The Devil Casts a Long Shadow- Chapter Twelve: Go to Him

The investigation into Beau and Thallea's fitness as parents concluded more quickly than Jena had expected.

The consequences, however, dragged on.

Tiger-Blood remained hospitalized for several weeks while the doctors monitored his breathing and other complications associated with his premature and troubled arrival into the world. When he was finally stable enough to leave, Beau fought to have him placed with

Sue rather than an unrelated foster family.

It took considerable effort, but the arrangement was eventually approved.

Thallea, meanwhile, was ordered into a residential sobriety program.

Jena considered the required stay insultingly brief.

A few weeks in a supervised facility seemed unlikely to undo years of drinking, drug use, and a near-total disregard for consequences.

Nevertheless, everyone involved appeared relieved to have reached some sort of resolution.

At the height of the uncertainty, Sue had approached Jena with a request.

She wanted her daughter to write a letter endorsing Beau as a responsible father.

Jena refused.

She had defended her brother for years. She had excused his absences, tolerated his decisions, and tried to persuade herself that his intentions were better than his judgment.

But there was a limit to what she could say in good conscience.

She could not honestly describe Beau as a responsible parent when his children had repeatedly suffered because of his choices.

Sue had taken the refusal badly.

"He's your brother," she reminded Jena.

"I know who he is, Mom."

"Then you ought to know how much he loves those boys."

Jena had looked at her for a long moment.

"Love isn't the same thing as taking care of somebody."

Sue's expression hardened.

"You don't have children. You don't understand."

Jena had heard variations of that argument often enough to recognize it as the end of any meaningful conversation.

She did not write the letter.

Afterward, she became distinctly unwelcome at Sue's house.

Beau considered her refusal a betrayal.

Sue treated it as an act of cruelty.

Even the boys seemed to understand that their aunt had somehow become the enemy, although Jena doubted anyone had explained the situation to them fairly.

It hurt.

But Jena could no longer bring herself to lie simply to preserve Beau's reputation.

She had done enough of that already.

By the end of spring, the worst of the immediate turmoil appeared to have passed.

Thallea was no longer living in the barndominium.

For the first time in months, Jena could wake without wondering what had been broken, stolen, or spoiled overnight.

The silence was almost luxurious.

She began sleeping later.

She ate meals without guarding her plate.

She could leave a clean kitchen in the evening and find it clean the following morning.

These were ordinary comforts, but Jena had gone so long without them that she found herself appreciating them with an almost embarrassing intensity.

She invited Sue to visit whenever she could.

Her mother seldom accepted.

Between Beau's older boys, the newborn, and her other family obligations, Sue had little time to spare.

Jena worried about her.

Sue sounded perpetually tired.

Sometimes she forgot details of conversations they had recently shared. At other times, she became uncharacteristically sharp over minor inconveniences.

Jena attributed the changes to exhaustion.

She had begun to think Beau was working their mother into an early grave.

The thought angered her, particularly because Beau continued speaking as though everything he did was for his children.

Jena had stopped finding that explanation reassuring.

Still, she missed her family.

She missed the boys.

She missed the familiar noise of Sue's kitchen and the sense that there had once been a place where she could arrive without being treated as an inconvenience.

But visiting now meant enduring Beau's resentment, Thallea's outbursts, and the uncomfortable silences of children who had learned that certain subjects were not to be discussed.

Jena had become an outsider in her own family.

She found it easier to remain home.

Life had a way of settling into whatever shape people were willing to accept.

Turner continued paying most of the barndominium's major expenses.

Jena, meanwhile, became increasingly adept at navigating Nate's financial affairs.

She discovered how many credit accounts remained available in his name and began using them to cover purchases she could no longer afford herself.

At first, she was cautious.

She bought groceries, household necessities, and things she could plausibly describe as expenses associated with maintaining the property.

Then she began using the accounts for other purchases.

The distinction became less important with every passing month.

Nate had spent years using their marriage to finance his private pleasures. Jena found it difficult to feel guilty about using his credit to make her own life more comfortable.

She knew there were legal and financial risks.

She simply preferred not to think about them.

Eventually, she reduced her hours at the childcare center until she was scarcely working at all.

She told herself she needed the rest.

