Free The Backwoods by Edward Lee Page B

and make their lives better , she thought, but maybe she was being pretentious. There was nothing wrong with staying close to one’s roots and working the land, but it just seemed so shallow to Patricia, that or maybe she was just more adventuresome than everyone else. At any rate, Ernie’s crush on Patricia had never died, and he’d been disheartened when she’d left for college.
    “He’s still got that torch burnin’ for you,” Judy said. “And he’s still as handsome as ever.”
    “I’m sure he is,” Patricia played along, “but my husband’s still got all my bases covered.”
    “Oh, I know, and I’m so glad you’re happy with Byron. How is he, by the way?”
    “He’s fine . . . and you’re exhausted, so . . .” Patricia snapped off the bedside lamp. “You go to sleep, and we’ll have a big breakfast together in the morning.” She kissed her sister’s forehead, then stood back up. Judy wouldn’t let go of her hand.
    “Oh, Patricia,” came the whisper. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you come all this way to be with me.”
    “You’re my sister and I love you. Now go to sleep!”
    But Judy’s eyes kept staring up. “I-I never told you . . .”
    “Never told me what?”
    “How . . . Dwayne died.”
    “Of course you did.” Patricia bent the truth. Actually, her sister had never elaborated. “An accident, you said.”
    Judy’s voice piped up like a child’s. “His head was cut off, and nobody knows how it happened.”
    Patricia stood in a silent shock. She’s serious. . . . She had no idea what to say in response.
    “And the head was never found,” Judy groaned out the rest.
    Murder, not an accident. What condolence could she add now? But when Patricia looked again, Judy had already fallen asleep.
    My God . . .
    The windows stood open at the end of the hall, letting in the cicada sounds, and the house’s deep, old Colonial decor made her feel a thousand miles away from her condo in D.C. She stepped into her bedroom, felt odd at once, then backed out. Sleeping there would just remind her of more childhood memories, but she couldn’t stay in her parents’ old room, either—that would just be worse. One of the guest rooms downstairs, she decided, then drifted back down the stairs to go out and get her bags from the Caddy. The macabre distraction was sidetracking her: Dwayne’s head. Did she mean that somebody cut off Dwayne’s head?
    She stopped midway down the step. How the heck did—
    Her suitcases sat neatly stacked at the bottom of the steps.
    “Didn’t know where ya’d wanna be sleepin’. . . .”
    Ernie Gooder stepped from behind her baggage, looking up.
    “We was expectin’ ya much earlier,” he said next, “like about noon.” He glanced to the window. “Looks like ya barely beat sundown.”
    Patricia felt a shock: Judy wasn’t kidding. . . . Ernie had always been attractive: well contoured, strong arms, broad-backed. Dark eyes glittered in an appearance of youth that should’ve disappeared a decade ago. If anything he looked late twenties instead of mid-forties. The only difference, now, was his hair. For all the years she’d known him, Ernie had had a nearly military cut, but now he’d grown it out shoulder-length. When she finally found words, she blurted, “Your hair!”
    He looked sheepish. “Yeah, I growed it out fer the hell of it; now everybody likes it, so I guess it’s here to stay.”
    She came down the stairs and gave him a hug. “Ernie, did you find the fountain of youth somewhere out in the woods?”
    “Huh?”
    “You look the same as you did years ago. You look great.”
    The remark embarrassed him; he almost blushed. “Aw, well, thanks, Patricia. You look really fantastic your own self. I like your hair shorter that way; ain’t never seen ya with it like that.”
    “It makes me look more like a lawyer, I guess.” Then she remembered his first comments. “And, yeah, I did plan on getting here this afternoon, but I