Home at Chestnut Creek

by Laura Drake

  And I plan to use every minute of it.

  Chapter 15

  Nevada

  I come awake in layers, like the lightening of a coma. When I open my eyes, the unfamiliar wood ceiling brings yesterday back: the talk, the rain, the sex. We did things last night I’ve heard of, but never thought I’d do. I had no idea getting that intimate—allowing someone to put their mouth on you—is about more than mind-blowing pleasure. It’s about letting go and trusting someone enough to get inside you, not only physically. I turn my head. Joseph is lying on his side, head propped in his hand, watching me with soft eyes, which tells me he’s remembering, too. My face goes all hot. “Don’t you know it’s rude to watch someone while they sleep?” But I can’t help it. I reach out and run my fingers through his long, soft hair. God, I love his hair.

  “I want to wake up this way every day.”

  He runs a hand over my ribs. “I was just thinking how small my problems seem next to yours. Makes me ashamed for going on—”

  I put a finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”

  He kisses it. “One thing, and I’ll shut up, because I know it embarrasses you.”

  He puts his arms around me, and pulls me in. I love that, too. I know it’s a false safety, but it’s warm and caring, and I’ll take it as long as I can get it.

  “I so admire you. Your strength, your independence, your courage.”

  I duck my head into his chest. “There’s no courage in saving yourself. That’s just survival.”

  “I’m talking about a lot more than that—”

  “Wait.” The sky I can glimpse through the small window isn’t black. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know…” He rolls over and checks his phone. “Oh man, it’s six. We’ve gotta get a move on, or we’re going to be late for work.”

  Six? How can that be? But I slept sound, with not one bad dream. I roll out of bed. “Let me get in the shower first, and then I’ll run and feed the sheep and water the plants in the greenhouse.”

  “Go.” He rolls out of the other side. “I’ll grab us something to eat on the way.”

  Fifteen minutes later I’m waiting by the truck when he barrels out the door. He hands me a warm breakfast burrito on his way by. I take a huge bite and climb in. All-night-sex must burn a ton of calories, because I’m starving.

  “Okay, we’re outta here.” He shoves in the key and cranks it. Nothing. Not even a whine of the starter, making an effort. “Crap. Battery’s dead.”

  She shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I stink at mechanical things.”

  “I’ll call Asdzáá’s dad. Maybe they haven’t left for school yet.”

  I inhale the burrito while he tries the key again, then pulls out his phone and dials.

  “No answer. Double crap. Maybe I could—”

  I hold up a finger while I swallow the last wad of tortilla and egg. “Hang on.” I slide out and run for the motorcycle parked in the hay shed. I roll it out to the truck and unstrap the helmet from the sissy bar. “We’ve got wheels.”

  He steps out of the truck and tucks the phone in his back pocket. “But I don’t know how to work that thing, and you don’t have a license yet.”

  I give him the side-eye. “Every idiot on the road has a license. In your experience, is that a guarantee of proficiency?”

  “You have a point. But you’ve never ridden anyone two-up before.”

  I use the bungees wrapped around the sissy bar to secure my backpack to it, so there’s room for him on the passenger seat. “Hey, Carly never had either when she rode me down a twisty mountain road. This is just a straight shot to town.” I stand in front of him, as tall as I can make myself, trying to look confident. “I can do it.”

  “Looks like we don’t have a choice. I haven’t even been able to get hold of Lorelei.” But he doesn’t look happy about it.

  “Be brave, Buttercup.” I pull on the helmet. “Go put on a jacket. Road rash is a real thing.”

  He swallows. “Do you have to be so truthful all the time?” He jogs for the door and is back by the time I put down the back pegs and straddle the bike.

  “Okay, there’s only three rules, but they’re important, so listen up.”

  Frowning, he looks the bike over like it might grow fangs.

  “First, stay right behind me. If I lean, you lean, exactly as much or little as I do. You’re my shadow. Got it?”

  He nods.

  “Second, keep your feet on the pegs, even when I stop.”

  “Okay.”

