The Last Road Home

by Danny Johnson

  “I reckon.”

  Fancy skimmed off the cream in the milk bucket, arranged the dasher stick in the churn, and fit the stick through the hole in the lid. She sat down and started moving the plunger up and down slowly as the liquid began to turn solid. We took turns. I watched Fancy’s breasts while she worked the plunger. She cut her eyes at me a couple of times, making me blush. After one last push, she stopped. “I think it’s done.”

  I stood close behind and pretended to watch while she put the fresh butter in a cloth and slowly twisted the bundle, squeezing out the liquid, relaxed her grip, and squeezed it twice more, each time gently rounding the ball.

  Fancy glanced over her shoulder, and I could see her cheeks were flushed. She opened the pouch, pinched off a small piece, and turned around. Holding my eyes with hers, she reached out with her finger and slowly rubbed the butter over my mouth. Blood began to pound in my ears. Fancy lightly touched her lips to mine, tasting the salty cream with her tongue. We’d been playing with this fire and now it was burning us up. I pushed her against the counter.

  “Wait.” Fancy put a hand against my chest, her eyes asking a question. “You really want to do this?”

  “Do you?” I knew my answer but didn’t say it.

  Her black eyes glistened like shiny coal. She stared at me, then gripped my arm. “Come on.” There was determination on her face.

  In the bedroom, Fancy pulled back the covers and unbuttoned her dress, dropping it to the floor. She waited. “I ain’t going to stand here naked by myself.”

  I was spellbound by how light through the window made a contrast of shadows on her body. She was beautiful. I swallowed like a thirsty camel at a water hole. I’d fantasized about this moment so many times, and now I prayed not to be awful at it.

  We lay down on the bed facing each other. I kissed her as softly as I could, trying to not be anxious, to go slow until I could figure out how this was going to work. When I ran my tongue over the tip of her breast, Fancy gripped the hair on the back of my head and twisted. I threw the going-slow stuff out like an old pair of underwear, pretty sure I wouldn’t make it through a long warm-up. I moved my hand down her body, over her belly, and below. Her hips flexed when my finger found the right spot. “Ahh.” She sucked in a sharp breath, and arched her back.

  Whatever was going to happen needed to happen now. I moved between her legs and Fancy’s hips rose to meet me. After some fumbling we connected. I was enveloped in warmth and sensation unlike any I’d ever been able to imagine. We lay still for a minute, then began an awkward search for a rhythm. Slow went to urgency, then thrashing and bucking in a flurry of arms and legs, mouths glued together. I felt my stomach tighten. The fierceness of the release left me gasping for breath. “God, Fancy.” It was all I could say. I couldn’t move. Those trips behind the barn were never anything like this.

  Fancy’s arms were locked around my neck; her legs stretched over mine and her heels forced their way into my calves. “Junebug”—her voice choked—“for the rest of our lives this belongs just to us.” We clung to each other in a silence that wasn’t awkward or embarrassing, unwilling to turn loose. Eventually we shifted to lie face-to-face, kissing easily and lovingly.

  “I see now why folks are always talking about sex,” I said.

  Fancy giggled, ran her fingernail down my stomach and beneath my belly button.

  “Want to try it again?”

  “Don’t think I’m able to right now.” I nuzzled at her neck, pulled her leg over my hip, and eased into her again. “But we can try.”

  Fancy arched her back. We found a slower, deeper place than before. The end took longer to reach, but it was just as desperate, trying to drain every drop of pleasure possible.

  When it was over, our bodies snuggled so tight we could have been glued together. “Thank you, Junebug.” Fancy’s voice was soft.

  “For what?”

  “For being gentle and kind, the way I thought you’d be, not making me feel like some kind of whore.”

  I put my finger to her lips, “You hush. Don’t ever think that way about yourself.” I traced around her eyes, down her nose, and circled her mouth. “Fancy, you’re so beautiful. I don’t know why you even want to be with a dumb hick like me.”

  She looked deep in my eyes and stroked the side of my face. “You know, Junebug . . . I wonder the same thing.” She rolled on top of me, wrestling and tickling and laughing.

