Authors: Jeanette Battista
“How was school, hon?” Gammy looked Devon up and down with sharp brown eyes, as if she could tell just by looking at her granddaughter everything she’d been up to that day.
“It was good.” She swung her backpack down onto a chair at their kitchen table. “I’ve got a ton of homework.” Devon looked at the giant black pot steaming away on the stove—it was the source of the noxious smell. “What’s in there?”
Gammy walked back and gave it a stir with a huge wooden paddle. “Evan Greaves has got himself a sick horse. I’m fixing up a batch of liniment.”
Devon raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Don’t you usually brew that stuff up outside?” She knew the answer to that question already because she often helped Gammy get the logs going in the fire pit they had out back.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s been raining off and on all day.” Gammy made a scoffing sound. “You sure you’re the brightest in the class?”
“I was until a horrible medical procedure rendered me stupid. Now I’m in remedial classes and struggling mightily.” She smiled when her grandmother clucked at her.
Devon was a senior this year and she had the highest GPA in her class at the end of last year. She knew that the only way she was getting out of this podunk mountain town was on a scholarship, so she worked hard to keep up her grades and her extracurriculars. She volunteered at the small branch of the local library, she ran cross-country, and she loaded her plate with as many AP classes as the school offered. But a scholarship was not guaranteed and Devon wasn’t going to risk getting sloppy.
Gammy opened a window in the kitchen, gesturing for Devon to do the same in the living room. She did so, hoping that would help some of the smell to dissipate. “That stuff is strong.”
“It’ll either cure it or kill it,” Gammy said, popping the lid back on the pot.
Devon shivered. She still felt wet and cold, even in the warmth of the trailer. She thought she’d have enough time to shower before Gil arrived. The woman in black came back to her and she remembered how weird her sudden appearance—and disappearance—was.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” she told her Gammy, making her way back to her bedroom. It was the last room in the house, all the way at the back past the family room with the wood-burning stove for heat, Gammy’s room, and the bathroom. The hallway was decorated with samplers that Gammy had sewn long ago, and family portraits from before Devon was born.
She closed her bedroom door with a faint sigh. It was tiny with barely enough room for her bed, a dresser and a nightstand. A small television sat atop the dresser and a plastic framed long mirror hung on the back of the door. Several shelves were hung on the wall and these contained her favorite books, the ones she couldn’t bear to part with at the used bookstore two towns over. Her twin bed had one of Gammy’s old quilts on it, with a grey and green hand-knit blanket folded up at the end of it. It wasn’t much, but it was way better than she’d ever gotten from her mother after her father had died.
Devon pulled off her clothes, dropping them in the clothes basket at the bottom of her closet. She closed the accordion door and wrapped herself in her robe, then proceeded on to the bathroom she shared with her grandmother. She was about to turn on the water when there was a knock at the door.
“Gil’s here.”
Devon slipped her robe on with a sigh. Her best friend had the most unfortunate sense of timing. “I’ll be right out.” She waited until her Gammy had gone back down the hall, then trotted back to her bedroom and threw on sweats. She twisted her red-brown hair into a knot at the top of her head and went out to meet him.
“Don’t get all gussied up on my account,” Gil said as he looked at her critically.
“I thought you’d take longer. Jackalope.” Gammy didn’t like cursing so Devon had to be inventive.
Gammy tutted at her, “Language.” Apparently, she hadn’t been inventive enough.
“Outside,” Devon said, pointing to the door. She pulled the rifle she used for hunting—it was her grandfather’s—out from its spot under Gammy’s bed, snagged a box of bullets, and went to join him.
“Hunting practice?” Gammy asked.
Devon nodded. Gil’s father despaired of his heterosexually challenged son ever doing what the rest of the boys his age did. Gil had no interest in hunting, but he figured it would make his father happy if he learned to shoot a gun. For the past couple of years, he’d been joining Devon in her hunts for game so she could teach him the basics. Today though, the shooting practice was not all he was here for. Devon needed to talk to him.
She joined Gil out front and they took off, walking northwest higher up the mountain. They moved through the woods cautiously. You never knew when someone might be up here hunting something, although it was too early for deer season. Still, not everyone followed the Wildlife Commissions rules and it paid to be careful on the mountain. Devon held the rifle with the barrel down across her body. Gil shuffled alongside her, as surefooted as a goat.
Devon found a likely area and sat on the ground. She propped the rifle along a fallen log, using it as a brace. Then she gestured to Gil. “Go ahead.”
He lay down with a sigh and sighted. “I’m not that interested in hunting squirrels today.” He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting her to tell him what was really going on.
“I know, but Gammy expects me to bring something home.” She sat next to him. Devon had been supplementing their meager food budget for as long as she’d lived with her. Gammy’s Social Security didn’t offer them a whole lot beyond the basics, so they had to be frugal. They bartered extra vegetables from their garden with their neighbors, Devon had a job, and Gammy sold her remedies and such, but there were times that if they wanted meat, they had to get it for themselves. “Hold it tight against your shoulder.”
“I have shot a rifle before,” he sniffed, not at all offended.
“Yes, but you’re a crap shot,” she teased. That was the difference between them. Gil didn’t need to hunt for food. He could afford all the bullets he wanted. He wasn’t as concerned with waste.
“True enough, much to my father’s dismay.” He sighted, then said, “Why are we out here instead of sitting on an actual couch? Aside from the smell, that is.”
“I can’t talk about college in front of my grandmother.” She took the rifle from him and positioned herself to shoot if something that looked like dinner popped its head up.
“I still don’t get why not. It’s not like your grandmother is stupid or blind. She has to know you’re looking at leaving,” Gil whispered. Devon held up a hand to silence him.
