Dig Too Deep (14 page)

Twenty-Five

I look at the hills, wondering if our neighborhood arsonist is still lurking around up there, and if so, what else they might have been instructed to do. Maybe burning things isn't their only skill. “I'm not going to school today.”

“The heck you ain't,” Granny says. “You done skipped on Mond'y.”

“Well, I'm sure as hell not leaving you here alone!” The day nurse is coming out to meet with us this afternoon. I wish now I'd asked her to come earlier.

“I ain't gonna have your grades slipping off just cause o' this here.”

“Just because someone snuck in and destroyed part of our home, you mean?”

“Liberty, I been living in this house alone since your Granddad passed on. That's ten years of nobody bothering me.”

“Well, they're bothering you now. I know who it is, and it's my fault.”

“Your fault, my fault, Robert Peabody's fault—what difference does it make? I'ma be dead in a little bitty while anyway.”

“Granny!” I stare at the tops of the trees, eyes wide, trying to dry the tears before they start. “Don't say that.”

“It's true and there ain't no sense pretending otherwise.”

“I know but …” I count to five, take a breath.

“But nothing,” she says gently. “It's gonna happen and we gotta accept that.”

“Accept that you're gonna die and it's Robert Peabody's fault?” Sad tears get replaced by angry tears. I count to five again. “I don't want to accept it,” I say. “It's not fair, and I hate it. It's not fucking fair!”

Fair
echoes up the holler five, six, seven times before it fades away.

“It is what it is,” Granny says. “All people got to die some way. This here's mine.”

“But this is Robert Peabody's fault. And when people are at fault for someone else's death, that's murder.”

She chuckles a little. “You'd have a hard time proving that, darlin'.”

I know she's right. Proving the mine is killing people is an impossible task. Peabody's got money, lawyers, resources—heck, he even has the police.

What do I have? A sick granny, a burnt shed, a big friend with a pissed-off, meth-head father, and …

Oh, the beautiful irony.

I've got a mother, in prison for fighting people just like Peabody.

Well played, Universe.

“What you thinking in there?” Granny asks.

“Nothing.” Everything.

“Well, get on to school. You're already late.”

I stand my ground for a minute, but the truth is I'm already way behind in everything, and if I miss today, I'll have two more quizzes to make up. “All right. But I'm calling you between every class to make sure you're okay.”

“You do that,” she says. As I'm opening the car door, she adds, “I'll be sure to turn off the ringer.”

“I'm sure you will.” I stop before climbing in. “I love you.”

“Right back atcha, sugarplum.”

“I'll be home after school.”

“No baseball practice today?”

Being reminded of Cole, that the whole school knew about him cheating on me, gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. “No, Granny. No baseball.” I can't deal with telling her the truth right now. She'll want the whole story and I don't have time. “Gotta run.”

“Drive safe.”

The drive to school takes no time at all, probably because I'm dreading today. The fire took my mind off everything for a while, but it comes flooding back when I see the low brick walls of Plurd County High. I count through my list of hellish blessings: no boyfriend, one friend, half the school laughing about Cole cheating on me, the other half talking about my speech at the county commissioners meeting. And, worst of all, potentially no Dobber.

It's halfway through second period, so I report to Calculus and attempt to do last night's homework while Mr. Patterson goes over the next lesson. The rest of the morning passes as normally as it ever does—no fires in my locker, nobody attacking me in the halls—and then it's time for lunch.

Yesterday at this time, I punched Cole in the face and reduced my friend pool to one: Dobber. But last night, I called him a dumb shit and an ignorant donkey head, so I'm thinking he may prefer to sit elsewhere, with someone less insulting. Or at least someone with wittier insults.

I take our usual table and enjoy the one bright spot in the day—Salisbury steak. Between gravy-covered bites of processed meat, I keep an eye out for Dobber. If I have to make a public apology on bended knee, I'll do it, but I'm hoping it won't come to that.

“I heard about last night.”

I recognize Ashleigh's voice. “So?” I don't bother looking at her. I'm sure she's perfectly gorgeous and I don't need the demoralization—not with bags the size of army duffels under my eyes.

“Gutsy,” she says. “Or just stupid. I haven't decided.”

I'm not sure where she's going with this. “Whatever.”

She doesn't reply, and after a minute, I look up. She's across the cafeteria surrounded by her typical gaggle of BFFs.

What the hell was that about?

Something heavy drops into the chair next to me, and I turn to find Dobber, his plate with double steak oozing gravy over the edges. My mouth waters at the sight.

“Hey, poop clown,” he says.

For the first time today, I almost smile. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“That's a'ight. I been called worse.”

“Worse than poop clown? Really?”

He just grins.

“I'm glad you're not pissed at me. I need to tell you something.”

“Sounds serious.” His gray eyes crinkle around the edges. “You asking me out?”

“Somebody burned down our shed this morning.”

His smile disappears. “No shit?”

“Absolutely none. No shit at all.”

