This is how I know where these two sketchy looking guys are headed now. And the lumber they're toting tells me they're rebuilding the structure that exploded one night two years ago, with Dixon inside.
I keep going until I find a section of road wide enough for me to turn around. When I pass back by going the opposite direction, I look at the little turnoff. It's so tucked in, you'd miss it if you didn't know it was there.
I want to know what they're doing building up there. And I want to know who they are.
It'slate afternoon by the time I finish with Mrs. Calhoun's garden bed. I have enough cedar leftover I can make a second one for my mom. I don't have time right now though. I'd like to get this one delivered to Mrs. Calhoun and get back here so I can work on Jo's porch and stairs.
Speaking of Jo, I haven't seen her today. Usually she's here somewhere, either working alongside me or researching various topics about building structures, running a business, and marketing. Her tenacity is admirable, but I don't particularly like coming up against it. I think we've made progress though. The afternoon of the monsoon felt like a step in the right direction.
Where the right direction is, remains a question. Friendship, I suppose. As much as I'd like to make Jared nothing but a memory, I can't. He is obviously good for Jo, in the way like attracts like. What do I even have to give her? My daddy issues? A slice of the chip I wear on my shoulder?
Sighing, I lift the garden bed and lay it on its side on my tailgate, gently sliding it all the way in. I close the gate, and gather my things, but leave the sawhorse and my tools out. I won't be gone long.
Like always, Mrs. Calhoun sits in her chair on the front porch. She waves when I pull up.
"Hello, young man," she calls.
"Hello, Mrs. Calhoun," I greet her, going to the back of my truck and lowering the gate. "I found something on the side of the road. It's bulk trash week in town." It most certainly is not, but she won't know that. Removing the garden bed, I carry it toward her.
She stands up and puts her hand to her chest. "Is that what I think it is?" Her hands clap in front of her. I open my mouth to answer but she says, "It's a trough. Where my horses can eat."
I stumble over my words and recover. "Mrs. Calhoun, this is a garden bed, so you don't have to bend over to garden on the ground. See?" I set it down and stick my hand in the deep space. "Fill it with soil, toss in your seeds, and when it's time to tend, everything is right in front of you instead of being on the ground."
She holds onto the rail and walks down the few stairs. "Well, I'll be. Look at that. I can't wait to tell my sons."
I pause for a beat, not sure how to move forward, then ask, "Your sons?"
"My grandsons, I mean. Here they come now."
She's right. A truck pulls into her driveway. It's followed by a second.
The trucks, I already know. It's the men driving them who are a mystery to me. But that's about to change.
"I'm going to get everyone some iced tea," Carol tells me, going back into the house.
Both men get out. They are about the same height, but where one is thin, the other is overweight. Pretty quickly I figure out who's the leader of the twosome, judging by how one keeps looking to the other for guidance on how to behave right now.
The thinner of the two steps forward. I do the same, striding across the small grass yard to meet him.
I hold out a hand. "Wyatt Hayden." He shakes my hand, realization dawning in his eyes.
"Ricky Marks." We drop hands. He nods back toward his brother. "That's Chris, my brother."
He comes forward, and we repeat the handshake.
"Hayden, huh?" Ricky says, rocking back on his heels. His teeth are tinged yellow with brown stains spreading out at the gum line.
I shrug. "That's what they tell me."
"Interesting. Did you know my cousin, Dixon?"
I shake my head slowly back and forth. "Can't say that I did."
"Huh." Ricky crosses his arms, and I don't miss the pockmarks dotting his pale skin. "Could've sworn someone in town said he died on Hayden land."
"Well, they were mistaken. Dixon's meth house exploded just a ways off my family's land. We cooperated with authorities, and they determined the explosion was a result of your cousin's activities." I make a regretful sound with my lips. "Too bad. I'm sure he was a nice guy before he got into that stuff."
Chris is quiet, looking around, like he's not tuned in to the conversation. The lights are on in his head, but nobody is home. Ricky is a different story. He has a cunning air about him, sly like a fox and just as intelligent. Wes thought the same of Dixon, and he wasn't wrong.
