Running Lean

by Diana L. Sharples

  She stayed there, her head hanging, blubbering. “I-I can’t do this on my own. Calvin. Daddy. Please.”

  Something rustled in the field and snuffled near her shoulder. Stacey screamed and threw herself backward. A large black dog leaped back, legs stiff and hackles raised. They stared at each other. If she moved, would the dog attack or run away?

  “Good dog. Good boy. It’s okay. You just scared me.”

  The dog’s long tail waved then lowered again. No collar. No telling if this animal was a stray or someone’s pet.

  Stacey clambered to her feet. The dog slunk closer, head lowered and nose quivering.

  “Good dog. Please don’t hurt me.”

  The broad, black nose almost touched her knee. The tail wagged. Stacey extended her hand toward the dog’s ears. Calvin’s fuzzy dog, Scamp, loved to have his ears scratched.

  The dog’s brown eyes tilted upward. He jumped back and barked a long “woo-woo-woo” phrase. Stacey squeaked and staggered into a tree, grabbing the trunk for support as she inched around the side of it. The dog stopped barking for a second, as if taking a breath, took a few stiff steps to the side, and started up again.

  “Strider! Whatcha got, boy?” a genderless, gravelly voice called. Stacey pressed her forehead to the tree. Dog owner. No problem. “Whoa, hey there. It’s okay, he don’t mean no harm. Strider. Come ‘ere, boy.”

  “Thank you. Thank you,” Stacey puffed, her eyes closed. “You all right, baby doll? Whatcha doin’ out here?” A woman. Grizzled and sun-baked, but with dimples waiting to erupt in her round face. A wide-brimmed straw hat shaded her eyes. Stacey looked for a shotgun but saw only a walking stick.

  “I’m lost. D-do you have a cell phone?”

  Who would she call? Zoe. At least Zoe could get her out of there. Then they could figure out what to do.

  “Lost? In my t’bacca field?”

  “S-sorry. I’m sorry. Do you have a phone?”

  “Not on me. You can come up t’ the house and use the phone, if you want.”

  Could she trust the woman? Did she have a choice?

  Just some old Farmer Jane out walking her dog and checking her field, or whatever those people did in the mornings.

  “I-I turned my ankle.”

  “Can you walk, sugar?”

  Sugar. Okay. It’d be all right. Unless the woman tried to feed her.

  Stacey eased away from the tree and put pressure on her right foot. It throbbed, but accepted her weight. “I think so.”

  “Well, c’mon then. We’ll get ya fixed up.” She clapped the dog on the ribs and sent him toward the field. “What’s your name? I’m Miss Darcy, Darcy Meyers.”

  “Stacey.”

  “Just Stacey?” The woman’s calloused hand clasped Stacey’s elbow to help her along.

  “Um …”

  “Hey, it’s okay, darlin’. You don’t have to tell me. Just not every day one sees a pretty girl wearin’ a dress truckin’ through the field, ya know?”

  “I’m running away from … my boyfriend. We had a fight. He’s really big and—you know. I thought if I went through the woods he wouldn’t be able to find me.”

  “Ah, one of those bully boys, think they need to be tough to prove their manhood. I hear ya. Ain’t got much use for fellers like that, takin’ out their aggression on a girl, like they own her. And such a tiny thing like you!”

  Definitely not what Stacey expected to hear from the woman. Maybe she was an old hippie who decided to make her living off the land, all eco-crazy and such. But growing tobacco? The word anomaly popped to mind.

  “Um, if I can just call a friend of mine, she’ll come get me.”

  “Good enough. House is just ‘round the bend a ways.”

  Strider trotted beside them, his tongue rolling out of his mouth in a doggie smile. Friends now. Mirroring his mistress’s cheerfulness. Then, with a snarl, he dove between the broad-leafed tobacco plants.

  Miss Darcy chuckled, her whole torso jiggling. “Found himself a mouse, pro’bly.”

  How quickly a tail wag turned to aggression. Stacey hoped Miss Darcy’s understanding wouldn’t turn to something else just as quickly. Would she want to call the police to make a report on Stacey’s fake boyfriend?

