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Chapter 32: The Truth At Last

Scout and George almost came to blows over the clean up. Scout hadn't been thinking about that part of things, to be sure, she'd only been thinking of ending Jess's pain; doing it with a shot gun, however, had been an incredibly short-sighted and messy way to do it. Scout didn't want George to have any part of what came after, but George, of course, felt the same about the person carrying his child.

In the end, they silently did it together. George got a tarp and they lifted what was left of Jess onto it, putting it into a wheelbarrow. George then wheeled it to the edge of the yard, where Jess liked to lie and sun herself. He began digging a hole while Scout got the hose and power attachment and began hosing the mess off the terrace. George didn't want her to, but she assured him that she'd be okay, and she was, just barely.

They finished burying her in the misty twilight of the winter evening, with Bandit howling mournfully as George tamped down the last shovelful of dirt. He refused to let Scout help with any of the digging, and his hands were a blistered and bleeding mess.

"I'll plant something pretty here in the spring," Scout said thoughtfully. "Maybe a hydrangea from the front. She liked the blue ones, you know? She liked to lie under them and keep cool.

"Come on, I'll run you a bath, and I can tend to your hands, okay?" Scout said softly, leading him to the house. He let himself be led, trying to stretch out the kinks in his back.

"How are you?" he asked, looking carefully at her face. "You have circles under your eyes, darling, you should put your feet up and have some tea or something, I think."

"Don't be ridiculous, George, I'm fine," Scout said. "Let me take care of you a little bit, please." She turned to look at him as they climbed the stairs. "And we need to talk, I think. About a lot of things."

He blinked at her, finally nodding soberly.

She drew a warm bath and helped him undress, piling his filthy clothes in a towel, wrapping them up so she could carry them straight to the washing machine. He lay back in the water, and she cleaned him, helping him wash the horrible, awful day off his body, washing his hair and piling it on top of his head. She scrubbed at his fingernails, using a brush to remove the dirt that was packed into them, while trying not to aggravate the abrasions and blisters on his palms any more than they already were.

When he was getting out, he began to cry, saying over and over, "Did you hear her? Did you hear her Scout? She was in so much pain." He grabbed on to her, and she held him firmly, hand on his neck, soothing him as best she could.

"She was happy for twelve years, George," she said. "She was only in pain for three or four minutes. That's not a bad ratio by any stretch. Think of that, okay? She had a wonderful life, a really great life with you." She released him. "Now come on, let's get you dressed."

She got him in fresh underwear, and left him lying in bed while she took a quick shower, getting the grisly day off herself as well. She quickly put on fresh pjs and went back to George. She had him roll over on his tummy and worked on his back muscles for a while, pressing firmly with her long, strong fingers as she straddled him.

She finished up by applying disinfecting salve to his hands and making them tea. They finally both sat, facing each other in the lounge, next to a fire Scout had built, looking at each other with exhausted, reddened eyes.

Scout sighed.

"Oh, George, I'm so sorry," she began. "I know what it's like to lose an animal member of the family. People who don't have pets don't get it, but believe me, I do."

He looked at her. "But you know there's more to it, don't you? You know this is my fault?"

Scout bit her lips together and looked around the room. She took a deep breath.