Things I Want to Say

by Cyndi Myers

  When he and Sadie were gone, back door slamming behind him, Del turned to Karen again. “He doing okay?”

  “Casey? Why wouldn’t he be okay?”

  He shrugged. “Seems kind of funny, him showing up here all of a sudden. I mean, what kind of summer is he gonna have, playing nursemaid to a sick old man?”

  “He said he wanted to stay with me.” She bristled. Did Del think she’d set out to ruin her son’s summer?

  “Yeah, well, maybe he’s a nicer guy than I am.” He opened another bottle. “Wouldn’t be hard to do, according to you.”

  “At least he’s trying to help.”

  “And I’m not.” He lifted the beer in a mock toast. “Just doing my best to live up to your low opinion of me.”

  Where had he mastered the art of throwing all blame squarely back on her? He infuriated her, but there was enough truth in his words to choke off her angry reply.

  And she didn’t want to argue with him right now. She wanted to sit here and let the alcohol buzz smooth out all the rough edges of her emotions. They could have one afternoon together that didn’t end in a fight, couldn’t they? Maybe it was a fantasy, but if anyone deserved a break from harsh reality right now, it was her. Why not pretend, for a little while, that everything was as fine and happy as she used to fantasize it could be.

  Casey had just cut the head off the largest fish when the back door opened and Mary Elisabeth stepped out. “Hey there,” she called, and headed toward the picnic table where he was working. She’d taken off the dish towel apron and held an oversize pair of pliers out in front of her like a bridal bouquet. “I thought maybe these would help,” she said, stopping beside him.

  “Yeah, thanks.” He took the pliers, trying to remember what he was supposed to do with them.

  “The easiest way is to use the pliers to pull the skin back, and sort of turn it inside out.” She smiled, and tucked her hair behind one ear. She had about five earrings in each ear, a row of sparkling stones curving up from the lobe.

  “Right. I remember now.” He gripped the leathery fish skin with the pliers and tugged it back, aware of the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort. He’d taken off his shirt to keep from getting it dirty, and because it was hot out. He hoped she didn’t think he looked like a pale, skinny kid.

  “Hey, you’re pretty strong.” When she wrapped her hand around his bicep and squeezed, he almost dropped the pliers, but managed to hang on to them and the slippery fish.

  “Thanks,” he choked out, and tossed the now-naked fish into the dishpan. Sadie sat next to the table, eyes focused hopefully on the pan.

  “How’s the pup working out?” Mary Elisabeth raked her long nails through Sadie’s hair. The dog half closed her eyes and swept the dirt with her tail. “Del said your mom wasn’t too happy about him bringing her over.”

  “Aw, she’s pretty much over that now. Sadie’s a great dog.”

  She smiled at him again, and it was as if someone had turned the sun’s heat up a notch all of a sudden. He could feel sweat running down the small of his back. He started on the next fish and she moved closer. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples showed through the thin material of the tank top. He had to force his gaze back on the fish, or risk cutting his thumb off. “Not bad for a Yankee boy,” she said as he stripped the second fish.

  “I’m not a Yankee.” Or a boy, he wanted to add, but of course to her he was. How old was she, anyway? Probably twenty-five or so, at least.

  “My daddy always said anybody who lived north of Amarillo was a Yankee to him.” She laughed and climbed up onto the table and sat facing him, her feet on the bench. The muddy scent of catfish mingled with the sweet flower smell of her perfume.

  He didn’t know what to think of her. Was she flirting with him, or was she just one of those women who flirted with everybody? He tossed a third fish into the dishpan. Probably the latter. It wasn’t like she’d be interested in him or anything.

  “So how did you meet my my uncle Del?” he asked.

  “He came into the water department to pay an overdue bill. While I was processing the paper work, he started telling these really corny jokes. Like, what weighs five thousand pounds and wears glass slippers?”

  “Um, I don’t know.”

  “Cinderelephant! Or, what’s large and gray and goes around and around in circles? An elephant stuck in a revolving door.”

