Lookin' Back, Texas

by Leanna Ellis

  “Nothin’ ever happens here,” the deputy at the door said.

  “How ’bout Old Floyd?” Flipper glanced at Drew, then back at the snake. He quivered all over, like he was ready xto run out the door at the slightest signal. “He might come and fetch this crazy fellow. He’s good at catchin’ wild dogs and critters that get into houses.”

  “Floyd might get himself bit. I can’t take that risk.”

  “I didn’t mean to blow a hole in your desk, Sheriff.”

  “It’s okay, Flipper.”

  He rubbed his temple. “I weren’t thinking clearly.”

  “You’re still upset over Archie’s death.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Flipper backed away from the snake, which settled into a protective coil near the windowsill.

  Drew pulled Flipper back another step or two. There was no telling this snake’s strike zone.

  “Mrs. Davidson called earlier,” Flipper said. “Said Archie’s body will be here Monday. Some funeral home from Austin is delivering him to the dance hall over at Luckenbach.”

  Drew nodded, keeping his eye trained on the tense snake. Archie Davidson had been a good man. Kind, soft-spoken. Always drove the speed limit. Always kept up his permits and such. Never one to complain or make trouble. He often said, “I’m praying for you, Sheriff. Praying for your safety.” Nice to know someone cared and understood that even in a nothing-much-happening county, things could happen on this job. Accidents. Crazy things like a deputy nearly shooting his boss rather than a snake.

  “You should be there. He was your best friend.”

  Flipper nodded. “And you should know,” Flipper looked at Drew, just a quick glance, then back to the snake, “Archie’s daughter, Suzannah Lee, is back in town.”

  The snake struck the windowsill, jabbed its fangs into the wood.

  Drew squeezed the trigger.

  5

  Suzanne

  Eventually our conversation plays out. Josie falls asleep, and night settles around us, complete with the assorted wildlife noises that always seem louder in the dark. I’m not in a hurry to get back to Mother’s, so I stretch out on the Camaro’s hood, enjoying the peace and tranquility of being out in the open with no expectations, no one needing my attention. Crickets chirp. Frogs croak. With my eyes closed, I drift back to simpler days when I was young and my only worry was getting home by curfew.

  Mother had hated Drew. Which, of course, only made me love him more. Drew was the bad boy of Gillespie County. But I knew he wasn’t bad; he was misunderstood. We didn’t have a lot in common, yet there was a fierce attraction. He told me once, “You’re like an angel.” But my thoughts and desires toward him weren’t exactly angelic.

  Dating Drew was the only time I questioned going off to college. Being with him was the first time I had ever felt safe and protected, which is odd when I consider it now, because dating him only caused more problems at home and, in the end, left me far more vulnerable and insecure. Even now the remnants of our relationship remain like frayed strings running through my life.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked Drew once when we were parked in his father’s diesel truck.

  “About?”

  “When I leave for school.”

  I was hoping he’d say, “Come after you.” Or maybe, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” The summer days were dwindling. Soon I’d be leaving home. Not just leaving Luckenbach, but Texas too.

  Drew hooked an arm around my shoulders. “I’m going to hit the road. Go anywhere. Do anything.”

  His answer didn’t surprise me, but hope that we had any future began to shrink inside. “Yeah,” I said as casually as I could. “And go where?”

  “Wherever I want. I would have left already. But you were here.”

  “So will you come visit me in California?”

  “Maybe.”

  It was enough to keep that light flickering.

  I don’t think it ever completely went out.

  Where is he now? What did he end up doing? Does Drew still roam the roadways searching for whatever it was he needed? In many ways he was just a hurting young man with unanswered questions and more than his share of anger.

  A loud rumbling jostles me from my reverie, as if the earth has been suddenly turned half a notch. The car beneath me shifts precariously. My hand slams down on the hood in a pathetic attempt to grasp something solid.

  My insides sway like liquid sloshing in an unopened jar. It’s the same feeling I get when sailing on the ocean. Trouble is, I’m in Texas, not on the open water. The noise subsides as quickly as it started, leaving an eerie silence. The wildlife noises have stopped. Somewhere in the dark, pebbles slide and clatter against rock.

