A Sky for Us Alone

by Kristin Russell

  I turned the car off and got out. “Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t see you behind me. Thought I had the right of way. I won’t take long.”

  “Come here, son,” the man yelled, and leaned even farther out the window.

  “Just one minute.” I turned to the pump, my hand shaking. I wanted to speed things up and leave without talking to him at all. I’d never seen him or his truck before, and hoped I never would again.

  He slapped the side of his truck. “Get over here, now.”

  I thought about ignoring him and going about my business, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d accept that, or anything else I might do in the situation. So I did as he said, and walked over to his truck. He snapped the gum in his mouth and wouldn’t look at me, but stared ahead, into the back of our car. Before I could see it coming, his hand flew straight out of the window for my throat. I inhaled fast when he grabbed me, but his grip was so tight that I lost my breath. I couldn’t swallow, and all of my muscles froze solid. The heat rose from the cement, and my feet slipped on something wet beneath me. I reached for anything to hold on to, but found only air. He pulled me even closer and my body slammed against his truck. My rib ached with the impact and so did the lung beneath it. The man pushed his face right up next to mine, close enough for me to see the scar that ran from one edge of his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, and pulled his lip into a smile that chilled the sweat dripping down my spine.

  “I don’t wait for the things I need.” He squeezed my throat even harder.

  His hand was so tight that air couldn’t get through to my brain. My skull pulsed. His face faded from my vision. The next thing I knew, I was hanging over the trash can, where I must have fallen when he let go. I touched my neck where he’d wrung me like a washrag, and looked up into the station windows, hoping someone had seen what happened and would offer me some help.

  “Go on. Damn it, do I need to move your car for you?” he said.

  I didn’t look back at him but stumbled toward the car and managed to put the shaking keys into the ignition. I couldn’t drive away from there fast enough, and sped back to the post office, where I found Mama waiting for me outside. I wrapped my hand around my neck and waited for her to get in the car.

  “What happened to you? You’re drenched all the way through,” she said after she took the seat.

  “We still need gas,” I said. “And your smokes.”

  “You didn’t run into Tommy somewhere, did you?” She gripped her seat and stared at me, shaking almost as much as I was.

  “No. Just an asshole looking to pick a fight with someone, I think. You might as well cash the check now while we’re here at the bank, if that’s what you wanted to do with it.” I wished that I didn’t have to point out the sensible thing to her.

  At the drive-through teller, she took the pen from the round plastic container in the vacuum and signed the back of the check. “Seven hundred and twelve dollars. That’s what the mine says his life was worth, with Amos Prater’s signature at the bottom to make it all official.”

  It was the most money we’d ever seen at once, but it still wasn’t enough to give us what we really needed.

  After the bank, I drove back to the gas station, and breathed a little easier when I saw the man was gone. I turned off the engine and Mama walked straight inside while I got out of the car to once again try to pump the gas. The numbers finally clicked on the pump after more trouble than anyone should ever have with something so simple. I looked over my shoulder to where the man’s truck had been. Remembering the scar on his face dizzied me again and I leaned against the car to catch my balance.

  Mama walked up beside me and tore the plastic off the carton.

  “I’m all right to drive now,” she said. “Thought we could get some Blizzards at the Dairy Queen before we go back?”

  “No, Mama. I want to get the hell out of here. Did you see what that guy did to my neck?”

  Her face fell and she took a pack of cigarettes from the carton. “I’m sorry he hurt you. It just feels good to be out of the house for a minute. Being there only reminds me that Nathaniel isn’t.”

  “It’ll get better with time. That’s what everyone says, anyway.” I still didn’t feel like she’d seen the mark on my skin or cared all that much about it.

  She lit a cigarette. “They only tell you that because they don’t know what else to say.”

  We were both quiet on the way back. Mama looked out the window through her sunglasses and let the wind blow against her face.

