Page 33 of The Reformatory

Lyle McCormack’s voice. Gloria hadn’t expected to be relieved to see Lyle, but she was.

At least he wouldn’t shoot her, and he was her best chance for an audience with Mister Red.

“Sorry to rile your dogs.” She quickly checked her dress for rips, conscious of Lyle being so close. She straightened her dress so it hung well past her scuffed knees. “Duke was a little too happy to see me.”

Lyle gave a sharp whistle, and Duke grew sober, dutifully trotting to his master. The two other dogs followed, all of them lining up away from her.

“You coulda got your head blown off, Glo,” Lyle said. “I thought they were after a snapping turtle.”

Yes, her plan to show up at the McCormacks’ unannounced after dark had been reckless. Waiting until morning would have been much less dangerous. But here she was.

“Did you hear Robbie got sent to the Reformatory?” Gloria said. “For six months, Lyle. You know that’s not right.”

“Why’re you puttin’ that on me? Nobody told him to kick me.”

“And you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if it had been you? After somebody pushed you? Ain’t that just self-defense? And you so much bigger than him?”

Lyle was silent. Gloria realized she was taking the wrong approach, giving Lyle no room to have a change of heart on his own. Papa used to complain that when Mama went after him with her “machine-gun tongue,” he got so mad he couldn’t listen. Gloria stepped closer to Lyle to make better use of the tears on her face, hoping the droplets were shining in the moonlight.

“Lyle… he’s just a little kid,” Gloria said. “He’s so scared. You know he’s sorry he kicked you. Wasn’t it bad enough how your daddy boxed his ear? Did you see the blood?” She gave her voice more softness. No blaming, just gentle begging.

“You heard me tell Daddy to let it alone, didn’t you?” Lyle said. “I tried to tell him.”

“I know. You need to try again. Both of us. He’s the only one who can tell the judge ‘Never mind.’ I bet he can raise the judge or the sheriff any time he wants.”

“He’s gonna raise a stick, that’s what he’s gonna do,” Lyle said. “He’ll prob’ly cuss a blue streak and whup us both.”

“Please, Lyle? This is Robbie’s only chance.”

Gloria waited an eternity while the dogs sniffed the grass for more excitement. The smaller German shepherd whined while Lyle seemed to think it over.

“I wouldn’t do this for nobody else, Glo,” Lyle said. “You better know that. And I can tell you right now it won’t go the way you want. But… you’ll have to see for yourself.”

Red McCormack was in his workshop behind the house.

A table saw whirred from inside. Through thin slats in the wood, a flurry of white-orange sparks made her imagine the Reformatory fire.

“You wait here.” Lyle rested his gun against the shed wall and went in. The saw gnawed on, uninterrupted.

Gnats and moths drawn to the light from the shed swatted Gloria’s face. The dogs waited with her. Duke licked the chicken grease from her hands, but the other two dogs weren’t sure of her and kept their distance. Just as well: dogs could smell fear, and Gloria was plenty afraid.

As Gloria stared at that shotgun standing within reach, she swore she knew what must have been in Isaiah Timmons’s heart all those years ago, his boys stolen from him, wanting them home safe. She could see herself picking up the gun, storming in the shed, and telling Mister Red: You call that judge right now and tell him to set Robbie free. She could see his shocked face, and Lyle’s, when they would hear her jack a shell into the chamber the way Papa had taught her. Her heart pounded in terror of herself, so she looked away from the gun. Even in her imagination, the idea felt dangerous enough to get her killed, and Robbie too. She would be buried here next.

Lyle called out to his father over the saw noise, and Mister Red answered, already irate.

He was as big as a barn and seemed to have grown since she’d seen him last. He had a reedy voice that didn’t suit a man so large, but he used words like choppy hatchet blows. He had always set Gloria on edge, long before Papa’s warnings. Lyle and his father spoke back and forth over the saw, with Lyle more childlike and his father getting madder.

The saw went off with an angry whine, and Mister Red’s voice filled the silence. “What the hell’d you bring her here for?”

Gloria took a step away from the looming shed.

“I didn’t bring her; she came on her own. Walked up the driveway.”

“And you brought her to me?”

“Yessir,” Lyle said. “So she can say her piece. I started the ruckus yesterday, so it’s my responsibility. You always say to stand up for—”

“Shut your damn trap, jackass.” And the unmistakable sound of a hand slapping flesh.