The Other Shoe by Matt Pavelich Page B

that, then maybe you will have to shoot somebody. ’Cause you’re pissin’ me off. How you can talk about your own girl this way—poor-mouth her? She’s a good girl, and you oughtta know that. What’s wrong with you? Fuck you. Shoot me.”
    â€œThink I wouldn’t?”
    â€œI think I don’t care. Shoot or put it up; don’t embarrass yourself. Ah, but it’s too late, Dent. Shoot. Go on and shoot me.”
    â€œWait,” said Karen.
    Galahad sent a round into one of the tires under Henry’s trailer, which popped, and they all flinched and then stood there looking from one to the other. Galahad leveled the .243 at Henry’s chest, and Henry said once again, “Fuck you.”
    â€œHe doesn’t even use that word around me,” Karen told her father. “Now, see what you’re doin’? Stop it. You’re crazy. You are crazy, and I don’t like you, and I wanted to live anywhere but where you are. Stop it. Henry doesn’t even talk that way.”
    â€œShoot,” said Henry. “Don’t stand there shakin’, shoot me.”
    â€œHenry,” she said, “would you please shut up? Please?”
    â€œI don’t like what he said. This is a good girl, she’s your own daughter, and I don’t see how you missed it, or didn’t know. Why do I have to be the one to tell you she’s a good girl? That’s what’s wrong here—me havin’ to tell you.”
    â€œHe’s crazy, Henry. He can’t see anything. He doesn’t know anything.” Her father’s forefinger, she saw, was snug on the trigger, and the rifle’s barrel ended just a foot from Henry Brusett’s heart. “Look,” she said, “if it makes you happy, I’ll marry him. Why not?”
    â€œYou don’t have to do one damn thing,” said Henry.
    â€œWhat if I wanted to? How do you know I wouldn’t want to?”
    â€œKaren,” said Henry, “now, this is gettin’ out of hand.”
    Galahad’s lips were crusted white, his breathing shallow but loud.
    â€œI said I’d marry him.”
    â€œNo,” said Henry.
    â€œI want to,” she said.
    A vein burst in Galahad’s nose and splattered his sandy mustache.
    â€œNo, I really want to. Who else would I marry, anyway? Who’d suit me better than you would?”
    â€œAbout anybody,” said Henry. “Anybody, honey. Now, quit it, or you’ll get me cryin’.”
    â€œHoney?” said Galahad Dent.
    â€œHe doesn’t call me that. And he doesn’t use bad language, either. Usually. Put down that gun. Come on. Please. Before anything can happen.”
    â€œI guess we could try and make a little sense here,” said Henry. “But Mr. Dent, you have got no business . . . You got a wonderful girl, and you talk like this? You even hear yourself?”
    Eyes twitching and raised to heaven, Galahad pleaded, “Master, let me know.” He knelt and they waited an odd amount of time untilhe had his answer or was bored with waiting for it, and then Galahad finally unslung the .243 and laid it on the ground before him. He remained on one knee, too tired or too contrite to rise. A crow called to another crow off in the trees, and a gray squirrel capered out over open ground. Henry toed the rifle to point it away from everyone.
    â€œThe same thing still goes,” said Karen. “I’d like to marry you. For me, not for him or what he thinks. I’d like to. For me. This is modern times, and I’m the whattayacallit. The age of consent. Anyway, I can propose to somebody, I think, like, legally. Sorry it had to be this way, but that’s what I’m doin’. So, do you want to, Henry? Get married? To me, I mean?”
    It took her three days to convince him, as she had convinced herself in a moment, that he was her only sufferable option. She asked him to call her, though she