My Best Everything

by Sarah Tomp

  “I might be a little bit pregnant.”

  “Might be? A little bit?” I frowned, trying to clear my fuzzy head. “I thought you were on the Pill.”

  “I missed a few, so I quit. I’ve been so wrapped up in the band and Aunt Jezebel and just everything. But”—she held her hand up—“I didn’t do this on purpose. A condom broke and…” Her face didn’t fit what I would have expected from someone who’d had her kids’ names picked out since tenth grade. “Now I’m late.”

  “What does Bucky say?”

  “He says we’ll figure it out once we know for sure. Until I take a test, I can hope I’m wrong.”

  We dragged the bulky tubes onto the sand. Those rain clouds darkened the sky, making the sand look dingy and dirty.

  I said, “We’ll stop at Corner Drug on the way home.” I’ll admit the idea of doing this made my palms itch. There’s always some nosy someone in there.

  She bent over the tubes, trying to separate them. “I want to go to a clinic. So I can know my… options. Mason told me about one in Christiansburg.”

  “Mason knows?” I meant about Roni, but also about the clinic. I remembered the rumors about Cindy. That she’d been pregnant when she crashed into that tree.

  “I had to ask someone who might actually help. You know if I ask Buttercup it’ll be all over Dale by sunset.”

  She was too miserable for me to feel wronged by her keeping this from me. The fact that you knew and hadn’t said a word made me realize you had your own secrets.

  “I can’t go around here. Not now that people notice me. I can’t do that to the band. They don’t need my trash mixed up with them.”

  “It’s not trash, Roni. It’s a baby.”

  “This is why I didn’t want to tell you, Lulu. If I decide not to have it…”

  Now I was on shaky ground. I said, as calmly as I could, “I thought you wanted to get married and have Bucky’s babies. That’s all you talked about our whole senior year. You even told the school counselor that was your ideal plan.”

  “I still want that. But not like this.” As we wrestled the inner tubes up to the road, Roni said, “You never liked that plan of mine anyway.”

  I thought about your ideas. “Maybe this is what’s meant to be, Roni. Maybe it’s destiny.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you get it, Lulu? The love songs are just pretend. It all comes down to biology and a broken condom.”

  The rain came before the shuttle showed up to take us back to the Tube Trailer. Impatient, Roni and I walked along the road in our bikinis, rolling our tubes in front of us. I kept sneaking peeks at her flat tummy, trying to believe.

  I didn’t get home until after dinner that night. I’d had my phone off all day—because of the river, but also to avoid the temptation of talking to you—and Mom was in a tizzy. Not curled up and pathetic, but more like a rubber band snapping at me from across the room.

  “Where have you been all day? Why was your phone off?” Before I could answer, she asked, “Were you in public looking like that? Were you with that boy again?”

  “You mean Mason? He has a name.”

  “You are spending too much time with him,” she said.

  “I wasn’t even with him. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Of course it’s my business, Lulu. You are always my business.” She took a deep breath and threw her shoulders back. “You’re grounded.”

  “For what? Poor fashion?” It wasn’t nice to laugh, but I wasn’t feeling any sense of nice. “You can’t ground me. What are you going to do if I leave? Chase me?”

  “Your father will be home soon. He’ll have something to say about this.”

  I looked at her, all puffed up and red with anger. Like the mother who used to keep tabs on me. Who used to see more than an arm’s reach in front of her. Maybe I wanted to keep her mad, or maybe I simply couldn’t hold it in anymore. I said, “Are you sure I’m what Daddy should be worrying about?” My voice shook as I went on. “I heard you in the office, Mom. Late at night. I know what I heard.” I turned my back on her blinking eyes and silent mouth and headed for the shower. I scrubbed myself until I stopped shaking.

  That night I sorted my room into piles: for school, to sell or give away, and to throw away. I wouldn’t leave anything once I was gone.

  At midnight, when it was a new day, I called you. I could tell you’d been asleep, but you denied it. You babbled about lemons and sandpaper. Then, like you’d finally woken up, you said, “Hey. I didn’t talk to you all day.”

