ruth, don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

He held her. She held him.

“Come with me,” he said. “Then we can do it together. And you can say goodbye to the dogs yourself.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. He kissed her. It was a light kiss on her cheek.

In that moment, she noticed how much older he looked. He was no boy beside her; he was a man. A whole lifetime showed on his face. He was a million years older than she was.

“Come with me,” he said.

“I can’t leave Vern. Not now.”

“Vern? He’ll be fine.”

“He hasn’t even left his room in three days. He doesn’t eat anything I leave outside his door. Someone’s gotta watch over him and make sure he takes care of himself.”

“Let Miss Warner do that.”

Ruth let out a scoffing laugh. “She’s not exactly Miss Warm and Fuzzy, you know.”

Pete held her. She could feel the strength in his arms. She worried if he left her that something bad would happen and she would never see him again. It was irrational and ridiculous, but she felt it just the same.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said.

She held him tight. “Call me when you get there, when you’ve sold the dogs. Just to let me know you’re safe.”

“I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Seventy-Two
Swinging and Hollering

Joseph was the first to throw a punch. He landed his fist alongside E. P.’s nose. The big man fell backward and dropped the gun. Then the old man tore into E. P. like a windmill in a thunderstorm. Hands flailing, legs kicking. He fought dirty.