Rhythm and Bluegrass

by Molly Harper

  “We did, but it shorted out last year and we haven’t been able to repair it yet. So the volunteer fire department runs around town to make sure people get the word. This is my last stop for the night. Come on. Guys, you’re going to want to sit near your families.” Will tugged the “weather watchers” away from the entrance.

  I pulled my hand away from my head and gasped at the slick red blood coating my fingertips. My head was bleeding. Will turned at the sound and cursed under his breath. “How did ya manage that?” he said, cupping my chin in his hand as he fished an alcohol wipe out of a wall-mounted first-aid kit.

  “Somebody hit me in the head with a door,” I grumbled, wiping the blood on my wet pajama pants. Will gently pushed my hair back from my temple, wincing as he dragged the alcohol wipe across the cut.

  “Well, technically, Fancy Pants, I hit the door with you,” he said as I hissed at the cold sting. “Sorry, it’s just a scrape—”

  FHOOOM!

  The wind sucked the shelter door open, splintering the lock bar and sending plastic shards and tree debris raining over us. Will threw his arms over my head, bending his body protectively over mine as he pushed me against the wall. Dropping my bags on the floor, I pulled him into a sitting position.

  “Everybody against the back wall!” Will yelled as we scooted away from the door. Hailstones bounced down the steps like Ping-Pong balls, scattering at our feet. The families around us huddled together, kids tucked safely under their parents’ arms as the wind raged. Fred cursed in a way I wouldn’t have believed was grammatically possible as he struggled up the steps to hold the door closed. After getting pegged by hailstones the size of golf balls, he gave up and plopped down next to us. “Plastic broke off. It won’t latch,” he said. “Best bet is just to stay back away from the door.”

  Will tucked my head against his chest, resting his face against my hair. I slid my arms under his and squeezed him tight. “How long will it last?” I called over the noise.

  “Who knows?” With Will’s face pressed against my neck, there was no need for him to yell. His mouth was practically touching my ear. “This one isn’t supposed to be that bad.”

  “Not that bad!” I exclaimed. “You call this ‘not that bad’?”

  “Shh.” He rocked me gently. “You’re gonna scare the kids. Who are handling this better than you, by the way.”

  “Not funny—” Before I could finish my retort, a monstrous clanging echoed in the shelter, shaking the ground above us. Will squeezed me tighter, rolling us away from the door, against the legs of the others. What was happening up there? Was the FrankenBug okay, or would it look like a golf ball once the hailstones were done with it? I was struck with a horrifying image of a trailer rolling over the entrance to the shelter, trapping us under it. Would we ever be able to get back out? Would anyone even know we were there?

  “It’s okay,” Will promised me, pulling me closer, practically into his lap. “It’s going to be okay.”

  And I stayed like that, cradled against his side with my aching head tucked against his neck. I didn’t care if it was needy. I didn’t care if I didn’t know him well enough for this level of snuggling. He was warm and he was solid and he made the insane racket of the chaos over our heads disappear just a little bit.

  It was another hour before the wind died down enough that the weather service called off the warning and we were comfortable leaving the shelter. The trailer park was a disaster area. Lawn chairs and bikes were tossed about like litter. A trampoline had flipped over my next-door neighbor’s car. But all of the trailers seemed to be intact except—

  “Oh, no!” I groaned.

  My trailer had blown over on its side, crumpled and tossed aside like an empty soda can. Two light poles lay on top of it, and on top of the poles lay an overturned truck. On top of the truck lay one of those prefab toolsheds people used to store their lawnmowers and yard tools.

  And of course, the front door of the trailer was facedown.

  I stood there in the dark, staring at the sight of my overturned trailer, unable to make words beyond “Wha?”

  What was I going to do? With the exception of my computer bag and purse, everything I owned was in that trailer. Even I wasn’t small enough to fit through those tiny windows to retrieve my stuff, and I didn’t think Will and the rest of the volunteer fire department would be willing to move the shed and the poles and the truck and turn the trailer over for me just so I could run in and grab some non-novelty pants.

