The Boys Down South by Abbi Glines

41

bray

I couldn’t sit down. Standing at the window looking out over the hospital parking lot, I pressed Scarlet’s number again. The tenth time since six this morning and still no answer.

“Fuck!” I growled as I stuffed the phone back in my pocket with more force than necessary. Why wouldn’t she answer? I’d called to make sure she woke up in time for work. Then I tried again before she would get there. No answer.

Pulling out my phone, I searched for the diner’s number. Pressing it on Google, the shit service I had in here stalled and I waited before it finally went through. I should have just woken her up when I got the call. But when you get a call at five in the morning, telling you your baby brother has taken a fall from a motherfucking wild mustang he had no business getting on, and he’s got internal bleeding, possible spine injury, fractured skull, had to be revived three times in the ambulance and is going into emergency surgery… you don’t think. You react. I grabbed clothes and put them on as I ran for my truck. No time to leave a note. No time to wake her. I had to get back to Malroy.

“Bright Eyes Diner,” a woman said with little enthusiasm.

“Can I speak with Scarlet North please?” I asked, anxious to hear her voice. Explain why she had woken up to me not being there.

“She ain’t in today. Taking a day off,” the lady said then the call ended. No explanation. Not even a goodbye. I held the phone back and stared at it. A day off? She’d called-in? Was she sick? Fuck! I dialed the number again.

“Bright Eyes Diner,” the same woman said.

“This is Bray Sutton. I just called asking for Scarlet.”

“And I told ya, she wasn’t here—”

“I know! Don’t hang up. I have a question. Is she sick?” I asked.

“No, she ain’t sick. Just tired, I reckon.”

I opened my mouth to ask if she’d called in and who she had spoken to, but the woman hung up on me again. What the hell? Was this a joke? Who did that?

I tried calling Scarlet’s cell phone again and got no answer.

“Still in surgery. But a doctor assisting came out to let us know there is no internal bleeding,” Asher said as he came to stand beside me.

I wanted to be relieved, but how the fuck could I? They’d had to revive him. Brought him back to life, three times. Once was bad enough. The fact he might be in a coma or paralyzed, terrified me, but what if it was worse? What if he didn’t make it?

I glanced back in the waiting room. “How’s Momma?” I asked. In all my years, I had never seen my momma cry like I’d seen her today.

“He’s her baby, Bray,” was all Asher said. He didn’t have to say more. That was enough. She wasn’t handling it. She was falling apart every minute they had him in surgery.

“Do you know if Dixie had any luck getting Scarlet on the phone?” I asked him.

He shook his head, frowning. “No. She’s still not answered you? Did you try her work?”

“Twice and the damn old woman answering the phone gives me one-word answers and hangs up. She’s not at work today. Taking a day off. I’m about to call again and ask when they spoke with her.”

Asher was stoic as he stared straight ahead. “I’m sure she’s okay. Probably phone issues.”

I dialed the diner again.

“Bright Eye’s Diner,” the woman said. Jesus! Could no one else answer the motherfucking phone?

“At what time did Scarlet call into work and who did she speak with?” I asked firmly.

The woman sighed like I was the annoying one. “Can someone please answer all these damn questions! I got cornbread to make!” she yelled loudly, and the phone sounded as if she’d dropped it on the bar or a table.

I waited, hoping someone with some fucking sense picked up.

“Can I help you?” Ethel asked. Thank God.

“It’s Bray Sutton. Scarlet’s friend,” I said quickly. “I can’t get Scarlet on the phone and I was wondering if you could tell me when she called in sick and who spoke with her?”

“Well, now, I called her. Several times in fact before I woke her up. It was after eight, I reckon. She was apologizing and I told her not to worry. I knew y’all must have had a night full of adventure. Then told her not to come in. Take a day off. Now why ain’t you with her? Don’t tell me you ran off again because, boy, I got myself a gun and I know how to use it.”

She’d overslept. She was okay. Then why wasn’t she answering?

“I got a call at five this morning. My baby brother took a fall from a wild mustang. He’s in critical condition and in surgery. I had no time to explain. I had to get here. I’ve called her a million times and get no answer. I’m worried about her, but I’m four hours away.”

“Oh, good lord! Why on earth would the boy get on a wild mustang?” she asked.

I didn’t have time to get into this with Ethel. I just needed her to find Scarlet for me.

“Don’t know, ma’am. Can you check on Scarlet?” I repeated.

“Sure. I’ll head on over there right now. But I imagine she’s a sleeping. The girl don’t get enough rest. I should probably take her some food. I doubt she’s eaten a bite. And when I tell her about what’s happened with your brother, she’s gonna want to head that way. She’ll need some food. You go on now and be with your family. Is your parents alive son?”

Why did older people want to talk so much? She was wasting time. “My momma is, ma’am.”

“You hug her tight. Bless her. That’s a scary thing. Lost my Hugh when he was young. But we won’ talk about that. You go be strong for your momma and I’ll take care of Scarlet for you.”

“Thank you—-” The phone call ended. I shook my head and stuck it in my pocket. The whole damn lot at that diner were nuts.

“You get some help this time?” Asher asked, turning his head to study me.

“Yeah. Ethel. Her boss. She’s gone to check on her.”

He gave me a nod then inhaled deeply and turned back to the others. “If he… if he doesn’t make it,” Asher said the words low, so no one else heard him. The hesitation held more emotion than any tear or expression. Asher was holding it together but not by much. “Momma won’t be able to live without him. I don’t think she can lose a child and survive.”

I wasn’t going to accept the possibility that Dallas may not make it. Asher was the oldest. He’d taken over with the father figure stance since we were young. Once Dad was gone, it was Asher who taught us to drive the tractor, use the saw, drive the truck, build a fence. He felt like he needed to prepare for the worst because he may have to hold us all together.

Steel, Brent, and I were grown. He didn’t have to take up the slack for us anymore. But in his head, he hadn’t let it go.

“He’s tough. A fighter. He will make it,” I said firmly. Then for Asher’s sake I said, “But if he doesn’t. This isn’t on your shoulders. We are grown men, Asher. Not little boys you have to herd and instruct. We will all be there for Momma.”

The emotion in his gaze broke free for the briefest second, before the stoic came back. But I’d seen his fear. We weren’t ready to bury a brother. We had buried our father. But this we shouldn’t have to do. Dallas was the youngest. He would be the one to bury us one day when we were all fucking old, wrinkled bald men.