by Sarah Tomp
Roni honked her horn.
We saw each other whenever, wherever we could. Remember the stolen kisses behind the backhoe when you rode all the way out to the junkyard on your lunch hour? We both felt wrong kissing in the room at Saint Jude’s, but the graveyard was a different matter. I’d found something that could, at least temporarily, distract me from thoughts of money and moonshine.
You.
Kisses.
We exchanged hundreds, maybe thousands, of kisses, each one making me want another.
One night, sitting on my front steps, I asked, “Why didn’t you kiss me sooner? Didn’t you want to?”
“Of course I wanted to,” you said, showing me what you meant.
“When did you first want to?”
“When did we first meet?”
I laughed. “I know you didn’t want to kiss me that night. Not when I was hurling in your helmet.”
Looking more serious, you said, “I really don’t know. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to. But I’m used to… fighting my wants.”
I got that. Believed in it. But I also believed in fighting for what I want.
You also took me driving. You had your truck now for us to use, and me driving into the tree must have reminded you I needed practice. As I drove on those back roads I asked, “So when will we make our first sale?”
“Soon,” you said. And, “Stay to the right.”
“Is it that guy from the Fourth? When do we meet him?”
“On the road, Lu. Eyes on the road.” Then you said, “We’re figuring that out. He’s got lots of rules as to how this’ll go.”
I didn’t know what kinds of rules there might be. I only knew I felt impatient. Worried that all our work and investment would go to waste. My days and nights were full of you, but they were slipping away, too fast. Each day gone was another day closer to my deadline marked in red on the kitty calendar. Just under two months. Fifty-one days.
During one drive you showed me the gravel road that leads to your family’s business. We couldn’t see the old warehouse building from where we drove, but I felt it tug at you, turning you quiet.
We drove down to the river to visit Jake, bringing him sandwich fixings and one of Mom’s apple-peach pies. His shack looked even more precariously perched on the hillside than I remembered. I asked, “If Baby is so important to your family, why do they keep it here? Shouldn’t the yeast be somewhere safer?”
“We can’t keep it on-site,” you said. “It’s too risky. What with the odds of fire or explosion. Or drunken dumbness.”
I got that, but I also couldn’t help but feel like Jake’s shack must look different through your eyes.
“And it’s a way to keep him in the business. He’s earned his place. It’s a matter of respect.”
Jake didn’t answer your knock. Holding the grocery sack, you turned to me and said, “Wait here a minute.”
I heard you behind his lopsided door, moving around, talking low to him. After sounds of shifting steps and moving something heavy you called, “Come on in, Lu.”
Jake looked even worse than his shack. He slumped in his chair, his piercing eyes the only parts of his gaunt face that moved. He croaked, “Hello, Beauty.”
“Hey, Jake.”
You handed him a tiny bit of bread.
“I’m thirsty,” he said, stubbornly.
“You’re in luck. I have a fresh brew,” you said. “Baby’s done good work.”
You had to help him with the first sip. His hands shook too badly as he tried to lift the bottle to his mouth. Then he grabbed on and took another swig by himself. He sat up a few inches, smiled his scary, lipless grimace, and said, “There’s real corn in there.”
“A course.” You laughed. “We made it the right way. Up in the woods.”
He bobbed his head up and down. It was a wonder his skinny neck could hold the weight. “Tell me. Tell me all about it.”
It was like you were telling him a bedtime story. Your voice, velvety smooth and lulling, described the hill where we set up Aunt Jezebel; the way the stream ran close by. All the things we mixed together, each step we took. Jake nodded and chuckled and sipped his bottle.
“And of course we stayed out of the noon sun,” you said.
“It’ll burn it,” Jake said. “Damn sun’ll burn it every time. She’s jealous of the moon.”
“We could use your help, Jake,” you said. “We’re trying to make some serious money.”
I think the idea of selling thrilled him as much as the bottle settled his nerves. He grinned and smacked his jaw open and shut. “Have you called Charlie Ellis? That’s the thirstiest son-of-a-bitch I ever knowed.”
“You know how I might get ahold of him?”
Jake chattered awhile giving us names. I thought you were humoring a sick old man with your questions. But you knew he had connections. He knew who’d want to buy some fresh moonshine. He finally pointed you toward the old leather notebook tied with twine he had hidden beneath the barrel in the corner.
When you stood up to leave, I did too. Jake was dozing off by then, the bottle still in his hand. You gently put the cap back on, then we crept toward the door. As the sunshine hit my face, Jake croaked one last bit of advice: “Watch out for the devil.”
That warning didn’t mean much to me. The devil gets plenty of blame in Dale. The higher up the hills or deeper into the river valley, the more he’s mentioned. He’s feared and reviled, but definitely respected.
I didn’t know that you and Jake knew him personally.
As I drove away, you said, “Guess I better find out what Seth has been up to.”
Keeping my eyes on the road, I asked, “Why’s that?”
“Jake always called Seth the devil.” You laughed a little.
I didn’t ask why or what that meant. I’ve never been one to turn stones over to see what lurks beneath. But I did hear the tinge of missing in your voice.
