Borderland

by S. K. Epperson

  He could see she hadn't considered that. Rather than rub it in, he picked up a strand of his hair. "Can you cut hair? This is driving me crazy."

  Absently she nodded and handed him the Beretta. He pushed it into the waistband of his shorts and stood by while she went back in the bathroom for a pair of scissors.

  "In the kitchen," she said when she came out again. "The light's better."

  He followed her, watching the sway of her hips beneath the fabric of her simple sundress. She looked good in yellow, it showed off her tan.

  "Drag one of the dining room chairs in here," she said over her shoulder. "I won't be able to reach if you sit on the kitchen stool."

  In the dining room Nolan passed through a cool spot. He waved an arm through it before grabbing one of the chairs. For an instant he remembered the night of the fire and the imaginary bodies he had seen in the trailer. Then he shrugged. Why think of that now? He hadn't had any problems since. The old house had cool spots everywhere, never in the same place twice. Creaks, groans, and cool spots. Just like any old house.

  "In the kitchen, Cal," Myra called out the pantry door. Beyond her, Nolan could see Cal hacking away at the head of a good-sized bass. The boy nodded without looking up. His hatchet caught the reflection of sunlight as he lifted it. Nolan smiled at the muscles in Cal's arm. Any man would think twice before approaching a feisty kid with a hatchet in his hand.

  "Wet your hair in the sink," Myra said, and Nolan pulled off his T-shirt. Then he lifted his bandaged hands.

  "Would you mind? I just changed these."

  She took a dishtowel from a drawer and came to bend him over the sink. She turned on the cold water. Nolan jumped and cursed under his breath at the icy assault.

  "Okay," she said after a moment. "In the chair now. Do you have a comb?"

  "Not on me."

  She draped the towel around his shoulders and returned to the bathroom. Nolan started humming again. When she came back he stopped. Her fingers touched his neck as she began to comb his wet hair. Her voice was hesitant when she spoke. "You sing very well, Nolan."

  He looked straight ahead. His nipples were getting hard. "Thank you."

  "I enjoyed listening to you in the bathroom earlier. It's a beautiful song."

  "Yes, it is," he said blandly. "Very romantic."

  Her combing paused then continued. "Did you ever think of doing anything with music?"

  "Yeah. Until my mom decided I should go to some fancy school of performing arts. That changed my mind."

  "Why?"

  "Because my dad said I'd be surrounded—and probably influenced by—a bunch of pussies and faggots."

  He didn't have to see her face to know she was taken aback. "I see," Myra said. "Did you want to go?"

  "I was sick of being ridiculed. If I'd screamed like Mick Jagger and played guitar instead of piano the bad-asses would have left me alone. But I didn't and they didn't."

  "I can’t believe anyone ever picked on you."

  Nolan smiled at the disbelief in her tone. "Until I went out for sports they did. Then I managed to kick their asses one at a time. Sack this one in football, nail that one with a slide to the ankles in baseball, and take out another in wrestling. I was doing fine right up to the time I got kicked out."

  "You were kicked out of school for fighting?"

  "For gambling. A history teacher owed me twenty bucks on a Bowl game and instead of paying up she turned me in. I had no interest in what my Mom wanted for me so I went to Columbia, Missouri to live with my dad."

  "And played college baseball."

  "Yeah." Nolan heard the scissors begin to snip.

  "Were you any good?"

  "Yeah."

  A pause. "Not good enough to play professionally?"

  "I'll never know," he said. "I turned down all the offers I received."

  "Why?"

  He lifted a hand. "I didn't know what I wanted. She wanted me to be in music and he wanted me to be in baseball. Nobody asked me what I wanted."

  Myra began snipping again. "And what was that?"

  Nolan smiled. "I wanted to be a singing shortstop. No, just kidding. I enjoyed them both, but like Cal I wasn't sure and I didn't like being pushed."

  "So you chose not to pursue either career," Myra said. Did you finish college?"

  "Sure."

  "What was your major? Music?"

  "No, Sociology."

  "Sociology?" Myra repeated. "And you were a cop and now a fireman. Well, that makes sense, in a way." She moved in front of him and put a finger under his chin to lift his head. "Have you thought of going back to school?"

