My Best Everything

by Sarah Tomp

  Kisses. Hints of blackberry.

  We moved back inside, still kissing, never letting go.

  I led you down the hall. Into your room. You looked at me, wondering. We kissed standing, then sank to your bed.

  Hands roamed, hot and heavy and everywhere. Clothes slipped away. I was unwrapped and undone. Every one of my rules was long gone, specks in the far-off distance.

  All I saw and felt and breathed and wanted was you.

  On top of wanting, mixed in completely, was the new place of willing.

  “Wait.” Your voice thick and husky. “Lu. I can’t…”

  I knew you meant stop. We were at the edge of where I’d said I couldn’t go.

  Where I now wanted to be. Had to be. “It’s okay,” I whispered.

  “We can’t do this,” you said, backing away to the edge of the bed.

  “We can’t?” Heat and confusion swirled while I tried to catch my balance and breathe, just breathe. “You have condoms in the bathroom.”

  You blinked and jerked back as if I’d flicked you.

  I moved closer again. But the sweet heat was gone. I said, “Don’t you want to?”

  You groaned. “Of course I want to.” You tucked your sheet around me, turned away, and put your feet on the floor. “But this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Lu. Not when you’re feeling desperate and hopeless.”

  “At least we can be together.”

  “At least?”

  I reached for you.

  “I’m not your consolation prize.”

  You stood up. Pulled on your jeans, your T-shirt. Gathered my clothes, handed them to me. Turned away while I struggled back into them, unable to speak with my heart stuck in my throat.

  I needed to get out of your bedroom. Away from the smell of you in the sheets. The room where, for a second, I’d pictured myself staying. Living. Being with you.

  I’d been happy in that picture.

  I made it as far as your couch before I realized I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I focused on a tree branch outside your window, trying to calm the trembling in my hands.

  You sat in the chair across from me. “Lu, I still think it’s a miracle, us meeting. But…”

  I guess you didn’t know how the but in your voice pushed at me. How very far from miraculous I felt as you shut me out. I exploded. “I don’t know about miracles, Mason. I don’t know about meant-to-be or fate or destiny or any of those things. All I know is I can’t sit around waiting for something to fall in my lap the way you do. I have to try, even if I get it wrong.”

  “I don’t want to be your wrong!” You shook your head, frowning. “You’ll never be happy here, Lulu. You’re going to leave eventually. One way or another. I’m not the kind of guy you’ll want once you get where you’re going. Someday I’ll just be one small part of what you left behind.”

  Your face told me it was over.

  “But, Lu. Don’t make me your regret.”

  “How can you think that, Mason? How could you ever think I’d regret you?”

  “You’ve never told me otherwise.”

  I knew what you meant. I’d never told you I loved you. But how could I say it then? And how could I say something I’d never believed in?

  We stared at each other. I felt the heat radiating off your skin. Or maybe that was all me. “I thought you said we were meant to be, Mason. Or was that just something pretty to say?”

  There was nothing pretty about the way you looked at me. There was a sharpness to your words as you said, “This summer was our meant-to-be, Lulu. We got each other through some things. We needed each other. But it was only for this summer. We knew that all along. Now you’ll go your way, and I’ll find mine.”

  You were kicking me out of your life. The entire time I’d known you I’d been thinking about leaving. From the start, all along, in the midst of every kiss, I’d known we were headed for good-bye. Somehow I still wasn’t ready for the way it felt.

  We sat there, silent, each of us stuck in our own thoughts until you said, “I’m going to get you your money. You’ll see.” You let out a heavy sigh. “I need a minute. I’m going to go take a shower, clean up. Then we’ll talk.” You got up and walked away with my heart.

  Your phone buzzed from the crack in the chair where it must have slipped from your pocket.

  Ever since that day when I found Baby hidden at Saint Jude’s, I’d known what you had planned. I knew why you were certain you could get me my last bit of money. You were going back to work with Seth. You thought taking care of Baby was a way to be part of your family’s business. You’d fooled yourself into thinking you could do this one thing and stay sober.