  All she needed was a phone for two minutes, then she’d be gone. Somehow. Zoe had to have some ideas.

  Ahead was a farmhouse, an old structure like Calvin’s house but with more additions cobbled on. A pickup truck and two cars were parked in front. Miss Darcy didn’t live alone.

  Stacey tucked her chin down and trudged along the wide path through the sandy field. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. Her fingers curled around the slip of paper. She remembered without pulling it out—Noah Dickerson’s phone number.

  Chapter 34

  “How was camping?” Dad grabbed the latch on the pickup’s tailgate.

  Calvin’s sinuses throbbed. After unloading two other motorcycles at two different houses, he was ready for a nap and couldn’t face a long conversation about what had really happened during his trip. With Stacey or the bike. “It was good. Good riding. I got a cold, though.”

  He climbed into the pickup and reached for the first hook of the heavy-duty cargo cables holding the Yamaha in place. The truck bed was a mess, covered with dried mud and pine needles, and would have to be hosed out. The Yamaha didn’t look much better.

  Dad grunted as he climbed up beside him. “Leave me any gas in the truck?”

  “Uh …”

  “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

  “No, there might be a quarter tank. I think.”

  Dad loosened the cable on the other side of the bike. “Let’s hurry and get this unloaded so you can clean up for church.”

  Wednesday night Bible study. He’d forgotten about that. “Can I stay home this time? I feel like crud.”

  “Better talk to your mama about that.”

  Calvin held the motorcycle’s handlebars while Dad jumped down from the truck. Dad slid their homemade bike ramp away from the side rails and hooked it to the tailgate.

  “Back her up.”

  Calvin eased his bike backward and Dad guided the rear wheel to the center of the ramp. They transferred the bike’s weight from one to the other, and Dad eased the Yamaha down to flat ground.

  Calvin jumped off the truck. Landing shook his sinuses and rattled his eyeballs. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Ow. That was stupid.”

  “Go ask your ma for medicine. I’ll hose down the bike and truck. You don’t need to be getting wet if you’re sick. Need you healthy for work tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Calvin sniffed and shuffled into the house.

  Inside, the boys were arguing over a gaming controller and Lizzie was yakking on the phone. They all just glanced at him. Calvin dropped his duffle on the dining room table and pulled out the cold capsules he’d bought in Troy.

  Mom rounded the corner into the room. “Take that filthy thing off the table, please. How was your trip?”

  “Fine.”

  “What are those? Pills?”

  “Got a cold.” Calvin tossed the capsules to the back of his throat and swallowed. Bad move. Usually he could do it, but his sore throat closed around the pills. Ouch. He went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water.

  Mom pressed her hand to his forehand, lifting his hair up. “You’re not fevered.”

  “I feel awful.”

  “I’m not surprised, camping out in the rain the other night. Was it as bad there as it was here?”

  How could he know how bad the rain was at home? He shrugged.

  “Go upstairs and get into your pj’s,” Mom said. “I’ll fix you some soup.”

  She’d concoct some kind of remedy that would either taste amazingly good or unbelievably bad. But it sounded like she would let him skip church, anyway. Calvin trudged up to his room and replaced his jeans with a pair of sweatpants. Shirtless, he flopped down on top of his bed, not bothe
ring with his blanket. The warm room seemed to shift around him. So good to close his eyes.

  Yet as he did, an early-morning conversation with Tyler replayed behind his eyelids. Their almost-argument had made for an awkward ride home.

  “It stinks, man.” Tyler’s voice in their tent had been muted. Predawn light filtered through the mesh window, barely revealing his form sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag. “But this isn’t like working on a bike or a car. You can’t fix her. Let her family take care of her.”

  Calvin winced. Fix her? Pretty cold way of looking at it. He wanted to help her, not—

  “Besides,” Tyler said, “you still don’t know what’s going on with her and Noah.”

  That reminder stung. “Shut up.”

  “Sorry. I hope I’m wrong. But there’s got to be more to it than Stacey suddenly deciding she wants you back. Maybe she wasn’t running away from home, but she was running away from something.”