  “And you thought this was funny?”

  She laughed. “They were so silly. And he had such a funny look on his face when he told them. He had us all in stitches. There’s nothing a woman likes better than a man who can make her laugh.”

  He filed this away for future reference, though he wasn’t sure how many women would be wowed by elephant jokes. “So that’s what the big attraction is between you two—the fact that he makes you laugh?”

  “Del is a man who doesn’t let others’ expectations interfere with his happiness. He’s carefree, and I admire that.”

  He tossed a fish into the dishpan and picked up the knife again. “Mom says he’s irresponsible.” She said that about Casey, too, and she had the same sour look on her face when she said it. But Mary Elisabeth didn’t make it sound like such a bad thing.

  She sighed. “Yeah, sometimes he is. But you have to take the bad with the good with people, you know?”

  A loud trilling sounded nearby, accompanied by the flutter of wings. They looked up, and Casey spotted the flash of red and black on the end of a branch of the pine tree overhead. “Cardinal,” he said.

  “Does everybody in your family watch birds?”

  He turned back to the fish he was filleting. “Not really. But Grandpa is teaching me some things.”

  She looked toward the house, her expression sad. “It must be hard for him, not being able to talk or move very easy.”

  “Yeah, I imagine it’s no fun.”

  “I mean, it must be worse for someone like him. He’s spent his whole life watching creatures that can fly.” She looked up again, her head thrown back, neck arched, emphasizing the smooth hollow of her throat. “Birds must be about the freest things in the world, and there he is stuck in a crippled-up body.”

  The tenderness of her words surprised him. Why would she care about his grandfather, a man she didn’t even know? And why would someone who could be so poetic about birds be hanging out with his uncle Del? He couldn’t figure this chick out.

  He tossed the last fillet in the dishpan. “They’re done.”

  “You did a great job.” She hopped off the table and picked up the dishpan. “Thanks.” She walked back to the house, hips swaying. He watched her go, feelings stirring up in him like sand on a creek bottom.

  Sixteen was about the most miserable age to be, he decided. He was too young to do anything about his out-and-out lust for his uncle’s girlfriend, and too old to pretend such feelings didn’t exist. He was too young to be truly on his own, and too old to be happy spending the summer with his sick old grandfather and his mom, who acted as if she’d forgotten how to smile. Going back to Denver wasn’t an option; he’d feel guilty for deserting his mom, and once there he’d end up fighting with his dad anyway.

  He was screwed no matter what he did. He’d spent a lot of time looking for away to make things better, but he couldn’t get around that one truth: right now, it sucked to be him.

  They sat down to dinner just before sunset. The table was heaped with bowls and platters and baskets of food—coleslaw, sliced tomatoes, fried potatoes and hush puppies. Mary Elisabeth had knocked herself out making a feast, and hardly broken a sweat doing it.

  Karen watched the young woman with the dispassion of an anthropologist. Mary Elisabeth really was too good to be true. She’d insisted on sitting next to Martin and helping him, “So we can get to know each other better.” He could maneuver a fork fairly well with his right hand, but once the food was in his mouth, it didn’t always stay. And he tended to choke, so small pieces and a reminder to chew thoroughly were importan
t.

  “You’re doing real good, Mr. Engel,” Mary Elisabeth said cheerfully, deftly wiping the corners of his mouth with a damp dish towel. When Karen talked to him like this, he glared at her, as if he realized just how patronizing she was being. But with Mary Elisabeth, he looked almost happy. Even seventy-year-old curmudgeons weren’t immune to the appeal of a sexy young girl.

  So what was she doing with Del? And why should Karen care? Frankly, her brother deserved to have someone take advantage of him, the way he’d taken advantage of so many others.

  “Casey tells me you’ve been teaching him about birds,” Mary Elisabeth said as she laid another piece of fish on Martin’s plate and cut it into tiny pieces. “I ought to have you teach me some. I only know the common ones around here, like cardinals and blue jays.”

