by Sarah Tomp
Your eyes were already gone.
“I… I didn’t mean you, Mason. I meant the gun.”
I fought back hot, surprising tears as you disappeared over the hill without looking back.
“I didn’t mean him,” I said. “He can’t think I did. Can he?”
Roni shrugged.
Bucky said, “Mason doesn’t see that gun like you do, Lulu. I’m sure he held a shotgun before he ever held a pencil. It’s part of the household. You got spoons and forks and cook pans and, oh yeah, the ammo is right there next to the toilet paper.”
While Bucky worked on getting the fire going again, Roni and I went to the stream to wash up. I waded in, splashing cool water over my sticky skin. I wished I could also wash away what I’d said to you. At the same time, I still didn’t trust guns. Here was one more reminder of the gaps we had between us.
Back at the campsite, Bucky was in a mood. He threw a log on the fire with a crash, sending sparks out of the ring.
“Don’t burn down my land, Bucky,” said Roni.
He pursed his lips. Pointed at me and said, “Looks like you’re in charge again, Ms. Mendez. Now that you ran the know-how off the job.”
I couldn’t blame him for blaming me. I blamed myself. I’d known you were barely on board with this plan. And now I’d gone and pushed you off.
The sun was low, and we’d pulled out some hot dogs and potatoes for dinner by the time you made your way up the hill. Did you know not one of us expected you to return?
“You go for a ride?” asked Bucky.
“Down by the river.”
“How many miles do you think you ride in a week?”
You said, “I don’t think of it that way. I just ride until I’m tired.”
That’s yet another way we’re different. If I took up riding—which in itself is unlikely—it would be all about the miles. Something measurable and finite. Goals to meet and pass.
Roni, determined to make things smooth again, chatted about all kinds of something and another. I was too unsettled to chime in until she said, “Mason thinks we should build a house up here.”
“Oh yeah?” said Bucky.
“Wouldn’t that be something to tell the kids?” She laughed. “Junior, your bed is right where your aunt Jezebel used to stay.”
I said, “You should see the furniture Mason’s making for Saint Jude’s.”
“Is that right?” Roni turned her attention on you.
“I love building things.”
For some reason the pause after your words made annoying tears prick at my eyes again. I gave myself a stern, silent lecture about not looking at your lips or your hands or your eyes or pretty much any part of you.
Eating gave us something to do and talk about. Then, afterward you stood up and said some sort of magic gibberish. You opened your hands over the fire. An enormous roar and whoosh raised the flames three feet.
“Whoa!”
The heads—the part of the run that’s too toxic and flammable to pour on the ground—made for reckless fun with the fire. What is it that we love about making a fire burn wild? Pushing it to burn higher and hotter. I’d seen gas fires at Sal’s. The damage that kind of heat can do to the metal shell of a car is humbling. Those flames that night seemed to be just as strong and hot. I knew the potential for destruction. And yet they’re also mesmerizing. Energizing. Again and again we laughed and screamed at the way the fire danced and leaped, thirsty for more fuel.
Finally, we all hit a wall of exhaustion. Bucky and Roni left for their tent, and you looked ready to fall asleep in your chair.
I said, “I’m sorry about today. With the gun.”
You said, soft and sweet, “Me too.”
“But, Mason. Who were you worried about?” You’d talked to us about ABC agents and arrests and red flags, but I didn’t think you’d point a gun at anyone wearing a badge.
“Other shiners. They’re the first to know when there’s a new still.”
“Why do they care?”
“Competition. Tradition. General meanness.”
“What would they do if they caught us?”
You frowned in the dim light of the coals. “You ever see Deliverance?”
I’m glad I hadn’t then. I didn’t know what to be scared of. Not exactly. I think you were kidding, mostly.
“Remember how I told you I might be a liability?”
“We can’t do this without you, Mason.”
You didn’t disagree. You just said, “Some people wouldn’t be too happy about me helping out rival shiners.”