  “Throw your leg over.” When he sits, the bike’s springs almost bottom out. It wasn’t made to handle this much weight. It wobbles when he puts his feet up. Damn, it’s heavy. My strained ankle complains, but I don’t have time for that. I choke the throttle, give it some gas, hit the starter, and it roars to life.

  “Wait. You said three things,” he yells in my ear.

  “Oh yeah, the third is to hang on.” I dump the clutch and almost stall it.

  His hands come around my waist, and he hooks his fingers in my belt loops.

  I ease out the clutch, and we’re off, bouncing over ruts in the sandy trail. I knew it’d be hard to handle at low speeds, but damn. I swerve to miss a huge rock, and Joseph jerks. “Feet up and stay behind me!”

  I white-knuckle it the whole way, until the highway comes in view. There’s a hill up to the road and a lip at the top. I don’t want to slow but have to look both ways for traffic. I stop at the bottom of the hill and we almost unbalance. I catch the bike before it leans beyond the point of no return. “Watch for traffic to the right and hang on. This may not be pretty.”

  “You’ve got this.” But his hands lock at my belly button. “Clear right.”

  The bike is moving fast enough to stay up, but not so fast we shoot into traffic. If I stall, or lose balance on the hill, we’re going over. I grit my teeth, rev it, and ease out the clutch, a millimeter at a time. And we’re off.

  Two feet from the top, the back tire squirms. Shit-shit-shit!

  “Clear both ways!” Joseph yells.

  I crank the throttle, and the bike shoots forward. I keep my feet out, just in case. When the back tire hits asphalt, it grabs, but by then, we’re halfway across the road. “Lean!” I pull it over and barely skirt the right side of the pavement before straightening up. Crap, that was close! My heart is lodged in my throat, beating like a scared rabbit’s. I wind the throttle to the point the bike wants to stay upright, and I make a jerky shift to second. The next shift is smoother.

  “Good job,” Joseph yells in my ear.

  The bike is more stable at speed. We’re flying down the highway. I take a deep breath of morning air. Joseph’s long torso is molded to my back; his legs are snugged around mine. This part doesn’t suck. But I’m flicking glances at the mirrors, the road, the scrub brush at the side, for animals. I’m carrying precious cargo, and he doesn’t have a helmet.

  When Joseph raises his arms, spreads them to the horizon, then pulls them in, I know he’s greeting the sun.

  “Hang on, idiot!” But I’m proud that I know that much. I’d love to know more: about his people’s language, their customs, and their beliefs. But there’s no time. I’m in the wind in hours. I’m not sure how many, but I can feel a stopwatch in my chest, ticking the seconds away.

  We roll into town and get a couple of odd stares from the people in line in front of the café. That makes me smile. I turn at the alley, and park next to Lorelei’s roller-skate car.

  Joseph apologizes to Lorelei as soon as we walk in, explaining why we’re late while tying on an apron and firing up the grill.

  I push through to the dining room, and when I unlock the front door, people file in.

  “Dang, Nevada, where you been? We’re starving here,” Moss Jones says and heads for his stool at the counter.

  “You’re just lucky I don’t have any important meetings today.” Ann Miner leads the Historical Society ladies to booth one.

  Jess, Carly’s friend,
pats me on the shoulder on the way by. “Deal, people. It’s food you don’t have to cook, dishes you don’t have to wash, and it’s unlikely that anyone is going to spit up on you.”

  While Lorelei takes orders, I brew coffee as fast as the machine will make it.

  Moss is talking to Pat Stark, the owner of the local garage. “They were gonna name this town Paredes, but then Gregorio got caught puttin’ his iron on cattle that weren’t his and they strung him up.”

  “You know that’s not right,” Pat says around a mouthful of pancakes. “It was when Alan Brown lost a bet on a horse race—”

  “Y’all are so full of it.” I turn and fill Moss’s coffee cup. “I’ve heard four different stories since I got here, and not one of ’em rings true.”

  “Well, what do you think happened?” Pat holds his mug out for a refill.

