The Backwoods (16 page)
Authors: Edward Lee
Another startlement as she’d been musing. It was Chief Sutter who’d approached her. She’d always thought of him as a clichéd country-bumpkin-type chief, complete with the suspenders and big belly, but she’d always remembered him as a considerate man who very much cared about the residents he was employed to protect. She remembered how gentle, how caring he’d been in the aftermath of the rape, as well as the delicacy with which he’d handled her during the grueling but necessary questioning.
She smiled warmly, shaking his hand. “Chief Sutter. I’m happy to see you. In fact, I waved yesterday when I was coming into town.”
He winked. “The Qwik-Mart. Yeah, Trey ‘n’ I caught a glimpse of ya in that shiny new car of yours. Judy’s always tellin’ me how well things are going for you ‘n’ your husband up in D.C. We’re all so happy for ya.”
It was just small talk, but Patricia appreciated it, and it truly was good to see him. “Thanks, Chief, and I hope things are going well for you, too.” She quickly glanced around. “Where is your deputy, by the way? I know I saw him at the service.”
“He had to go back out on patrol, but he sends his condolences as well.” Suddenly something like concern touched the chief’s face, and she noticed that he was holding a dark plastic bag with some official-looking seal on it. “But if I could trouble ya for just a minute? Could you take this and see that Judy gets it when the time is right?” He held up the bag. “It’s from the country police lab, and they’re done with it now.”
“What is it?”
“Dwayne’s personal effects, stuff he had on him when his body was found. They released it me today, but it ain’t really appropriate to give it to Judy just yet.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Just his wedding band, watch, wallet ‘n’ all.”
Patricia opened the bag and looked inside. “Did the crime lab find anything in the way of evidence?”
“Unfortunately, no. And there’s some cash in there too, just so ya know. A goodly amount.”
Watch, wallet, gold wedding band
? Patricia thought, thinking it odd. She opened the wallet, saw some cash, but also noted five hundred-dollar bills in the bottom of the bag. “That’s strange, isn’t it, Chief?”
? Patricia thought, thinking it odd. She opened the wallet, saw some cash, but also noted five hundred-dollar bills in the bottom of the bag. “That’s strange, isn’t it, Chief?”
“You mean that whoever killed him didn’t take his valuables and the cash? Yes, it is. A’ course, anyone’s first guess is that Dwayne was murdered, ya know, on account . . .”
“On account of him losing his head, sure,” she finished.
“Right. But, uh, the cause of the decapitation itself was officially labeled as ‘undetermined.’ In other words, the coroner wasn’t convinced it was a murder. Could’ve been a fluke accident, who knows?”
Patricia withheld an overt frown. Instead she asked, “Is it true that no one ever found . . .”
“Dwayne’s head? Yeah, that is true, I’m afraid.”
Patricia doubted it was an accident, but the point wasn’t worth belaboring.
Oh, well. An “undetermined” decapitation.
“I’ll put this in a safe place, Chief,” she assured him, “and show it to Judy when the time is right.”
Oh, well. An “undetermined” decapitation.
“I’ll put this in a safe place, Chief,” she assured him, “and show it to Judy when the time is right.”
“Thanks much, Patricia. And thanks for comin’ all this way. It means an awful lot to Judy.” He shook her hand again. “But I’d best get along now. I’m sure I’ll be seein’ ya again before you leave.”
“I hope so, Chief. Good-bye for now.”
Chief Sutter wended off through the crowd.
I guess I’ll put this in the den
, Patricia concluded of the bag, but in her mind it kept occurring to her that the only thing stranger than the notion of the decapitation’s being an
accident
was Chief Sutter’s sudden uneasiness when talking about it at all.
I guess I’ll put this in the den
, Patricia concluded of the bag, but in her mind it kept occurring to her that the only thing stranger than the notion of the decapitation’s being an
accident
was Chief Sutter’s sudden uneasiness when talking about it at all.
Like something bothered him more than the obvious facts.
Dwayne’s death was indeed a mystery, but . . .
Dwayne’s death was indeed a mystery, but . . .
It’s almost like the chief knows more than he’s telling,
she thought. she looked into the living room and was content to see Judy on the couch, surrounded by friends.
She’s getting drunk again, but she’s more than entitled to do that today.
Then she slipped off down the hall and switched on the light in the small den that Judy used for an office.
she thought. she looked into the living room and was content to see Judy on the couch, surrounded by friends.
She’s getting drunk again, but she’s more than entitled to do that today.
Then she slipped off down the hall and switched on the light in the small den that Judy used for an office.
The room seemed sterile with its wall of file cabinets.
Company records, I’m sure
. On the wall over the desk hung Judy’s very first incorporation certificate and her business license that had been changed over since their parents’ deaths.
Company records, I’m sure
. On the wall over the desk hung Judy’s very first incorporation certificate and her business license that had been changed over since their parents’ deaths.
A picture on the other wall left her morose—a shot of her father, long ago, hauling bushels of crabs off a small trawler
. I’ll bet that was taken before I was born
. Her father, though spry and muscular in the photo, still had the same cold, humorless look in his eyes she’d always known him for.
