The Forsaken

Qui

The long-haired and long-bearded bartender, a fella named Chip, poured them both some more coffee. Except for the Skynyrd tee, he looked like an authentic mountain man.

“Damn, Qui

“You know who you sound like?”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Lillie Virgil.”

“God damn it all to hell.”

The Southern Star was a long shot, narrow brick bar right off the Jericho Square, not too old since legal bars were something new to Tibbehah County. The bar ran along the left side of the room, the walls decorated with stuffed ducks, deer heads, and SEC and NASCAR memorabilia. A framed rebel flag adorned the wall in back of the bar, behind all the whiskey bottles. But Qui

There was a stage at the far end of the bar where J.T., the local muffler man, was plugging in his bass to the motherboard, and a drummer Qui

Her face flushed as she passed and set down her guitar on the stage. She seemed to pause and hang there for a few moments and then clomped back to Qui

“Ma’am?”

“Caddy said we could talk.”

“She did.”

“How about now?”

Qui

“You think I don’t know Boom Kimbrough? His daddy worked at the Farm & Ranch for twenty years before my stepdaddy died.”

“Ole Mr. Castle,” Boom said. “How’s your momma and them?”

“Doing fine,” Diane said. “Appreciate you asking. And your daddy?”

“Working security at the mall in Tupelo.”

And then there was a little bit of silence, enough silence that Boom was confident to excuse himself and say hello to J.T., who was readying the stage. Diane sat up with Qui

“That’s pretty outlaw.”

“Helps with the nerves,” Diane said. “Whenever I have to sing, doesn’t matter if there are two people or two hundred, I get a little shaky inside. A couple drinks stokes some confidence. Makes my voice sound smoother.”

Qui

“I really don’t know very much,” Qui

“I think,” Diane said, pushing back her black hair with her fingers, one silver streak hanging loose. “I think. Hell, I don’t know. I don’t know where to begin. You ever think something is as important in the dark of the night and then you wake up and find yourself trying to get some meaning out of it?”

“I do.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Qui

“Please don’t call me ma’am,” Diane said, leaning into the bar. “Makes me feel old as hell.”

“Miss Tull?”

“Shit . . .”

“Diane?”

“Better.”

“And so Caddy says you and me need to talk.”

“That all she said?”

“Yep.”

Chip laid down the whiskey and the beer. Diane threw it back and chased it with the Coors. She took another sip and stayed there all silent as J.T. hit some runs on his bass, the unknown drummer banging his kit, testing things for the show. Diane Tull’s guitar set still in the case, waiting for her to come up and lead them through that Outlaw Country set, talking about raising hell, drinking, heartache, and love with such an absolute truth that Qui

“Me and you haven’t spoken that much,” Diane said.

Qui

“But you know who I am?”

Qui

“I don’t mean me the crazy lady at the feed store but the me you know for what happened when I was a teenager?”

Qui

“I never wanted to bring that up again.”

“I understand.”

“But all of this, what happened to the town, and other things that have come to light, have made me want to talk about it,” Diane said. “Now I don’t give a shit what you do. I don’t care if you file a report or investigate or whatever it is you do. I just want to tell the sheriff, someone different than those men I told—no offense because I know Hamp Beckett was your uncle—but just to make sure there’s some kind of memory, facts, to what Lori and I went through that night. It should be remembered.”

“Lori was the girl who was murdered?”

Diane nodded. She breathed, licked her lips, and swallowed.

“I don’t want to talk about it now . . . or here,” she said. “Can I come by the sheriff’s office tomorrow? I can take you out and show you where it happened. You know it’s your sister who wants me to do this.”

“Caddy has her way.”

“Caddy gives me a shit ton of strength,” Diane said. “What she did, taking on things after that tornado, helping out so many, despite her personal grief. Caddy Colson is my hero.”

“Mine, too,” Qui

“Come by tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Appreciate you, Sheriff,” Diane said. “But if you call me ma’am again, I’ll try and break your fingers.”

Diane Tull marched up to the stage and within five minutes, as Boom and Qui

•   •   •

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