He nods, staring into the dark engine. ‘Why’d you come in after me?’
Doe Eyes straightens, twisting side to side as she thinks. At length she shrugs. ‘Everyone needs a friend.’
His turn to straighten, silent. Wary. ‘You think I’m your friend?’
‘Aren’t you?’
He looks back down into the now dark engine before them. He’ll need a flashlight soon if he’s to work on. It’s been a long while since he had someone he’d call a friend. There had been Roy, of course, all those years ago, back when they were boys, and even Bobby for a time. They had been friends. And Pascal Ramirez, whom he’d spent that summer laying tarmac with on that job just west of Waco. But there were no friends in prison. Not really. Brothers, maybe, of a sort, forged by blood and bond, but no, no friends. Not really. He’s never been friends with a girl before that he can recall. Especially not a child.
He gestures towards the pickup. ‘You wanna see if she’s fixed?’ His voice sounds husky, even to his ears.
Joanne’s eyes sparkle as she turns to him. She nods.
‘You stay there ’n’ I’ll start ’er up. Watch that fan there to see if the belt moves. Holler at me if it doesn’.’ He drops the dirty rag onto the pavement, hands still stained. Glances up to the house, lights just now flicking on inside. In the shadows of the porch, Katie still reclines, and he can feel her eyes even when they’re not upon him, watching him, watching them. He sits behind the wheel. Turns the key in the ignition. First try, the engine purrs.
There are butterflies in Katie’s stomach even before Josh’s pickup pulls up. She watches its lights from a great distance moving across the prairie towards her, as though racing to catch her before the fall of night. All she wants is his arms around her.
She rises before he reaches the drive, steps inside and runs up the stairs real fast, two at a time, like when she was a kid. Like Joanne still sometimes does. Her room is dark, silent. Messier than she’d like. But it doesn’t matter. Not now. She crosses the room quickly, stepping over discarded clothes. Glances in the mirror. Pulls her hair down and brushes it out. Long blonde strands reach to her waist, tangle and catch in her comb. She can hear his truck now on the road. He’ll be pulling up any minute …
She hurriedly applies some more mascara. Blinks at herself in the mirror to let it set. Sprays a bit of that perfume Josh gave her. Her neck, her breasts, each wrist. It smells a bit sweet, like bubble gum, but she likes it. She likes that he likes it. She likes that he bought it for her, and she likes the shape of the pretty pink bottle. She feels pretty when she wears it. Sure beats sweat or the smell of fried food from the diner. Katie grabs some lipstick, a light pink shade called ‘Petal Rose’, and tucks the tube into her front pocket, then runs back down the stairs, across the landing. Calls out, ‘Josh is here, Mama. I’m goin’!’ She opens the door right as Josh cuts his engine.
And somehow the whole evening goes quiet.
She pauses in the doorway, uncertain, not sure what feels wrong. The evening is humid still, and the day sticks to her. Sweaty strands of hair cling to her, wrap around her waist and limbs. Uncle Jasper slowly rises from where he’s bent over the toolbox, wiping the grease off the tools as he sets them back. Her grandfather’s tools. His father’s. Joanne sits cross-legged there on the gravel beside the tool box. She’s holding a wrench in her hand, tightening and loosening its grip on thin air. She looks up when Katie comes out. Smiles. Then looks to Josh’s pickup as he cuts his engine and grins that big goofy-kid grin of hers. ‘Hey, Josh!’ Joanne calls, waving excitedly, and she jumps up real fast and starts running to his pickup. Katie’d like to run to him, too. For a moment, she envies her sister that she can. That she can run without looking stupid. That being cool doesn’t matter yet. Shit, Joanne wouldn’t even know what playing cool meant. But inside Katie’s running. She’s across the garden already, leaping the picket fence, weather-worn, paint peeling, she’s falling into his arms already, and he’s holding her. Inside she’s calling out his name, she’s screaming it on repeat. Katie raises a hand as Josh steps out of the truck. She leans against the porch railing and smiles. Finds his eyes with hers across the garden, still bright blue even in the growing shadows. But his eyes aren’t soft and teasing. Not tonight. He glances to her, and their eyes catch but don’t hold. There is no smile for her, and she feels her own fade.