. I’ll bet that was taken before I was born
. Her father, though spry and muscular in the photo, still had the same cold, humorless look in his eyes she’d always known him for.
Then something else on the wall—an old poster—utterly depressed her.
COME JOIN US ALL!THE FIRST ANNUAL AGAN’S POINT CRAB FESTIVAL!MONDAY SEPTEMBER 6.NOON TIL EIGHT AT BOWEN’S FIELD!
Patricia turned away, a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach.
Bowen’s Field, my God . . .
Bowen’s Field, my God . . .
And suddenly that everlasting look in her father’s eyes seemed more accusory and disgusted than cold.
Next thing she knew she was standing in a daze. The images in her mind began to tumble backward, pulling at her. . . .
She’d been thinking about it all day at school. It didn’t seem like her. She didn’t know why. Skinny-dipping?
It was a big deal back in eleventh grade, and Agan’s Point and some other nearby towns hosted a number of suitable ponds and small lakes. Patricia was constantly being invited by her friends, yet the invitations had never threatened her sexually because it was only her circle of
female
friends always asking her to go. Boys went too sometimes, but from what she’d heard nothing much ever went on. Safety in numbers. She supposed it was all harmless and normal. It was something sixteen-year-olds did on Saturday nights.
female
friends always asking her to go. Boys went too sometimes, but from what she’d heard nothing much ever went on. Safety in numbers. She supposed it was all harmless and normal. It was something sixteen-year-olds did on Saturday nights.
But Patricia never went.
She wasn’t inhibited, nor self-conscious about her body. If anything she felt the opposite. Not only had good grades allowed her to skip a grade, it seemed that her body had all but skipped adolescence and hastened toward womanhood faster than the others’. Many times, in the showers after gym class, she felt certain some of the other girls spied her naked body and full bare bosom with strained envy. It was fine with her. “What are you afraid of?” one girl had asked in objection. “Patti, in Agan’s Point we skinny-dip every weekend, so don’t be a prude. If I had your body, I’d show it off every chance I could!″
But Patricia would have none of that. Showing off wasn’t her nature. She hadn’t even come close to having sex yet—it was something she’d save for the right man. Most of the other girls seemed a lot less choosy, and even this young, Patricia saw that as a pitfall. She wanted to go to college, forge a career, while most of the local girls rushed to get married right after high school and start having kids.
Not me
, she resolved. These girls would wind up living here their whole lives and never even know what opportunities might be waiting for them out in the rest of the world. Patricia was determined not to miss out on what was out there simply to have a routine life in the place she was born.
Not me
, she resolved. These girls would wind up living here their whole lives and never even know what opportunities might be waiting for them out in the rest of the world. Patricia was determined not to miss out on what was out there simply to have a routine life in the place she was born.
As for sex . . .
She’d never had it, nor had she ever noticed in herself any trace of the sex drive that seemed to propel everyone else. She’d dated a few boys, but only once got past French-kissing. One twelfth grader she’d kind of liked from her geography class had gotten her bra off one night at the old Palmer’s drive-in, but the film—something about killer worms—had grossed her out more than scared her. He’d clumsily groped her breasts and sucked her nipples for a few minutes, then evidently spent himself in his pants. He’d also tried to rub between her legs but was only rubbing just below her navel. She hoped he did better in high school geography than he did in female geography. In other words, this excursion left her uninterested. The local boy she’d most been expected to date seriously was Ernie, but when she was asked about the prospect, her response was always akin to: “Ernie’s been my friend since first grade! He’s like a brother! I could never date him!” Only later, just before she graduated, had she learned how badly he’d pined for a romance. She simply wasn’t interested in Ernie—or in any boy, for that matter. Even when friends described their experiences “doing it” (and the fabulous multiple orgasms that
always
resulted), her response was typically a frown. Masturbation seemed ridiculous, at least from the descriptions she’d heard.
What if someone saw me?
And what could possibly be that great about it anyway? When she’d been younger—fourteen or so—she remembered leaving volleyball practice—and being late—so she’d cut home through the woods, where she’d accidentally happened upon a boy from Hodge’s Hardware Store coupling naked with one of the Squatter girls.
So that’s what sex is,
she presumed, unshocked and unimpressed. The boy’s fastidious performance of lovemaking had lasted about three minutes, whereupon he’d re-dressed quickly and left. But the Squatter girl remained, one hand alternately kneading her breasts, the other playing with her sex. Her body had flexed, her back curling backward in a noisy finish that only left Patricia amused and absolutely convinced she had no need to do this to herself.
Why? If I made all that noise, my parents would hear!
always
resulted), her response was typically a frown. Masturbation seemed ridiculous, at least from the descriptions she’d heard.
What if someone saw me?
And what could possibly be that great about it anyway? When she’d been younger—fourteen or so—she remembered leaving volleyball practice—and being late—so she’d cut home through the woods, where she’d accidentally happened upon a boy from Hodge’s Hardware Store coupling naked with one of the Squatter girls.