  Joe Bob’s hideous FrankenBug, I noticed, had made it through unscathed.

  I fished my keys out of my purse and popped open the passenger door. I’d stashed a change of clothes in the FrankenBug after ruining my third pair of pants cleaning out the music hall. I slung the duffel over my shoulder, which was starting to strain under the weight of my purse, my laptop and, now, my gym/overnight bag.

  Will approached with one of the men who had huddled in the shelter with his wife and kids. The man was wearing a T-shirt that read MARSHALL TRUCKING SERVICE, and he was rubbing the back of his head like he was equal parts embarrassed and dismayed.

  “Bonnie, this is Dwayne Disher, Ina Jane’s husband,” Will told me.

  Dwayne gave me a little nod. “Ma’am.”

  “Near as we can tell, your trailer got knocked over by the light poles, and then the truck sort of used the poles as a ramp as it rolled and parked on top of it.”

  “The emergency brake has been on the fritz. Between that and the wind?” Dwayne made a crashing noise, like a little boy playing with accident-prone toy trucks. He grimaced. “I’m real sorry about that, Miss Bonnie.”

  I had to clear my throat a few times before I managed a “Not your fault.”

  “My boss’ll come out here and help get the truck off of you, but it could take a while,” he said. “And then the boys and I will try to pry open your trailer and get your stuff out.”

  “How long could ‘a while’ be?” I asked.

  “Few days,” he said, shrugging. “But until my boss comes by and the insurance guy can get a look at this, I’d appreciate it if you left it alone.” A snigger bubbled up from his chest. “’Cause they’re never gonna believe this unless they see it.” He managed to get his twitching lips back under control and gave me a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

  I nodded, my head feeling like a puppet’s on a string, as if someone else was running the controls because I sure didn’t know what to do at this point. “Okay, thanks, Dwayne,” I said, my voice weirdly distant.

  “Is your boss gonna be pissed at you about this, Dwayne?” Will asked with some concern.

  Dwayne made a dismissive grunt. “Hell no. He’s been wantin’ to replace this truck for a while. Insurance will cover it. He might give me a bonus.”

  My eyebrows shot up at the sight of Dwayne’s pleased grin. He cleared his throat. “I’m just gonna go check on Ina Jane and the kids.”

  With that, Dwayne disappeared into his trailer, which was upright and not parked under a small mountain of scrap metal.

  “Dwayne’s good at finding the bright side,” Will said, giving my arm a squeeze.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I whispered, not wanting Dwayne or my neighbors to see me having a small meltdown. “I don’t even have a toothbrush!”

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he promised. “We’ll figure out a way to get your stuff after Dwayne’s boss moves the truck.”

  “But that could be days. Where am I supposed to stay in the meantime?”

  He frowned. “I would tell ya to stay in one of the motels in town, but I’m not sure . . . Well, they’re not the safest places. I guess you’re just going to have to go home,” he said brightly. I stomped on his foot. He made an “oof” sound. “Too soon?”

  “Yes,” I grumbled.

  “But you’re snapped out of your little pity party, so . . .” I s
tomped on his other foot. “Would you stop doing that?”

  “I can still work at the music hall—” A sudden, sickening realization hit me. “Oh my gosh, what if the music hall is damaged?”

  “Yes,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

  This time he managed to dodge my foot when I lashed out at his shins. “Will, I need to get over there and see.”

  “In your pajamas?”

  “I left some of the research materials from the library there. I need to know if I have to go make a large apology to Miss Earlene. Really, I just need to make sure it’s okay. And what else am I going to do?” I gestured toward my overturned home and gave Will my very best Disney-princess eyes, which Kelsey insisted were both all-powerful and evil.

  “All right,” he sighed, grimacing as he checked the clotted cut on my head. “Get in my truck. I’m not letting you go over there alone. Lord knows what you’d get up to.”