Joanne runs to Josh and hugs him, and he swoops her up and spins her around and sets her down real fast, and Katie wishes that were her. She’s jealous of her sister’s giggle. It doesn’t matter that Joanne is just eleven: Katie wants Josh’s touch only for her. ‘Hey, li’l missus,’ Josh says, as he ruffles Joanne’s hair, and she squirms away, giggling, but there isn’t the usual laughter in his tone. His eyes are stormy, his smile clouded.
Joanne is tugging on his arm, pulling him down the drive. ‘Did you meet Uncle Jasper yet? You gotta meet him! He just fixed Mom’s truck!’
‘That right?’ Josh’s voice is slow and strong. Guarded. ‘No, I ain’t met ’im yet.’
Oh, please, God, no, Katie thinks. Don’t be like that.
Jasper stands cleaning the last of the grease from his hands. He regards the boy without emotion. With a coolness that chills Katie, despite the evening’s humidity. The primroses have fully opened now, last streaks of pink deepening to purple in the sky. The moon, a thin sliver, has just risen, and a few stars can be seen, their light still dim. Crickets call, fall silent and call again. A few birds sing as they nest down for the night. Their songs somehow both interrupt and complement each other. Katie likes the sound, the song of another day’s end on the prairie.
‘Hey, Josh,’ she says, quickly crossing the garden to walk to him. Her voice sounds weak to her, shaky. She tries to will it strong. She forces a grin as she’s close to him, hoping it doesn’t look contrived. ‘Come on.’ She jerks her head towards his pickup. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Hey, baby.’ Something’s off in his voice too. She can hear it. Feel it. She tries hard not to look at Uncle Jasper. Can feel his eyes upon her as she reaches up to peck Josh’s lips hello with hers. She closes her eyes a moment, then pulls her mouth away from his, still tasting hello on her lips. She finds his eyes with hers.
‘Let’s go.’ This time whispered only for his ears.
He looks down at her and his face softens. ‘OK …’
She slips her hand into his, his palm warm and strong around hers.
‘You her boyfriend, I take it?’ His voice too loud in the still evening. Overpowering the birdsong. The crickets’ song. A harshness to his words, as though judgement’s just been passed.
Josh’s hand releases hers. She pulls the other back from where it rested on his chest while she kissed him. She can sense his body tense. ‘Yes, sir, that’s right. I’m her fella.’
Jasper nods as though expecting that answer. He tosses the greasy towel from one hand to the other as he grinds dirt only soap and hot water can lift further into his hands. He leans back against the still-open hood of the truck, one leg casually crossed before the other. ‘What’s your name, boy?’
Josh hesitates. ‘Joshua Ryan.’
‘You Chuck’s boy?’
‘That’s right.’
Jasper tosses the towel aside and raises his eyes to the boy’s. ‘I never much liked your father.’
She can feel Josh stiffen. ‘He don’t much care for you neither.’
Jasper smiles. ‘I’da guessed as much.’
She can feel her uncle’s eyes move to her. Not undressing her. Not exactly. More the opposite, really, as though desperately trying to dress her with his eyes, to add and add more clothing. She can feel him appraise her, and doesn’t like it.
‘What’s it like?’ Josh’s words surprise her. ‘Being free?’
‘You tell me.’
Josh snorts.
There is a coldness to her uncle’s voice that makes her spine crawl. She takes Josh’s hand again, whispers, ‘Come on, let’s go.’
<
br /> He stands solid. Eyes locked on her uncle. Jasper holds his hands out, inspects the stains still black upon them. Folds his arms across his chest. ‘Your daddy still knockin’ about with Eddie Saunders ’n’ that crew?’
Katie forgets to breathe. She looks quickly for Joanne. Joanne’s eyes widen as she skips through the garden, pretending not to listen.
‘A bit.’
‘A bit?’ Jasper grunts.
‘That’s right. I said they’re friends.’
‘Yeah, well … You tell your daddy ’n’ his fine friends I ain’t back for trouble.’ His eyes go dark and cold. ‘You pass that on, you hear? Eddie ain’t got no business how I see it drivin’ his truck by here.’
Josh spits on the ground and takes his time answering the older man. ‘Way most folks round here see it, you ain’t got no business being back.’ Defiance in his words, his tone.
‘Josh, please, don’t.’ Words a soft whisper. Hands to his elbow, softly urging, pulling, Let’s go.
