My Best Everything

by Sarah Tomp

  I wasn’t in a place to judge any choice she’d made. The moments we feel most untouchable, that’s when we most need a hand.

  “Here’s the crazy thing. Now Bucky wants to get married.” She licked her spoon and looked at me. “So? What do I do?”

  I set aside the rest of my ice cream and lay back on the towel. “Lie here and close your eyes. Think about each possibility. Roll it around in your head, let your mind play awhile. See how each one makes you feel.”

  “I was sure you’d make me a list of pros and cons. Have you been smoking pot?”

  “That’s another idea,” I said. “Try that.”

  She laughed. “Did you get kidnapped by aliens or something?”

  “Something,” I said.

  Truth was, I didn’t know anything anymore. Not about love. Not about plans. Not about right or wrong.

  “I need sun.” Roni took off her T-shirt. We lay in her yard wearing only our bras and shorts, the way we used to do back when my parents didn’t want me to wear a bikini so Roni didn’t either. She said, “It’s Bucky’s hands.”

  I rolled over on my side to face her.

  “I was so damn crazy for his hands.” She closed her eyes. “I’d see them tapping his thigh or brushing his hair back, doing something he wasn’t even thinking about, and, just like that, I’d be ready to drag him off to any dark corner. God, I loved his hands. His hands were going to lead me when we danced at our wedding. They’d hold our babies. Help them ride bikes. Point out words to read so they wouldn’t end up dumb like me.”

  “You’re not dumb, Roni.”

  She shook her head. Her eyes stayed closed against the bright sun. “When I told Bucky I thought I might be pregnant, I couldn’t look him in the eye. Not that he could be mad. He knew how it happened. But I kept staring at his hands. Wishing he’d grab me and hug me. Something.”

  A few tears rolled out from her lids, down her cheeks. “Then he reached out—and squashed a bug.”

  “Oh, Roni.” I had to laugh a little.

  She did too. Then sat up. “We went to look at wedding rings yesterday. Only I could hardly look at the rings because I kept seeing his hands squash that damn bug.

  “Then I started thinking how I could write a really good song about hands. Gotta hand it to you… Hand over my heart… My handy-dandy handyman… All of a sudden I didn’t want to try on any more rings because all I could think about was getting my ideas down on paper.”

  I didn’t totally get what Roni meant. I don’t know what it feels like to have a song in my head. But I could tell she was listening to a beat all her own.

  Later, after we’d come back inside, Bucky showed up. He shifted back and forth like he didn’t know where to stand. I kept thinking he was going to hit his head on the open cupboard door. “Where’s Mason?” he asked me. “I can’t get ahold of him.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Did you chase him off, Lulu? You just couldn’t make it a whole summer with someone, could you?”

  “Shut up, Bucky,” said Roni, because I was too numb to answer. Too cold. The ice princess resurrected. I stood in Roni’s kitchen making guesses where you might be.

  I couldn’t help noticing Bucky kept his hands in his pockets.

  33

  I didn’t know relief could levitate. My heart felt a million pounds lighter when I saw your truck outside the junkyard gate the next afternoon. I’d spent the day walking through skeletons of cars taking a spot inventory with Randy. All those hunks of metal seemed lonely and useless, forgotten and left to rust. As we headed back to the trailer, I heard the sound of your engine. Even in the midst of all the machine groans and squeal of the air-conditioning unit and Randy talking, I knew that rumble.

  I hurried into the trailer to grab my stuff and say good-bye to Roni. With my stomach jumping every which way, I spritzed myself with her body spray and stole one of Sal’s mints before rushing out to meet you.

  You looked how I felt. Nervously close to desperate.

  As you pulled away from the curb, I reached out and ran my finger along your neck, the way that gives you shivers. We didn’t go far—only to the empty lot around the corner—before you pulled over. You took off your seat belt and unbuckled mine. Pulled me close.

  I’d worried you might never want to kiss me again after smelling liquor on my breath. Yet here you were, warm and close. I drifted on that feeling of relief.