You dropped it. Turned back into my sweet, silly driving instructor. Sloughed off the dim dark of Jake’s shack.
Instead, you took me parking.
I mean, you actually taught me to park. You said, “You can’t take off if you won’t be able to stop when you get where you want to be.”
The high school parking lot already seemed smaller, dingy and faded, something I’d left behind. The football team was practicing, reminding me that fall lurked beyond the horizon. Fall, when I’d be off to California.
That was the crazy, confusing thing. We were making money so I could leave. All the days that had brought us together had been working for something that was going to pull us apart. Aunt Jezebel had come through. Jake had approved the taste. You had customers to call. If all our plans and hopes worked out, I’d be gone.
For the moment, I wanted to slow down and enjoy the ride.
20
A couple of days later Bucky stopped by Sal’s near the end of my shift.
I was sitting in the loader with Randy getting a lesson on maneuvering the big yellow machine. Driving it was remarkably simple. Only the size of it made it something to take seriously. When Bucky drove up, I backed in, parking beside the Dawghouse.
“Not bad, Lulu,” said Randy. “We’ll make you a Muscle yet.”
Bucky was there to pick up a part for his father, but also, he was lost with Roni off to Richmond with Lullaby Breaker. I was thrilled not to have to ride home with Sal, who was bringing a load of rhubarb to my mother.
Bucky said, “Mason wanted me to tell you he’ll be back in a few days.”
“Back? From where?”
“He’s selling Aunt Jezebel’s baked goods.”
“You sure? He didn’t tell me.”
“Yeah. We decided that you might make it more complicated than it needs to be.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what that means. Plus Mason’s paranoid. He told me to tell you not to call or text in case someone traces it.”
I looked at my pho
ne that I’d already pulled out, about to do just that.
I was so excited that you were making a delivery I could almost forgive you for not telling me about it yourself. It made me desperate to do something to help. The only idea I had was to make more mash, but we needed cash for the ingredients. Impulsively, I hunted down Ollie and asked if we could make some kind of deal.
Either Dawg didn’t drink his payment for helping us fix your truck or he was immune to its effects, but Ollie and Randy had been pretty close to useless around the junkyard while they’d recovered. They didn’t see it as a bad thing. So, while you were off making your delivery, I sold Ollie the rest of my cooler’s worth of those poison-marked bottles for enough money to buy more cornmeal and sugar. You’d already showed us how we could reuse Baby a few times.
I think Bucky and I did a pretty good job mixing the mash. We’re both particular enough that we checked and rechecked each other every step of the way, bickering the whole time. I wished you were there to guide us, but Bucky was the one to say it. While we waited for the mixture to boil he said, “It’s a good thing you and Mason finally got to it, huh?”
I hated that he’d made me blush.
“It’s been ridiculous watching the two of you in heat all summer.”
“You’re so gross, Bucky.”
He laughed. “Only because you’re repressed, Lulu. Sex is a natural bodily function. You’re going to do it eventually. And I guarantee you’ll wonder why you waited.”
I concentrated on stirring the mash. He was only saying what I’d always believed. That sex—and love—is a matter of biology. Instinct.
You’d made it feel like something more.
We hadn’t done much beyond kissing. Heated hours of kissing, but for someone measuring progress, there hadn’t been any quantifiable change. All clothes stayed on. Curious hands had roamed the landscapes of each other, but there’d only been quick, furtive slips beneath to reach hot skin. The way I ached inside whenever you held me close felt like something so different than hard science.
When Bucky dropped me off at my house that night, I told him something I hadn’t told anyone else. “I got my roommate assignment. Her name is Ashley Jones.”
“And?”
“She’s from someplace near San Diego called Rancho Santa Fe. I thought it sounded like a farm. I Googled it, and her neighborhood is filled with mansions. She’s so rich it’s crazy.”
“Is she hot?”
“You’d like her. She’s blond and skinny. What about you? You set for school?”
“I don’t know if I’m going.”
“You’re kidding, right?” It wasn’t fair that I had to work so hard for something he could have so easily. “You have a full scholarship, Bucky.”
“Not everything is about money.”
“Roni’ll wait for you,” I said. “She’s crazy about you.”
“Of course she is. Who wouldn’t be?” He laughed. Then shrugged. “I like it here.”
“What if you’re doing the same exact thing in ten years?”
“I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
That’s what I had to guard against. Biology. My hormones working to betray me. I was not going to let my prehistoric instincts trick me into thinking it might be okay to stay in Dale.
After he drove off, I hid the leftover mash ingredients around back, then came in through the garage.
I heard Mom’s whimpering before I saw her huddled at the bottom of the basement stairs.
“I heard something,” she said. “But I couldn’t find the light switch.”
“It’s right here.” I flicked it on, revealing my mother quivering in pink pajamas.
We sat there, arms around each other, until Mom’s breathing calmed. Even then we had to scoot our bottoms up, one step at a time. Finally, at the top of the stairs, Mom stood on shaky legs as I walked her to bed. I tucked her in. Brought her a glass of water. Kissed her good night.
Then I posted a bunch of photos online. Picked some from prom and Roni’s eighteenth birthday that looked like I was having a wild time. Made myself into a new fun-loving, free-flying party girl. I told Ashley Jones I couldn’t wait to meet her in September.
