Red knife

FORTY-FOUR

The baby’s cry pulled Lucinda from her husband’s arms. She went to see to Misty. The phone rang and she heard Will answer. She changed the baby’s diaper and put her in a new outfit, little Oshkosh overalls that had been a gift from one of the families who’d come to the visitation for Rayette and Alejandro. When she came into the living room with the baby in her arms, she found Will standing at the picture window, gazing out at the beautiful Sunday morning. He turned to her and looked happy.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That was Cork O’Connor on the phone. The sheriff is arresting Elise Reinhardt for killing her husband.”

“They’re sure it was her?”

“Cork says there’s proof. I told him I was afraid it had been Uly, because of the missing Dragunov and all. He told me he thought it might have been Uly, too. He figured we’d be relieved.”

“Oh, Will.” She felt a flood of relief, of gratitude, of happiness.

“That still doesn’t answer the question of why Uly took the rifle,” Will said.

“You can ask him yourself.” She nodded toward the road, visible through the window, where she saw Uly walking from town, carrying the overnight bag he’d taken to Darrell Gallagher’s house.

At the driveway Uly stopped for a minute, staring back toward Aurora.

“Sometimes he looks so lost it breaks my heart,” Lucinda said.

“At that age, Luci, everybody’s lost.” Will put his arm around her shoulders. “Tell me an age we aren’t.” He strode to the front door and called out, “Uly, could we talk to you?”

Uly dragged his feet up the steps like a man mounting the gallows.

Lucinda put the baby on the floor and sat down with her. She had Misty’s pink rubber pig in her hand, which squeaked whenever she squeezed. She made the pig squeak and Misty smiled and tried to reach for the toy.

When Uly was inside, Will said, “Sit down.”

Uly set his overnight bag on the floor and dropped onto the sofa. If he was surprised or pleased to see that his father had been released from jail, he didn’t show it. He put his hands together, almost as if he expected to be handcuffed, and he looked up at his father with a face ready to sulk. “What did I do now?”

“We just got word that they’re arresting Buck Reinhardt’s wife for his murder.”

Uly often hid his emotions behind a wall of feigned indifference, but the news had a visible effect. His whole body relaxed and his dark eyes lost their stony aspect and looked, in fact, as if they were about to melt.

“I don’t understand, Dad,” he said. “Why did you tell them you did it?”

“Because I thought you killed Buck Reinhardt.”

Uly looked stunned. “I killed him?”

“What other reason would you have for taking the Dragunov?”

Uly didn’t reply right away. His eyes settled on the baby, whose hands grasped at the pig in Lucinda’s hand. “I was going to kill him. I decided I couldn’t.”

“That’s a good thing,” Will said.

“I thought it was the kind of thing you would do.”

Will sat down beside his son and said, “I don’t want you to be me, Uly. I don’t want anyone growing up to be what I am.”

“Don’t say that, Will,” Lucinda broke in.

“It’s true, Luci.” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “There’s so much about my past that I would undo if I could, Uly, so much about who I am that I would change. I’m proud of who you are. I don’t tell you that enough, but I am. I’m proud of the man you’re becoming. I’d rather have you picking up a guitar than a rifle. It seems to me the world could use more music and less gunfire, son.”

Uly looked uncomfortable, but said, “Thanks.”

“Where’s the rifle?” Will asked.

“I’ve been keeping it at Darrell’s house.”

“I’d like it back today.”

“I’ll go now, if Mom’ll let me borrow her car again. But he might not be home. He was thinking of going fishing with his grandfather. If I can’t get it back today, I’ll pick it up first thing tomorrow morning and drop it off at the shop after school. Okay?”

“That’ll be fine.” Will stood up as if he was finished, but he said one more important thing. “Uly, when I thought it was you who killed Buck Reinhardt and I thought about the possibility of losing you, it was one of the hardest things I ever faced.” Then he said something Lucinda had never heard from him before. “I love you, son.”

Uly stared at his hands and finally said, “Can I go?”

“Sure.”

Uly lurched from the sofa and walked to the kitchen, where he took the extra set of car keys from the drawer where Lucinda kept them, then he headed out the door.

“I think I embarrassed him,” Will said.

Lucinda gazed up at him and smiled. “I love you, Will Kingbird.”

Misty gurgled and flailed. Will bent down and lifted her in his arms.

“You always wanted a daughter to complete this family, Luci. The Lord works in mysterious ways, I guess.” He gave the baby a gentle kiss.

Late that night, Annie sat at her computer, trying to bring to a close her term paper on the true authorship of the works attributed to William Shakespeare. She was drafting her conclusion, which was basically an admission that the truth may never be known and an assertion that, in the end, the truth was pointless. She figured she’d end with something sappy, maybe a line of full alliteration, something she thought Ms. Killian, her English teacher, would love.

Does it matter who created the rose? she typed. The important thing is that its beauty exists for all to enjoy. So it is with the words and the wisdom the world has credited to William Shakespeare.

She wasn’t sure if she liked it, but she was sick of writing. Then Uly Kingbird IM’ed her. r u there yes, she replied. thank u what for your prayers helped good do u have more for u a friend who does it matter

The only friend she knew that Uly had was Darrell Gallagher. i’ll pray, she replied.

There was a long pause. She waited patiently for what turned out to be Uly’s final message of the night: pray hard.