  Calvin’s eyes snapped open. Home, not the campground. Only the roof beams and God heard him cuss as he turned to face the wall.

  Pretty ironic that Stacey’s parents would forbid him from seeing Stacey. What would Deputy Varnell have to say about Noah Dickerson?

  During the four-hour drive home, Calvin had let his thoughts wander over that territory. Stacey said there was nothing going on with Noah. He wanted to believe her. But what exactly did she go all that way to talk to him about? What couldn’t she tell him because the park rangers came and took her away?

  A now familiar tingling sensation erupted on Calvin’s scalp.

  Cold medication doing its work. He folded his pillow around his head and welcomed the drowsiness that would come next.

  He awoke to his mother’s touch. Instead of a tray with soup on it, she held the phone out to him. “Mrs. Varnell wants to talk to you. She sounds upset.”

  Calvin lumbered upright and took the phone from Mom’s hand. As he said hello, Mom stayed, touching her fingertips to her lips and staring, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

  “Calvin? Is that you?” Mrs. Varnell’s voice was loud in the receiver.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have you seen Stacey? Have you heard from her? At all today?”

  The walls seemed to compress around Calvin. Something bad was going on. It wasn’t a medicine-induced dream.

  “No, I haven’t. I just got home from camping a little while ago.”

  “Oh. Well, all right. Your mother said you were sleeping. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t explain right now. We have to find Stacey.”

  “She came home with you. Right? From the park ranger station?” Mom’s brows pinched and she mouthed the word, “What?” Calvin gritted his teeth.

  “We’ll call you when we know something.”

  “Wait. Mrs. Varnell? Is she—”

  Silence on the line robbed him of breath. He looked up at his mother and limply handed the phone back to her.

  “What was that about?” she asked, staring.

  “They’re looking for Stacey.”

  “What was that about the park ranger station?”

  He rubbed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at her. When she sat on the edge of his bed, the scent of her perfume spilling over him, he knew he wouldn’t get out of this conversation.

  “You know we broke up. And I was like, that’s it. We’re done. But Sunday night, she … drove to Badin Lake because … she wanted to get back together.”

  “She did what?”

  “She drove—”

  “By herself? Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Calvin Thomas Greenlee, you tell me the truth right now. That girl called here the other day crying, wanting to talk to you. It’d have to be something major for her to drive all that way to see you.”

  “She called here too?” Calvin swallowed hard. “Mom, I honestly don’t know why. I’ve been trying to figure it out since it happened. All I know is … she’s anorexic.” His joints trembled. Saying it out loud to Mom, all his barely controlled emotions threatened to break through. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Oh … dear … Lord,” Mom said.

  He had to pour it out for her. “She’s been sick a lot and now it’s messing with her head. That’s the only thing I can figure that makes any sense. She came to the campground and she was all freaked out. The park rangers took her, and her parents were supposed to come get her. I talked to her mom yesterday, and she said Stacey was sleeping. But now she’s gone again. She … she wouldn’t go back to Badin Lake, would she? I mean, she knew we were coming home today.”

  Mom dropped her fingers from her mouth and thrust the phone out to him. “Call her cell phone. She probably isn’t answering calls from her parents, but she’ll see it’s your number, and she’ll answer.”

  Calvin blinked. That was so simple an answer, why hadn’t Stacey’s parents thought of it and asked him to do it? He took the phone from Mom and dialed.

  Like every time before, the call went straight to voice mail. Immediately. Did that mean her phone was turned off? Well, that hope crashed and burned. Still, Calvin waited through the sing-song sound of a woman’s voice telling him to leave a message or wait if he needed further instructions, blah, blah.

  “Stacey.” Too abrupt. He had to lure her. “Hey, uh, I’m home from camping. Give me a call, okay? Can’t wait to hear your voice again.” Too sweet? He let it stand and said good-bye.

  When he handed the phone back to Mom, she was toying with the fabric of her church dress and didn’t see him for a second. “How do you know she’s anorexic?” Mom took the phone without looking at him, and toyed with it in her lap instead.

  Calvin sighed. “We know. Everyone knows. Now her parents know. Her mother pretty much told me when I called from the campground.”

