The Lying Woods

by Ashley Elston

  “I can give you money for the food,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “It’s fine. You can buy dinner next time.”

  Next time. I like the sound of that. Gus’s words seep through me and I ask, “Do your parents know where you are?”

  She shrugs. “I just turned eighteen so I should be able to come and go as I want,” she answers, but that’s not really an answer.

  “So no, they have no idea you’re slumming it with me tonight.”

  She turns to look at me. “Don’t say it like that. That’s not what this is.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She stops the car and we’re in the middle of the orchard, halfway between Gus’s and my little shack by the river.

  “A cute boy asked me to hang out tonight and I said yes.”

  I can feel a smile tugging at my mouth but I hold it back. “It’s that simple?”

  “Yes, it’s that simple.”

  She starts driving again and her features are bathed in the blue lights from the dash and I can see her watching the gravel path intently, like she’s afraid she’s going to somehow lose her way.

  We curve around until we get to the little clearing where the house sits. Gus told me the history of this place and, not going to lie, sometimes I feel like that old preacher is still lurking around. Without a TV to watch, most nights I find myself wandering through these old trees and sometimes it’s like I can hear his words whispering through the leaves. I don’t know if there’s a higher power up there somewhere, but the closest I’ve ever felt to one are those nights I’m here alone in the preacher’s woods.

  I’ve even got a favorite tree. One where the thick roots stick out of the dirt and curve around, creating small pockets of space. It’s the perfect place to sit and think. To feel safe.

  Maggie parks in front of the house and she tries to hide her reaction to where I’m living.

  “Sorry, it’s not much,” I say. “But it’s clean. And for now, it’s mine.”

  She nods. “Then it’s perfect.”

  We walk up the front steps and I push open the screen door. This place has electricity and basic plumbing but there’s no air conditioner. Thankfully, there’s usually a breeze at night that pushes cool air through the screened windows.

  Maggie sits down on the old couch, putting the pizza box on the small coffee table while I move to the mini fridge Gus lent me when I first moved in, pulling out two bottles of water.

  I hand her one then sit down on the other end of the couch. “Sorry, this is all I have to drink.”

  “Noah, stop apologizing. I’m happy to be here.” Maggie opens the pizza box and hands me a slice on a napkin, then gets one for herself. We both take a bite then start panting, trying to cool down the hot cheese.

  Maggie laughs and tries to talk. “It’s super hot.”

  I laugh and nod, managing to get the scalding piece down. “Yeah, we may want to let that cool a minute.”

  It’s really quiet in this little house and it makes it that much more awkward with Maggie here. I’m about to apologize for not having a TV but stop myself. Instead, I say, “You know how to play poker?”

  She shrugs. “Not really. Can you teach me?” she asks.

  I jump off the couch and grab the deck of cards that I found on the small bookcase near the bed when I first moved in. I’ve played a thousand hands of solitaire and I can’t wait to put the cards to better use.

  Maggie moves the pizza box off the small table while I shuffle the cards. “Okay, I’m about to teach you the best card game out there. Texas Hold’em.”

  “Okay, I’m ready. But I’ll warn you, I have excellent luck, so don’t be surprised if I beat the pants off of you.”

  I wipe the smile off my face. “So we’re playing strip poker?”

  Her eyes get big and dart toward the door and I fall back laughing. “I swear, I’m teasing you. But your face. I think you were trying to figure out the fastest way out of this room.”

  Her cheeks turn pink and she starts rambling. “Whatever, I knew you were kidding and even if I didn’t I swear I’d be fully dressed by the end because I’m that lucky.”

  No, pretty sure I’m the lucky one. “Okay, this is how you play.”

  It doesn’t take Maggie long to catch on and she wasn’t joking when she said she’s lucky. We’re playing for matchsticks and her little pile could start a forest fire. She runs her fingers through her pile and gives her best evil laugh. “I warned you,” she says.

  I lean back against the couch, content with how good the last couple of hours have been. Just as I’m about to ask her for another date, she glances at her watch and hops up off the couch.

  “Oh! I didn’t realize how late it was. I need to get going.”

  She’s moving to the door before I’m even off the couch. “Let me ride with you to the front gate. It’d be real easy for you to get turned around back here and end up in the river.”

  “Okay but how will you get back?” she asks.

  “It’s not a long walk.”

  I follow Maggie to her car and get in the passenger seat. She cranks the engine and pulls around in a tight circle then heads back toward Gus’s.

  “I had a lot of fun tonight,” she says.

  “Me, too. Can I see you again?” I ask.

  She smiles and nods and I feel like I could fly. There’s been so little that’s gone right in my world and since coming here, I feel like that could all be changing.

  We get to the front gate and I hesitate before getting out of her car. I want to kiss her but I don’t want to push my luck on the first date. Before I can think about it any longer, Maggie is leaning toward me and brushes her lips across mine. It’s gentle and innocent and one of the best kisses I’ve had.