  Until you didn’t feel like you.

  The rough and forceful way you kissed me, your hand on the base of my neck, was new and unsettling. I felt in danger of being devoured. Finally I shoved your chest, hard. “Stop it, Mason.”

  Your jagged breaths matched the fierce look in your eye. “Jake’s dead.”

  You’d been the one to find him. Pale and gripping the steering wheel, you said, “It was awful. I’ve seen some things, Lu. But…”

  I don’t want to imagine what you found that day. You said the tools the coroner’s office sent weren’t medical in nature. More like garbage removal. His shack was immediately sealed and marked for demolition.

  Driving again, you said, “I want a drink.” Your voice sounded calm. Even and matter of fact. It took me a minute to register what you meant.

  “In fact, I’d like to get drunk off my ass.”

  You went on, stiff and robotic. “I’d start with a shot of Jim Beam. Wash the rest of the bottle down with a six-pack of Budweiser. There’s nothing like good old Bud. Not like that Coors crap Seth drinks.” Now you were talking fast and driving faster. “A taste of vodka would be all right after that. Then, say, rum. Mmmmm. I forgot about rum.

  “Oh, but I gots to have me tequila.” You cackled. “To-kill-ya tequila. Hell, Lulu, I’d even take a glass of champagne.” You looked at me, more than a little crazed, swerving your truck at the same time. “And I hate champagne.”

  It’s hard to know what to say to someone you don’t recognize. I tried to soothe you with the meaningless words of sympathy that can’t begin to fill a hole. When I said, “Jake’s in peace now,” you barked a laugh in reply.

  “Of course he’s in peace. He’s the lucky one.”

  I think that scared me more than anything else all day. But you tried to top it driving way too fast around the curves and along the back roads we’d been exploring all summer. I stayed on my side of the truck and hung on to the door handle.

  “Can I drive, Mason?”

  You let out a strange, twisted laugh. “This is part of your lesson, Lulu. Pay attention. This is the bootlegger way of hitting the road.”

  You drove reckless and too close to the edge of the road one minute, straight down the middle the next. I was sure we were going to end up as salvage. Our bodies would be burnt ashes inside your mangled truck when they hauled it in to Sal’s.

  The roar of your engine and the screeching of tires made it hard to think. A prayer from my childhood raced through my mind: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. I always hated that prayer. It’s for someone who’s given up.

  When you skidded around a corner, I yelled, “Stop the truck or I’m jumping out.”

  “Why? So you can run away from your drunk of a boyfriend?”

  “My boyfriend’s not a drunk.”

  “I’d like to meet him sometime,” you roared. “’Cause that sure ain’t me.”

  I opened the door, but the force of speed and the dizzying sight of the road below made me pull it shut again, but not quite tight. “Dammit, Mason. I don’t want to die slamming into some tree.”

  Maybe that was low of me to bring up the way Cindy died, but you deserved it. You finally pulled off the road out in the middle of nowhere.

  You slammed your fist against the steering wheel.

  Even though I was burning mad, the look on your face about broke me. Before I could crumble, you bolted. Slammed the door behind you, hard enough to shake your whole truck. Then, standing in the overgrown grass of the ditch, you ranted and raved.<
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  I got out and watched you kick the ground.

  “He’s gone,” you said. “Like you’ll be gone. But I’m not going anywhere.” You threw your keys into the clump of black-and-yellow flowers at the edge of the woods. “And you sure as hell won’t be looking back at me.” With your face streaked with sweat and tears, you fell back against your truck, wheezing gaspy gulps of air.

  I stood there, useless, until your breathing steadied and your shoulders slumped. You’d burned off the toxic rage, but misery still shone from your eyes.

  “I lost my keys,” you said.

  Because it was easier than being next to you, I clomped through the grass and flowers, around the hidden rocks, searching through blurry, stinging eyes.

  You yelled, “Watch out for snakes.”

  “Not helpful, Mason.” But I was thankful to hear you’d come back.