  He met her gaze and grinned. "Wait'll you meet Al Dunwoodie. He'll make you want to go back, join the Peace Corps then start a campaign to save humanity from its own stupidity."

  Myra smiled at him for the first time in what seemed like days. "I'm anxious to meet him. But you still haven't answered my question."

  "I'll answer yours if you answer one of mine," Nolan responded.

  She combed up a section of hair, held it with her fingers, and snipped. "Go ahead."

  "What's the story on you and Vic?"

  Myra kept her eyes averted. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Yes you do. I thought I was on the set of an underarm deodorant commercial Friday. You remember—when he picked you up and did that little kiss and spin?"

  "He was happy, that's all," Myra said.

  "I know. But I was just wondering if you'd put on one of your little tease acts for him. You know, lift the mourning widower out of his doldrums."

  He expected to feel the scissors snip flesh; instead she smiled again. "That's an idea. I'm sure he wouldn't object to a little no-strings sexual gratification. It might be good for both of us."

  Nolan's mouth tightened. "Be sure to provide him with a list of sexual partners."

  "That should be easy," she said.

  "Just one?"

  "Can you say the same?"

  "I wouldn't want to."

  "I'm sure." She stood back from him then. "Nolan, I don't understand you. You can be so charming and so funny and I swear I get goose pimples when I hear you sing. But how something so beautiful can come from such a jerk is beyond me. Why are you so combative?"

  "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe cockteasers bring out the worst in me."

  Myra sucked in her breath.

  The pantry door slammed. "Dinner," Cal said, holding a bowl of fish in front of him. He stopped. "What's going on?"

  "Your mom's giving me a haircut," Nolan said. "How does it look so far?"

  "Butchered," Cal said. Then he laughed. "I'm just kidding. She cuts mine all the time. Where do you want these, Mom?"

  She gestured with the scissors. "In the sink."

  Cal put the bowl in the sink and made a face as he sniffed his hands. "I'm going to shower while everyone's gone. I stink."

  Nolan and Myra eyed each other when he left the room. Wordlessly, she stepped forward and began cutting again.

  "I'm sorry," Nolan said after a moment. "Your perfume must've gone to my head."

  "I don't wear perfume. And you're not sorry."

  "Okay, maybe I'm not. Maybe I just wanted to make you mad enough to kiss me again."

  "I'd rather kiss one of those fish heads outside."

  Nolan laughed and let her finish the haircut before slipping an arm around her waist. He put the other under her legs and lifted her off the floor. "Come on. I want to see you kiss one of those fish heads."

  She dropped the scissors and comb and struggled out of his arms before they reached the pantry door. She shoved her dress down over her thighs and pushed open the screen. Her cheeks were pink. "I'm going out to milk the nanny. Do me a favor and sweep the floor."

  Nolan chuckled at the rigid set of her spine as she strode off toward the barn. He found the broom and began sweeping his blond hair from the floor, only vaguely wondering what the hair left on his head looked like. He found himself more concerned with Myra. Charming
, funny, and goose pimples, eh? And let's not forget jerk, Nolan. You are that. Miss Myra appears to have had her fill of handsome scoundrels like you. Which is a shame, because it's goddamned hard to resist a resister, especially when you can't forget what she looks like in an undershirt and cotton panties. Not to mention the little lesson-teaching episode in the garage. Talk about raising flesh.

  But what the hell was that business with Vic? Vic just didn't do that shit. Well, he hadn't since Nolan had known him. But then again, he'd been married since Nolan had known him. If Nolan had done that she would have screamed herself blue. Just like she was doing right…

  Scream?

  He threw the broom to the floor and rushed the pantry door.

  He was halfway to the barn when he realized there was an unfamiliar truck and trailer parked near the corral side. Myra screamed again and he ran inside the barn. Above a stall to his right he saw a head with a red cap. A tall man. Al Dunwoodie?

  Not Al, he realized as he neared the stall. This man had no hair under his cap. Nolan drew the Beretta from his waistband and ran to the stall opening. Myra cowered in the corner, the nanny between her and the big stranger. The goat kicked her repeatedly, but Myra didn't seem to feel it. Her chest heaved with relief when she saw Nolan.

