Cold Blood by Theresa Monsour Read Free Book Online Page A

six-month anniversary. She eyed the cap with suspicion. “What’s this E.P. stand for?” Trip thought his pa was going to pass out.
    She was Trip’s first crush, and she knew it. She’d laugh and tell him, “For all you know, I’m old enough to be your mama.” Cammie was one of those women who slathered on the makeup and kept her age a big secret. She told him she’d run away from home because her ma’s boyfriend tried to get into her pants, so Trip suspected she wasn’t that much older than he. Still, she didn’t dress or act much like a teenager and she had a hard edge. She didn’t laugh or smile much, but she was good to him. Called him “Sweet Justice” or “Sweet.” She didn’t mind his stutter. Told him she used to stutter. He didn’t believe her; to his ears, she articulated like a radio announcer. They’d go to movies together. Cartoons. She loved anything by Walt Disney. One night some older kids from school saw the two of them together. She caught them giving Trip dirty looks. She grabbed his ass in front of them and kissed him hard on the mouth. One of them dropped his popcorn. Trip loved her for it. She took him to a motel after the movie. He was fourteen. Not long after, Cammie and Pa had an argument. Trip heard them yelling at each other one night, then Cammie crying. Trip rolled over and went to sleep. Cammie was one for dramatics. He figured the fight was over the bookkeeping. They always fought over the bookkeeping. Pa thought Cammie was doing a little skimming; he kept her on anyway. Whatever she was holding over his pa’s head, Trip was glad for it.
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    SHE was with them about a year, until she was struck by a car one autumn night while walking home from the shop. She’d left Trip’s pa behind to close up. Dark side street.No witnesses. Paramedics said she might have lived had they gotten to her a little sooner. Had the driver stopped and summoned help. The police never caught who did it. The only clues were two quarters wiped clean of prints. One placed on each side of her head. Cops guessed whoever killed her left the money as some kind of final insult, like she was a two-bit whore or something. Trip imagined the accident. Played it over and over in his head. In his mind’s eye, she was run over by a car filled with jealous teenagers like the ones at the movie theater. Sometimes they were headed to a dance and other times they were coming back from a football game. Always ended the same, though. Snow White sprawled on the street. Coins tossed out of a car window. Laughter coming from the car as it squealed away.
    His pa was as broken up as he was. Trip wondered if they’d had another fight that night and that’s why she stomped off. When Trip asked him what had happened, the response was nearly the same as when he asked about his missing ma: “Ran off. That’s all I know.” His pa shipped her body down to Baton Rouge, where he said she had family. Trip wanted to go to the funeral but his old man told him they were headed in the other direction. They sold everything and moved to Minnesota—about as far north as they could drive without leaving the country. They kept a few Elvis souvenirs. A snow globe with a miniature of Graceland inside. A box of cigarette lighters engraved with a line drawing of Graceland. A clock with The King’s swinging legs as the pendulum. A green street sign that said Elvis Presley Boulevard . Trip made sure he took her E.P. hat; it carried her smell. Herbal shampoo and Charlie cologne.
    His pa got work cleaning a Catholic high school in St. Paul. The principal gave Trip free tuition. Wasn’t any better or worse than public school in Tennessee. Like back in Memphis, the other students teased him about his stutter. They had the additional ammunition of his pa being the janitor. His accent was the biggest, easiest target,however. Between classes, the