  Blinking against the darkness, I cling to the hood of the car, my feet braced on the warm metal. I feel as if I’ve opened a door from inside a closet and found it equally dark outside. Did I fall asleep? Have a dream? I remember being in a class at UCLA, my eyes heavy and tired from a late night date with Mike, and nodding off, jerking awake. It’s almost the same feeling now. Almost but not quite. My hip has fallen asleep, so I shift my weight. The hood of the car burps.

  “Josie?” I whisper. I touch the spot next to me where she used to be, before I fell asleep. I sit up, panicked. “Josie!”

  I hear shuffling nearby, then a quick, sharp curse.

  I press my hands flat against the hood, ready to push myself off at a moment’s notice, but I remember the broken glass and wiggle my bare toes. Where are my shoes?

  “Josie?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.”

  “What are you doing?” I feel around for my shoes, find them up by the windshield wipers, then slide them back on my feet. Slowly working my way down the hood of the car, I set my soles on solid ground.

  A dark shadow moves toward me, and I recognize her shape.

  “I had to use the facilities,” she says.

  There are no facilities nearby, but I don’t ask for details. I notice she’s limping.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “I squatted too close to a prickly bush. Fell on it.” She braces a hand against the car.

  “Sure it wasn’t a rattlesnake?”

  “I didn’t have that much to drink. But I did feel wobbly back there.”

  I feel suddenly queasy myself, but the feeling passes. Nervous laughter bubbles up inside me, and I try to catch it before it escapes. Too late. “Can I do something to help?”

  “Thanks for the sympathy.”

  “I’m sorry. What can I do? Really.”

  “Come on, I’ll take you to your mom’s.”

  I nod, then realize she can’t see me. “Okay.”

  We both go to the passenger’s side of the Camaro. Josie says, “You’re going to have to drive.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Have you ever sat on a prickly pear? It ain’t fun.”

  Again laughter escapes my compressed lips. “Sorry. Okay, I’ll drive.”

  I settle behind the wheel. She slides the key in the ignition and turns it. The headlights slash through the darkness, illuminating cacti and brambles. She leans back, her backside inches from the plastic cushion, her arm snaking across the back of the seat. Then she grins. “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?”

  “In a way.” But not really. I’m not the same girl I was at seventeen. I’m not as naive. I’m not as foolish either. Or so I hope.

  “Okay,” she cranks the music, “let’s go. I’ve gotta get home.”

  Carefully I put the car in gear then search the dashboard for the headlight switch. Even the bright beams are not as illuminating as I would like. I inch the car forward. “Which way?”

  She jabs her thumb toward the trunk. “You can turn around back there.”

  Slowly, methodically, I shift from Drive to Reverse. Now I know what my son feels like driving with me in the passenger seat. Josie curses my overly cautious approach to driving this unfamiliar car in unfamiliar surroundings. When I brake too hard, he
r head hits the top and her bottom bounces off the seat. She hisses and winces.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Go faster.”

  “But I can’t see. What if—”

  “My butt is on fire!”

  “Okay, okay.” I push the gas too hard, and we jolt forward. “Sorry. Should I take you to the hospital?”

  “I just need some Benadryl cream or something. I’ve got stuff at home.”

  “Has this happened before?” A scrub brush appears suddenly in front of the Camaro. I swerve. The scrappy branches graze the bumper.

  “Once or twice. I lost my balance back there.”

  “Did you feel it too? Like the earth moved. What was it?”

  “You drank too much. Just drive.”

  “But I didn’t have any—”

  Cranking the music louder, she starts singing some rap song. It’s as if I’m riding in the car with my son, not my best friend from high school. But I notice Josie knows all the words.

  With the windows rolled down, the warm summer air rushes past me, tosses my hair this way and that. I clench the steering wheel hard, strain my eyes to see a clear path. “You sure you know how to get back?” I ask.