  Chapter 8

  I DROPPED MAMA OFF at home, then drove the car straight over to the Draughns. Their place became my second home when Mama was pill-sick years ago, and now with Nate gone, I knew I’d need them just as much again. Walking up the stairs to their porch, I found Mr. Draughn sitting in his rocking chair. He hummed a tune with his eyes closed and his mandolin laid across his lap. He didn’t play it much anymore, after Chuck Gibbons, his fiddling buddy, passed a couple years back, but he still liked to keep it nearby. I used to love to listen to them play their old-timer tunes. I stood square in front of him and he opened one eye and smiled an almost toothless grin, but before he could say anything to me, Mama Draughn threw the screen door open. “I was hoping I’d see you today,” she said. She held the battered door while I walked inside. It hung halfway off its hinge, loose from years of her hearty welcomes.

  As soon as we stepped foot inside, I recognized the familiar scent of her greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread, all cooking in bacon fatback, which she insisted was the only way anyone should ever cook anything. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist, hugged me, and said, “Set,” then pointed to their kitchen table in the middle of the room. Her oak walls were painted white, and the yellow curtains over her windows were open to the sunlight. While I sat, she walked to her old icebox, brought out a pitcher of sweet tea, and poured two glasses for us. I looked at the photographs and clippings of her daughter, June, on the back wall. June the beauty pageant queen, now gone off to California and living the life of a movie star, Mama D said. Only I’d heard that someone spotted her in a titty bar two counties over not long ago, and that she already looked near fifty. I didn’t blame Mama D for lying about June, if she really knew the truth. I think she was only saying out loud what she wanted most to believe.

  Mama D handed me the glasses of tea when I stood to help. “I got the rest,” she said. I watched her fill the plates with food, including thick slices of tomato she slid off her cutting board.

  “Where do you get those?” I asked, pointing to the tomatoes left on the counter. “Not from the Sip N Sak, that’s for sure.”

  “Farmer’s market over in Griggin, almost every week. I’ll take you with me sometime. Didn’t used to have to travel at all. We’d have more vegetables here than we could eat in the summers, and spent many nights canning and pickling all the extra. Soil’s changed now, and things have been coming up too spindly and weak.” She set the plates on the table and took the seat across from me.

  “Is Mr. Draughn not eating with us?”

  “You know he runs on his own watch these days. After all the hours he’s clocked underground, the last thing he needs from me is a schedule. Plus, he knows I want some talking time with ya.”

  “This is the first I’ve felt my stomach growl in days with the heat and then—” I said, looking at all the food on my plate.

  “Well, go on, then. But it would be smart to save a little room for pie.” She picked up her fork and waited for me to do the same.

  “I didn’t see one on the counter, but you know I was hoping for it.” I went for the collards first, then picked up the buttered cornbread.

  When I tipped my glass in the air to drink some tea, she pointed at my neck and said, “That ain’t a love mark on your neck. You get in a scuffle?”

  I didn’t want to think about the gas station, especially when her food was already making me feel better. “It’s just a scrape. You heard
anything about this new foreman at the mine? His kids came in the Sip N Sak yesterday. She seemed nice. I mean, they seemed nice. Both of them.”

  Mama Draughn laughed and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You mean nice as in pretty, don’t you? I knew you stopped in for some reason other than my cooking. I heard about them, all right. He left a mess behind in Chatham.”

  “I figured you’d have the story for me.”

  “I’ll save it for the pie.”

  She knew that would focus me on eating dinner, and laughed a little when I bent over the plate and set to work with my fork and knife.

  “The pie’s not going anywhere, ya know,” she said. “And neither am I.”

  “I know, but now you’ve got me thinking about it.” Well, the pie and also hearing everything she knew about Tennessee. “Can I take the rest of this home? I don’t want it to go to waste. Got just the right amount of room left in my stomach for dessert.”

  “Of course. Was planning on fixing you a to-go bag, anyway. Stay put,” she said, when I tried to get up.