  You were choosing moonshine over me.

  Moonshine was your first love. The one you’d known all your life. The one that had broken your heart. Lured you in, whispered sweet teases in your ear, made you think it would be different this time. She’d blinded you. Made you think I could never be happy with you. You loved your moonshine, but I knew she’d ruin you.

  She’d never let you alone. The same way you’d tried to resist when I came along asking for help. Just this one thing, you’d said. I’ll help with this one step. Then I’m done. I knew how that turned out.

  You’d been talking to Seth when I saw you through the window. And now he’d sent a text: u w/ baby?

  I hit Reply.

  Once I know where I’m headed, I don’t like to wait. As soon as I heard the water turn on, I grabbed your keys and phone and headed out to your truck.

  I left without saying good-bye. You hate good-byes.

  37

  I’d driven hours and miles in your truck that summer, but never on my own.

  I started it up, put it in reverse, and backed out of your driveway. Accelerated, nice and easy, the way you’d taught me. Then I got nervous. I hadn’t realized how much I counted on your voice in my ear, knowing your quick reflexes would compensate for my errors.

  Feeling uncertain about driving helped me to ignore my splintered heart. Gave me something to think about other than where I was headed. I coached myself along the road, coaxed your truck up to an inconspicuous speed.

  I’d thought I had to choose between two perfect possible futures. College or you. Head or heart. Go or stay. And then, in the heat of one afternoon, I’d lost both.

  There was nowhere I belonged.

  You didn’t belong where you were headed either. I’d dragged you back into this moonshine mess, but now I was going to get you out.

  I’d brought your phone along so I could keep in touch with Seth, and so you wouldn’t. It meant I couldn’t call you to back me up, but I needed to keep you away from the place that pulled at you.

  I’d already lost everything that mattered. Already broken every rule I’d ever thought I cared about. Already learned there wasn’t hardly anything I wouldn’t do. I wasn’t the same girl you’d met at the start of the summer. I’d been distilled into something new and dangerous. It wasn’t a far leap for me to now take on the care of Baby.

  Someone had to do it. The yeast was the key to your family’s business. It had been carried on for generations. You’d never be able to turn your back on Baby, but that’s where I came in. I could feed her. I could watch her grow, keep her safe, send her off to work when it was time. It had to be done. But not by you.

  If I had Baby, I could set the rules. Any word that you were back in the mix, I’d cut off their supply. I could make sure you stayed away from the shine.

  I worried I wouldn’t remember how to get there, but it clicked into place. I’d gotten good at navigating back roads. I’d learned to watch for the little signs and landmarks that orient me to a place. When I saw the outcrop of boulders by the mailbox that looked like an American flag, I knew I was almost to the road you’d pointed out. A zing traveled through me—the kind of high I used to feel when I’d solved a particularly tough calculus problem.

  I was still riding that blip of euphoria when I caught my first view of the u
gly, squat cement building. Faded blue paint identified it as QUARRY SUPPLY CO. even though the nearest quarry had closed before I was born. A battered pickup on blocks sat in a clump of overgrown weeds. To the side of the building, a giant yellow loader sat looking lost and purposeless.

  The place felt deserted. That’s part of its disguise. When Seth and Peanut appeared around the corner of the building, I saw them take in the fact it was me in the driver’s seat. I stuck my head out the window and waved in my very best junkyard girl manner. “Hey, y’all,” I said with what I hoped was the right combination of confident and clueless.

  Seth said something to Peanut, and they both laughed. Then he called to me, “This sure is a surprise, Skip-to-my-Lulu.”

  He sauntered over, circled your truck, peered through the windows. He stopped by mine. Said, “Get out so we can talk.”

  I knew that would be a moment of no return. I was already there in my head.

  As I turned off the engine, my heart banged an alarm against my ribs. I could hardly blame it, but I had to play the game I’d practiced all summer. So, after I shut the door behind me, I leaned back against your truck like I was happy to stay awhile.