I laughed a little. Because I was nervous, but also to think we could be seen as actual competition. “Mason, I think you should sleep in the tent tonight. Unless you think the mosquitoes will miss you too much.”
“You can’t sleep out here either,” you said, clarifying my invitation.
You were asleep before I even arranged my blankets. I lay in the dark, where I smelled your skin mixed in with the smell of smoke.
I didn’t have to put up any boundaries because you weren’t even knocking at the wall.
18
I didn’t sleep well that night. My body ached in unfamiliar spots. My mind raced, replaying all the steps of working Aunt Jezebel. I heard noises from the woods beyond the tent wall. Within the tent, I heard you. Breathing, shifting, being there, next to me. Once the tent glowed with early morning, I gave up and watched you sleep.
Your eyes moved behind your lids. You looked peaceful. Younger. It wasn’t hard to picture that little boy losing his hat on the beach.
An achy, restless wanting feeling bubbled up in me. It was too much and too early in the morning. I needed space to get my head set. I slipped out of my blankets and unzipped the tent.
Then I saw your gun lying beside you.
My heart rate quickened. I don’t know if I was mad or scared that you’d brought that thing in the tent with us. I couldn’t hang on to either feeling. You could have hidden it from me. I never would have known it was there. I knew you’d left it out in the spirit of open honesty. That’s something I admire because it’s so hard for me to be that way.
You slept on. Tentatively, I reached for the gun. It was cold and heavy against the palm of my hand. I turned it over. Found the spot where it fit.
On my knees, I wrapped both hands around the metal handle and tried the position I’d seen TV cops use.
“Lulu,” you said, startling me out of the roar in my ears. “I couldn’t leave it outside.”
I lowered the gun. “It’s okay, Mason. It’s only a tool.”
I meant it too. I’d put my trust in you to help us. I looked to you as the expert. Danger laced everything we were doing. I didn’t have the right to doubt you about this one thing I knew nothing about.
“Yeah?” Your eyes searched mine. You stopped me when I tried to hand it to you. “Put it on the ground,” you said.
I did, between us.
“That’s the safest way to pass a gun. In case it’s loaded. Which this one isn’t.” You picked it up, opened the chamber to show me the empty space. “You always want to check that.”
“Show me how to use it.”
You sat up, rubbed your eyes. “Nah. You don’t need to know that.”
I wasn’t sure enough to insist. Now that you were awake, I needed to get out of the tent. Being so close to you first thing in the morning had me off balance.
We didn’t hang around that morning. You and Bucky had cleared our camping spot by the time Roni and I brushed our teeth. The stone fire ring was scattered and the ashes covered with dirt. Except for a few broken branches, someone would be hard pressed to notice we’d been there.
I didn’t like leaving our treasure stashed under a leafy shelter, but there were too many jars to hide until we knew for sure where it was going to end up.
We still needed someone to sample it, so I filled a few water bottles with the liquor. I marked them XX, for two runs through the still, the way you said the old shiners d
id. That’s also the sign for poison, but I prayed it wasn’t.
I was the last one down the hill to where the three of you had parked. Roni had left for practice and Bucky was already in his truck. He called out the window, “It’ll be a hoot if we actually make some money off this thing.”
“Yep,” you said. “We’ll see.”
Then I was left with you. My heart wasn’t sure it could handle being so close to you without the buffer of Roni and Bucky. Not having any other choice, I climbed in your truck beside you. I watched you put the gun in the metal box under your seat. You started up the engine and eased forward. Soon it was clear we were stuck in the soft clay dirt.
We got out and checked the situation. You took off your hat, rubbed your hair, and said, “You drive, Lulu. I’ll push.”
You shoveled gravel around the wheels, and I got in the driver’s seat. I hadn’t driven your truck before, but I put the key in the ignition. Adjusted the seat, checked the mirrors. I started the engine, got the window down, and waited for instructions.
“Move along, nice and easy.”
I pressed gently on the gas. The wheels whirred and hummed. “A little more gas,” you called.