“Damn, Lib.” He sits back in his chair and shakes his head. “I reckon we know who did it.”

“Right. As a warning.” I lean forward, my voice low. “I'm done screwing around, Dob. That fire could have spread to the barn or even the house. Granny and I could have died.” Then I remember—Granny
is
dying. And so is Mr. Dobber. “I want to stop Peabody. Before he hurts anybody else.”

“Count me in!” Dobber grins. “What's the plan?”

I toy with the splint on my finger, hesitating. It took me hours to make peace with this idea, and I still cringe when I say, “I'm going to email my former mother.”

Twenty-Six

The nurse is coming this afternoon, and I promised Granny I'd be home when she arrived. But first, I have an email to send, so I stop at the overlook. I super do not want to write this email, but we need her advice. She's the closest thing to an expert that we have.

Dear Mom,

I type, then erase.
Way
too personal.

Dobber says I don't have to like her to ask her a couple questions. I guess he's right, but I'm afraid she's going to think me reaching out to her means everything is okay between us now. Which it's not.

Hi.

Type. Erase. Decide emails don't really need greetings.

I struggle over every word, making sure nothing can be misconstrued as respect. Or love or forgiveness. Plus, I'm not sure if her emails get screened. I don't want anyone at the prison knowing about some potentially illegal plans we might cook up. In the end, I send off a vague email that could have been written by a robot, and hope she can read between the lines:

Discovered the mine has poisoned the water here … responsible for Granny's cancer. Mine owner is untouchable. Ideas?

I hit send, then I race the rest of the way home to meet the nurse. Granny's sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a fleece even though it's about seventy-five degrees.

“Did I miss her?”

“No. Ain't nobody been by.”

She looks pale to me, and tired. “How are you feeling? Do you want to lie down for a while?”

“If I wanted to lie down, I would,” she snaps. “I still got a brain.”

“Okay, okay. Don't yell.” But it's too late. That little bit of venom in her voice starts her coughing. Her lungs sound full of stuff lately, and when she finally stops, the tissue she held to her mouth has a lot of blood on it.

“Looks like the red guck is getting worse,” I say.

“Looks like.”

I stand next to her, holding my backpack, feeling useless. “We're going to find a way to make Peabody pay for this.”

She pats Silkie on the head and sighs. “Okay, darlin'. If that makes you feel better.” She glances toward the yard and the black stumps of the shed posts. “Like I said, I'm with ya a hunnert percent.”

It's a stake through my chest.
I'm with you, Liberty, even if my house gets burned down.

The phone rings. I drop my backpack on the porch and go in to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hi. This is Mrs. Lamar, the nurse.”

“Oh, hi. I'm Liberty, Kat's granddaughter. We're expecting you.”

“Yes, I know, and I'm so sorry but I just don't think I'll be able to make it.”

“Oh.” My radar goes up. “Do you want to reschedule?”

Pause. “Actually, I don't believe I'll be able to add Mrs. Briscoe to my patient list after all.”

“But you said—”

“I know, but I've looked at my schedule, and … well, I'm afraid I just don't have time. And with you all living so far out, I'd be driving so much.”

“But my granny needs care. What am I supposed to do? I'm in school all day—”

“I'm sorry. I wish I could help,” she says. “You can call Mrs. Blanchard, the hospice nurse, and see if someone else might be available.”

“I've already talked to her,” I say, gritting my teeth. “She sent me to you because you had the lightest patient load.”

“Well, I'm sorry I can't help,” she says.

“Right. I'm sure you are.” Just like I'm sure this has nothing to do with Peabody Mining.

There's a long pause. “I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is.”

“Right.” I don't bother with good-bye. I just hang up wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do now.

“Who's on the phone?” Granny calls.

I walk back to the porch. “The nurse. She …” How do I word this? “She's not coming.”

Granny squints at me, reading my face like a book. “Not coming ever, huh?”

“Right.”

“Hmpf. So much for that hippocrastic oath.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

Granny takes a deep breath. “Well, can't say as I blame her. Don't nobody wanna get on the bad side of Robert Peabody. Not that he has a good side.”

“She said I should call Mrs. Blanchard back and find somebody else.”

“Sugarplum, I'm just fine on my owns. You ain't got to worry over me.” She wobbles her way inside, then collapses on the couch, breathing hard.

I stand in the doorway, watching. Just fine on her owns she might be, but for how much longer?

Twenty-Seven

I call in sick to school Friday. It's a half day anyway, so I won't be missing much, and I need to find a nurse for Granny.

“Mrs. Blanchard?” I say into the phone. “This is Liberty Briscoe. I'm calling about my granny.”

“Oh sure.” The hospice nurse's voice is kind and reassuring. I realize not many people talk to me that way anymore. “How is Kat?”

“She's okay. Listen …” Without going into details, I explain that the day nurse didn't work out, and she gives me a couple more names.