  Seth moved close enough that I could smell his sweat and aftershave at war with each other. “You aren’t packing, are ya? You already pulled a gun on me once.”

  I laughed, hoping he was teasing. But I also raised my hands and said, “Nope. Not today.”

  “Where’s my dumb-ass cousin?”

  “He’s had a change of heart. You’ll need to deal with me.”

  “A change of heart? You mean y’all had a lovers’ spat?” Seth laughed along with Peanut. Then, in a steel-cold voice, he said, “Why the hell should I care? More to the point,” he added, “why would I ever want to get mixed up with your little bitty jars of rat poison?”

  “Scoff if you want,” I said. “We’ve made a chunk of money with those.”

  I’d come there to talk about Baby, but now I realized I could make this my future in a bigger way. I was good at this part of the business. All those sales at the junkyard, the plan for selling at the Queens’ field party; I had plenty of ideas. I said, “If we work together, we could more than double our sales. I have connections you don’t know. I can sell to people you can’t.”

  The idea bubbled up the more I worked it. I kept talking, never looking away from him. “College students are always looking for a thrill. I’d blend in, they’d trust me.”

  “I see why Mason likes you, Lulu. You’re like a shot of lightning, aren’t ya?” Seth stared at me, unblinking. “Does he know you’re here?”

  I didn’t have to answer. He knew.

  He held out his hand. “How about you hand over his keys and then we’ll talk.”

  “No thanks. I got ’em.”

  Seth nodded.

  Quick and hard, Peanut slammed into me, knocked me against the side of your truck. I hit my head on the glass and bit my lip. Before I caught my breath, Seth had the keys in his hand, dangling them in front of me. He said, “I asked nicely.”

  I wish some kind of freaky adrenaline ninja-nerves had kicked in, but instead, I stood numb and paralyzed. A fog of panic added to the bump on my head, making the world hazy and unsure. Although Seth had always made me nervous, I thought that was because of the way you reacted to him. He’d never threatened me. If anything, he’d been closer to friendly, almost flirty. I tasted blood from my cut lip, wiped it on the back of my hand. Saw the purple blackberry stains on my fingers. Wished uselessly and too late that I’d never left your house.

  I was on some small, rinky-dink one of a million little roads outside of Dale and no one knew. No one would even look for me. I wasn’t sure what you’d think when you discovered I was gone with your truck. You’d probably think I needed to cool off. With only your bike as a way to get around, you wouldn’t be driving anywhere. Roni thought I was with you. Mom thought I was with Roni. Bucky wasn’t talking to me at all. Your phone was under the seat of your truck.

  Seth faced me. Not touching. But closing in. Only a snatch away. “You’ve had quite the run this summer, haven’t you, Lulu? Beginners’ luck’s been good to you. But you don’t get how things work.”

  I squinted in the sunlight, still fussing with the cut on my lip.

  “It’s time you see how big boys run a business.”

  He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the building. As I slipped in the gravel, his fingers dug into my skin. We approached the wall made of large metal slats, like an enormous garage door, but then he shoved me toward the smaller regular door built into the cement. He braced me against the wall as his unsteady fingers fumbled with the combination. He said, “Peanut, get this damn lock.”

  A few seconds later he pushed me inside, and I breathed in the familiar smell of mash brewing and corn fermenting. Though it was cooler in there, I suddenly felt parched. I swallowed against the dry in my mouth. But even as scared as I was, part of me was fascinated. We’d only been kids playing with an Easy-Bake oven compared to this setup.

  Along the opposite wall were three bullet-shaped metal tanks, each one burbling and glubbing. Pipes ran from the release valves at the tops of the tanks down to where plastic buckets sat on the floor collecting thick and yeasty foam trailings. The perpendicular wall supported metal shelves stacked with various boxes, bags, and cans reaching toward the ceiling. Rows of wooden barrel ends stared back at me.

  In the far corner sat Aunt Jezebel’s much bigger sister.

  Fluorescent lights lined the ceiling above a crisscross of pipes connecting the mash tanks to the still. Tiny windows ran along the ceiling line—the only connection to the outside world. All I could see was sky.