I felt the bump as the truck edged over the ridge. I concentrated on pushing the gas, not too fast and not too slow. But I didn’t pay attention to the tree on my right.
“Head left!” you yelled. I was already hearing the screech of metal on tree by the time you yelled, “Left! Other left. Leftleftleftleft. Stop!”
I was wedged in so tight with that tree I could see the grain and texture of the bark pressed against the glass of the passenger window.
“Sorrysorrysorrysorry,” I said, getting out of the truck.
“Hmmm” was all you said.
You circled around, checking each view of the damage. Then you sighed.
That sound hit me dead wrong.
“Mason, are you in or out?”
You met my eyes but didn’t answer.
“I need to know.”
You said, “I can’t make any deliveries like this. The truck will stand out too much. I can’t be noticed.”
It didn’t matter if you were right. Not in that moment.
“Are you going to take off running anytime something goes wrong?” My cheeks burned hot and my eyes blinked too fast. “Because, as you can see, things go wrong sometimes. I’m going to make mistakes. I’ll screw things up.”
You rubbed your hair and kicked the ground.
“We want your help, Mason. But I need to know you’re in it all the way.”
You started a smile, then stopped when you realized I wasn’t going to let this go. “It’s no big deal, Lu. It’s just a beater truck.” You reached to move a curl off my face.
That intimate move, the gentle way your finger brushed my cheek as you gazed at me, completely set me off. I exploded. Like a shot of moonshine in an open flame.
“Why do you act like that, Mason? Why do you touch my hair and my face and why do you smile so sweet and, and, and…” I knew I was losing it, but was too exhausted for damage control. “What are you playing at?”
I took a deep breath and threw my heart at you. “Do you like me, Mason? I don’t mean as business partners or friends or anything like that. I mean, do you like me? Do you want…”
The way you looked at me loosened me from the inside out.
You finally kissed me.
Long and sweet and deep.
I never knew kisses could feel like that. The trembling in your arms told me something had hit you too. I wrapped my arms around your neck, found your hair was almost long enough to take ahold of. Your hands felt strong and warm against my back. Tentative touches and tastes shifted closer, firmer. We opened up to each other, grew more certain in our kisses.
I could have rationalized that it was exhaustion letting my guard down, or the new reckless me I’d been trying on for size, or any million psychobabble reasons for the way I pressed against you, not caring about my usual rules and guidelines. You say it was finding our place in fate.
Finally, pausing to catch our breath, we looked into each other’s eyes. “Wow,” you said.
Exactly.
Then we laughed. That was good too.
Even filthy and tired and standing on the edge of the road where I’d smashed in the side of your truck, kissing you felt right and melty and perfect. All over.
After a while, when my knees were shaky and my middle had completely turned to liquid, I said, “We have to do something about your truck.”
You nodded, keeping your eyes locked with mine. “Guess so.”
I laughed. “Really.”
You decided to drive backward instead of forward to dislodge your truck from the tree. You jostled it, inching and edging bit by bit, avoiding the softer spots where we’d started. Finally the truck screeched free. The passenger door was bent into a tree shape. The bark had even left an imprint in the paint. I knew where to fix it.
I didn’t think about Cindy as we drove your banged-up, smashed-in truck to Sal’s. I didn’t think about much of anything except kissing you and the way I felt in your arms. Later, away from the spell of you and your lips, I did. Cindy drove into a tree too. That’s how she died. I couldn’t help but wonder… were you thinking of her when you were kissing me?
That morning, grimy and tired, but humming and tingling from kisses, I directed you to the back of the junkyard, close to Dawg’s trailer. He stood inside the metal fence, watching us. I climbed out to talk to him. “We need some spot work done. Quick and quiet. Without Sal being bothered.”
He eyed me, then your truck, then you. Sometimes it’s like I can see Dawg’s thoughts behind his eyes. It’s like a bolt fitting into a nut, being tightened, turn by turn. Finally, he said, “Okay.”