  Driving through town, I could see only minor damage—tree limbs down, street lights out. I guessed it was true what people said about trailer parks attracting bad weather, which was kind of cranky of Mother Nature, if you asked me. We arrived at McBride’s, and I was pleased to see that not only was the building whole, but the security lights were on. I breathed a sigh of relief and hopped out of the truck cab.

  “Where are you going?” Will demanded, glaring at the building as if he expected an army of armed possums to burst out at any moment.

  “I’m going to check the locks. You want to come with me?”

  “No,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Just make it quick.”

  As I approached the windows, I could see my workstation inside the food counter area, intact and ready for my return. I jiggled all of the door handles to make sure the Quonset hut was secure and I glanced back at Will. Poor Will, who resented a building so much that he hated to get within ten feet of it.

  But at the moment, I was too exhausted to explore his myriad issues. I just wanted to find some flat surface somewhere and fall asleep. I slumped back toward the truck, where Will was waiting. I climbed in easily enough, but for some reason, the act of stretching my seat belt across my torso and clicking the metal tab into the buckle was beyond my gross motor skills.

  Will gave a frustrated huff and slid across the bench seat, gently taking the seat belt tab from me with one hand and clutching my fingers with the other. He glanced up at my face, tsking under his breath as he checked the cut on my head again. The metal tab slipped out of his hand as he brushed my hair out of my eyes. All I could do was stare up at his mouth, those soft, pursed lips that he’d pressed against my hair when I was cowering in a dark storm shelter.

  And suddenly, those lips were moving closer, pressing against mine and shocking my breath from my body in a muffled “oomph.” My hands flailed out, clutching at his jacket. I pulled him with me as I fell back against the truck door. He grunted as he lost his balance, climbing to his knees on the seat and wrapping my leg around his hip. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I threaded my fingers through his hair.

  His hands were everywhere, bending my legs to cradle his hips, cupping my butt to hold me close as he rocked those hips into mine. I didn’t wear a bra to bed, so when Will reached under the thin, damp cotton of my shirt, his cool hands cupped tingling bare flesh. Will was definitely a guy who knew his way around tingling bare flesh.

  My breathing became frantic as we struggled out of our damp jackets. Before I could even think about what a bad, irresponsible, stupid idea having post-tornado sex in a truck could be, my hands reached for Will’s belt buckle and tugged. He grinned at me, balancing on his knees to help me manage it. He cupped my face in his hands, accidentally brushing my injured temple with his fingers. I winced, hissing in pain.

  The noise seemed to startle Will, making him draw away from me, back across to his side of the truck. He looked so silly, his expression dazed and his pants half-zipped, but I couldn’t find it in me to laugh. He took a deep, steadying breath, hitching up his jeans and starting the truck. “Let’s get home and get you to bed.”

  I was afraid to ask him what he meant by that. Had the Red Cross set up some sort of shelter nearby? Maybe he would take me to one of those no-tell motels that secured every other corner in town. I just needed a minute to collect my thoughts, then I would ask him, I told myself. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass window and closed my eyes. Just a minute to think, that was all I needed.

  8

  In Which I Indulge in Cupcake Therapy

  Sunlight, burning red through my eyelids.

  I blinked, rolling to my side on the thick, comfy mattress. It was weird that I seemed to be catching a sunbeam right to the face. Usually the trailer didn’t get much early-morning sun.

  Wait, the trailer had blown over the night before. And my mattress was nowhere near this comfy. So where the hell was I?

  I bolted up in bed, wincing at the sudden strain on my sore back muscles. Huddling in a fetal position in an enclosed space is clearly more strenuous than it seems. I was alone, which was a relief. But I still had no idea who had lent me their bed for the night. Rubbing my eyes, I scanned the room, trying to figure out where Will had dumped me.

  I glanced around the room and saw sturdy, clean furniture and plain white walls. The only decoration was a familiar-looking couple posing for an eight-by-ten with a towheaded, bucktoothed little boy. A pennant for Mud Creek High hung over the oak dresser, where I could see a wallet, keys, and a Mud Creek Volunteer Fire Department cap.