  We teased and explored and played until it was time for her to get home. Both of us knew we had stepped over a line that had no U-turn. Maybe it was fear of the secret we’d have to keep, or understanding of the commitment pledged; all I knew for sure was our world had now become a completely different place.

  CHAPTER 20

  I walked up to Mr. Wilson’s the next morning, and found him with the hood up on his truck. “Ain’t having troubles with the engine, are you?” The freshness of mid-April sunshine made for near-perfect weather.

  He stuck the dipstick back in. “Just piddling. What you up to?”

  “Wanted to ask about letting Roy, Clemmy, and Fancy help me plant tobacco this week.” I leaned my elbows against the fender.

  He pushed down on the hood to be sure it was locked. “Reckon I can spare them Saturday. Roy’s in the low ground if you want to ask him.”

  The field was behind a stand of woods below Mr. Wilson’s house. Roy was busy plowing. I waited for him to finish the end of the row. “How you doing, Roy?” After last night, I was nervous being this close to him.

  “I’m all right, Junebug, you?” He squatted and picked up a fistful of the dark sandy soil, letting it sift between his fingers.

  “Trying to keep up with things. Come by to ask about you, Clemmy, and Fancy helping me plant my tobacco field on Saturday.”

  Roy pulled off his straw hat and wiped his head on his sleeve. “Reckon we can do that. How come you need three of us?”

  “Fancy suggested maybe her, me, and you could work the field while Clemmy fixed dinner. She came to the house yesterday to help me make some butter so I could stop wasting so much milk.”

  He surveyed the bright sky. “Then I guess we’ll be there Saturday morning.” Roy turned back to me. “You making out all right staying by yourself?”

  I sat on the ground beside him. “Gets to be lonesome, but I know things take time. Wish I’d learned to cook better.” I gave him a grin. Lonesome as long as I ain’t doing it with your daughter lay on my tongue, which I figured was probably forked by now.

  He smiled back. “Clemmy or Fancy can help you with that. Fancy is about as good a cook as her momma.”

  “When she came over yesterday she fixed some biscuits and dang if they wouldn’t compare to Grandma’s.” And then we got in the bed and had sex.

  He grinned with a daddy’s pride. “That gal sure can make a biscuit.”

  * * *

  Roy, Fancy, and Clemmy showed up early on Saturday morning. Low clouds had come across early, but had kept going toward the south. I finished hooking Sally Mule to the wagon. A big barrel filled with water and fertilizer was already loaded, and the plants were stacked in the back. Roy took the reins and headed to the field while I showed Clemmy around the kitchen. Fancy pointed out the canned vegetables in the pantry and the butter and milk in the refrigerator. “I helped Junebug make the butter yesterday.” Clemmy eyed the two of us. From her look, I considered maybe it wasn’t Roy I needed to worry about.

  In the field, I hand-pegged the holes, Fancy dropped in the plants, and Roy came last with the water. Once we got a rhythm, we made good time, not a lot of talking. Our shadows had started to stretch when Roy looked at the sun. “I’m guessing it’s about dinnertime.”

  I unhooked Sally Mule from the wagon, and she trotted straight to the barn and waited for me. I dropped a couple of ears of corn and a handful of hay in her stable box, staying a while to scratch her nose. While she munched, Sally watched me with her soft brown eyes, contented to have a rest and a meal. I wond
ered, if she could talk, what would she say?

  “Are you lonesome, girl? I bet you miss Granddaddy and Grandma as much as me, don’t you? If you won’t so dang big, I’d let you come stay in the house.” I laughed out loud, imagining Sally in the bed and eating at the table. “One question I’ve always wanted to ask you, Sally. What do you have to live for? The only future you got is working pulling a plow or a wagon until you drop dead. That don’t seem fair to me.” It was sad to think about.

  She moved her head up and down, shook her ears, and tried to bite my fingers that were in the stable box beside the last ear of corn. “Sore subject, huh?” I scraped my fingernails up her neck and patted her with gentle slaps. Sally went back to eating and I headed to the house, my own stomach growling for lack of food. I could smell collard greens cooking all the way out to the yard.