That was true.

She also knew that returning to regular employment would mean surrendering much of the freedom she had recently recovered.

And Turner, for reasons she had never fully understood, continued ensuring that the house remained financially secure.

Ivy-Mae had finally lost interest in confronting her.

Having established what she believed was a superior claim to Nate's property, she seemed content to wait.

She stopped visiting him.

She stopped calling Jena.

For once, her absence was a blessing.

Gus occasionally telephoned to ask about Nate's condition, but even his inquiries became less frequent.

Nobody spoke seriously about Nate waking anymore.

At the facility in Colorado, his room was always kept unpleasantly cold.

The machines continued their work.

Monitors displayed numbers.

Equipment hummed.

Staff members spoke in practiced, reassuring phrases.

Jena had grown accustomed to the sight of her husband lying motionless beneath the

sheets.

Sometimes she wondered whether everyone involved had silently agreed to pretend that the absence of change constituted a form of hope.

She had stopped expecting a miracle.

Yet she continued visiting.

It was what she had always done.

And she was beginning to understand how much of her life had been spent continuing things simply because she had started them.

At the barndominium, Jena lived in increasing seclusion.

She finally brought Tiki home from Mrs. Flossie's.

The reunion was not what she had imagined.

Tiki recognized her, but he was quieter than before.

The playful chatter that had once filled the house came only intermittently.

He spent long periods sitting on his perch, watching the room without much interest.

Jena tried new toys.

She offered his favorite treats.

She spent hours talking to him.

Eventually, she brought home another bird, a companion she named Kora.

Kora was lively and curious.

Tiki tolerated her presence but seldom showed much interest.

Jena found the change heartbreaking.

She suspected that his long stay away from home, and perhaps too much time confined to his cage, had affected him.

She wished she could restore the bird she remembered.

But she was beginning to recognize a cruel principle that seemed to govern nearly everything in her life.

Damage could sometimes be repaired.

It could not always be undone.

The house itself had become strangely empty.

Without Thallea's constant noise and disorder, Jena could hear her footsteps echo through rooms that had once seemed warm and occupied.

She gathered Nate's personal belongings and packed them into storage containers in the garage.

His watches.

His clothing.

His photographs.

The expensive objects he had purchased and abandoned.

She labeled the containers carefully.

Part of her wanted to protect the things from Ivy-Mae.

Another part simply wanted them out of sight.

Jena rearranged the furniture to make the rooms feel different.

She moved chairs, exchanged rugs, and placed familiar objects where Nate would never have thought to put them.

Yet nothing she did made the house feel like hers.

It had been designed around Nate's tastes, his money, and his desire to impress people.

Jena had lived there, but she had never truly shaped it.

Even now, with Nate absent and Thallea gone, she felt like someone occupying a vacant estate on borrowed time.

The rumors circulating through Meadow Partings made her even less inclined to venture outside.

Some residents claimed she had killed Amber Coates in a jealous rage.

Others believed she had helped Nate conceal the circumstances of Amber's death.

There were stories about her marriage, her finances, and the supposed bargains she had made to remain in the house.

Jena knew that most of the rumors were false.

The few that contained fragments of truth were often the most humiliating.

She stopped going into town unless absolutely necessary.

Groceries and household supplies could be delivered.

Other purchases could be sent to her post office box.

She arranged her life so that she could go days without speaking to anyone.

At first, the solitude felt peaceful.

Then it began to feel like abandonment.

She spent evenings looking through old photographs and watching videos saved on her phone.

There were birthdays, vacations, holidays, and gatherings with people she no longer saw.

She watched younger versions of herself laughing at jokes she could no longer remember.

Sometimes she replayed the same recording several times, searching for the feeling she had experienced when it was made.

The feeling never returned.

Summer arrived with oppressive heat.

The Oklahoma sun baked the fields around Meadow Partings, and the roads shimmered beneath the afternoon glare.

Most residents escaped to the lake whenever they had the opportunity.

Jena remained indoors.

She had become pale from spending so much time inside, and she had little interest in exposing herself to the town's gossip.

On one particularly humid morning, someone began pounding on her front door.

The noise was so violent that Jena initially thought someone was trying to break in.