  "Can I help you?" he asked, pointing the pistol at the stranger. The man was as big, if not bigger, than Al Dunwoodie. But he was ugly. His nose looked to have been part of his upper lip at one time; both looked smashed.

  The man extended one huge paw. "I'm Gil Schwarz. Mr. Kimmler said for me to bring my mare on over. I met him at the church today."

  Nolan ignored the hand. "Myra?"

  "Oh, I guess I scared her," Gil Schwarz said with a wave of the extended hand. "I didn't mean to." He pushed his cap back and Nolan saw that the man wasn't bald after all; his silver crew cut was just extremely short.

  "Liar!" Myra shouted. "Nolan, he's lying! He came up behind me and grabbed me!"

  Gil Schwarz took on a pained expression. "Now why you wanna go and say that? You know I never done no such thing."

  Myra looked at Nolan, her eyes round, and he stepped past the big man to grip her hand and pull her out of the corner. Gil Schwarz smiled as the goat, released at last, bounded out of the stall. Nolan saw that the man had very white teeth. Too white. His gray eyes somehow matched the silver in his hair. Weird. Nolan's hand tightened on the grip of the pistol as he led Myra out of the stall. She clung to his arm and stared fearfully at the big stranger.

  "Guess I'll be seein' quite a bit of you folks now that I'm keepin' my ridin' horse here," he said. Then he winked at Myra.

  Nolan saw it. He stopped. "Mister, you touch her again and I'll blow your fucking head off."

  "That a fact?" Gil Schwarz said lazily.

  Nolan bared his teeth in a grim smile and lifted the pistol. He squeezed the trigger and the red cap on Schwarz's head went spinning into stalls unknown. Nolan grinned. "I had my eyes shut. Imagine what I can do when they're open."

  The big man was still feeling the top of his bristly head when Nolan pulled Myra from the barn. Once on the porch he stopped and tried to pry her fingers from his arm. She was cutting off his circulation. When he freed his arm she grabbed his bandaged hand and caused him to wince.

  "Dammit, Myra." She wouldn't let go. He pulled her into the house and sat down with her on the couch. "Just let go, okay? That hurts. What the hell did he do to you?"

  Myra dropped his hand and immediately clasped her own together. Her face was white. "I'm sorry. I'd just sat down to milk and out of nowhere he grabbed me from behind. He lifted me and pulled up my dress and stuck his hand inside my underwear and I couldn't get away until I kicked him in his privates. Even then he kept whispering what he was going to do to me once he had the chance. He was so strong, Nolan. He was so strong I was…goddamn him. Goddamn him for doing that to me. You should've shot him, Mr. Show Off. You should've shot him and killed him because he's going to try again."

  Nolan put his arm around her. "Hey, just calm down. He's not going to try anything while I'm here."

  "I can't seem to stop shaking," Myra said. "I've never…nothing like that has ever. . ." She sat up then. "It was him I saw that night out by the garage. It had to be. I can't stay here another minute, Nolan. I've got to take Cal and get out of here." She bolted from the couch and left Nolan staring after her.

  He shook his head then followed her rapid footsteps up the stairs. Her bedroom door was closed. He knocked. "Myra, will you please take a minute to calm down?"

  "I can't," she said from behind the door. "Darwin used to talk about a man named Gil Schwarz. He was afraid of him. I could see it in his face. Now I know why."

  Nolan leaned against the door. "I know you're scared right now, but where will you go? Don't you think you'll be better off here?"

  She opened the door and he nearly fell in. "Not with that animal lurking around on a regular basis. If I tell Vic what happened do you think he'll make Schwarz take his horse back?"

  Her eyes were still round and frightened. Nolan tried to sound reassuring. "We'll tell him and see what happens, okay? I'm not going anywhere for a while, and I'm sure as hell not going to let anything happen to you while I'm here. I haven't been in your panties yet—you think I'm going to let that big, goofy-looking sonofabitch beat me to it?"

  Myra stared at him. Then she slammed the door.

  "Hey, I was kidding!" Nolan said to the wood in front of his nose. "Myra…okay, so it wasn't one of my better ones. Don't get upset or anything. Cal'll come and take his hatchet to me."