  I stepped inside the screen porch and started to wash my hands at the water bowl. “Smells mighty good, Clemmy. Where’s Fancy and Roy?”

  She spooned food into bowls. “They’re outside setting up the table for us to eat.”

  “Clemmy, don’t you believe it’s silly for me to sit in here by myself and y’all out there? We ain’t strangers.”

  She stopped, a hint of a smile on her face. “What in the world would folks think?”

  “We’re the only folks here, and the only ones that matter.”

  She gave me a look that was like a patient momma with a foolish child. “You want to come outside with us?”

  “Wherever you say.”

  Clemmy studied me. “Then why don’t you help me tote this food and we can enjoy the sunshine.” She was a woman who walked with her head up and looked a person in the eye when she talked. I figured Fancy got her gumption from her momma.

  “I’ll bring the buttermilk Fancy helped me make the other day.” I felt I’d won a little battle.

  Roy gave Clemmy a stare when he saw us coming, and Fancy’s eyes got wide. “Move your plate over, Roy. Junebug, sit beside Fancy.” We got busy on the food, the only sounds were spoons and forks scraping.

  Roy smacked his lips. “Clemmy, you make this buttermilk?”

  “Junebug said Fancy made it.”

  “It don’t taste right.” Roy turned his head and spit out what was in his mouth. “Fancy, did you put any fat-curd in the buttermilk?”

  She stopped the fork of food on the way to her mouth. “I didn’t put anything in it.”

  “You didn’t put fat-curd in to take out the poison?”

  “What are you talking about?” Fancy set the fork on her plate.

  Roy grabbed his throat, hacking and coughing. “Oh Lord, she’s killed us.”

  Fancy grabbed my glass and threw it on the ground, then reached for Clemmy’s. “Momma, you never told me nothing about that!”

  Roy poured another glassful from the jar and drank it down, leaving a big ring of white over his upper lip.

  Fancy stood staring, her cheeks turning red. She grabbed a piece of corn bread and threw it at him. “Kiss my butt.” The laughter felt like family.

  By midafternoon the work was done. I took fifteen dollars from my pocket and handed the money to Roy.

  “You know you ain’t got to pay us, Junebug. I said when your grandma died I’d help you with anything I could, so I figure we’re just being neighborly.”

  “To me a day’s work gets a day’s pay, so I’m asking you to take it.” White neighbors helped each other because it was expected they would get help in return. No colored folks had their own farms so it was only right to pay with money.

  “I’d like to ask you something, Roy. It’s a lot harder than I thought taking care of all the things Grandma did, like keeping the house up, washing clothes, and cooking. Maybe you would consider, on the days you don’t need her, if Fancy might come and help. She could earn some extra money and it would be a big relief to me.”

  Fancy got busy with some bug in the grass. Roy looked at Clemmy. “Reckon I’ll allow she can come every couple of days after school. But you remember the talk we had, Junebug?”

  “Yep.”

  “Ain’t nothing changed.”

  “Won’t no harm come to her as long as I’m around.” I wanted Fancy, and was determined to do whatever it took to keep her.

  CHAPTER 21

  Fancy didn’t show up and I worried she might have gotten in some trouble. It was way after dark the following night when I heard the porch door open. “Hey. Sorry, I couldn’t come yesterday.” She looked mighty good in her shorts and old T-shirt.

  “You shouldn’t be here at all.”

  She stopped and parked her hands on her hips. “You tired of me this quick?”

  “Shut up. I mean, what if your momma and daddy wake up one night and you ain’t home?”

  “Unless he’s sipping, Daddy is in bed right after the sun’s down good, and sleeps like a log. Besides, Momma and me sat down last night and had a long talk about how boys and girls our age have a natural curiosity. She doesn’t want me messing around and end up with a baby in my stomach.”

  That’s something that never occurred to me. I’d been too busy walking around like a bantam rooster who’d serviced his hen. “A baby? Fancy, don’t talk about shit like that!” I slumped back on the couch. “Well, that’s the end. No more. No way we can risk such a thing.”