  “You can’t go wrong out here. Just drive east until you hit the highway. It’s just up ahead.” She thrusts her foot over to my side of the car and presses down on mine. The Camaro responds, kicking up dirt and pebbles behind us.

  “Josie! This isn’t safe. Stop—”

  “I’m dying here!”

  “But—” A gaping hole in the ground rushes up to meet us.

  The Camaro nosedives. I’m thrown back and forward in rapid succession. For a moment, I sit stunned. The motor misses and dies in the dust, the rap music with it. Gingerly, I rub my neck, which feels as if it’s been jerked out of place. “Josie?”

  “Yeah?” she moans.

  I lean my head against the steering wheel and grasp it like a lifesaver. “You okay?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  Sinking back into the cracked vinyl seating, I turn the key and try the ignition, but nothing happens. I open my door just to know I can.

  Josie touches her forehead. “Where on earth did that come from?” She slowly moves her leg back to her own side of the car, wincing as she does. “You okay?”

  “I think so.” Looking back over my shoulder, I can look out the rear window straight up at the little dipper. “Did we go the wrong way?”

  “No,” she says with enough rancor to be a teenager.

  “Well, how come we didn’t see that ditch when we drove in?”

  “I don’t know.” She curses under her breath. Reaching over, she opens her own door and hobbles out.

  I put my foot outside the car. My foot waggles in the open space, my toes searching for solid ground. I stretch my leg out further. My toe bumps rock. I slide it forward, hanging onto the door, until I’m certain my footing is on solid ground. Then I ease out of the car, jumping a short way to the ground. “Josie, this is very odd. I’m thinking—”

  “Well, don’t. Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Of course.” I reach back into the car and retrieve my purse. My cell phone is in its little pocket. It feels like forever before it bleeps on, the green light looking like a phosphorescent gemstone. “It’s searching for—”

  “A tower. Good luck.” She looks around, rubs her backside and hisses through her teeth.

  “Here.” I step up into the car, hanging onto the door and pushing myself up another foot. The car sways slightly beneath me. I hear the crunch of rock. How deep does this ditch go? “This is going to work.” The empty words don’t reassure me. There’s no change in the phone, so I stretch, reaching higher. “If I could just get …”

  “Stand on the roof.”

  It’s not my first choice, but those seem limited. I hand the phone down to her, while I scramble and pull myself up onto the roof of the Camaro. The car shifts again, and I grab hold.

  “You’re okay,” Josie hands the phone up to me. “The car isn’t going anywhere. It’s just a bit unstable.”

  Like my family. Like my life.

  “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Actually it feels like the time I tried to learn to surf, except then Mike was there helping me. I wish he were here now. I wobble and bobble like I’m clinging to a surfboard, not the hood of a car that’s tilted at an odd angle. “Okay, let’s give this a try.”

  Slowly I get my feet under me and stand up in darkness. I feel like Rose in the movie Titanic, standing on the prow of the ship, feeling the wind in my hair. Just before the Titanic sinks and kills her greatest love. I swallow hard. “I’m not getting a signal.”

  “Raise your arm.”

  I watch my cell as I lift an arm.

  “Not that one!”

  Embarrassed, I switch arms. “You’re not going to tell me to rub my tummy and pat my head at the same time, are you?”

  She laughs then rubs at her backside. “Just hurry.”

  Amazingly the cell phone locks onto a signal. “Yes!” But who do I call? Mike’s too far away to help. “Who do you want me to call? My mother?” How am I going to explain this?

  “I know a guy who has a tow truck. 8-0-6—”

  I lose the signal. “Wait.”

  I readjust my arm, aiming it toward the crescent moon. If I have to locate the North Star, we’re in serious trouble. Slowly, I punch in the numbers Josie tells me. Then I pause at a strange whining sound. “Do you hear that? You think it could be a coyote?”

  I imagine wild animals circling the car. Far ahead of me two lights bounce like balls. Josie turns in the direction I’m facing.

  “Did you call 9-1-1?” she asks.