  Her breasts in the thin tank top jiggled as she sliced into the fish. Karen wondered if her father appreciated the show. Probably. After all, he was male and breathing.

  The girl would be easy to dislike, if nothing else because she was Del’s floozy of the moment. But Mary Elisabeth was too genuine and just plain nice not to feel friendly toward. And the fact that she took so much time with Martin—more time than his own son—had landed her a permanent soft spot in Karen’s heart.

  “You want another hush puppy? Here’s one that’s not too greasy.” She offered up the morsel of fried corn bread and Martin opened his mouth like a baby bird.

  He chewed and chewed, mouth contorted. Karen looked away. It really wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “Guh. Guh!”

  “Did you hear that?” Mary Elisabeth dropped her fork and beamed at them. “He said ‘good.’”

  “Didn’t sound like anything to me.” Del speared a slice of tomato and added it to his plate.

  “No, he said ‘good.’ I know he did.” She looked at Karen. “You heard it, didn’t you?”

  “I heard something.” She studied her father. “Can you say it again?” she asked.

  He worked his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes sparked with frustration, and he shook his head.

  Mary Elisabeth patted his arm. “That’s okay. We know you said it. It’s a start. It means the parts of your brain in charge of talking are starting to wake up.”

  Karen was skeptical of this unscientific explanation, but her father seemed placated by it. He picked up his fork and focused on eating again.

  Del turned to Casey. “What’s new with you, sport?” he asked.

  “I got an e-mail from Matt this afternoon,” Casey said. “He said to tell everybody hello.”

  “Oh? What’s he up to?” Karen asked. The only time she heard from Matt these days was when she called him. It hurt to think he’d contacted his brother and not her.

  “Dad’s made him foreman on some job at a hospital or something. He and Audra had a big fight and broke up, but I’m guessing they’ll get back together. They always do.”

  “He didn’t say anything about any trouble with Audra when I talked to him two days ago.” She stabbed at a piece of fish. “What happened?”

  Casey shrugged. “I dunno. I guess they split about a week or so ago, so it was old news.”

  Old news to everyone but her. She tried to hide her hurt behind motherly concern. “I hope he’s not too upset,” Karen said. “He’s awfully young to be getting serious about anyone.”

  “He’s older than you were when you married Dad,” Casey pointed out.

  She flushed. “Girls are different. They mature faster. Not to mention I was too young, too. I just got lucky with your father.” She’d been happy with Tom, but she couldn’t help wondering what her life would have been like if she hadn’t met him when she did. Would she have stayed in Tipton, married a local man and had a different kind of life? A life more like Tammy’s? Or would she have found some other way to leave home, and distanced herself even further from her family?

  “I think it’s romantic when two people find each other when they’re young and then spend the rest of their lives together,” Mary Elisabeth said. “But I’m glad I didn’t settle down too early.”

  “I hope you don’t have any ideas about settling down now.” Del opened afresh beer. “Because I’ve spent way too much time tied down. I’m ready to cut loose.”

  Mary Elisabeth smiled, a Mona Lisa smirk. “No, I’ve still got a lot of things I want to do. I’d like to travel some, and see more of the world.”

  “I took you to Corpus Christi just last month.” Del winked at the rest of them to let them in on the joke. “Ain’t that enough traveling for you?”

  “Not by half, big guy.” She swatted his hand. “You’d better be nice to me and maybe when I decide to start my travels, I’ll take you with me.”

  “I’m glad you haven’t left just yet.” Casey swabbed a potato through a pool of ketchup. “I bet Matt and Dad wish they were here right now, eating all this great food.” He grinned at Del. “You sure lucked out, finding a girlfriend who could cook so good.”

  “Aren’t you sweet.” Mary Elisabeth reached over to take a swig from Del’s beer, her own long since empty.

  “Guh! Guh!” Her father’s fork clattered against his plate and he glared at them, as if defying them to deny that he had, indeed, spoken.