  “Roni told me.”

  You knew what I meant.

  “What do you think she should do, Mason?”

  “Maybe Sal has it right.”

  “Sal?” I figured you’d fallen back asleep and were having a nightmare.

  “Sometimes, when things fall apart, you get the pieces and parts for something new. Even if it’s not what you planned.”

  Exactly.

  27

  The next day Roni drove me to the junkyard, but then she didn’t get out of the car. “Tell Sal I’m sick. I’m going to see if Grungie wants to work on our playlist. I can’t be cooped up in that trailer.”

  “Roni. You might not even be…”

  “I’m glad you know what’s going on, Lulu. But now I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t have you in my head while I figure this out.”

  I didn’t want to be in my own head either. “When is Bucky taking you to the clinic?”

  “He can’t until Friday. He’s working overtime since Mason got fired.”

  “Mason got what?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” She frowned, but it was too late to take it back. “That night we went swimming, they caught him on the video surveillance camera climbing over the fence.”

  “What about Bucky? Why didn’t they fire him?”

  She revved the engine. Then said, “I guess Mason got in trouble before. Plus he’s the one who actually opened the gate and let us in.”

  That was a long day at the junkyard. I wondered why you hadn’t told me about getting fired, but I also knew that was something better said face-to-face. I stewed about it, knowing it was Roni’s and my fault. We were the ones who’d wanted to go swimming that night.

  Sal’s was swamped that day. There was a big drag race coming up, and motorheads from all over southwestern Virginia kept stopping by. They mostly came to see the legendary Sal’s Salvage, but once they smelled grease, they couldn’t help but buy some random part. Sal stayed in the trailer all day. I don’t know if he thought I might need help with Roni gone, or if he truly had work to do at his desk. He might have been simply waiting to say what he’d told Mom he would.

  I’d been avoiding him as much as possible ever since I’d heard Mom giggling behind the door. A long time ago Mom had shown me photos of Sal from high school, when he’d been hot. Even now, despite his extra padding and bountiful hair in odd places, I could see how he’d managed to lure in three wives. That day I refused to meet his eyes.

  Near the end of my shift Sal said, “You got something on your mind, Lulu?”

  Try several million somethings. “Not especially.”

  “You sure about that? Need any advice?”

  “I’m not looking for junk.”

  “Salvage,” he said, but smiled. “I know you’ve had a hard summer. And you must be worried about your mama.”

  “Daddy’s coming home soon. She’s always better when he’s home.”

  “If you say so.” Sal opened his desk drawer. Took out a tin of tobacco. “Do you know that spot in the river with the rapids?” He placed a clump into his lip and leaned back in his chair.

  “The Bottoms?”

  “Farther down.”

  “The Wormhole? I’ve seen them.”

  His mouth worked the tobacco into place. “Did your mother ever tell you about the time she went down them blindfolded?”

  “You sure you have the right person?”

  He grinned. “She was a
wild one. Made all the boys crazy.”

  I knew he’d been one of them.

  “Point is, your mother understands what you’ve been thinking and feeling this summer.”

  “I doubt that.” I cleared my throat against the smell of his tobacco. I used to like that smell, but ever since I’d chewed it in the woods that day, it made me queasy.

  “She doesn’t want you making a mistake you can’t fix.” He sat up, looked around.

  I handed him my empty soda can. He nodded thanks and spit into it.

  I said, “Well, I’m not like her. I’m more like my daddy.” I picked up my things and stood, ready to go.

  “How about this boy you’ve been seeing? I hear he’s made his share of mistakes.”

  “That’s over and done. It’s not right that everyone holds on to old news.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Then something occurred to me. “Would you give Mason a job, Sal? He’s strong and good at fixing things.”

  “He’s looking?”

  “Maybe. If he is, will you talk to him?”

  “I could talk.” Sal grinned, showing little black flecks on his teeth. “If he needs a job here, I guess that means he’s not going anywhere.”