  “Haven’t got a clue. All I know is, it must’a been something really bad.”

  “Why?” they chorus.

  “Look around. End of a shut-down railroad line, stuck on the abandoned part of Route 66, and your high school mascot is a goat.” I shrug. “However it happened, I think Unforgiven is a perfect name.”

  Pat shakes his head. “You got a point, I have to give you that.”

  Moss snickers. “Aw, you ain’t foolin’ us none, missy. You like it here. Come on, admit it.”

  I head out to pour coffee, but drop them a wink on my way by, and they fall out laughing. I’m going to miss this danged town.

  * * *

  Joseph

  The breakfast rush is crazier than usual. I can’t even look up until ten-thirty, when there’s a little lull. The next time Lorelei comes to pick up an order, I tell her, “I’m going to duck out the back to make a phone call. Just be a minute.”

  Lorelei puts the plates on a tray. “Sure, Fish, you earned it after this morning.”

  The heat hits when I open the back door. Even in the building’s shade, Tsonahoai, the Sun God, is strong. I lean against the building, put one foot up, pull out my phone, and dial. My first call is to Pat’s Auto Repair, to buy a new battery. The kid who answers lives out by me, and I offer him ten bucks to drop it by my place on his way home. I can’t even imagine trying to carry the damned thing on the bike.

  My second call is for reinforcements. “Hok’ee, how you doing, man? Called you this morning to hitch a ride, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I took Asdzáá to school, and halfway there, I realized I left my cell at the house. What happened to your truck?”

  “Dead battery.”

  “How’d you get to work?”

  “Nevada and her motorcycle.”

  “Oh man, I’da paid to see that. Something going on there you want to tell me about?”

  “Yeah, there is.”

  All I hear on the other end is breathing.

  “You and me going to have a problem about that?”

  “Why would we? Love is hard to find in this world. Wherever you find it, brother, I say it’s good.”

  One down, the rest of the tribe to go. Not to mention the town. But whether they accept this or not is going to have no effect on me and Nevada. I decided that way before the sex that meant more than sex, last night.

  “Is that what you called me about? Because I think it’s not—”

  “No, man. I need a favor. A big one. Nevada’s in danger. Long story, and it’s not mine to tell, but know that we’re talking bad dudes, guns and all.”

  “You have my attention.”

  Hok’ee is older than me but he was also a soldier; special ops in Desert Storm. “I was wondering if you and a couple others would keep an eye on my place, just for a couple nights, ’til I can work out a plan. She’s safe with me, but I’d feel better if I knew I had backup.”

  “You got it. I’ll talk to Yas and Sani and a couple others. We haven’t had a good hunting party in a while. It’ll be fun.”

  “You’re a good man. Thank you.”

  “Asdzáá isn’t going to be happy when I break the news to her that you’re off the market.”

  “You know I’ve always thought of her as a little sister.”

  “Yeah, but teenagers…”

  “Hormones are dangerous things, brother.”

  “Tell me about it. That’s how I ended up with two teenagers to begin with.”

  I pull open the back door. “Gotta get back to work, but Ahéhee’, Hok’ee.”

  “You’re welcome, Fish.”

  I haven’t figured out how to fix this long term but I hang up, grateful for my friends, and my tribe. I can’t help but think about the contrast—how lonely an existence Nevada has lived up until now. If this works out, she won’t feel that way again. When I walk into the kitchen, she’s there, filling the dishwasher. I step over, put a hand on her hip, and lean down to whisper, “I have an idea.”

  She straightens. “Oh yeah? I have a few ideas myself.” She shoots a look around, pulls me to the corner where we can’t be seen through the order window, and kisses me.

  Her eager mouth almost makes me forget where we are.

  I run my fingers over her lips, and step back. “Tonight. You and I have a date.”

  “Yeah? Your bed or mine?”

  “That may be the ultimate destination, but it will be a long journey to get there.”

  “Sounds like an adventure.”