  "What did you say now?" Cal asked behind him.

  Nolan turned. He didn't want to tell the kid what had happened. Myra would have to decide just what and how much she wanted him to know. He shrugged his shoulders.

  "Mom?" Cal raked back his wet hair and stepped up to the door. "It's after twelve. Al will be here in an hour. Aren't you going to start dinner?"

  The door opened. Myra pushed past them. "I'm going to take a shower. You two can start dinner."

  Cal scowled at Nolan. "I just got the fish off my hands. I wish you'd stop picking on her. She hasn't done anything to you."

  Nolan sighed at the boy's fierce protectiveness. Cal liked him, but Mom came first. Nolan envied that in a way, the kid's devotion. Looking at him, at the firm jaw and determined chin, he was surprised to discover that he actually cared what Cal thought of him.

  That wasn't good. He forced himself to turn his back on the boy and head for the stairs. Soon they would be leaving Denke and parting ways. No sense giving himself anything to feel bad about when it was time to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER 18

  Al Dunwoodie was as big and kind as Gil Schwarz was big and cruel, Myra decided. She felt safe with Al sitting at the table. His choppy, rust-colored hair and laid-back smile gave him a carefree appearance that belied the power in his large, red-knuckled hands. Even Nolan's broad shoulders and hard chest looked small and ineffectual beside Al. At one point she wanted to turn to the others and say, "Let's keep him," as if Al were a big, friendly stray that had wandered onto the place. But during dinner Al talked of a retired man from Pueblo who had shown an interest in buying his auto salvage yard. When the papers were signed, Al would be on his way back to Arkansas.

  As Myra cleared away the dinner plates and prepared to slice the blackberry pie she had made Al settled back to hold court and hand down keen judgments on everything from the demise of the rain forests to plastic kitchen wrap. Cal—and Nolan, of course—had opinions on each subject, but Vic sat quietly for the most part and merely watched the others. Myra couldn't understand his coolness to their guest. There was nothing to fear from Al Dunwoodie, his innate kindness and empathetic nature were so evident that Vic's wariness seemed unreasonable.

  It was Vic's guarded expression that made Myra feel hesitant to approach him with what had happened in the barn earlier. She too was a guest in his home, with no right to make demands. It was a helpless feeling. Her
nerve endings still screamed each time she thought of her brief encounter with Gil Schwarz. Even alter her shower her skin still prickled with the memory of those grubby, groping hands. For the first time in her life she understood the feelings of women who had been violated against their will, the fear, rage, and emotional devastation that came with being completely unable to defend oneself against brute strength. The unfairness of being the "fairer sex." The unfairness of being physically forced to submit to the most intimate of violations. It was nauseating.

  "I don't want any pie, thanks," Nolan said.

  Myra stood beside him, plate in hand. He didn't want any pie. She had served everyone else. He was only sulking at being served last. She forced herself to smile in front of everyone. "Maybe later. I'll save it for you."

  'Don't bother. I've never cared for blackberry. Let someone else have it."

  His expression was genuine enough, but Myra wasn't going for it. Her jaw hardened.

  "If I'd served apple or cherry I suppose you wouldn't like those either."

  He scooted his chair back. "Apple or cherry would've been great. I just don't like blackberry. I never have, okay?"

  He was frowning now and his look told her that she was making a fool of herself. In that moment she hated him. She hated him and she resented the fact that she needed his protection. A man. She had clung to him like a child today, a whimpering, pitifully grateful child, grateful that he had saved her from the brutal intentions of another man. She hated him.

  With a flick of her wrist she dumped the plate of blackberry pie in his lap. His face reddened and she heard him curse as she whirled and left the dining room.

  "Jesus Christ. What did I do now? I didn't say a goddamned word."

  Andy's high giggle reached Myra's ears as she mounted the stairs. She went to her room and closed the door, already mortified at her behavior. She couldn't believe she'd done that. She wasn't that kind of person. Never in her life had she let a moment of anger control her actions. God knew what Al thought. What any of them thought. She sat on the bed and put her face in her hands in an attempt to cool her heated cheeks.