  That’s what his little speech was really about. Mom thought I was planning to run away with you.

  As I reached the trailer door, Sal said, “The ABC board came by this morning wanting to photograph a bit of equipment they say was dropped off back in June. It was a still. For making liquor. Copper. You know anything about that?”

  Sweat immediately pooled in every one of my crevices and joints. I pressed my palms against my roiling stomach.

  “Thing is, I can’t find a record of any such delivery. Not in the computer, nor the handwritten logs.”

  I reached out and grabbed the door handle to steady myself. Self-preservation is something I hang tight to. I asked, “When was it supposed to get here?”

  “Back at the start of summer. I know you girls have been distracted lately.” He paused to spit. “Mistakes get made.”

  I sat down. Pretended to search my mind.

  “Something like that is bound to be stolen. Doesn’t make much difference to me. That’s what insurance is for.” I felt Sal watching me, waiting. Then he went on. “And as far as lawful comeuppance, I figure whoever was under the fire for this thing will either see this as a wake-up call, or else they’ll keep on being stupid and get busted for whatever other lamebrained scheme they jump on. Parts and people have a way of ending up where they belong.”

  I picked up a paper clip, untwisted its curves, making it straight and sharp.

  Tapping his fingers on his desk, Sal kept talking. “The driver, on the other hand, well, he’s facing a world of trouble if we can’t back him up that it got here.”

  You getting fired because of me throbbed fresh in my mind. “Would it have come on a trailer?” I asked, my words too full of air.

  “Probably.” His eyes stayed stuck on me, adding, “Besides losing his job, he might be talking to the sheriff, or maybe even the FBI.”

  It had been so easy to take that still. So simple to call it borrowing, not stealing.

  I used the straightened paper clip to poke holes in the soda can he’d set back on the desk. I said, “I think I do remember seeing that come in. I must have forgotten to log it.”

  “Well, damn,” said Sal. “I never even saw it. I would have put it on lockdown.”

  This whole summer was such a complete fluke of luck. Or what you’d call fate.

  He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and resting on his big belly. “Of course, if I find out someone around here helped out somehow, well, I’d have to take that personally.”

  I nodded. Poked more holes in the can. If Sal figured out where the still had gone, it would mean a world of trouble for more than just me. Ollie and Randy knew what we were doing too. Their friends and referrals had totaled up almost as much as one big sale. They couldn’t afford getting fired. There was nowhere else for them to go.

  Sal said, “Well, maybe it’ll turn up. Might be it’s out there, hidden behind some other hunk o’ junk. Stranger things have happened.” He stood up and stretched. Pointed at the holey can in my hand. “Be careful, Lulu. You wouldn’t want to spill that all over yourself.”

  I didn’t know what careful looked like anymore.

  28

  When Daddy came home, the mash in the garage exploded.

  Real fermenting buckets have air locks to release the carbon monoxide that builds up when the yeast, sugar, and corn work together. The few times I’d gone into the garage and opened the flour bucket to halfheartedly stir the glop inside hadn’t done enough to relieve the pressure. You said later that the heat of the garage accelerated the process—I’d probably killed the yeast already. The things you’d made look easy weren’t.

  So maybe Daddy didn’t cause that mash explosion; but, honest and truly, the air in our house changes when he’s home. The whole house gets louder. He talks a lot. Listens to the radio. Moves furniture, reorganizes closets, throws things away. He might have caused an atmospheric shift that sped things up in the garage.

  Even though Daddy is Mom’s opposite—or maybe because of it—he usually soothes her in a way I can’t. This time was different. The air between him and Mom seemed charged and close to sparking. I’d hear their voices, tense and intertwined, but as soon as I walked in the room, they’d go silent. Something was brewing and fermenting between them too.

  You know how our house is built into the hill? So the garage meets the basement? I heard the boom of the explosion all the way up in my bedroom. I didn’t know what it was—gunshot came to mind—but even not knowing, I instantly felt guilty. I was feeling guilty all the time those days, to the point it didn’t mean much anymore. Then my insta-guilt turned productive, and I realized it might be something to do with the mash.