"Girl! Get the damn door!"

Jena froze.

She recognized the voice immediately.

"Jen! It's important!"

Thallea.

Jena went to the bedroom window and looked down.

Thallea stood on the porch wearing a purple sequined tube top and cutoff denim shorts folded down at the waist.

She was holding Tiger-Blood.

The infant was crying so hard that his face had turned red.

Even from the window, Jena could see dark circles beneath his eyes and irritated scratches around his mouth.

Sue's car was parked awkwardly behind Jena's truck.

Jena felt a surge of anger.

She had spent months recovering from Thallea's presence.

Now the woman was back, pounding on the house as though she had every right to enter.

The birds began shrieking.

Tiki fluttered anxiously on his perch.

Kora joined him.

Jena hurried downstairs.

Had Thallea arrived alone, Jena might have been tempted to answer the door holding one of Nate's firearms, if only to make it unmistakably clear that she was no longer welcome.

But there was a baby in her arms.

Jena opened the door.

"What do you want, Thallea?"

Thallea looked offended.

"Jeez. What's wrong with you?"

"Why are you here?"

"I just came to drop off the little guy for a visit."

Jena stared at her.

"What?"

Thallea shifted the crying infant.

"Here."

She thrust him toward Jena.

Jena instinctively reached out.

The baby felt alarmingly light.

She looked down at his face.

His skin was irritated, and he appeared exhausted.

"Thallea, what happened to him?"

"Nothing. He's just fussy."

"Has he eaten?"

"Of course."

Before Jena could ask anything else, Thallea stepped backward.

"I'll be back in a little."

"Wait a minute—"

But Thallea was already moving toward the car.

She climbed inside and drove away without saying when she intended to return.

Jena stood in the doorway holding the crying infant.

For several seconds, she could scarcely believe what had happened.

Then she closed the door.

Jena spread thick blankets across the living room floor and settled Tiger-Blood on them.

She checked his diaper and looked for signs of injury.

He was tired, uncomfortable, and clearly in need of attention.

She ordered infant supplies for delivery, including formula, diapers, and clean clothing.

Then she picked him up again and held him against her shoulder.

After several minutes, his crying subsided.

He fell asleep.

Jena looked down at him.

The child was so small.

She thought of Mickey-Moon, who had never come home from the hospital.

Then she thought of the three older boys and wondered how much of their childhood had already been consumed by the adults responsible for them.

She called Sue.

Her mother answered almost immediately.

"Jena?"

"Mom."

"I expect you're calling about Tiger-Blood."

"Thallea just dropped him on my doorstep."

Sue sighed.

"She did what?"

"She handed him to me and drove away. Didn't tell me where she was going or when she'd be back."

In the background, Jena heard Beau.

"Mom, why'd you answer the phone?"

His voice grew louder.

"That's our business. You know she's just going to call CPS again."

Jena closed her eyes.

Even now, Beau's primary concern was whether someone might report what had happened.

Sue lowered her voice.

"I can come get him, or you can bring him here."

"You'll have to come. I don't have a car seat."

"All right."

Sue sounded tired.

"It'll take me a little while."

"That's fine."

Beau continued complaining in the background.

Jena ended the call before she said something she would regret.

She knew her brother would not come to retrieve his own child.

Doing so would require acknowledging that Thallea had behaved irresponsibly.

And Beau seemed to consider defending Thallea more important than addressing whatever she had done.

Jena checked on Tiki and Kora.

The birds had quieted, although Tiki still appeared unsettled.

She spoke softly to him before returning to the living room.

Tiger-Blood remained asleep.

Jena sat beside him.

"I bet your mother's off doing something stupid," she murmured.

Her phone rang.

Turner.

Jena looked at the screen.

A familiar sense of dread settled over her.

She answered.

"Hello?"

"Jena."

Turner sounded irritated.

"Your brother's woman is setting off the security cameras at my house."

Jena closed her eyes.

Of course.

"She's doing what?"

"She's been wandering around my driveway. I want you to come get her before one of the

neighbors calls the police."

Jena stared at the sleeping baby.

"Turner, she just dropped her son off here."

"Then she should have plenty of time to leave my property."

He sounded thoroughly unimpressed.