  “You’re right. I guess we’ll have to go back to just being friends.” She pulled a loose string on her sleeve and stared out the window. Silence lay between us like two pouting kids.

  “Momma did tell me how to keep from it if the time was to come, though.”

  “How’s that?”

  Fancy made circles with her finger on the couch cushion, like she was deciding whether or not to let me in on the secret. Then she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a little foil package. “Just need to make sure to use one of these.”

  I recognized it. Back when I went to school, some of the boys toted one around in their wallet, always bragging. What could Clemmy be thinking to give Fancy such a thing?

  She held it by the corner and flapped it like a flag. “Momma says you can buy them at the drugstore, or sometimes they have machines in gas station bathrooms.”

  I waved my hand to dismiss that idea. “You can bet your ass I ain’t going to ask that woman at the drugstore.” In spite of myself, I started to consider how far the nearest gas station was that had a bathroom, and how long it would take me to walk.

  “Momma said it was for in case I ever lost my head.”

  “Well, I reckon it’s too late for that. How does a person know it fits?”

  Fancy looked irked. “What’d you want me to do, tell Momma how big your business was and ask her if it was the right size?”

  We stared at each other for a minute before we fell over laughing. I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. “Well, we won’t be doing it again.” I held it between two fingertips, like something might rub off. “Here, you keep it.”

  Fancy pulled me up from the couch. “You got any more of them store-bought cigarettes?” We sat on the porch and smoked. The night air was soft and still. “Daddy says he don’t think you’re going to make it trying to farm by yourself, said it’d be too much work for a man, much less a boy.”

  I got up from the chair, kicking it backward with my foot. I figured a lot of the folks in the community probably thought the same way. “I ain’t scared.”

  “You got some guts, Junebug. I wouldn’t want to think about living by myself.”

  I snorted. “That’s because you’re a girl. My boy time is over.”

  “Don’t bite my head off. I didn’t say it.”

  “Fancy, when a person has his whole life pretty much come apart, he don’t need somebody questioning if he’s man enough to handle himself.”

  She got up and wrapped her arms around me from behind. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. You’re man enough for me.”

  I opened the screen door and flicked the butt into the yard. “You getting cool?”


  We settled on the couch. “Want to thumb-wrestle?” Fancy asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Give me your right hand.” She hooked our four fingers together, put our thumbs on top, and when she yelled, “go,” one would try to hold the other’s thumb down. Fancy caught me every time.

  I finally managed to win one, then made the mistake of looking her in the eyes. I moved my face close. Her tongue flicked out. We teased each other, playing and kissing. I moved my fingers to the tips of her breasts. She closed her eyes as I stroked. “You got that thing in your pocket?”

  Fancy nipped at my earlobe. “You fixing to try it?”

  “Either that or I’m going to bust wide open.”

  In the bedroom, I pulled Fancy’s T-shirt over her head. We stood kissing and running our hands over each other. Electricity went between us like our fingers were stuck in a socket.

  There was less confusion and more of a rush to get to the place we wanted to go. Sex was a new puzzle, not yet understanding how to take what we needed and give to the other at the same time. It was thrashing and grunting and driving of bodies against each other, desperate to make it last as long as possible.

  “God almighty.” I pulled Fancy across me. “Just shoot me now. Life can’t get any better than this.”

  “Damn, Junebug, you’re going to make me crazy.” Fancy rolled to straddle my stomach, bending down to run her tongue over my lips. “When you going to Apex?”

  “Why?” My fingers tickled up her back.

  She arched her back. “Because you need to practice what you’re going to say to the lady in the drugstore.”

  “We got to be crazy.” I rubbed the back of my finger from her pelvis up to her belly button.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, then reached back and ran her fingernails along the inside of my thigh. “Call it whatever you want, but when we’re loving I don’t care if the whole world knows.”

  I cupped her breasts. They were firm and swollen. “Can you use one of those things twice?”

  She used her tongue to trace the ridges down my stomach, then gripped me, pulled off the condom, and threw it on the floor. Fancy eased down until I was inside her. She closed her eyes and began to rock back and forth, pulling up and settling back down. It was slow and amazing.