Page 122 of Before We Say Goodbye
A police siren sounded in the distance.
Vance pointed the gun at Otis’s chest. “I’m sure the police will be happy to straighten things out. You ever come on my property again, I will put a bullet in you and let those dogs tear you apart. You understand?”
Otis didn’t respond. Had Vance not had the gun, he’d go after him again, tear those gauges from his ears. But there Bec was at his side, tugging him away.
He kept his eyes locked on the enemy. This mountain was too small for both of them. Something had to give.
“Let’s go,” Rebecca whispered, pulling at his arm.
Otis nodded and finally turned away.
As they reached the gravel road, Otis limping in pain, a police car rolled to a stop in front of them. The officer climbed out, set his hat on his head, and frowned. “I guess you’re going to bleed all over the back seat, aren’t you?” His voice had a scratch to it, like he’d swallowed sawdust.
“I was trying to stop the man from shooting a coyote.”
Rebecca stepped forward. “I’m the one who called you, Officer.”
Another police car pulled off Sunset Road, headed in their direction.
Otis wobbled without Rebecca holding him up. “His name’s Vance. He pointed a gun at me.”
“That’s his property?”
Otis nodded.
“I’m going to put you in the back of my car, go sort this out, all right?”
Bec jumped in. “He was trying to—”
“Lady, I’m in charge here. Why don’t you return to your house? The other officer and I will assess the situation.”
Otis had never been inside the police station in Kennewick. He’d never been behind bars before. It was a clean place, he’d give them that. A series of cells lined up along a sparkling tile floor. They’d strip-searched him, then thrown him in here an hour earlier.
Only problem was that Vance was in the cell next to him, huffing and puffing about how Otis had been the one to trespass. There had been a warrant out for Vance’s arrest, which was why they’d dragged him in too.
“This is exactly the problem with you outsiders coming up here,” Vance said.
The two men couldn’t see each other. Through the barred window of Otis’s cell, the half-moon glowed. One singular light bulb burned directly overhead.
Otis crouched on the hard floor, his arms around his legs, his eyes on the white wall above the toilet. “You were shooting at a bloody coyote.”
“The damn thing cleaned out an entire cooler of deer meat. It’s my right to protect my belongings onmyland.”
“He’s a defenseless animal. Don’t leave a cooler of meat out in the desert. What did you expect? What are you even doing out here anyway?” Otis couldn’t contain himself. “You show up every once in a while to the land you’ve inherited and do nothing but disrespect it. You won’t sell it to me. You certainly don’t know how to take care of your orchard. What’s the end game here? You keep holding on?”
“Why not? You say you’re up here for a reason. That Red Mountain is special. I’m guessing a decade from now, it’ll be even more special.”
Otis wasn’t getting anywhere. What was the point in even talking to him?
An hour must have gone by. Otis had calmed down. He moved to sit on the edge of the single bed. “What is it you’re doing with your life, Vance? Tell me that.”
“Why the hell do you care?”
“I want to understand, that’s all. You don’t know how difficult you’re making mine, coming out, playing your music, having your friends over, shooting guns, destroying the stillness that my young vines require right now.”
A long laugh. “Do you hear yourself? There are people out there like my brother fighting wars, and you’re worried about your young vines.”
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’m no NavySeal. I’m not protecting people. I’m an artist, a winemaker. It might not seem important, but it’s what I’m meant to do. I’ve known it for a long time. I’m not saving people, protecting people, but I’m creating something that maybe makes a little difference. How about you?”