21
I felt anxious while you were gone. I worried you’d been arrested. Or taken hostage. I wondered if you’d filched our liquor and drunk yourself into oblivion. You hadn’t called or texted me one single time. At first I didn’t call you because Bucky said you didn’t want me to, but after the second day I wasn’t about to call you first. You obviously didn’t miss me like I missed you.
Roni came back from Richmond with a whole new look. She’d gotten her hair cut supershort. Her makeup was bolder and always on. She radiated a new confidence, even sitting in the trailer at Sal’s. “They loved us,” she said about the concert. “I never felt such a rush.” All the Muscles crowded around her, acting ridiculous for her attention. Randy pulled up the latest Lullaby Breaker video online, and they all cheered as if they were at her show.
Once we were alone in the trailer she said, “Being in Richmond made me realize different places have different tempos. Like songs. Richmond is faster and louder than Dale.”
I nodded and rotated back and forth on my stool.
“I guess what I’m saying is, I finally get it. Dale just isn’t your speed, is it?”
Tempo was a good way to explain it. Dale seemed anemic to me. Slow and sleepy, or even sluggish, like there’s something caught in the fuel line.
Roni looked out the window. “Grungie wants the band to go on tour. He has a few gigs lined up in North Carolina. Don’t laugh.… He even wants to go to Nashville.”
“I’m not laughing. You guys are good. And they’re better with you.”
“Grungie says he’s getting more calls ever since I joined.”
“When do you go?”
“I haven’t asked Bucky yet.”
“You need to do what’s best for you, Roni.”
“Bucky’s what’s best for me.” She sounded certain. So sure.
“If he’s off at school, why would he care if you’re playing with the band?”
“He doesn’t like me being with all those guys.”
“I thought he trusted you.”
She sighed. “You don’t get love at all, do you, Lulu?”
I felt defective when she said things like that. Because she was right.
Roni said, “I think Mason feels left out that you and Bucky mixed mash without him.”
“You saw Mason?” I swear my insides fluttered.
“He and Bucky stopped by my house on their way to work.”
The flutters turned into a hard lump. I checked my phone again. Nothing.
Feeling irritated and closed in, I said, “I’m going to unload those baby things Clara-Jane brought by. I’ll see if there’s anything worth selling.”
Out in the This-n-That section—the collection of miscellaneous household things for crafters and hoarders—the gnats adored me, collecting in my curls and dive-bombing my eyes and nose. I was looking for space and quiet. Machine grunts and metal clangs don’t count as real noise. I’d already set out some wire baskets and an old-fashioned high chair when I looked up and saw you.
I hadn’t expected you to show up at Sal’s. I definitely didn’t expect the surge of happy that flowed through every inch of me seeing you ride in on your bike. I clutched a box of empty baby food jars so I wouldn’t throw myself into your arms.
“Hey,” you said. “I’m back.”
“I see that.” I put the box down, smoothed its top for something to do with my hands.
“Whatcha got there?”
“Junk. Seeing as you’re in a junkyard.”
You leaned your bike against the chain-link fence. “Can we take a walk, Lu?”
I shook my head. “I’m on the clock.” Sal probably wouldn’t have noticed or even cared especially, but I wasn’t about to give in to your casual invitation. I’d been stewing and worrying about you
, and now here you were, perfect and gorgeous and smiling.
“I guess I should have called first. But I forgot your number.”
I shook my head at your lame nonsense, even if you did look a little embarrassed.
“I took your number out of my phone. In case something happened. I didn’t want you incriminated. I forgot I’m no good at remembering phone numbers.” You scrunched your nose in a way that was unfairly adorable. You bent over and picked up one of the baby food jars. “You think this little guy’ll grow up to be a moonshine jar someday?”
Baby moonshine. It was your idea, even if you didn’t know it.
Right then I said, “I gotta get back to work. Call me sometime. Oh, wait. You can’t.”
“Something wrong, Lu?” Your voice sounded so inappropriately amused. You moved closer, your crooked smile all for me. “I’ve been about crawling out of my skin to get over here and see you. Are you saying you want me to leave?”
I forced my hands to stay behind my back. “What am I supposed to think? You didn’t tell me you were leaving. Then you don’t even call. I heard from Roni you were back. Roni, who could have given you my number, for instance. Or Bucky. Or a million other ways you could have found it.”
“I didn’t think of doing any of those things. I guess I was too busy thinking about seeing you.” You moved in next to me, only inches away, but still not touching me. You smelled so good it made me homesick for your arms.
No other boy had ever made me so unsteady, so unsure of how things were supposed to go. Trying to cover up the way you melted me, I said, “I’d think you’d treat a business partner better.”
You lifted my hair, allowing a cool breeze to hit my sweaty neck. “That’s what you’re mad about, Lu? That I’m not a good business partner?”
“What if you’d run off with all our hard work in the back of your truck?”
“You’d track me down.” Your eyes never left mine.
“What if you were hurt? How would we know you needed help? Haven’t you heard of the buddy system?”
“Does that mean I’m your buddy?” Your voice was teasing, your lips so close.