"I don't need trouble right now. Come get her. Quietly."

Jena felt her face grow hot.

Turner was speaking to her as though she were an employee receiving instructions.

Worse, she knew she would probably comply.

He paid the expenses on her house.

He had made it possible for her to remain unemployed.

And although he had never explicitly demanded obedience in exchange, Jena was becoming increasingly conscious of the arrangement.

"I'm on my way," she said.

"Good."

The call ended.

Jena stared at her phone.

She had once considered Turner merely an unpleasant acquaintance.

Now she was beginning to understand that accepting his assistance had placed her within reach of his expectations.

She disliked the feeling.

But not enough to refuse him.

Jena could not leave Tiger-Blood alone.

She also had no infant car seat.

After several hurried telephone calls, she arranged for Mrs. Flossie to watch him temporarily.

She explained that there was a family emergency and offered to pay generously for the inconvenience.

Mrs. Flossie agreed, although she sounded concerned.

Jena brought the baby over in a borrowed, properly fitted infant seat and handed him into the older woman's care.

"Thank you," she said.

"Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Not particularly."

Mrs. Flossie looked down at the sleeping infant.

"Poor little fellow."

Jena could think of nothing to add.

She hurried back to her car.

When Jena arrived at Turner's property, Edgar was waiting near the front walkway.

He sat in the golf cart he used while maintaining the grounds.

His expression was one of profound disbelief.

He pointed toward the driveway.

"She's been going up and down there for a while now."

Jena followed his gesture.

Thallea was pacing near the entrance.

Her sequined top glittered in the sunlight.

"Mr. Turner said not to make any trouble," Edgar continued. "I've just been waiting for you."

Jena felt humiliated.

She had barely spoken to Thallea in months, yet somehow she remained responsible for retrieving her whenever she caused a disturbance.

She approached the driveway.

"Thallea!"

Thallea turned.

"Get over here. Now."

Thallea planted her hands on her hips.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're trespassing."

"I'm not trespassing."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Going for a walk."

Jena stared at her.

"A walk?"

"Yes."

"Up and down Turner's driveway?"

"It's a free country."

Jena approached and took her by the arm.

"Come on."

Thallea jerked away.

"You're making a scene!"

"You're the one who's been wandering around somebody else's house."

"Turner's gonna be mad at you."

Jena stopped.

"Who do you think called me?"

Thallea blinked.

"What?"

"Turner. He called me and told me to get you off his property."

For a moment, Thallea seemed genuinely stunned.

Then her expression hardened.

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You just want me to go back to Beau."

Jena gave a short, humorless laugh.

"I'd be delighted if the two of you broke up. Then perhaps I wouldn't have to keep dealing with this nonsense."

Thallea looked toward the house.

No one appeared.

Jena lowered her voice.

"Listen to me. This is beyond embarrassing. He doesn't want you here. Let's go."

Thallea resisted for another moment.

Then she allowed Jena to guide her toward the car.

Edgar watched silently.

Jena offered him an apologetic glance.

"Sorry about all this."

He shook his head.

"Not your doing, ma'am."

Jena wished that were true.

Thallea sat in the passenger seat with her arms crossed.

For the first time, she seemed embarrassed by her own appearance.

She tugged at her tube top and tried to cover her exposed midriff.

"You made it weird," she muttered.

Jena started the car.

"I made it weird?"

"I was just being polite."

"Thallea, nobody believes you happened to be strolling around Turner's driveway."

"I wasn't hurting anybody."

"That's not the point."

Jena pulled onto the road.

"You're lucky he didn't call the sheriff."

Thallea looked out the window.

"He's not like that."

"You don't know what he's like."

"Neither do you."

Jena glanced at her.

That, unfortunately, was not entirely untrue.

She knew Turner well enough to recognize his indifference, but not well enough to predict what he might do when seriously inconvenienced.

And Thallea seemed determined to inconvenience him.

"Whatever you think is happening between you two," Jena said, "it isn't happening."

Thallea said nothing.

A moment later, Jena noticed her wiping at one eye.

It was the first time she had seen Thallea cry without immediately turning the tears into an accusation.

For a brief moment, Jena felt sorry for her.

Thallea looked different from the last time Jena had seen her.