  I wasn’t wearing pants, I realized as my bare legs rubbed against the soft sheets. Why wasn’t I wearing pants? I was wearing underwear, thank goodness, but the T-shirt I had on wasn’t mine. I glanced down at the emblem on the breast and saw that it was another article from the volunteer fire department. The name over the emblem read MCBRIDE.

  Holy bad decisions, Batman.

  Had I slept with Will? I remembered my raw exhaustion the night before and the unexpected, and disturbingly welcome, make-out session. I could very easily see myself falling into Will’s bed after being kissed like that. Part of my brain was dismayed at the idea that I may have had sex with someone I needed to work with on a semi-daily basis. The other part of my brain was even more dismayed that I could have slept with him and not remembered it. I at least wanted some memories to regret. I slipped out of the bed quietly, changing into the dry clothes in my gym bag. I cringed at my reflection in the tidy little bathroom. While Will had obviously cleaned and bandaged the laceration on my scalp, my hair looked like I’d combed it with an eggbeater. There were dark shadows under my eyes and a bruise on my temple.

  For some strange reason (I blamed the head wound), I stashed the T-shirt marked MCBRIDE in my bag. As I crept into the sunny living room, I could make out the outline of Will’s body underneath an old maroon-and-white log-cabin-pattern quilt stretched across the couch. Surely if we’d actually had sex, Will would have stayed in the bed. I didn’t snore that loudly.

  He’d given up his bed and slept on the couch. I smiled down at him fondly, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair and bring the blanket up to his chin.

  The nice thing to do, to say thank you, would be to fix him breakfast. But I had things I had to do today. I had to find another place to live. I had to get clothes and basic necessities. I had to figure out how the hell I was going to continue living here in Mud Creek as a scarlet woman.

  And frankly, I didn’t want to deal with whatever awkward morning-after conversation was involved when someone who passive-aggressively flirts with you does you a huge favor. And has clearly undressed you at some point. I definitely didn’t want to talk about that.

  I picked up my bags from the table beside the front door, holding my keys so they wouldn’t jangle. Once I’d cleared Will’s front door, I called Fred, using the towing service card he’d left me. My chubby chum was more than ha
ppy to drive me back to the trailer park and gave me permission to drive his loaner long-distance, since I would need to cover some serious mileage to sort out this problem. I stared at my overturned trailer, forlorn and battered under its trucker’s burden, before pulling the FrankenBug onto the highway toward sanity, toward dry clothing, toward Frankfort.

  Kelsey Wade’s apartment building was one of those old-school brick monstrosities in which you did not contemplate the level of lead in the paint for your own mental well-being.

  Kelsey was my closest friend at the KCT office, which was pretty funny, considering she was one of the most cynical people I knew. I was the warm milk to her whiskey, the Galinda to her Elphaba. I was the glass-half-full to her “I accidentally smashed the effing glass.”

  Kelsey was an odd duck. At the office, she was organized, competent, and super prepared. There were times when she seemed ready to conquer the administrative world with a quirk of her pinky. And then her mother would call, or her “boyfriend,” Darrell, would make one of his idiotic observations, and she’d retreat into herself.

  Life as the child of a former Miss Lexington who never got over herself was rough. Kelsey never quite lived up to her mom’s standards, and had only recently figured out that trying was pointless. Kelsey was built like one of those old-fashioned Vargas pinup girls—lush curves, long limbs, and a teeny-tiny waist. Despite the fact that she had assets most women, including myself, would pay good money for, her mom had her convinced she had a “weight problem.”

  This self-image paradox, combined with Kelsey’s mother pressuring her to marry any man who would take her in “her condition,” was why Kelsey’s apartment was currently home to her underemployed, overjerkfaced “boyfriend,” Darrell. I was forced to put “boyfriend” in quotation marks because my admittedly weak cursing skills couldn’t come up with a name foul enough to accurately quantify him. Sadie called him an ass-clown, but that seemed unfair to both asses and clowns.