They were quiet for a few minutes. Devon saw faint movement and waited, barely breathing. She sighted, breathing out once to steady herself, and squeezed the trigger. The crack of the rifle split the woodland silence. Before the sound of the shot died out, Devon had already placed the rifle on the ground, moving away from Gil so she could retrieve the rabbit she’d hit.
She brought the dead rabbit over to a nearby flat rock, her knife already in her hand. As Gil ambled over, she began to skin and dress the rabbit. She and Gammy would be having stew tonight. It was a lean week for them, so this meat would be a treat.
“Nice shot,” Gil said, coming up next to her. He stayed far enough back to avoid the discarded viscera. “So what’s the deal? Why’d we have to have a pretend shooting lesson?”
“Gammy changes the subject whenever I bring it up. I think she’s afraid of what will happen to me if I leave.” She never took her eyes off of the rabbit she was skinning. “Reach into my jacket pocket.”
Gil stuck his hand in her right side pocket and extracted a folded sheet of paper. He raised his eyebrows at her, then unfolded it and began to read. It didn’t take him long. When he was finished, he folded it back up and returned it to her pocket.
“So what do you think?” Devon asked anxiously.
“Where did you find out about that?” Gil tucked his cold hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“The guidance counselor dropped it off during last period. Do you think it’s legit?”
Gil shrugged. “If the counselor gave it to you, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. I wonder why more people haven’t heard of it before?”
Devon finished up. “Can you reach in my other pocket and get me the rag?”
“Sure. Just don’t touch me with those rabbit hands.”
“Oh, you mean like this?” She wiggled her bloody fingers at him. He took a step away from her and then another. She followed him slowly, chanting, “Bunny fingers, bunny fingers…”
He laughed. “Stop being so disgusting.” He reached into her pocket again and handed her the rag. “Are you going to apply for it?”
Now it was Devon’s turn to shrug. She cleaned off her knife and then her hands as best she could. She put the rabbit in her game bag, wiped her hands one last time and picked up her rifle. “I guess.”
“That’s going to be a hell of a lot of work,” Gil answered. Devon snorted. Gil did everything in his power to get out of doing as much work as possible. Applying for a scholarship that would require as much research as this one would was something he’d never even consider.
Then again, he didn’t have to. His parents had enough money to send him to any college that would accept him. If there was anything that was going to keep him out, it would be his grades, not his parents’ bank accounts.
But this scholarship promised a free ride. “I’m just surprised I haven’t heard of it before. I’ve been doing nothing but research on scholarships for the last year.”
“This one sounds pretty out there. I don’t know of anyone who’d be willing to do the work for this one.” Gil rubbed his chin.
“How’s the beard coming?” she teased. He gave her the finger.
“Come on, we’d better get back.” Devon hoisted the rifle, barrel down and across her body once again, and set off with her game bag. She knew better than to ask Gil the Squeamish to carry it.
“Five generations,” Gil shook his head. “That’s a lot to prove.” He was referring to the scholarship she’d just shown him; it required proof that at least five generations of your family had lived in at least one of three specified counties. Devon’s family qualified; her kin had been in these mountains for as long as there had been mountains, or at least it felt that way.
“I think I can swing it.” It was going to mean a lot of afternoons in town and a lot of late nights.
Gil raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She was glad he kept quiet. Getting her college paperwork finished was already enough of a hassle. And she was trying to do as much as she could outside of the trailer. She didn’t want to tell Gammy she was planning on leaving, on going as far away as college could take her. She wasn’t ready for that conversation just yet. Gammy didn’t seem to be ready either.
They tromped back through the woods, not being as careful with their noise this time. When they reached Gammy’s yard, Devon walked Gil to his car. “Sure you don’t want to stay for Bugs?”
Gil made a face. “I’ll pass. I prefer my rabbits marshmallowed, thanks anyway.” He paused before getting in his car. “Seriously though, if you need any help, just ask.”
“Got it.” She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Then she waggled her fingers at him one more time. “Bunny hands!”
He slammed the door in her face.
Gammy was happy to get the little bit of extra meat that the rabbit provided. This was the end of the month and the money from Gammy’s Social Security check had run out. They had another few days before the new one came, and her grandmother made a living being frugal, so they weren’t in desperate straits, but the meat was a welcome addition. Otherwise the stew would have been vegetables only.
Devon wasn’t above hunting to supplement, but sometimes she really wished she didn’t have to. Gil had been her friend since she’d moved back, but he was a town boy. He didn’t need to worry about extra meat during lean times. It embarrassed her to have to hunt in front of him, but it was the only excuse she had to talk to him alone without making Gammy suspicious.
While Gammy handled dinner, Devon opened more windows to help clear out the heavy medicinal smell from the liniment. As fresh, damp air flooded the trailer, she went and took a shower, like she’d originally planned to do. Gil’s early arrival had been unexpected but not surprising, as he often dropped by when his home life got a little too stressful. His parents were barely civil to each other on good days, so when the house was unbearably tense, he sometimes fled here. Whatever the reason, Gil was one of the few town folk that Gammy welcomed into her house with open arms. Not that many townsfolk were keen on visiting them.
The hot water sluiced down over her. Devon scrubbed her feet and hands, glad to feel the warmth seep back into them. She hated days where she couldn’t get warm, and this was one of them. Only a hot shower took the edge of the chill off and brought her back up to normal temperature. She wrapped herself in her robe and turbaned her hair in her towel and went to join her grandmother in the kitchen.
“How was Gil?” Gammy asked, mixing dough up for biscuits.
Devon pulled her math book from her bag, along with a notebook and pencil before sitting down at the small kitchen table. She had a problem set in Calculus to get through. “He’s good.”
“Family doing well?” Gammy always asked after everyone’s families. It must be a mountain thing. Or maybe it was an old person thing.