Jasper nods real slow. ‘You ever been in a fight, boy? A real fight? Now, I ain’t talkin’ ’bout some schoolyard scrape or a smack among friends. I ain’t talkin’ ’bout no whoopin’ off your daddy neither. You ever known real pain? No, I doubt you ever known a man’s pain, boy. With that pretty baby face of yours. So you’ll show some respect, you hear? And if you ever so much as make that pretty girl of yours shed one single tear, I swear to Jesus I’ll make you better than sorry.’
Josh’s mouth hangs open, then snaps shut real sharp. It takes him a second to draw himself up tall again. ‘I ain’t afraid of you.’ He spits a big white wad of mucus onto the grass. For a moment it glistens silver-white against the dark of the lawn before it evaporates into nothing there before them.
Jasper ignores the spit as if it never happened. Stands up real casual, uncrossing his legs as he steps forward. As if Josh never spoke. He glances back down into the dark hood of the pickup. Bits of engine catch and reflect what little light remains. Other nuts and bolts, the fuel pump, the carbonator lie cloaked enough in shadow to have disappeared from view. Jasper waves his hand dismissively as he turns to glance down at the engine. ‘Now, like I said, I ain’t here for trouble. You spread that word.’ He shuts the hood and turns to walk away.
For a second, Katie thinks Josh isn’t going to answer him. Inside she prays he won’t. She tightens her fingers on his arm, her nails digging into his flesh. ‘Josh, it isn’t worth it,’ she whispers hoarsely. Too late.
‘Don’t you worry!’ Josh calls after her uncle. ‘I’ll be sure to tell my pops ’n’ Eddie you was askin’ for ’em! Eddie’ll be real pleased to hear he ain’t allowed to drive down this road no more.’ He laughs then, this short hyper-laugh, almost panicky, almost hysterical in sound, high-pitched, the way he and the boys might laugh when bullying Naveen Simons or one of the other nerds at school. Except that laugh always seemed more normal then, more harmless. Just jocks being jocks. And taunting a smaller kid at school was one thing.
Jasper was another.
Her uncle turns slowly. He’d reached the first step of the front porch and his foot has to come back down off the step before he turns. The greasy towel is still clutched in one hand. ‘Don’t be a fool, boy.’ Disdain thick on every word. ‘Go diggin’ up what don’ concern you ’n’ all you’ll find is pain.’
Josh shrugs his arm, shaking Katie’s hand free. That laugh again. More panicky this time, it lasts only a second, but that second’s long enough. ‘Go diggin’? Fine choice of words. We go diggin’ ’n’ I reckon we could uncover you a whole ’nother sentence in Huntsville.’
‘Josh! Stop it!’
Something clouds her uncle’s face. A look she’s never seen before, more animal than man. His face twists, contorts into a snarled smile, no humour in his eyes, no humour there at all. A look that will haunt her. ‘I served my time, son.’ His words hiss round every s. ‘Who do you think you are, judgin’ me? Go diggin’ if you’re so sure. Heck, hold on, I’ll lend you my shovel.’ Something deadly in his eyes. This cold, hard darkness. And something wild in him, like a cornered animal about to pounce.
Josh falters.
The door opens and the porch light pops on. ‘Evening, Josh.’ Lizzie’s voice is winter cold.
‘E-evening, ma’am,’ he sputters. Shading his eyes from the sudden light, looking around, uncertain, as though someone else hidden might spring out.
‘Why don’t you take Katie out now, like you’d planned?’ Lizzie’s voice is civil but lacks its usual warmth. ‘I ain’t sayin’ you’re not welcome here, Josh,’ she continues, ‘I know Katie’s awful fond of you, and I want my daughter to be happy, but I think it’s time you left tonight. There’s no need for this. There’s no bad blood between our families, boys. Let’s keep it that way.’ Lizzie leans against the door frame, face half in shadow. Her voice is even, not one word out of control. The sight of her mother comforts Katie. Takes the chill from her spine.
Jasper stands silhouetted by the light cast from the porch, his face completely lost in shadow.
Katie takes Josh’s arm again. Carefully, not certain he won’t pull away. ‘Come on,’ she whispers. ‘Mom’s right. Let’s get out of here.’
Josh falters again, his eyes still on her mother. ‘Ma’am.’ He dips his head, the way a man with a ten-gallon might, except his head is bare. ‘I’m sorry. I –’
Lizzie cuts him off: ‘I know, Josh. No harm done. And no need for none of that anger, neither, you hear?’ Her eyes shift to Katie. ‘You two best be off, I think … Joanne!’ Joanne looks up, wide-eyed, from the corner of the garden where she’d stood still. ‘Them potatoes in the kitchen sink won’t peel themselves. Get to it.’
