Thirty-Seven
I CAN SEE from the crooked angle of her right hind leg that she’s broken it again.
What I do for now is gently stretch her out on a blanket in the back of the truck, drive slowly up to the house, carry her inside, and lay her down on the big bed in the spare bedroom.
Then I go upstairs and wake EJ, as gently as I can do that, and tell her what happened, focusing more on what just happened to Bumper than to me. EJ, with her country common sense and country skills, has always been the perfect caretaker, as if she’s got an advanced degree in Bumper.
When she turns the light on in the bedroom, she immediately notices the swelling on one side of my face.
“You’re telling me the dog’s in worse shape than you?” she says as she gets into her robe.
“Stop me if you’ve heard this one before,” I say, “but I think she broke a leg.”
We used to take Bumper to the vet every time she lost another fight with another car and she’d need another splint. But by now, EJ is a pro at this.
First, we give the dog some T-Relief for the pain, knowing how much that’s seemed to help after previous calamities.
Then I find a ruler in the desk, one we’ve used before as a splint, just because it’s the perfect size.
It’s clear that we’ve caught a break, so to speak, that we’re working on another closed fracture.
Before we set the ruler at the break, we first wrap some casting tape around the whole leg.
Bumper lets us do it without moving or making a sound, almost as if she knows the drill, too, by now.
And knows we’ll take care of her. When EJ is satisfied with the bandaging, we apply one more layer of casting tape before holding the ruler in place with cling wrap from the kitchen, making sure not to make it too tight and cut off the dog’s circulation.
When we’re finished, I once again gather Bumper into my arms and take her up to my room and lay her in her bed, the one next to mine.
EJ follows me up and watches me do it.
“Dog’s gonna outlive me,” she says.
“And me,” I say.
She turns to me and says, “Okay, who’s behind this?”
“Pretty sure I recognized Roof Crockett’s voice from behind one of those stupid masks they were wearing.”
Just like that, I see the fight and anger come spitting off my little grandmother like grease spitting out of one of her frying pans.
“They came here to my house… to our home… like vigilantes?” she hisses. “Why, Silas?”
“I may have poked the bear when I went to see Briar,” I say. “That might have had a little something to do with it.”
“Poked the bear about what, exactly?” she says. “I thought you just went over there to talk about Leamon’s daughter.”
“I did,” I say, “but before long I was telling him about those boys I caught dealing drugs at the high school and he took it to mean I was accusing him of being involved with them, and with drugs, and I let him think that. And he obviously didn’t take kindly to it, in light of what just happened to Bumper and me. ”
“Well,” she says, “I need to go get my phone and call Burt Webb this instant, and screw whether I wake him up or not.”
“No, ma’am.”
She stares up at me, hands on hips. “What are you telling me, Silas? That you don’t want to involve the police? What, you plan to take on the Southern Mafia all by yourself?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Really?” EJ says. “How did that work out for you tonight and for your dog?”
“They surprised me tonight, like they came at me from my blind side,” I say. “I won’t let that happen again. You can trust me on that.”
I see her eyes fill up, just like that. When she speaks next, her voice isn’t much above a whisper.
“My husband is gone,” she says. “And my son is gone.” She reaches up and almost angrily brushes a tear off her cheek, like swatting at a fly. “I can’t lose my grandson, too.”
I walk over and pull her close, my grandmother so tiny it’s as if I’m pulling a little girl into my arms, making sure, as I always do, that I don’t hold her too tight.
Bumper is already snoring softly from her bed.
My head and sides are throbbing and so is the place behind both knees, but right now EJ is more important than any of that.
“You’re not going to lose me,” I say. “If it didn’t happen in the car that night, it’s not going to happen here.”
She pulls back and looks up at me, eyes still red. “But you’re not going to walk away from this, are you?”
“You know me better than that,” I tell her.
“What are you going to do, Silas?”
I smile down at her. “Same thing I’ve always done when I’ve been up against it,” I say. “Call my own number.”
Now she puts her arms around me, pretty much as high as she can get them, and presses her head against me one more time.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” she says.