Did he have nightmares before? asks Adeline.
A few nights back in his own bed and he’ll be fine, Margaret says. He needs to eat healthy and get some exercise and he’ll be fine.
Well. Don’t you be the one chasing after him. Let his mother do that with her young legs.
Margaret laughs softly. Lorna? I’m betting she won’t last a year. The first good-looking fellow passes through Dalton she’ll be flagging him down in the street, begging him to take her away. As long as it’s to someplace bigger than Dalton.
And leave her child behind?
That’s my guess.
Adeline shakes her head. That’ll make you mother and grandmother both to the boy. You ready to take that on?
Just what George asked me. Yes. I’m ready.
The smoke that Adeline exhales shows up as a gray stream in the kitchen darkness. And what’ll you tell the boy when he asks about his father and his grandfather?
I’ll say they were good men. Good men who never wanted anything but what was best for him.
Adeline Witt nods and crushes out her cigarette in the ashtray.
Just so you know, Margaret says. That call I made earlier? That was collect. So you don’t have to worry about something mysterious showing up on your telephone bill.
Oh, hush. No one’s worried about that. That was your daughter, I take it.
Margaret nods vigorously. That was Janie.
And how did that go?
She’s not coming back.
Not even for—
She’s not coming. Not that I believed for a minute she would. And she had a few choice words for me that I won’t pass on.
Well, says Adeline, we raise them to live their own lives.
We do. We do indeed.
The women are silent for a long time and then Margaret stands up. I believe I’ll head back to bed, she says. I’d like to get an early start in the morning and I imagine I’ll have a hell of a time getting those two out of bed.
As Margaret walks past, Adeline reaches out an arm and pulls her close. Margaret bends over and rests her chin on top of Adeline’s head. Margaret’s vibration passes through her friend’s skull and for an instant it’s as if two women can think the same thoughts.
...
Jimmy Blackledge sits up high in the backseat on the suitcase still packed tight with the clothing that would have kept his grandfather warm during the winter to come. In the front seat the two widows watch Montana diminish with each revolution of the Hudson’s wheels.
Soon they are among the first rocky rifts and ginger-red eruptions of the Badlands. When the lacerations in the landscape deepen into gorges, Jimmy climbs down from his roost and settles on the floor below the backseat as though something in the land’s shadows reminds him of the darkness he saw in the closet the night before. On the floor he remains, moving the pegs in and out of the holes of the cribbage board Homer Witt gave him to amuse himself on his trip.
Once Dalton looms close enough for its water tower to glint in the October sunlight, however, Jimmy climbs back up to his perch as if, like an animal, he can sense the nearness of home.
Thanks to Meredith Kessler, Sue Ostfield, Kate Strickland, Patrick Thomas, Allison Wigen, Will Wlizlo, and everyone at Milkweed for their efforts on this book’s behalf. A special thanks to Daniel Slager for his care and insight. Our conversations have been invaluable.
I’m fortunate indeed to be working with PJ Mark, one of the finest agents in the business, and I thank him for his friendship and support.
And thanks as always to Susan Watson, to whom this novel is dedicated, for her belief in this book and its author. Without her faith, there’d be no book.
LARRY WATSON is the author of eight works of fiction, among them Montana 1948 and American Boy. He is the recipient of the Milkweed National Fiction Prize, the Friends of American Writers Award, two fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, and many other prizes and awards. He teaches writing and literature at Marquette University, in Milwaukee, where he lives with his wife, Susan. For more, see Larry-Watson.com
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Larry Watson, Let Him Go: A Novel
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