‘But, Mom …’ Her whine sounds shrill in the stillness of the just fallen night.
‘I said now!’
Katie feels almost sorry for her sister as she watches her go inside. Joanne hangs her head and solemnly pushes past their uncle up the steps. She pauses for a moment, standing before their mother. Opens her mouth to speak. Says nothing. Steps inside. Smart kid, Katie thinks, and can’t help but almost smile.
‘Now, you have her home before twelve,’ Lizzie calls, voice firm. ‘And you kids have fun, you hear?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Josh says, and without even looking at Katie, he turns back towards where his truck is parked. Up at the top of their drive, just barely pulled in off the country road. ‘Come on.’ His words are angry, spat at her, sharp. He doesn’t look back to see if she follows him.
But she does. She always does. All she wants is his arms around her, telling her everything’s all right. ‘Josh!’ she calls after him. ‘Please. Don’t be like that!’ She has to struggle to catch up to him.
Josh opens the door on the driver’s side, cussing under his breath, and slams it hard behind him. Katie wishes he’d thought to open the door for her on her side like he usually does. She would have liked Mom and Uncle Jasper to see him do that for her, but she knows Josh’s mind is far from his manners right now. She opens the door herself. Pauses to look back at the house. Her mother and Uncle Jasper stand like two dark scarecrows silhouetted by the porch light, the garden a tangle of shadows before them. A firefly flicks on and off as it floats across the lawn. ‘I don’t want no trouble,’ she hears her uncle call out softly behind them, voice barely above a whisper, really. Had the wind blown a different way she would not have made out his words. ‘You spread that word,’ he calls. ‘I’m done with trouble.’
She slides onto the seat beside Josh and shuts the door.
They sit in silence for a second. He doesn’t look at her. Says, ‘I hope to hell that same poison ain’t runnin’ in your veins,’ then turns the key in the ignition and pulls off.
He pauses in the kitchen door, uncertain what has stopped him. Maybe it’s the warmth of the light spilling from the room. Maybe it’s the tune she’s humming. Her back is to him. She stands on a small wooden stool so that her hip bones are even with the sink. Head bowed over t
he work she’s doing, the peels fall one by one into a mountain in the washing-up bowl as she places each potato in a pot, ready to be boiled. He didn’t think he made a sound, but he must have because she turns. No smile, not at first, and he wonders what she sees in him, what scars of anger must still line his face. She’d said they were friends. He wonders if she meant it.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’ His voice rough, husky, still too long out of practice at trying to sound ‘nice’.
‘You didn’t.’ She turns back to the sink.
He stays in the doorway, uncertain if he should enter.
She looks back again. ‘You can help, if you want.’
‘Help?’ Even to him his voice sounds broken.
Her focus is back on the task at hand. ‘You ever peeled a potato before?’
He takes a cautious step forward. Cocks his head. ‘It’s been a while.’
Joanne places a now nude potato in the pot with the others. ‘It’s real easy. You can’t mess it up. Here, I’ll show you.’ And she bounces down off the stool, crosses the kitchen, opens a drawer and pulls out a peeler. ‘You’ll need this.’ Still no smile on her lips. Tiny drops of water drip from her wet hands onto the floor. Seems strange not to see her smile. She crosses the kitchen again. Steps back up on that stool. Somehow he finds himself beside her.
For the second time that night, Jasper is aware of just how much he’s come to enjoy working with his hands. He likes the feel of the earth still clinging to the potato skins before he washes it off. Likes the rhythmic pattern of the peeling, the simple satisfaction at seeing the peel pile grow, the pot fill. Carrots are next, mud thick upon them, colouring the water as it pools down the drain. His mind drifts there for a while, as they work in silence side by side. He thinks about helping his mama in that same kitchen all those years ago, when he was even younger than the girl now standing beside him. He thinks about these Russian dolls Roy’s mother used to have where one lady fit inside the other, over and over, smaller and smaller. Lizzie and Esther used to play with them sometimes when Mrs Reynolds wasn’t looking. He remembers a story he’d overheard in prison told by some spick he never himself knew, about a donkey down in Mexico in the boy’s native village that got into the corn and nearly ate itself to death. He wonders what got him there – from potatoes to dolls to corn. He wonders what happened to that donkey. He feels at peace. Listens to her humming.
The Last Days of Summer Page 14