Carnal Innocence

Vernon, you don’t tell nobody.”
    “Yes sir.” Cy’s head bobbed in desperate agreement. “But Vernon, he’d help you, Daddy. He could get your truck and—”
    Austin slapped a hand across Cy’s mouth. “I said nobody. They’ll be watching Vernon. Watching him day and night because they know he’ll stand by me. But you—they won’t pay no mind to you. Just remember I’ll be watching you. Sometimes I’ll be here, waiting. Sometimes I won’t. But I’ll always be watching you. Understand me? I’ll always be watching you, and listening. The Lord will let me see, let me hear. If you make a mistake, His wrath will smite you down, cleave you in two with one mighty blow.”
    “I’ll bring it.” Cy’s teeth chattered over the words. “I promise. I’ll bring it.”
    He laid his brutal hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You tell anyone you seen me, and even God Himself won’t save you.”
    It took Cy almost an hour to bike to Sweetwater. A quarter of the way there he had to stop and toss up his breakfast. When he was empty, he rinsed off his clammy face with the stingy water of the Little Hope. Because his legs were shaking, he had to ride slow or risk a spill. Every few minutes he looked uneasily over his shoulder, almost certain he would see his father behind him, smiling that smile and snapping the belt they’d taken away from him at the county jail.
    When he got to Sweetwater, he saw Tucker was on the side terrace, going through the morning mail. Cy parked the bike with deliberate movements.
    “Morning, Cy.”
    “Mr. Tucker.” His voice sounded rusty and he coughed to clear it. “I’m sorry about being late. I was—”
    “You’re calling your own hours, Cy.” Tucker glanced absently at a stock report and set it aside. “We got no time clock here.”
    “Yes sir. If you’ll tell me where to start, I’ll get right on it.”
    “Don’t rush me,” Tucker said pleasantly, and tossed a scrap of bacon to the ever-hopeful Buster. “Had breakfast?”
    Cy thought about what he’d lost on the side of the road. His stomach twisted evilly. “Yes sir.”
    “Then you can come on up here while I finish mine. Then we’ll see what’s to do.”
    Reluctantly, Cy climbed the three rounded stairs that led to the terrace. Buster looked up, thumped his tail once in reflex, then burped.
    “He’s thrilled to have company,” Tucker said dryly. He tossed one of Josie’s catalogues aside and smiled up at the boy. “Since you’re so all-fired—what the hell’d you do to yourself?”
    “Sir?” Panic shot into his voice. “I didn’t do nothing.”
    “Hell, boy, your elbows are all scraped to shit.” He took Cy’s arm, turned it. Blood was still seeping slowly, and there was a scattering of nasty-looking grit in the cuts.
    “I just took a spill, is all.”
    Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “Did Vernon do it?” He’d had a few scrapes with Vernon himself, and was well aware the man wouldn’t think anything of laying into the boy.
    Like father, like son.
    “No, sir.” Cy felt a rush of relief that at least he could tell the truth. “I swear Vernon didn’t touch me. He gets mad sometimes, but I can stay out of his way until he forgets about it. It’s not like Daddy—” He broke off, flushing in mortification. “It wasn’t Vernon. I just took a spill, is alt.”
    Tucker’s brow had lifted during the babbling explanation. There was no use pressing the boy or adding to his embarrassment by making him admit his father and brother used him for a punching bag. “Well, slow down. You go on in, tell Della to clean you up.”
    “I don’t—”
    “Boy.” Tucker leaned back. “One of the privileges of being an employer is to give orders. You go on in, get cleaned up, and take a Coke out of the refrigerator. When you come back, I’ll have figured out how you’re earning your keep today.”
    “Yes sir.” Flooded with guilt, Cy rose. He walked into the house with a heavy heart.
    Tucker frowned after him. The boy looked like hell, and that was the truth. But who could blame him? Tucker tossed another scrap of bacon to the dog and figured he’d keep Cy busy enough to ease his mind.
    By the time the sun was blazing toward noon, Tucker had Cy occupied on the lawn tractor. Word of the Talbot affair had already raced through town, and thanks to Della’s hotline to Earleen, had reached Sweetwater while Billy T.’s bandages were still fresh.
    Like good, hand-dipped ice cream, the story camein