  I saw that she’d hardly touched her plate, and felt bad when she took both of them over to the counter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rush you,” I said.

  “I wasn’t all that hungry,” she answered. “Hazard of being in the kitchen all day. Watching you enjoy the food brings me a lot more pleasure than eating does, anyway. All right then.” She turned toward me with a pie in one hand and two forks in the other. “Tell me what you think of the filling. I tried something new to you.”

  She set the pie between us and handed me a fork. “Well, go on,” she said, waiting for me to take the first bite.

  “You don’t want to cut slices of it first?”

  “Nope. Sometimes you have to break some rules along with the crust. Tastes better that way, I think.”

  I didn’t waste time and broke a small piece off the edge. Some of it crumbled on the way to my mouth, but the part that made it melted on my tongue. “Damn,” I said. “Every single time.” Then I stuck my fork right in the middle of the pie, watching her as I did it to see if she’d squirm at my rule breaking, but she giggled and nodded, waiting for me to take my first real bite. The color was a bright red, but it wasn’t cherry, and the texture wasn’t your typical strawberry either.

  “Go ahead. Eat it, don’t just stare at it.”

  I did as she said, and closed my eyes before I swallowed. “It’s perfect,” I said, and reached for another bite.

  “Bet you never thought you’d love vegetables for dessert. Rhubarb-strawberry.”

  “I’d eat this all day every day,” I said. “But you’re right. Wouldn’t have guessed it was a vegetable pie. I’ll say it again, you should sell these, you know. You’d make a killing.” The last word didn’t sit right with either one of us, but I was glad she didn’t say anything about it and moved along.

  “I’ve no interest in that. Haven’t made a rhubarb one since my mama died. That’s her recipe, right there, and she got it from my granny. Reminds me—those children you were speaking of, the Moores. Their mama died, but I don’t know all the details about it. I heard that soon after she passed, their daddy got his leg cut off in the Chatham mine for the disability check.”

  “That don’t make him any different from a lot of people round here.”

  She took a bite of pie and then a sip of her tea. “No, but it’s only the desperate that go and do a thing like that on purpose. I think they’ve moved around quite a bit, and wherever they went, he always lived up to the reputation that preceded him. Word is, he got fired after leaving a mantrip running and collapsing half the mine on account of it.”

  “I wonder why Amos took him on, then.”

  “Maybe he sensed the desperation would make him more loyal. You can be sure he had some reason for it, whatever it was.”

  I rested my fork and lifted the cool glass of tea. It dripped onto the table and ran down my arm. “Amos doesn’t need a reason to do anything. Just wanting something is enough. That goes for all of the Praters.”

  “I agree that it’s not right how they wield fear. Amos didn’t used to be so bad when he was young, but somewhere along the way his bad choices outweighed any of the good ones he ever made.”

  “I don’t care about any of that,” I said. “It won’t bring Nate back.”

  “No, it won’t,” she said. “But I wish I could.”

  “I know you do.” I wiped my mouth on a napkin. “Might as well tell you—Mama couldn’t walk straight enough to drive this morning.” I rubbed my neck again and looked at her, waiting to see the understanding come across her face. It was one of the things I loved most about her, that I never had to spell things out.

  “Oh, Harlowe. And you think it’s pills again?”

  “I know it is. She didn’t even try to hide them from me. I’m hoping she won’t take any more, but there’s nothing I can do to stop her.”

  “No, we’ve already learned that. I’m always here, whatever you need.”

  “Knowing that keeps me sane,” I said, and took one more bite of pie. “Any chance you know where the Moores are living?”

  She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “If I say, you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Course not.”

  “And if I tell you, you have to be good. We don’t need more babies sprouting up around here before their time.”

  “Come on, Mama D. If I wasn’t already scared enough, watching Jacob go through it all would do it for me.” I didn’t tell her about the phone call a couple years ago from Victoria after I’d lost my virginity to her. It was just a scare, but I’d sworn that if she got her period I’d never go without a condom again.