  “Can I come back tomorrow night?” she asks.

  “I wish you would,” I answer.

  I hop out and watch her drive off, then make the long dark walk back to the house in the Preacher Woods.

  7

  I grab a couple of burgers on the way to Gus’s. I don’t want to tell him I’m out early because of fighting at school, but he’s got to wonder why I keep showing up here long before the last bell rings.

  Gus is back in the lawn chair with a table full of parts in front of him again when I come up the front walk. Again, he’s not surprised to see me—maybe he gets what a struggle it is for me to be there—but he is happy to see the food.

  “Looks like we’ve got some company,” I say, nodding to the various work trucks littering the driveway.

  “Yeah, got a few guys here fixing the stuff we can’t handle. If we don’t plug that hole in the roof, we’re just asking for another family of raccoons to move right on in. I decided we needed to get the orchard in order and leave the house to those who know what they’re doing.”

  I glance at all of the vehicles’ business names splashed across their doors and it looks like we’ve got some carpenters, plumbers, and electricians, and even a janitorial company. But there’s one thing they all have in common.

  “You didn’t want to use anyone local? All these guys are out of Alexandria.” Alexandria is the closest big city near here, about an hour away.

  Gus looks back at the house and then at me. “No. People from town have always wanted to get a look inside that house. I’m not going to start letting them now.”

  “Do you ever leave this property?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he says.

  “How do you get food and stuff?”

  Gus doesn’t look up. “Betty, a woman who worked here for years, comes out twice a week and brings me what I need. She used to work here full-time taking care of the house…and Abby…but now she has another job and just comes when I need her.”

  I wonder who Abby is, but by the way he said her name I don’t ask. It’s obviously someone he was really close to.

  Something has kept Gus out of that house and away from town for years. Part of me wonders if he hired these people to fix it
so he doesn’t have to go back inside now, but what will he do when it’s finished? Will he move back inside? And will he ever go into town or will he stay out here with just me and Betty as company?

  The house really isn’t as bad off as it looks. Once the broken windows are fixed, the shutters are replaced, and everything is cleaned, the house only needs some minor plumbing and electrical work to be livable.

  We sit on the front porch steps, eating off of our laps, in relative silence. I’ve only been around Gus a few days but I’ve learned he doesn’t make small talk.

  And I’m realizing how much I like that.

  “Where do you want me today?” I ask once I finish with my burger.

  He crumples up the paper his food was wrapped in and drops it back in the bag.

  “Before we get started, you’re going to need a pair of boots. Can’t do this kind of work in those dress shoes.”

  I look down at my feet and would hardly call what I’m wearing dress shoes although I do agree they aren’t made for farmwork. Gus disappears into the barn for a few minutes then comes back carrying a pair of well-worn work boots.

  “Here, see if these fit.”

  I kick off my shoes and slip on the boots. They’re a little tight but not so much that they’d be uncomfortable.

  “You need some old jeans and shirts you don’t care about getting messed up, too. I’ve got some old clothes I can have ready for you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I say, pacing in front of him, trying out my new boots. “Looks like I’m ready to work. Where do you want me?” I ask again.

  “How about you start raking the orchard today,” he says.

  Raking. Yeah, don’t even have a clue what that means. “I’m going to need a little more to go on than that.”

  “Can’t shake the trees until all the limbs and sticks are picked up from underneath them.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, “but how—”

  “C’mon,” Gus says, then walks to the nearest pecan tree. He points to the branches that have lost most of their leaves but are hanging heavy with pecans. “They’re just about ready to pick but we don’t want to wait for them to take their own sweet time coming off the trees. So we have a machine that shakes the tree. All the pecans will fall to the ground and then we’ll come along with a harvester to pick them up. It’s sort of like a big vacuum cleaner.”

  Gus points to the ground and kicks a limb that’s right in front of us. “But if all these sticks and leaves are on the ground, then it’s harder to pick up the nuts. So we need to clean up under each tree first. That’s raking. You’ll get on the tractor and drag that rake attached to the back of it around and around each tree until you got most of the debris caught in those fingers, then you’ll drag it away from the tree.”

  “Okay, seems simple enough,” I answer.

  Gus watches to make sure I can get the tractor cranked then motions for me to back it out of the barn.

  This should be a simple thing but it’s not. I turn the steering wheel the direction I think I need to get out but the rake attachment doesn’t go the direction I need it to. I pull forward and try again, getting the same results, almost jackknifing the rake.

  I try again but slow my speed until I’m crawling and it’s still not where I need it.

  I try again but increase my speed until I almost take out the side of the barn.