  “No. I was—”

  A siren shrieks, drowning my voice. A bright light hits me like a spotlight. The police car, which is actually a large SUV, zooms toward us, jouncing over the rocky terrain, careless of shrubs and brambles. It pulls to a stop in front of us, a few feet away from the jagged crack. Its headlights make me feel like I’m standing naked on a stage. Slowly I draw my outstretched arm downward. The searchlight and annoying, throbbing blue lights give a clearer view of the ground around us. Not far from where I hopped out of the car is a crevice that looks like it goes a long way down. Now I can see a jagged opening in the earth stretched outward in both directions, half swallowing Josie’s car. The Camaro shifts beneath me.

  A car door slams, making my head jerk toward the flashing lights. I squint against the brightness.

  “What’s going on here?” a deep baritone asks.

  “We had a wreck, Sheriff,” Josie says.

  “Uh-huh. I see that.” He steps closer to the ravine that I’ve driven Josie’s car into. “Were you driving, Josie?”

  “Sure thing,” she lies as easily as breathing.

  “Who are you?” he asks.

  “You remember Suzanne, don’t you?” Josie says.

  “Suzannah?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, remembering the sheriff from when I was a kid. Sheriff Cramer Woods had a gut like a pot-bellied stove. He could shoot one look in my direction and make me feel guilty for being honest. He steps over to the side of the car, shines the beam of his light down in the crack. “This goes down a ways. You girls are lucky. You better come down from there. It’s not safe.”

  “Yes, sir. Okay.” I drop to my hands and knees, but I’m unsure how to get to the ground. Slowly I swing my legs around, sit on the roof of the Camaro, and dangle my feet off the side. “I don’t know about this.”

  “Here.” The sheriff moves toward me, grabs my hands, and yanks me off the car. The metal scrapes my backside as I fall full against him. He grunts. He must’ve been on Weight Watchers for the past few years because he doesn’t have a pot belly anymore. Then I look up.

  It’s not Sheriff Woods.

  The face has a harder edge, like his lean torso. All of a sudden, like the ground rushing up to meet me, my secrets slam into me.

&nbs
p; “Hello, Suzie Q,” Drew says, his mouth quirking in that too-familiar grin.

  If he calls me Suzannah Banana, I’ll hit him. I don’t care if he is a cop. How did that happen anyway? He was always the bad boy, the one girls loved and mothers hated. Especially my mother.

  “You okay?” he asks, his hand firm on my elbow.

  I cough and pull away, readjust my slacks and shirt. I feel naked and exposed, scared and unsure. Not to mention dusty. “Sure. Yes.” I cross my arms over my stomach as if a chill has taken hold of me. But this chill comes from within. “Thanks.”

  “You remember Drew, don’t you, Suzie Q?” Josie’s tone is a mixture of humor and some element I don’t recognize.

  “How could I forget?”

  “Not quite the girl you used to be, are you?” His voice is warmer than the night air.

  “Things change. So do people.” I stare at the badge on his chest.

  He laughs. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good.” I stare at the wide brim of his hat. Who would have ever guessed Drew Waring would be wearing a Stetson? I couldn’t even imagine him living in Gillespie County. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been riding a motorcycle through Southern California. And I didn’t want to think about that time. I had prayed to forget. “And you?”

  “No complaints.”

  “You’re a sheriff?”

  “Surprising, huh?”

  I’m about as stunned as when I ran Josie’s Camaro into the ditch. “Definitely.”

  “The guy voted most likely to get arrested in high school.” Josie hobbles forward, puts a hand on Drew’s shoulder.

  He rubs his jaw and glances down at the ground before looking me square in the eye. “Sorry about your Dad, Suz. He was a good man.”

  A hefty dose of guilt pumps through me. I should admit the truth. But how? Would it somehow get Mother in trouble? Could she get arrested? And am I now a co-conspirator?

  “Oh, uh …” I glance at Josie, wondering if she’ll spill the ugly details like a kid accidentally dumping over a jar of tacks, but she only shrugs. “Thanks,” I add.

  “So you’re here for the funeral?” His question makes the guilt I feel sharper, like a needle stabbing my spine. Before I can answer he adds, “Or are you staying longer?”