  “Say a prayer to Saint Anthony. He’s one of my go-to guys.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Patron saint of lost causes.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s Saint Jude. Or Saint Rita.”

  “Well, old Saint Tony helps find things. Cindy taught me about him.” You laughed. “She was always losing crap because she was too wasted to see straight.”

  Hearing her name stopped me a second. Then I said, “Well, give him a call, because I can’t find your keys.”

  That’s what you did. Right there on the side of the road, you got down on your knees and prayed to Saint Anthony. Real sweet and polite. I guess he liked your manners. Because all of a sudden you said, “Hey! I see them.” You loped out to a spot I’d already checked, but sure enough you grabbed them, triumphant and grinning like you’d never had a bad day ever. “Told ya Saint Anthony and I are tight.”

  I held out my hand.

  You looked at the keys, then at me, back at the keys. Then gave them to me.

  I asked, “Now what?”

  “Now I play nice so you forget I went crazy.”

  I wasn’t sure either of us could pull it off.

  “I knew he was dying,” you said. “I don’t know why it hit me so hard.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I said, hoping I was right.

  “I’ve always been terrible at good-byes, Lu. When I was little, I’d get up early and run to school on my own. Just so I wouldn’t have to say good-bye to my mama.”

  You melt my heart when I least expect it.

  “I was fine once I got to school.” You bent down, picked a yellow black-eyed Susan from the side of the road, and handed it to me. “It was only the good-bye I hated. I’ll be all right, Lu. Once you leave, I’ll be fine.”

  I wasn’t so sure about me.

  Daddy and Mom were waiting up for me. “Sit down, Luisa. We must talk.”

  Feeling the weight of the day, I said, “Tomorrow.”

  “Now.” Daddy’s voice was firm and too loud.

  “I can’t,” I said, heading for the stairs.

  Mom was the one who jumped in front of me. Stood close enough I could smell vanilla and cinnamon, a hint of something peppery.

  “Please, Mom. I need to sleep.”

  “We’re worried about you, Lulu. You’re staying out too late. Disappearing, losing your phone. Ever since you met this boy, you’re different.”

  “His name is Mason.”

  “You’re caught up in the moment,” said Daddy. “You don’t know how the choices you make now will change your future.”

  I laughed, hard and sarcastic. “I wish it was all about my choices. How about the ones you’ve made for me?”

  Daddy moved in so the two of them had me cornered against the banister. “I know Mason’s history, Luisa. He’s been in trouble. His past is…”

  “The past, Daddy. As in over.” I crossed my arms against my chest. “You don’t know him. You have no idea what kind of trouble he might be. But he’s not.”

  “We’re your parents. We know what’s best.”

  “How would you know anything? You haven’t been here all summer, Daddy. You’re never here.” I turned to Mom. “And you’re never anywhere but here. All you see is in this house. You don’t even know about the weather. Whatever either of you think you know about me, that’s done. Over. Past.”

  The rage and frustration that had simmered all summer burst out. “You told me I could go to college. Told me to aim high, go far. You promised I’d have a life beyond Dale. And then, when I finally got close, you grabbed it away and said, ‘Not yet.’”

  They stared at me, the two of them fixed on this horror in front of them.

  “You took everything away from me. Left me with nothing to hope for, nothing to do. Mason is the only good thing in my life.”

  Mom said, “He’s not worth ruining your future. Take some time. Some space.”

  “When I leave I’ll have plenty of space. Until then, I will be with Mason as much as I want.”

  She said, “Think about your soul, Luisa.”

  I stared at her, unbelieving. I wanted to say, What does it do to your soul when you cheat on your husband with your high school boyfriend? But I couldn’t do that to Daddy.

  I pushed past them. “I’ve done what you said all my life. I believed you. I trusted you knew best.”

  When I was halfway up the stairs, Daddy called to me, “You don’t know what love is, Lulu.”

  I turned back and said, “And you don’t know what I know.”