She had clearly spent considerable effort on her appearance.

Her hair was styled.

Her makeup was elaborate.

Her nails glittered.

Yet beneath the decoration, she seemed oddly diminished.

The aggressive confidence Jena remembered had given way to something uncertain.

Jena wondered whether motherhood had affected her more deeply than she admitted.

She thought of Tawny, Beau's former partner, who had struggled terribly after having children.

Perhaps Thallea was depressed.

Perhaps she was frightened.

Perhaps the responsibilities of caring for a medically fragile infant had overwhelmed her.

Jena disliked Thallea intensely, but she was not entirely incapable of sympathy.

She decided to try speaking gently.

"You've got a good thing with Beau," she said. "Why are you doing this?"

Thallea shifted in her seat.

"I don't know."

"Then why go to Turner's house?"

"I just thought..."

She stopped.

Jena waited.

"Thought what?"

"Maybe if..."

Thallea looked away.

The sentence remained unfinished.

Jena sighed.

"Turner isn't going to fall in love with you."

Thallea's jaw tightened.

"How do you know?"

"Because he's Turner."

"That's not an answer."

"He's a miserable old drug dealer who happened to strike oil. He cares about himself and his money. That's about it."

Thallea frowned.

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not."

Jena kept her eyes on the road.

"Look what happened with Emily. They were together for years. Everybody thought they'd get married. Then she got pregnant, and he wouldn't give her the life she wanted."

Thallea looked toward her.

"So?"

"So he wasn't willing to build a family with someone he supposedly loved. Why would you think he'd suddenly want to do it with you?"

Thallea folded her arms more tightly.

Jena continued.

"He didn't even seem particularly upset when his father died. He's not a sentimental

person."

"Maybe he just didn't like his dad."

"Maybe."

Jena glanced at her.

"But Beau loves you. Whatever else I think of him, he wants to be with you."

The words felt strange in her mouth.

She had spent months resenting her brother's willingness to overlook Thallea's behavior.

Yet here she was defending him.

Perhaps because, compared with Turner, Beau still seemed capable of ordinary human attachment.

Thallea stared at the passing fields.

"Beau's nice and all."

Jena waited.

"But I hate living with them."

"With who?"

"All of them."

Thallea sounded almost desperate.

"His mom. His kids. Everybody."

Jena felt a familiar irritation returning.

"They're your family."

"They're his family."

"You have a child with him."

"I know that!"

Thallea turned toward her.

"But it's always something. Somebody needs something. Somebody's crying. Somebody's hungry. Somebody wants me to clean something or help with something."

She looked down at her hands.

"I hate it."

Jena said nothing.

Thallea seemed to be thinking.

Then her expression changed.

"Maybe Turner doesn't like kids."

Jena frowned.

"What?"

"Maybe that's why he got rid of Emily."

"Thallea—"

"Maybe he won't spend time with me because I have kids."

Jena felt her stomach tighten.

The remark was so casually selfish that she struggled to respond.

Thallea had spoken about her children as though they were inconvenient accessories that might be interfering with her romantic prospects.

Jena thought of Tiger-Blood sleeping at Mrs. Flossie's house.

She thought of Mickey-Moon.

For a moment, she could not bring herself to look at Thallea.

"That's not it," she said at last.

"How do you know?"

"Because Turner has children of his own."

Thallea looked surprised.

"He does?"

"That's what people say. Several, supposedly. He doesn't acknowledge most of them publicly, and there have been rumors about how he handles support obligations."

Jena shook her head.

"The point is that he doesn't want a family with you. He doesn't want the responsibility."

Thallea looked out the window again.

Jena tried one last time.

"Beau may have his faults, but he's there because he wants to be. Turner isn't offering you anything."

Thallea made a dismissive noise.

Jena turned on the radio.

A baseball game filled the silence.

She had no desire to continue discussing the subject.

But Thallea's remark stayed with her.

Maybe he won't spend time with me because I have kids.

Jena wondered what sort of mother could think such a thing.

They stopped at Mrs. Flossie's house to retrieve Tiger-Blood.

The older woman answered the door wearing a quilted housecoat.

She held the baby carefully against her chest.

