Page 31 of Small Town Hunter

“Nothing,” I mutter, and whip us out of there with all due haste.

A safe distance later,I glance across at Trina. She’s been real quiet, sitting still as a statue in the passenger’s seat for the past hour, staring out the window. I hear a suspicious sniffle.

“You alright?” I ask, cringing internally.

“I’m fine,” she chokes.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

That’s another sniff. And another.

After a brief argument with my conscience, I extend the drive and take her to the limit of the state, around Black Mesa. I don’t want to stray too far from Tippalonga, but if it will stop a crying fit, I don’t mind the inconvenience.

“I don’t want you getting out too much here,” I warn her. “There are rattlesnakes and such. But we can look for a minute.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says wistfully.

“Did you ever come out here before?”

She shakes her head. “No, I only left Tippalonga once, to visit my grandmother. That was a long time ago when she lived in Beverly Hills.”

Jesus. How rich is this old lady?

“I feel like such a fool,” Trina sighs.

“Not many would have done what you did. At least you had the courage to leave, even though some sort of plan would have been helpful.”

She looks down at her hands, which are twisting together. “Thank you.”

From the shelter of the vehicle and a solitary tree I consider the wide open prairie. I pay attention to the birdsong, identifying each one.Kestrel. Mourning dove. Poorwhill.

“Is Virginia very different from here?” Trina asks me suddenly.

“Yes.”Better, I stop myself from adding. But out here with the big sky unbroken by mountains, only soaring plateaus, the birdwatching is superb.

The sun sets in the great vast distance. The dust saturates every magnificent shade of red and violet. Red pours over everything— the grass, the distant herd of antelope, Trina’s doll-like face.

We don’t have sunsets like that in Virginia, either.

I get out, unload the Reverend’s gun and fling it far into the distance.

“Just take it one day at a time,” I tell Trina when I get back. I don’t like to see her all tight.

She tries a smile. “Thank you, stranger.”

“Hey, don’t mention it.”

More tears course down her cheeks as she looks to the marriage of sun and earth, the trail of red and deep brown. Then she silently wipes them away and, in another minute, is composed.

“Crash?”

“Yeah?”

“This is very beautiful.”

“Yeah. It is.”

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