  34

  Maybe I was still too naive to believe, but I thought you and I had a good plan. We had to make the most of the little time we had left together, so we made a few agreements. (1) We were going to make one more run on Aunt Jezebel, and (2) even though you didn’t like the plan, I was going to sell the moonshine with Bucky at the Queens’ party. It was my best bet for selling quickly at the highest price. We both knew you being there was not an option. And all the while, (3) we weren’t going to talk about California.

  Daddy and Mom backed off too. They didn’t know how to discipline me. They’d never had to. None of us knew how to speak the language of confrontation. When Daddy left town again, he simply hugged me and said, “Be my sweet girl,” which felt impossible.

  So you and I went back to enjoying each other with no talk of past or future.

  Driving away from my house one night, you said, “We gotta hurry. I’m taking you somewhere special.”

  I couldn’t wheedle it out of you, but I thought you’d made us a reservation for dinner. A tiny bit of me was disappointed. Even if you took me out of town, I didn’t want to sit in a restaurant where I’d have to share you with other people. But you felt the same way.

  You parked in a thicket, my window pressed against a bush. I stepped out your door, into you. “You should have told me to wear real shoes,” I said, pointing at my flip-flops. “I didn’t know we were going for a hike.”

  “It’s not far.” You threw me over your shoulder.

  Laughing, I said, “Put me down, Mason.”

  You didn’t. Not until you’d carried me out to that point overlooking the river. You’d gone ahead earlier and set up a picnic. A blanket spread out on the ground, a cooler filled with fried chicken, biscuits, grapes about to burst their skins, and fresh lemonade with the exact right ratio of sweet to pucker.

  “Whoa,” I said. “You’ve been busy.”

  You confessed. “My mama did it all.”

  I liked that you had a mama who cooked for you. I hated not knowing everyone that had ever known you. I wanted to know you best.

  “Come here,” you said, dragging me to the edge of the point. “Or we’ll miss it.”

  It made my head swirl to see the water below us, rushing by. The sun, low in the sky, shone slanted brilliance across its surface. You’d timed it so we’d be there when they let the dam out up in Elmsworth. Something I knew happened, but hadn’t given much thought. Somewhere, miles away, out of sight, water was released.

  We watched from the bluff as a sudden rush of water surged up and over the banks. I
t whirled and raged. A moment later, the currents settled and rolled on. The water level stayed higher, but it looked like it had always been that way. If we weren’t watching at that moment, we might not have realized the difference. So many changes get missed.

  There was only one little niggling bit of something that kept that night from being perfect. You knew this secret place. You’d been here before. I was sure it held some kind of other memories for you.

  That’s why I asked, “What was Cindy like?”

  You rubbed your hair, making me want to touch it too. “I don’t know.”

  I waited, not letting you skirt the question.

  “She was pretty.”

  I knew that. Everyone knew that.

  “She loved to laugh, but she’d also get real sad sometimes. I never knew what would set that off.” You put down your food. “Thing is, Lu, it’s easier to stay messed up if you have someone who’s worse off. They can be a marker for a low you haven’t hit yet. Each of us was the other’s marker.

  “After she died, I had to face where I was headed.” You shook your head. “I owe her, but I can’t pay her back.”

  A little later you said, “I found this spot that day we made our first run on Aunt Jezebel. After you got so mad about the gun.”

  So much had changed since then.

  “As soon as I saw this view, I wanted to bring you here, Lu. That’s when I went back.”

  “I guess we have bad timing meeting now.”

  “Nah.” You shook your head. “I think it’s some kind of miracle when we met. Any earlier and I would have been too messed up. Any later you’d already be gone.”

  The achy feeling in the back of my throat made it hurt to swallow.

  You reached into your backpack that you must have used to help haul the picnic, and pulled out your gun.

  “Why do you have that?” Even when you’re with someone you trust, the silhouette of an unexpected gun is eerie, unsettling.

  You clicked it open, showed me the empty chamber. “Because everything is different now.” You stood up and moved toward the bluff. You hurled the gun out to the fastest part of the river. It barely splashed, and then disappeared beneath the silvery-gray surface.