  “It is good.” Karen reached across the table and took his hand in hers. He gripped her fingers tightly, his skin cool and papery. The gesture brought tears to her eyes, and she rapidly blinked them away. “You’re making progress,” she said. “You’re going to get better.”

  How much better would things get between them, though? He responded more to Mary Elisabeth, a woman he’d just met, than he ever had to her. Was she wasting her time trying to look after him, while her oldest son and her husband went on with their lives without her? How long could she stay away before they began to think they didn’t need her at all?

  What would she do with herself if the day ever came when she really wasn’t needed? When she had only herself to answer to?

  8

  I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will…

  —Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  Walking through the gates at Mitchell Speedway the following Saturday was like stumbling across some relic in an attic trunk and being reminded of a part of life long since forgotten. Karen hadn’t thought of this place in twenty-five years, yet it had once been one of the social centers of her universe. How many Friday and Saturday nights in spring and summer had she spent avoiding splinters on the wooden bleachers, or lined up along the chain-link fence breathing the sweet smell of high-octane fuel and lusting after the drivers who, more often than not, were more in love with carburetors and fuel cells than they ever would be with any woman?

  She followed Tammy and her children to the stands, the warped boards rattling underfoot as they climbed toward the middle, where they’d have the best view of the track and the least risk of choking on dust and fumes. They filed into a row, Tammy’s younger children, Jamie and April, climbing up one step to sit behind the women.

  While Tammy distributed stadium chairs, binoculars and cold drinks, Karen looked out over the paved oval. “My God, this place hasn’t changed at all,” she said, staring at the Whitmore Tires sign that had graced the back wall of the track when she was a girl.

  “They put in a new grandstand three years ago,” Tammy said as she worked on redoing April’s ponytail. “Stand still, baby.”

  Karen squinted at the white-painted grandstand across the way. “It looks the same to me.”

  “Well, you know there’s a lot of tradition associated with racing. People like to uphold that.”

  In her high school days, it had been tradition for the drivers to carry hip flasks, from which they offered sips of whiskey to the girls who hung around after closing. Karen had drunk from her share of those flasks, and taken more than one wild ride around the track lit only by moonlight, her escort a not-entirely-sober racer, the car fishtailing around curves, engine smoking down the
straightaway as the driver sought to impress her.

  She shuddered at the memory. Had she ever really been that young and clueless? That reckless?

  “Do you want some Fritos?” Tammy offered the open bag of chips. “There’s dip, too.”

  She shook her head. “What time do the races start?”

  “Seven o’clock. I always like to get here a little early in case Brady or the guys need anything.”

  “Can we go down to the pits now?” Jamie said.

  They made their way down from the stands toward the pit area. The scent of oil and fuel stung Karen’s nose and the throb of engines vibrated through her chest. They picked their way around stacks of tires and groups of men who huddled around cars. The men stood in groups of four and five, their heads and shoulders disappearing beneath the open hoods like lion tamers swallowed up by their charges. They passed several familiar faces—some whose names she remembered, others she couldn’t recall. They all seemed to remember her, however. “Hey, Karen, how’s it going?”

  “Good to see you, Karen.”

  As if they’d last laid eyes on her yesterday instead of twenty or more years ago.

  Brady was bent over under the hood of his car, fiddling with a wrench. He straightened when they approached. “I brought you a cold drink,” Tammy said, handing him a Coke she’d snugged into a Koozie with the name of the local auto parts dealer emblazoned on the front. She looked past him, into the engine compartment. “Did you get the problem with the clutch fixed?”

  “Yeah, finally. She’s hooked up now.” He grinned over at Karen. “There’s this old boy, Darren Scott, he and I have been trading first place in the standings all spring. I’m determined to beat him tonight.”

  “There he is over there,” April volunteered.

  She turned and saw a man with graying brown hair and a goatee, standing beside a black-and-white car with the number nine painted on its side. “Cocky sonovabitch,” Brady said good-naturedly.