  “Oh, it will be.” I give her a quick kiss and turn away from her lips before I do something stupid. I’m not worried about Lorelei or the others knowing that Nevada and I are together, but it’s so new, I want to hold it close—hold her close—like the best kind of secret, for just a little longer. Good thing I’m wearing an apron to cover the bulge in my jeans.

  Time stretches and the afternoon drags. Finally, I lock the door behind the last customer, say good night to Lorelei and Sassy, and jog for the back door, grabbing Nevada’s hand on the way by.

  “Wait, I’ve gotta get my backpack.” She snatches it from the hook and lifts her helmet from the floor. “What’s the huge rush?”

  “We’ve got a date, and I don’t want to wait.”

  “Oh, in that case, race you.” She pushes past me and scoots the few steps to the bike.

  In minutes, we’re on the road out of town. The sun is below the mountains, but the horizon is still glowing, and we chase the sunset home. The path off the road is easier downhill, or maybe we’re just getting used to this. I’d like to get used to this—wind in my face, ripping through my hair, arms around her, my body molded to hers.

  Oh yeah, she could stay on this road forever. I wouldn’t complain.

  When she pulls up in the yard, the new truck battery is sitting on my back step. She brakes to a stop, and I step off. “Go get into shorts. I’ll get the battery in the truck, and we’ll be ready to go in a half hour.”

  “I’ve gotta feed the sheep, too. Where are we going?” she yells over the engine, and through the full-faced helmet.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  * * *

  Nevada

  It takes me two minutes to change into my running shorts. I dig through my backpack, wishing I had something besides snarky T-shirts to wear. Wait, what? Me, in some girly summer blouse? Does sex make your brain chemistry change or something? But I want something special, to commemorate tonight. My snort is loud in my Barbie bedroom. “Next thing you know, I’ll be borrowing clothes from Carly.”

  But remembering Carly gives me an idea. I unzip the side pocket of the backpack and dig to the very bottom. I pull out the makeup that Carly helped me pick out when we were on the road together. I spread it out on the bed: mascara, foundation, blush, lipstick. Do I even remember how to do this?

  More important—do I want to?

  I always thought of makeup as a small lie. Something a girl does to try to be someone she’s not, to impress some guy. I figured if the dude didn’t like who I was already, why would I want to be around him? And that theory worked, right up ’til now. Probably because I never found a guy w
ho really liked who I was without makeup.

  I carry the war paint into the bathroom and flip on the fluorescent light, the one that makes me look kinda green.

  I think I get the makeup thing now. I don’t want to be someone else. I want to be more me. I want to look good for him. I study my plain-as-oatmeal face in the mirror.

  This is gonna take some work.

  * * *

  Joseph

  I don’t have much time. I jog to the house, get together the meal I planned in my head all day, run upstairs to change, and then race back out to the truck. I install the battery in record time, and I’m waiting when Nevada comes out of the trailer and saunters across the yard.

  She’s wearing makeup. Long lashes make her eyes bigger, she has a healthy glow, and there’s an honest-to-God pink tint to her lips. “Wow. What’d you do with Nevada?”

  Her cheeks redden even more. “Shut. Up.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I approve of this version.”

  “Quit.” She punches me in the shoulder. “Now tell me, where are we going?”

  I pull open the truck door. “Get in, I’ll show you.”

  It’s full dark by the time we get to Chestnut Creek, but it doesn’t matter. I know this area like the contours of my own face. We bump off the road into tracks made by the countless trucks before mine. The headlights spotlight the piñon pines that huddle around the creek like old women around a well.

  “Okay, we’re here. But where is here?”

  “Grab the blanket behind your seat and come on.” I reach for the flashlight, step out, and pull my grandmother’s basket from the bed of the truck.

  I lead Nevada down the path to the open area at the bend of the river.

  “Oh, cool. Is this the Chestnut Creek the café is named after?” Nevada takes the flashlight from me and walks to the edge.

  “Yes. Be careful, that bank gets undercut with the spring runoff. Lifesaving is not in the plan for the evening.” I spread the blanket just behind her, set the basket on it, and join her at the edge.