The Locket

by Maren Smith

  “How’s that coming?” Robert said, gesturing to the rack she was working on.

  Trying not to be upset, she followed the direction of his hand and allowed herself to be distracted. “Almost done. The hydraulic press is working now, too. But there’s still something wrong with the pomace grinder. I’m going to have to crawl up into that thing and chase down the broken teeth.”

  “We’ll do that together.”

  Starting to pick up her pliers, Kylie stopped and blinked at him again. “Why? I know what I’m doing. You haven’t been involved in any other part of this, and it’s not like I’m going to turn the da—darn…” her eyes flicked to his; his smile held but that steely glitter in the depths of his brown gaze said he knew exactly what she’d been about to say and, yes, he did still know where the soap was. “Darn,” she firmly amended. “Darn thing. Anyway, I’m not going to turn it on with me inside it. I’m not that stupid.”

  “I never said you were. But when you work on the grinder, you’re going to do it with me right there helping you. Some jobs are dangerous enough that it can’t hurt to have two people watching out for each other while they work.”

  She dropped her pliers back on the rack, harder this time. They didn’t exactly bounce when they hit the top, but they skidded several inches and rattled briefly against the wood. Exasperated, she said, “Robert.”

  “Don’t argue with me,” he warned, keeping his tone light and even.

  She ignored it. “How would you feel if I told you you couldn’t touch a lawn mower unless I was there to keep a watchful eye?”

  “I’d be flattered.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I’d know you cared.”

  “You’d be pissed,” she corrected bluntly. “It’d be the same as my saying that you’re too inept to be trusted around machines with teeth.”

  “That’s one,” Robert said quietly.

  She glared at him, blinked twice and then shook her head. “What do you mean, one? One what?”

  “That’s your first allotted cuss word for the week.”

  “No, it’s not! Pissed isn’t a swear!”

  “And now you’re at two.”

  Were the pliers back in her hand, she’d have thrown them in frustration all over again.

  Robert crossed the porch, his footsteps heavy and slow. Taking an empty chair from against the house, he set it down in front of her before picking up her half-fixed rack and setting it firmly aside. He sat facing her, and their knees were close enough to touch. He wasn’t smiling when he took her hands in his. While Kylie quietly fumed, he turned each over, passing his thumbs lightly over a few grease spots and the beginnings of one blister which the pliers had rubbed into the middle joint of her forefinger.

  “I do not think you are inept,” he said. “You are, in fact, the most capable woman I have ever met.” He stopped her before she could do more than suck a breath to argue. “I mean it. It’s not a reflection against you or your skills, but I will have your promise, Kylie. I will be there when you open that beast up or I will lock you out of the barn. Fight me on this, and that cider press will rust all the way to the ground before you touch it again.”

  She huffed and glared, but didn’t back down.

  “My foot is down on the matter, honey. I will have your promise right now, or I will promise you one hell of a spanking the likes of which you will not enjoy if you defy me. Which is it going to be?”

  “Fine,” she snarled, yanking her hands back out of his and storming from her seat.

  “I’m serious,” he called after her.

  “I said, fine!” she yelled back over her shoulder and slammed into the house.

  He didn’t chase her, and for some reason that made Kylie even madder. She threw herself down at the table instead and tried not to care. What good did it do to be this mad anyway? He had said she was the most capable woman he knew.

  Just not capable enough, apparently, to be allowed around heavy machinery.

  She sat there, fuming until the idleness began to eat at her, and then she got up to find something to do. Something hard and aggressive so she could beat this angry energy out of her and just get over it. She ran through her mental list of chores and finally settled on laundry. An hour or so of cranking away on that antique washing machine was just what she needed.

  It was while she was emptying Robert’s jeans’ pockets that Kylie discovered the note that had been left for them on the fruit stand the night before. Reading it made her mad all over again. Her pies and preserves had been confiscated by one Mr. Billy Owens for use at his diner. According to the note, he would return in a day or two, by Friday at the very latest, to settle what he owed.

  Obviously, Robert didn’t think she was capable of handling this either. Well, she might not be ‘bank’ material and maybe she couldn’t make one run-down old factory turn a profit again, but by Hannah, she wasn’t going to work for free, either. She made a tally of what this Billy Owens owed, then put the note in her pocket. With a full head of steam driving her, she started upstairs.

  It was time Robert realized just exactly what she was capable of.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kylie put on her good dress and her sneakers, but after trying and failing to get the seams straight, she gave up and left the silk nylons on her dresser. She still had a full head of steam driving her. So although she had no idea where this Billy Owens or his restaurant was located, she did know it was a straight shot into town. Once there, she was pretty sure someone would give her directions if she asked.

  Back downstairs she went, all but tiptoeing through the living room until she glimpsed the back of Robert’s head through the window just beyond the dining table. He was bent over, fiddling with the repairs she’d made on that last pomace rack (apparently, she wasn’t capable of doing that right, either). Knowing he was probably waiting for her to get over her fit and come back outside so they could finish their discussion (like sensible people), she stole quietly out the back door instead.