  “Is anyone … doing anything for her? Girls—people like that need help, they need counseling. It’s very serious.”

  “I know. And not yet. I wonder if, like, she ran away because her parents figured it out.” The possibility seemed so right that it weighed heavy on Calvin, like a physical weight. His arms lost their ability to hold him up. He flopped down against his bunched-up pillow.

  Mom inhaled sharply and straightened, giving her head a shake. “Oh, my. Poor girl. But Calvin, honey, her father is a policeman. He’ll know what to do about this. He’ll find her, even if she went back to the lake. He’ll be notifying the police there to watch for her. So don’t worry too much about it.” She set the phone on the old steamer trunk that served as his bedside table. “I’ll leave this with you. Try calling her again in a little while.”

  Calvin shook his head and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I can’t just lay here, Mom. I have to try to find her.”

  Mom’s hands landed on his shoulders and pressed him down. She was strong, and he hadn’t expected it. “You are going to stay right here and rest. You’re sick.”

  “Mom. I’ve got a cold. Anorexia is a whole lot worse.”

  She leaned forward to look into his eyes. “Listen to me. If she’s looking for you, she’ll get that message and she’ll call or come here. Right? Moreover, her father’s looking for her, and he’ll find her. My job is to take care of you. So, when we get back from church tonight, I want to find you here.” She pointed at the floor, her eyes hard, like he’d already done something wrong.

  Calvin’s mouth dropped open. Although a plan hadn’t fully formed in his head, the seeds had sprouted. Mom saw the shoots and squashed them.

  “Mom, I can’t just sit here if she’s in trouble.”

  “You will, if I have to stay home to make sure you do.”

  “But she needs me.”

  “She needs therapy. Right now the best thing for you to do is to stay out of the way and let her parents deal with the problem. Understand? Let Stacey’s parents take care of her.”

  Calvin’s shoulders slumped, and Mom�
��s hands slid off them. He wouldn’t get anywhere arguing with her. He didn’t have the energy anyway. Calvin stared at his bare feet while the floorboards creaked beneath his mother’s departing footsteps.

  “I’ll bring your supper up in a moment.”

  The word “thanks” got stuck in his throat. Thanks for not understanding. Thanks for stripping him of all power to do anything.

  “Stupid cold,” he whispered into the quiet room.

  Chapter 35

  Heavy metal music screamed from the speakers on the back deck of Stuart Somebody’s car, the pounding subwoofers just inches away from Stacey’s ears. The air in the car smelled ashy, but not like cigarettes. A more pungent, earthy smell. Weed. Had to be.

  Sitting next to Stacey, Zoe wore a smile that practically split her face in two. She flipped her hair back for about the hundredth time and pulled a compact out of her black-and-bling purse to check her makeup. How could she see anything in the shadowy car?

  Stacey shuddered, freezing in the air conditioning, unable to focus for long on anything but the fear of seeing her father’s cruiser pull up beside them.

  In the front seat, Noah said something to his driver friend that sounded like Nathan. He put a cell phone to his ear. The music stayed loud while he talked.

  Stacey leaned close to Zoe. “Where are we going?”

  “Nathan’s house, I think. Whoever Nathan is.”

  A highway sign flashed by. Highway 301, 1 mile. They were in Dawson, but on the southern side, farther than she’d ever driven.

  Noah turned around and flashed a grin. “Y’all up for a party?”

  “Yeah!” Zoe squeezed Stacey’s hand and shook it back and forth.

  Way to be obvious.

  No restrictions, motoring off to parties with beautiful people. Zoe’s idea of fun. Stacey pushed her hands between her knees to keep from chewing her cuticles bloody. Her heart quivered madly in her chest, so much that it hurt.

  Grounded forever, her car sold to the first taker, and all boys banned from coming within a hundred yards of her until she was thirty; that’s what Daddy would do if he found out she was sitting in a weed-infused car heading to some strange person’s house with Noah Dickerson. He’d even toss her in a jail cell and fling a pile of juvenile citations at her face. And that was before anything that might happen at this party.