He had been wrapped in a clean towel because the few diapers and spare clothes Jena had brought were already used.

Mrs. Flossie looked concerned.

"Is everything all right?"

"More or less."

"Do you have to go out of town?"

"No. I just had to retrieve his mother."

Jena gestured toward the car.

Thallea sat inside, staring down at her lap.

Mrs. Flossie looked from the car to the baby.

Her expression tightened.

"Poor little thing."

Jena took Tiger-Blood into her arms.

She wondered whether she should call child protective services.

She had already seen how easily Beau could persuade everyone that he was trying his best.

She imagined another investigation, another set of promises, and another arrangement that eventually returned the child to the same circumstances.

The thought discouraged her.

She thanked Mrs. Flossie and carried the baby to the car.

When she opened the passenger door, Thallea made no move to take him.

"Here," Jena said.

Thallea kept her arms folded.

Jena stared at her.

Then she closed the door and secured the infant in his car seat herself.

She was too tired to argue.

When they returned to the barndominium, the supplies Jena had ordered were waiting.

She carried Tiger-Blood inside and began preparing a bottle.

Thallea wandered into the living room.

Jena found an old sweater for her.

"Put this on before Mom gets here."

Thallea accepted it without argument.

The lack of resistance was almost unsettling.

Jena returned to the kitchen.

She was measuring formula when she heard an engine start outside.

She looked through the window.

Sue's car was pulling away.

Thallea was behind the wheel.

Jena stared.

For a moment, she considered running outside.

Then the car disappeared down the driveway.

Thallea had left again.

Without her son.

Without an explanation.

Without even pretending that she intended to return.

Jena looked down at the bottle in her hand.

She wondered how often this happened when nobody else was around to intervene.

How many times had Sue been left holding the baby?

How often had Beau dismissed the situation as a misunderstanding?

How much neglect had become ordinary in that household?

Jena finished preparing the bottle.

Tiger-Blood began crying.

She picked him up.

For the moment, his needs were more important than her anger.

Sue arrived roughly an hour and a half later.

Jena answered the door holding Tiger-Blood.

"She's gone," Jena said.

Sue closed her eyes.

"Of course she is."

"She took your car."

Sue muttered a profanity under her breath.

Jena was startled.

Her mother rarely swore.

Sue looked exhausted.

Her face was drawn, and her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her handbag.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Jena stepped aside.

"Come in."

Sue hesitated.

"I've got the boys at home, and your father's infection isn't getting any better. The doctors keep changing things, and nothing seems to help."

She rubbed her forehead.

"Now this nonsense."

Jena felt a sudden pang of affection and sorrow.

Sue had spent so much of her life caring for other people that she scarcely seemed to recognize her own exhaustion.

And Beau, rather than relieving the burden, continued adding to it.

"Mom," Jena said gently, "call Beau."

Sue looked up.

"Tell him you're here with the baby and that you're having lunch with me."

"I really ought to get back."

"No."

Jena surprised herself with the firmness of her voice.

"You need to rest."

Sue looked toward the driveway.

"There's so much to do."

"There's always going to be something to do."

Jena shifted Tiger-Blood in her arms.

"Come inside. Have lunch. You can lie down in my room afterward. I'll watch the baby."

Sue hesitated.

"Beau's going to be upset."

"Then he can be upset."

Jena gave her a small smile.

"He and Thallea can sort out their problems without making you do it for them."

Sue stood silently for a moment.

Then her expression softened.

"You know," she said, "that's a mighty fine idea."

She stepped inside.

Jena closed the door behind her.

For a little while, at least, her mother would be allowed to rest.

Jena looked down at Tiger-Blood.

He was beginning to fuss again.

She adjusted the blanket around him.

Somewhere in the house, Tiki called out from his perch.

Sue smiled faintly at the familiar sound.

Jena felt a brief warmth in her chest.

It was the first time in months that the house had seemed capable of offering anyone comfort.

But as she watched her mother walk slowly toward the kitchen, Jena could not help noticing

how much older Sue appeared.

She wondered how long it had been since anyone had asked what Sue needed.

And she wondered, with a bitterness she was not yet prepared to acknowledge, how much of her mother's life Beau intended to consume before he finally considered it enough.