A few minutes later you’d parked behind the Dawghouse. I scanned the yard for Sal. He might not have minded the Muscles’ helping me, but he would have had questions I didn’t feel up to answering. He’d for sure tell my mother anything he saw.
“What’s this I hear about a damsel in distress?” Ollie appeared around the corner of the trailer. Then, “Whoa. Who hit you?” I like to think he’d be equally concerned if I was the one hurt, but seeing your mangled truck seemed to truly make him falter.
“I kinda sorta hit a tree,” I said.
Ollie shook his head, making tsk-tsk sounds. “There ought to be laws against trees running wild across the road.”
“Can you fix it?” I asked.
“Course I can fix it.”
“Real fast?”
“Do you want it done right or do you want it done fast?”
“Fast,” you and I said together. And caught each other’s eyes. You grabbed my hand. That meant so much to me. Coming back into the real world had me feeling uncertain of the rules. I didn’t know if those kisses were something to keep secret and out of sight. But the way you gazed at me made me warm and mushy inside, all over again.
Right now, this minute… I miss your touch.
Back then I felt Ollie staring at us. We were that obvious, already.
I said to him, “So, you gonna help us or just think about it?”
They had that dented door off in minutes. Of course Ollie had to narrate his fix step by step as if I’d ever try this on my own. You listened politely, even though you could have done most of the work yourself if you’d had the right tools. Seemed like the hardest part was taking the outer sheet off the frame, but he looked most serious when he used that rubber hammer on the backside. Midway across he said, “Lulu, you need to find Randy and tell him where we are so he doesn’t get pissed or ask Sal.”
I turned to you, but Ollie said, “Leave Malone here. I need his help.”
Because of you and your kisses, all those scavenged rejects of old cars looked shiny and bright to me that day. By the time Randy and I made our way back to the improvised body shop, Ollie had dragged out the dent puller. He made his way across the door, suctioning the metal back in
to place, little by little. When he was done, only tiny ripples pocked the metal like old acne scars. My mistake was almost erased.
Wouldn’t it be nice to have one of those for life?
“We could get it better if we had more time,” said Ollie.
“No. It looks great,” I said. “I promise I’ll pay you guys. Soon.” Yet another debt.
“Nah,” he said. “We’re good. Dawg made a withdrawal.”
I looked to Dawg in confusion. He held up one of our water bottles marked with the poison sign.
“Wait, Dawg,” I said, too late. Before I could choke out any kind of warning, Dawg opened the bottle and gulped a big swallow. He smacked his lips.
I covered my eyes. Then, when he didn’t fall to the ground, I peeked. It hadn’t killed him. If any of the poison had trickled in, it would have knocked him out immediately. Otherwise, we didn’t have to worry. Aunt Jezebel was clean and we’d used all natural ingredients.
We paid them on the spot, one bottle each.
I thought that’s why Ollie asked you to stay. So he could try to weasel some moonshine from you. But you said he was threatening you about being nice to me. Asking your intentions and warning you to be careful with my heart.
I thought that was a ridiculous thing for him to say. My heart was tough. Undentable.
19
At home, everything was the same. Daddy was gone. Mom baked all hours of the night. Sal kept her stocked with new ingredients and kept her company in the kitchen.
Nothing was the same for me. The same way Aunt Jezebel and Baby had transformed the innocent sugar and corn, I was changed too. Kissing you set off a serious chemical reaction. Me plus you equals heat. Feelings bubbled up and over. You were where I wanted to be.
It could have been awkward and weird waiting to see how you’d act the next time we got together—I had no idea when that would be—except I found you sitting on my front step the next morning when Roni drove up to take me to work.
“How long do I have to wait before I call you?”
I laughed. “You don’t have to wait.”
“I didn’t want to be pushy.”
I held out the piece of Mom’s freshly baked cobbler. You leaned in as if to take it, but instead you kissed the spot on my neck near my ear, sending delicious shivers along my skin.