So that’s what sex is,
she presumed, unshocked and unimpressed. The boy’s fastidious performance of lovemaking had lasted about three minutes, whereupon he’d re-dressed quickly and left. But the Squatter girl remained, one hand alternately kneading her breasts, the other playing with her sex. Her body had flexed, her back curling backward in a noisy finish that only left Patricia amused and absolutely convinced she had no need to do this to herself.
Why? If I made all that noise, my parents would hear!
Ultimately, by the end of the eleventh grade she found all the talk of boys and dating and junior proms and sock hops—and sex—to be annoying.
I guess I’m just different from everyone else,
she concluded, and didn’t feel at all unusual about it. In not being sexual, she never once thought she might be missing out on anything. But what she
wouldn’t
miss out on was life, her career, the future. Sex would have to wait.
I guess I’m just different from everyone else,
she concluded, and didn’t feel at all unusual about it. In not being sexual, she never once thought she might be missing out on anything. But what she
wouldn’t
miss out on was life, her career, the future. Sex would have to wait.
It was right before school would let out for summer—for some reason she remembered that—and she recalled nothing sexual about her motive, the business about skinny-dipping. She and Judy had gone to a late double feature at the town theater. She’d asked several friends to join them, but, alas, they were all going on to another skinny-dipping party. She and Judy had both passed on the invite—electing instead to go see
Star Wars
, which everyone was talking about—but regrettably they were forced to sit through some grueling first feature about an Egyptian cannibal in the catering business. Patricia found the schlocky farce hilarious in its bad production, but Judy had left halfway through, too revolted by the hokey violence and fake blood that looked like house paint.
Star Wars
was fun, though, and exciting. However, while walking home . . .
Star Wars
, which everyone was talking about—but regrettably they were forced to sit through some grueling first feature about an Egyptian cannibal in the catering business. Patricia found the schlocky farce hilarious in its bad production, but Judy had left halfway through, too revolted by the hokey violence and fake blood that looked like house paint.
Star Wars
was fun, though, and exciting. However, while walking home . . .
. . . Patricia got to thinking.
Maybe I’ll try it
, she dared herself.
In case I ever decide to do it with my friends, I’ll know what it’s like.
It wasn’t sex she was considering; it was merely skinny-dipping.
, she dared herself.
In case I ever decide to do it with my friends, I’ll know what it’s like.
It wasn’t sex she was considering; it was merely skinny-dipping.
I’ll try it alone first, see if I like it.
But where? Everyone else was out at the lake in Luntville.
I
know, she thought. She saw the sign right there as she walked along Point Road:
I
know, she thought. She saw the sign right there as she walked along Point Road:
BOWEN’S FIELD.
There was a pond there, and the field itself was almost entirely surrounded by woods.
Perfect.
Her parents were at the fire hall tonight—bingo—and would be home late. The heat and humidity were sky-rocketing as the summer deepened; Patricia was sticky with sweat just minutes after leaving the cool movie theater.
A late-night dip in the pond is just what I need.
A late-night dip in the pond is just what I need.
She cut through more woods, her sandals snapping twigs. Peepers cheeped like parrots, and she had to walk slowly, keeping her eyes on the ground for toads. Then the woods broke, and there she was. . . .
The clearing opened, ringed by tall trees. The moon was just edging over the tallest oaks. Bowen’s Field was a little-used municipal lot: mainly county softball games and holiday gatherings. Picnic grounds with tables and grills dotted the area, and off to one side was the pond.
Patricia looked around guardedly.
No one
around.
She felt satisfied. She walked off to the trees, then thought nothing of skimming out of her shorts and top. A moment of hesitation; then the rest came off, panties and bra dropped atop the sandals. And one last look around . . .
No one
around.
She felt satisfied. She walked off to the trees, then thought nothing of skimming out of her shorts and top. A moment of hesitation; then the rest came off, panties and bra dropped atop the sandals. And one last look around . . .
Everyone else is skinny-dipping in Luntville, and I’m skinny-dipping here
. . . . Simple. There was no need to be self-conscious or embarrassed—she was a logical girl. So she shrugged her bare shoulders, then, and walked nude across the field.
See? No big deal.
She giggled. When she looked down at herself, the only shock was how white she was. She was fair-skinned; she didn’t tan well. Her natural hue touched over by the moonlight made her look ghostly.
. . . . Simple. There was no need to be self-conscious or embarrassed—she was a logical girl. So she shrugged her bare shoulders, then, and walked nude across the field.
See? No big deal.
She giggled. When she looked down at herself, the only shock was how white she was. She was fair-skinned; she didn’t tan well. Her natural hue touched over by the moonlight made her look ghostly.
The warm air caressed her skin as she moved on. Another giggle:
I’m walking naked in public!
The night’s heat licked up and down her body.
I’m walking naked in public!
The night’s heat licked up and down her body.
Cicadas buzzed in their unique drone. The pond lay flat and still before her, a solid black mirror with the moon’s reflection floating on top. Mud squished up through her toes when she stepped in, first to her ankles, then to her knees. She lifted her foot and took the next step, which should’ve brought her hip-deep, but—
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