  Anyone who kept their keys in their ignition deserved to have their truck borrowed. That’s how Kylie rationalized it as she slid behind the steering wheel of Robert’s old Woody wagon. She’d never in her life driven a stick shift, but she had watched Robert do it twice now and it didn’t look any harder than an automatic. Except for maybe the button on the floor which she had to press with her foot as she wrestled the stick into neutral and then started the car. With one foot on the button and the other on what she thought was the brake, the truck promptly rumbled into reverse and very nearly collided with the rear wall of the garage. With a yelp of surprise, she stomped pedals until she found the real brake, all but standing on it before she got enough weight behind her to actually stop the vehicle. The process killed the engine instantly, and Kylie sat there, breathing hard, her knuckles white around the steering wheel, wondering if she shouldn’t ought to rethink this, admittedly, half-cocked plan.

  Fully expecting Robert to come jogging around the corner of the house to see why his truck was running, Kylie shifted uneasily on the high bench-like seat. Reaching for the ignition, she tried again. This time, with her foot on the real brake pedal, she wrestled the wagon into first gear.

  The truck lurched forward, the most horrible, metallic grinding noise echoing Kylie’s own startled shriek as she drove straight out the open garage door and jostled down the driveway much faster than Robert ever had. Swearing prolifically, she clung onto the wheel with both hands and tried to turn the old truck to follow the curve of the driveway as it rounded up past the garden toward the house. Eventually, she might have driven right past the corner Robert was just now jogging around, his eyes growing as wide as tea saucers at the sight of her. Unfortunately, she never got that far.

  Never again would she take power steering for granted. Stomping madly for the brake, in her panic she hit the wrong pedal instead. So, while the driveway might have curved, the Woody didn’t. With Kylie yanking hard on the wheel, the vehicle went straight off the road, plowing int
o the tall grass and dipping sideways down a short but sharp embankment that ran parallel with the barn. She only just managed not to plow through the chickens’ fence.

  “Oh my God!” Kylie shrieked, stomping hard on the brake (finally!) with both feet. Again, she forgot about the clutch, killing the engine and making the wagon that much harder to steer. She did finally manage it; not at the bottom of the hill, per se, but with all four wheels still on the slanting hillside. She could see the bottom, though. In fact, all she had to do was reach out the driver’s side window and she’d have touched the long stalks of grass growing there.

  The Woody creaked ominously before, ever so slowly, gently even, gravity coaxed the far right wheels to leave the earth. The heavy wagon groaned and rolled over, laying itself neatly on its side. Still clinging to the steering wheel, Kylie flopped onto her side as well. For several stunned seconds, she lay unmoving half on the door panel and half pillowed by tall weeds and grass.

  “Kylie!” Outside the vehicle, running footsteps pounded down the hill toward her. “Kylie, are you all right?”

  Slowly, Kylie disentangled her arms and legs out from under the dash and, trying not to trip over the steering column, crawled to her feet. Balancing herself between the now perpendicular dashboard and seat, she stood ankle-deep in smashed-down weeds, wondering what the hell she had just done and what the hell she was supposed to do now. The top of her head barely reached the passenger-side door. If she stood up on tiptoes, she could just get her eyes high enough to the peek out the window. And probably looking for all the world like a giant, blonde whack-a-mole rising up for a shaky peek around before slowly lowering herself back on the balls of her feet.

  What had she done?

  She had killed Robert’s truck, that’s what.

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks, shaking and now sniffling too.

  “Kylie!” Robert said, with increasing franticness. She heard the muted thuds of his hands striking the hood of the wagon when he finally reached it.

  “I’m fine,” she made herself say. Her voice was shaking, and she didn’t sound at all convincing. “Really.” She sniffled again. “I—I’m fine.”

  Outside, the world seemed to fall quiet. All she could hear was a slight ticking from the engine. She didn’t know whether she ought to be concerned or relieved that, any second now, she might become the victim of an explosion.

  Robert didn’t seem concerned, however. He was quiet for some time before, rather calmly, he said, “You don’t sound fine.”

  The entire interior of the wagon grew watery as her eyes filled with tears, and she didn’t answer. Half expecting him to start yelling any minute, it really didn’t make her feel any better when instead he asked, “Can you climb out?”

  “I think I’d like to stay here a while longer.” She was probably safer in here, anyway. There was a lot less arm-swinging room.

  Hugging her arms, without enough space around the jutting steering wheel to sit back down, she bowed her head against the back of the seat and leaned into it.

  Robert was quiet again, but only for a moment. Resolute, he said, “I’m coming up.”

  She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes, both feeling and hearing the uneven jostle of the wagon as he clambered up onto the upended side of the car. A few seconds later, his head poked over the open passenger window. Looking more concerned than upset, he actually tried to smile when he offered her a gentle, “Hey, you.”

  Kylie melted into tears, her shoulders hunching as she covered her face with both hands, not wanting him to see her cry and yet completely unable to prevent it. “Can you please go away for a minute?”

  “Aw, honey.” He reached down to pat and rub her shoulders. “Don’t do that. Come on, give me your hands. Let’s get you out of there.”