  Keeping his knee behind my thigh and hand pressed on my back, Seth pushed me along the row of tanks, leading me to a space where a sagging brown and yellow couch faced a television while four metal folding chairs sat around a crooked card table. A microwave sat on a stained plastic counter next to a large and rusted sink.

  Seth pointed at one of the chairs. “Sit.”

  I sat up straight, with my very best posture. I tried to act like things were going according to plan. Met his eyes that might be like yours if they weren’t so glassy and rimmed in red.

  I said, “This is quite a setup you’ve got.”

  “Stop acting like you know something.” Seth pulled out a pack of cigarettes, turned them over in his hands.

  He took one out. Tapped its end on the table. “Do you actually think I’d deal with you behind Mason’s back?”

  He shook his head. For a second it was almost like he felt sorry for me. But only almost. He said, “Blood comes first, little baby Lulu. Blood first.” He pulled out his phone.

  Keeping his narrowed eyes on me, Seth said into the phone, “Hey. I got something you might be looking for. Out here at the Quarry Supply. It smells like…” He paused, leaned over, and stuck his nose in my hair. “Not sure if it’s sugar or spice, but it’s mixed with creamy buttermilk.”

  Immediately that idiotic song “Skip to My Lou” danced through my head. Only you would understand his riddle. Seeing as your phone was hidden under the seat of your truck—which was parked outside this warehouse—you wouldn’t get that message.

  As he hung up, he said, “You better hope the fly comes to sugar.”

  Shoo, fly, shoo.

  38

  An unfocused prayer ran on a loop in my head as I sat at the table with Seth and Peanut watching my every move. Only I didn’t know what to pray for. The whole reason I’d come to see Seth was so you wouldn’t. There was no way for you to get his message. And yet, we three waited for you.

  I didn’t know what else to do. I was doing what you suggest: Wait and see.

  Seth wasn’t any better at waiting than me. Between cigarettes, he checked his phone, got up and looked outside the door. All the while he twitched and fidgeted, shuffled and shifted, sweated and wiped his face with his shirt. When he hauled off and slapped Peanut for humming,
I started counting the cans of peaches and cherries, sugar, and bags of ground corn to help me stay quiet. I wondered what Mom could make with all those ingredients. Felt desperate to think I might never find out.

  Later, after he’d finally let me up to use the disgusting toilet in the back of the warehouse, I tried again. “Can we talk about a deal? Mason’s not coming.”

  “Yes he is. He owes me.”

  I burst out, “Why does he owe you anything? Because of a blown deal? Did he disappoint you somehow? Don’t you think you’ve let him down too? You want his money? Let me pay whatever he owes you. You need help? Let me work.” I couldn’t stop. “I know Mason’s planning to work with you. But he can’t. It’ll kill him if he tries. You leave him alone, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done.”

  “What about you, Lulu? Are you going to leave him alone too?”

  Yes.

  I had to. My mind was a jumble of mixed-up uncertainties, but that was one thing I knew. I’d pulled you back to this place you had to avoid. I was like a rock tied around your neck, dragging you down, making it hard to breathe. I wasn’t good for you. And you knew it too. That’s why you wanted to go your own way.

  Seth sat beside me. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  I might have, once upon a time.

  “I’ll admit, some of your ideas are interesting. A little girl like you can certainly get away with some things we can’t.” He leaned forward. Inches from my face, he said, “But you’ve been a thorn in my ass all summer long. Got people acting nosy and asking questions.”

  He spit on the ground. “Mason got it. He knew you were stirring things up. But did you know Mason’s been paying us an apology fee? To make up for the mess you’ve made.” He leaned back again, wearing a satisfied smile. “That’s why he owes me. It’s all because of you and your little game in the woods.”

  I was the reason for your debt.

  Every bit of trouble we’d faced, everything that had turned sour, every single kind of wrong from every which way was my fault.

  I pushed past a wave of regret and said, “Well, we’re done with all that. We won’t be making any more moonshine. Someone messed up our still.”