  Mama Draughn rolled her fingers against the table like each one was a decision. “You’ll find out one way or another, so it might as well come from me. They’re in Baxter Creek Holler. Back by Widow Hemlock’s place.”

  “The Arrowwoods’ old trailer?”

  “That’s the one. Guess the Arrowwoods are living with her mother now, in Harlan.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Don’t go and disappear completely for a silly crush, now. I’m old. Can’t compete with a young pretty thing.”

  “I’d never do that to you.”

  “Never say never.” She looked back at the pictures of June. “But I believe you. You wouldn’t go without saying goodbye, at least.”

  “Doesn’t June ever call?”

  Mama D shook her head. “Just too busy, I reckon.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I promise I won’t ever take off without telling you first.”

  “Well, I can guess where you’re headed as soon as you leave here,” she said. “Come back by for your leftovers on your way home.”

  “You spoil me. The only thing I can figure is that June didn’t know how good she had it with you. Thank you. I really needed this today.” I took one last bite of pie and stretched my arms above my head to make walking space in my too-full stomach.

  “Wait.” She went to the oven, brought out another pie, and wrapped it in foil. “Take this to the Moores as a welcome. It’s already cooled. And tell your mama I’ll come visit next week. That’s when people start dropping away and things get too quiet. I’ll leave a bag for you on the counter.”

  “Can I help clean up before I go?”

  “No. But you sure did the right thing by asking.” She stood on her toes and kissed my cheek.

  When I stopped beside Mr. Draughn on the porch, he took off the hat shielding his eyes from the sun and looked up at me. “She get some of that talking energy out?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “You might have a quiet afternoon now. Don’t hold me to that, though.”

  “I know better than to expect that. Truth is, I wouldn’t know what to do without her chatter.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Careful out there. Saw a flock of crows earlier, and there’s a new moon tonight.”

  “Murder of crows.”

 
“What?” He leaned closer to hear me better.

  “Isn’t that what a flock is called? Murder of crows?”

  “Nah, that’s superstitious hogwash.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks, I’ll be careful, as you said.”

  “That’s right,” he said, and placed his hat over his eyes again.

  Chapter 9

  BAXTER CREEK WAS LESS than a quarter mile from the Draughns’, and it would have been a waste of gas for me to drive, even though the sun blazed against my back. I held the pie carefully while I walked.

  In place of a sign for the holler, there was a deer-crossing symbol on a pole. The sun shone through the dozen bullet holes polka-dotting the metal animal. I guess our lack of road signs was one more way we told others that if they didn’t know where they were going here, they shouldn’t go any farther. I passed Widow Hemlock’s place, her yard cut neat and her birdbath collection full of water and fat, lazy birds. There were no cars in front of the Arrowwoods’ old place, and the brush was still overgrown. I hoped Tennessee was there, despite the empty look of things, and wiped the dripping sweat from my face onto my jeans before walking up the drive.

  With the pie balanced in one hand, I knocked with the other. I waited and listened to the rhythm of my nervous breath, then cleared my throat. No sounds came from inside. The pie wobbled, and I caught it, but felt one edge crumble under my grip. I was just about to knock again when the door opened.

  Tennessee looked confused when she saw me, then surprised, then a little happy—I was pretty sure that’s what her smile meant. She looked even more beautiful than when I saw her the first time, with the same jean shorts, but now wearing a blue tank top that brightened her blue eyes.

  “Who is it?” a man’s voice yelled from behind her, inside the trailer.

  “It’s fine, Daddy. I got it,” she shouted, turning behind her. “Hi,” she said when she looked at me again.

  “Mama Draughn wanted me to bring this over to y’all. It’s really good. I already had some. I mean, not out of this, a different one, but it was the same flavor, I think.” I told myself to stop sounding like a freak.