  Reaching up when he beckoned, she let her wrists be captured—something she’d probably be experiencing again later on, most likely while bent over the edge of the bed, with her bare ass propped up on pillows—and knew a half second of weightlessness when he lifted. He pulled her high enough for her to hook her knee over the lip of the window.

  “Got it?” he asked, and didn’t entirely let go even after she got both her feet under her. “Okay, watch where you step.”

  She followed him down to the hood, putting her feet exactly where Robert placed his until he hopped from there to the ground. Turning, he reached back for her, helping her safely down beside him.

  They stood side-by-side, staring at the toppled wagon for quite some time before, sweeping his hands back through his hair, Robert began to pace from the front of the truck to the rear. Scratching the back of his head, he shook it once and then started to laugh.

  “Wow,” he said finally, bracing his hands on his lean hips. “Um…okay. At least you’re not hurt. And the truck looks…fine, I think.”

  Kylie wanted to cry all over again. Turning around, she started walking for the house.

  “Wait a minute,” he caught up to her in only a few steps and stopping her retreat with a hand on her arm.

  Here it came. Finally, he was going to yell at her. She faced him unhappily and waited. Still, the look that settled across his features was anything but angry, and he didn’t yell. He didn’t even scold. In the end, all he said was, “My dad bought that truck when I was fifteen. He had it a grand total of eight days before I decided to drive it to town.” Robert half smiled. “I did pretty much exactly what you did.”

  “Landed it on its side?” she asked, dryly.

  “No. Actually, I hit the wrong peddle and plowed straight through the rear of the garage and into this massive blackberry bush that grew out back at the time. My point is, I’m going to tell you now what he told me.”

  She didn’t think she needed three guesses to get that one right. “Get your ass to the barn and be prepared not to sit for three days?”

  That won a broader smile from him. “Close. What he said was, life happens.” Robert paused, thinking. “Followed pretty quickly by, boy, don’t you ever do that again.” He let go of her arm to catch her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Trust me, it’s going to be okay. And that was three, by the way.”

  His quiet, good-natured acceptance of this whole situation felt worse than being yelled at. The lines of him turned watery all over again. She pulled out of his hand, stabbing her fingers back through her hair as she mirrored his earlier stance, clutching her head and finding it so much easier to face the truck right now than him.

  “I can’t believe this happened,” she groaned.

  “Ah, don’t worry about it.” Robert squatted down, trying to estimate how badly damaged the face-down side might be. “We’re not leaking gas or oil. There’s no smoke. The ground here’s pretty soft, too. It might take a couple days, but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble buffing out the scratches.”

  He flashed her a quick grin, one which she did not reciprocate. She was staring at the same accident he was, and yet she just couldn’t see anything funny in any of this.

  Her lower lip began to tremble. She could feel her hands shaking. The rest of her must be shaking too, then. Her voice cracked and she ended up whispering, “I’m very sorry, Robert.”

  “Honest, Kylie, it’s going to be okay.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back. “What’s a few dings? It’s not destroyed, so there’s no sense taking it this hard. Honey, look at me. I’m not mad.”

  Twin tears trickled past her lashes anyway, spilling down her cheeks when she blinked. She felt horrible and guilty. So guilty, she just couldn’t stand it. Unable to look at the Woody, she turned away, only to find herself facing Robert instead. Without a word, she reached out and began to unbuckle his belt.

  “Honey, stop.” Robert tried to still her hands, but she pulled the thick strip of leather from his pants loops. She held it out to him, but he made no move to take it. “This isn’t worth a spanking, and it for sure isn’t worth a whipping.”

  “You’d spank me for stealing an apple, but not
for stealing your car?” she countered, feeling almost wooden.

  He flushed, and the muscle jumped along his jaw. For a moment, he looked as if he might apologize, but then he shook his head. “We’re going to be married, remember? Wives can’t steal their husbands’ cars. They borrow them. There’s a distinction there. And I’m pretty sure you did not mean to—”

  “Don’t make excuses for me! Look at this, Robert!” She gestured at the truck. “Just look at what I’ve done!”

  He reached for her, but she backed from his touch, not wanting to be soothed.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she railed, pounding on her chest with both hands, the length of his belt snapping up at the motion and nearly striking her face. It whipped over her left shoulder instead, the tip biting into her back. “Robert, what was I thinking? What if I’d been hurt? What if I’ve completely wrecked your car? I could have driven it into the house, for Pete’s sake!”

  “But you didn’t,” he corrected and tried to take the belt from her, except that she jerked around and stalked down the length of the truck, out of reach.

  “I knew what I was doing.” She wrenched about to face him. “This was deliberate disobedience, plain and simple! It was me at my most devious level! I snuck out of the house because I knew you’d stop me if I went out the front door. I was going to drive until I found this Billy Owens and I was going to make him pay us what he owes. It had nothing to do with him at all. I did it not because I had a good reason, but because I was mad at you! And now look!” She thrust out both hands, gesturing wildly at the fallen vehicle. Tears rolled unhindered down her face. “Look at what I’ve done! If this is how ‘capable’ I can be, it’s no wonder I can’t be trusted around the cider press!”