V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone 22)

“Why would you let him use leg-hold traps? Those are horrible. They can snap an animal’s leg in two. If the poor things don’t bleed to death, they’re in excruciating pain. Why would you agree to something so barbaric? Those coyotes have never bothered us.”

“They’re predators. They’ll eat anything. Birds, garbage, carrion. You name it.”

Gretchen said, “I’ll tell you something gruesome. A friend of ours had her little shih tzu dragged off and eviscerated. She was standing right there. The poor dog all bloody and screaming. She said it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. She went out and bought a shotgun and she keeps it by the back door. She won’t go out in the yard now unless she’s armed.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Nora said.

Gretchen said, “I beg to differ. Even where we are, you can hear them howling after dark. Sounds like a pack of wild Indians about to attack. It gives me the willies.”

“I better keep my pistol loaded,” Channing said with a smile. “If the traps don’t work, I can pick them off from the deck.”

“You have a pistol?” Gretchen asked.

“Of course.”

“Well, aren’t you the wily one. I had no idea.”

“Stop it,” Nora snapped. “If that man sets leg-hold traps, I’m firing him.”

“Well, you better be quick about it. He picked the traps up yesterday and he’s using chicken carcasses for bait.”

“Won’t work,” Robert said. “They’re too smart. Even the faintest whiff of humans, a coyote won’t come anywhere close.”

Nora snatched her bag and got up. “I’m going out to the car. You want to talk about this shit, you can do it without me.”

On the way home, Channing made an attempt to jolly her out of her mood. “It was a joke,” he said.

“There’s nothing funny about suffering.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Jesus, Channing, nothing’s wrong. Coyotes were here long before we were. We’re the ones encroaching on their territory, not the other way around. Why don’t you just leave them in peace?”

“So now you’re an environmentalist?”

“Don’t be snide. It’s unbecoming.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so fucking righteous. I mean, give me a break.”

“Don’t push it off on me.”

“Fine. I’m just telling you the Hellers were offended you made such a scene.”

She leaned her head back against the seat. “Who cares about them?”

“What do you care about?”

“I’ve lost track.”

They made love that night, which was strange, given the strain between them. She initiated the sex, fueled by fury and despair. The reality of Channing with Thelma was like a dark aphrodisiac. If the woman was competition, then let her compete with this. She straddled him, pounding away as though riding him until the pleasure peaked between them, harsh and raw. He flipped her over on her back, dragging her to the edge of the bed and lifting her hips while he drove into her again, his legs braced. There was a barely suppressed violence in the encounter, something savage in the way they went at each other, and if what she felt wasn’t love, at least it was a feeling of some kind, intense and immediate.

Afterward, they lay together, winded, and when he turned his head and looked at her, she knew he was present. In his face, she could see the Channing she’d loved once upon a time, the Channing who’d loved her even while her heart was broken and she was half dead, emotion drained out of her, leaving only dust. She felt tears welling and she turned over onto her side so he couldn’t see her face. She might have regained her composure if he hadn’t seemed so kind. He said, “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. She turned onto her back and covered her eyes, feeling the tears seep into her hair. There was no holding back. She felt herself dissolve, and she wept as she had as a child when pain and disappointment were at their sharpest. She wept as she had as an adult when she’d been dealt a blow so bitter there was no coming back. She allowed him to comfort her, which she hadn’t done in months. She remembered how sweet he’d been and how patient. “Oh, god. It all seems so hopeless,” she said. She tucked the sheet under her arms and pulled herself up into a sitting position, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Not so. Not hopeless at all.”

He stroked her hair, which was tangled and wet from tears and from the sweat of their lovemaking.