“Call them soon,” she says. “I know Kat seems fine now, but …”

“I understand,” I say. Dr. Lang told us her health could deteriorate fast as she gets closer to the end. Plus, I hate leaving her alone with all of the strange things that have been happening around the house. “I'll call them today. Thanks!”

After hanging up with her, I call and leave messages at both numbers. Then there's nothing to do, so I straighten up the house. I'm slowly making progress in my war on the dust. There's less of it in the house every time I clean.

The fact that my triumph over the dust is the biggest success of the month makes me sad. This is the month I'd planned to start working on my early-action application to Georgetown. The reality: I haven't even opened the envelope. It's still sitting on the dresser in my room. Covered with dust. Maybe the dust won after all.

I'm just about to make some ramen for lunch when I hear a car coming up the drive. Dobber's rusted-out, beater Datsun stops in front.

I push open the screen door. “Hey there.”

“Hey.” He climbs out of the car holding a newspaper. “You sick?”

“No. I skipped so I could get some things done for Granny. What's up?”

“Nothing you'll like.” Taking the front steps in one stride, he hands me the paper. Then he stands next to me and points at an article on the front page. His arm is hot against mine.

“Good news, is it?” I ask.

“I think you're looking at Item Six,” he says. “From the hearing.”

I read the headline. “County Commissioners Agree to Support Extension of Tanner's Peak Mine.” The absolute asinine stupidity of it leaves me speechless for a moment.

Dobber points farther down the article. “It says they're gonna start mining on Dry Ridge.”

“But that's right above Green Hills subdivision! There must be two hundred houses over there. What the hell are the commissioners thinking?”

“They ain't thinking. They just following orders.”

I scan the article quickly. “Oh my God. It gets worse. He's applied to the state for an approximate original contour waiver.”

“I saw that. What's it mean?”

“There's a state law that says after a mining company's done, it has to return the area to its ‘approximate original contour,'” I explain. “Basically, they have to build the mountain back. If Peabody's asking for a waiver, it's because he wants to blow off the top of the ridge and dump it into the valley, just like he did Tanner's Peak.” I fling the paper onto the porch rocker. “And the county commissioners are okay with that? Un-frigging-believable.”

“It says they're expecting EPA approval next month,” Dobber says.

“So what happens to the people living below the ridge? Do they have to move? Is Peabody going to buy their houses?”

Dobber shakes his head. “What d'you think?”

I look across the valley at the hilltops opposite, trying to imagine them with no trees, trying to imagine the top of the ridge dumped into the hollers below—trying to imagine the destruction soon to come. “We have to stop him before he gets that approval.”

“D'you write your mama?”

“My
former
mother. Yes, I did.”

“She write back?”

Good question. “Let's hike up to the ridge. I can get a signal up there.”

I run in to get my phone and tell Granny where we're going.

“Have a nice walk,” she says. “You'll be back in time to take that pie out of the oven?”

“Pie?” I stop and stare at her. “What pie?”

She squints at me. “You got a apple pie baking, don't ya?”

I snort. “No.” Us having pie is about as likely as me being crowned prom queen. “No pie. Sorry.”

“I coulda swore I smelled one.”

“Wishful thinking,” I say, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Y'all take these dogs,” Granny says. “They got some yayas to get worked out.”

Silkie and Beethoven run out into the yard, tails wagging, waiting to see which direction we're going. As soon as I start for the ridge trail, they shoot ahead, barking at anything that moves. Sweet, old Goldie pads along behind.

“So,” I say over my shoulder as we climb, “how's baseball going?” What I really mean is how are things with Cole.

Dobber laughs … short and soft. “A'ight.”

“Really?”

“It's a team, Liberty. I don't gotta like ever'body on it. Usually don't, anyway.”

“Well, I feel sort of bad. It's my fault you guys aren't friends.”

“Naw. It's his fault.” We're both breathing hard from the climb. “Him grabbing your arm like that? That wasn't right. And all that other stuff …”

“Sounds like he did that other stuff a lot though. According to Ashleigh.”

“It was different this time.”

I reach the top first and turn toward him. “Different how?”

He looks at me then looks away, across the valley. “Dunno. Just different.”

I wonder what that means as I pull out my phone. No voice messages. No emails. Nothing from MFM. Just a text from Iris.

Where are you?


It's been forever since I talked to her. I haven't even heard what her big news is.

I type a quick message back (
Serious shit hitting fan. Call you tonight
) and look over at Tanner's-No-Longer-Existent-Peak.

I run my phone across my lip, thinking. “Whatever's poisoning the water, it's happening right over there. In broad daylight.”

“I know,” Dobber says. “Funny, huh?”

Funny but not. “The cop told me the mine has to submit water samples for testing, to prove they're not leaking poisons into the environment.”

“What're you thinking? That he ain't submitting the samples? Or he ain't taking 'em from the right place?”

“I don't know,” I admit. “But if there's any proof to be had, it's at the mine.” I give it a second's thought then turn and head down the trail. “Let's go.”

“Go where?”

“Duh. To the mine.”