  I ran downstairs and caught Daddy and Mom discussing the sound. “It must have been a truck,” said Daddy. “Or construction work down the road.”

  “It was in our house,” said Mom. “I vibrated.” Her voice was getting breathy and full of air, the way it does when she has one of her panic attacks.

  “I’ll check the basement,” I said.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Daddy.

  “Mario. Wait.”

  “Stay with Mom. I can check.”

  For once I was thankful for Mom’s uneasy shaking. With my heart pounding, I scooted downstairs, through the basement, and opened the door to the garage.

  That bucket blowing was truly mind-blowing. I never imagined what lurked in there. The force that had built up. The bucket itself had bulleted across the garage and hit the opposite wall, knocking down a shelf.

  The smell was almost sweet, but closer to wrong. Everything in there—all the boxes and broken old toys and unwanted miscellaneous nothings—was splattered with the nasty glop. The gummy, gooey mess was everywhere.

  Hearing Daddy’s footsteps, I pulled the door shut and crept back to meet him at the base of the stairs. Because I’d become a professional liar, I had no problem finding inspiration in the basement. “Paul’s golf clubs knocked into the water heater.”

  I started up the stairs, hoping to keep him away from the mess.

  He came down to check anyway. “I need to make sure there’s no crack.”

  I stood beside him as he moved the clubs out of his way and then ran his fingers over the tank. Nervous, I chatted at him. The rhythm of being a daddy’s girl kicked in, an easy and familiar role, even if I hadn’t practiced all summer.

  The bittersweet smell of exploded mash overwhelmed the air. I surreptitiously checked and rechecked my arms and hands, the ends of my hair, and even the soles of my feet, expecting to find traces of glop stuck to me. Thinking Daddy had to smell it also, I tried to distract him by saying, “Mom should make some bread. Wouldn’t that taste good?”

  He scanned the basement again and then turned his eyes on m
e. “I’ve missed my little girl,” he said. I let him cradle my face the way he used to. He said in a slightly wobbly voice, “Your mother thinks you’re in love.”

  That about knocked me over. “What did she say?”

  “That he’s polite and a good eater. The important things.”

  “You know him, Daddy. It’s Mason. From Saint Jude’s.”

  He frowned, his mind translating. “Father Mick’s handyman?”

  “He’s not a handyman. Or Father Mick’s.”

  “He’s too old for you, Lulu. He’s… he’s not who you think.”

  “No, Daddy. He’s not who you think.”

  Daddy never likes the boys I date, but he’s not usually so surprised. Then again, you weren’t the usual boy I’d dated. I didn’t mind having him flustered. If he was worried about you, he might not notice real problems. Like a bucket of exploded mash.

  I headed back up the stairs, knowing he’d follow me to get in the last word. Behind me he said, “I know this has been a hard time, Luisa. It’s difficult to adjust your vision for the future.”

  I faced him. “I haven’t. I’m still going to school in September.”

  I’d turned the page on my kitty calendar that morning. August. The last full month I’d spend in Dale. It would be a busy month for Aunt Jezebel, but come September and Labor Day, I’d be gone.

  He held the banister, looking deflated. “We simply cannot afford it.” Then his face brightened, grew more animated. “I’m working on something. It’s quite exciting. A true opportunity. I have real hopes it could be quite lucrative. God willing.”

  I knew this old tune. Daddy was always looking ahead to his next big deal. The next exciting plan. His high hopes, God willing. I’d always believed him.

  Until that moment.

  I now knew that hopes and plans weren’t always enough. Sometimes God wasn’t willing and everything blew up in your face. Or garage.

  “I’m getting the money, Daddy. I’ve already made more than half the payment.” My heart thumped so hard my breaths felt shallow. I’d hoped to have this conversation once things were settled and done. “You’re the one who told me I had to leave this town.”