  Frustration simmers and anger threatens to boil over. It can’t be this hard to back up a tractor and rake out of a barn. My hand goes to the key because I want nothing more than to shut this tractor down. I can’t do this. I glance back at Gus, who is watching me with his arms crossed in front of him.

  “Turn the wheel right to make the rake go left,” he yells to me over the roar of the tractor.

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” I yell back.

  Gus shrugs. “Maybe not to you.” He waits a moment, probably sensing I’m ready to give up, and says, “Try it once more.”

  I can quit or I can figure it out.

  Even though it goes against every bit of logic I have, I turn the wheel the opposite direction I want the rake to go and damn if it doesn’t work perfectly. Gus gives me a small smile and a nod of encouragement and I decide I’m not ready to quit just yet.

  Going forward is definitely easier than going backward, and it’s not long before I’ve finished making my first pass around the base of the closest pecan tree.

  “Go around each tree, sweeping out from the base, about three to four times, until it looks pretty clean,” he yells. “Then drag the debris away from the tree and leave it in the open lane before moving on to the next tree. We’ll collect all the piles when you’re done.”

  Gus walks off and somehow I feel like I’ve passed some little test. He’s back in that chair in the front yard, working on whatever piece of equipment needs to be fixed, but I see his occasional glance as he makes sure I haven’t wrecked his tractor.

  After the first few circles, I fall into a steady rhythm. It’s easy work but somehow gratifying watching those long metal fingers grab everything in their path. Since I got an early start on the day, I make pretty good progress. And since I only have to move forward, I haven’t been tempted to drive the tractor into the river.

  The sun hangs low, scattering light under the branches, catching the dust the rake throws up. It’s hot enough that the back of my shirt is damp, but there’s enough of a breeze so it’s not uncomfortable. My mind wanders to Dad as it usually does and I wonder if this is something he did while he worked here. It would have been summer, so I’m not sure what’s involved with the upkeep of this place when the harvest isn’t right around the corner.

  Did he take to this work or did he find it as foreign as I do? But even though things started out rough, just like yesterday I’m surprised at the sense of accomplishment I have when I can see what a difference I made today. Did he feel the same? Or was this what drove him to do something different with his life? Something that would guarantee he wouldn’t make his living working outdoors? Even though most employees of Louisiana Frac worked on a well site, my dad was always in the office.

  I’m halfway through this section when I see it. I kill the tractor and hop off while the engine sputters and belches and then follow the river by foot. The trees are older here; the trunks so wide it would take several people to circle around them.

  The fading light bounces off the river and lights up the little clearing. It feels different here in this part of the orchard, or maybe it’s my mind messing with me, thinking about that old man talking to these trees. I wonder what he said to them.

  Did Dad talk to them, too?

  I run my hand down the bark of the nearest tree thinking about the secrets hidden back here. What was going on with Dad that made him choose to live a summer here? I know so little about my dad’s life growing up, even less about how my parents met. It’s not something either talked about. Do these trees know the story?

  The wind picks up, whispering through the leaves, and I pull my hand away while shivers race down my spine.

  “Gus would be on the ground laughing if he saw me getting spooked like this,” I say out loud. The air swirls around the trees then rushes over the water as if answering me.

  I move toward the house. Wide cypress boards, gray with age, cover the outside and a narrow porch stretches across the front with thick wooden beams acting as columns, holding up the roof. A brick path, starting from nowhere, weaves its way to the front steps.

  The doorknob is rusted, making it almost impossible to turn, and my straining muscles protest at any more use, but I’ve come this far. I’ve got to see what’s inside.

  With one final push, the door gives and I spill inside. It’s just one big room and the only light comes from the few windows scattered down each side. Part of me believed I would discover Dad inside, hiding out here, waiting until he planned to meet me.

  But it’s empty.

  A big couch sits in the middle of the space and an old black ov
en is against one wall, with a chimney shooting up behind it, disappearing in the ceiling. Next to the oven is a small counter made from the same graying cypress wood where an old washtub acts as a sink. Against the back wall is a small bed covered with what was once a brightly colored quilt but it’s now faded. There’s a small table with two chairs on the other side of the room. The back right corner is closed off and I’m guessing that’s where the bathroom is.

  Dust floats through the air, illuminated by the bright setting sun. I don’t see any lights, not even sure if this place has electricity. Definitely no TV or phone. It’s really hard to imagine my dad living here.

  I walk across the room and stop in front of a small bookcase that’s on the wall next to the bed. One shelf is full of old books, the spines so worn I can’t make out the titles. But it’s the top shelf that grabs my attention. There’s a small framed picture there. I pick it up, wiping away the thick coating of dust, and drag in a deep breath. In the image, Mom is sitting on a blanket in the grass and she’s got a huge smile on her face. She looks young and really happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in a long time.

  I search the cabin for any other piece of Dad, anything, but there’s nothing. There’s nothing else.

  I pick up the frame and flip it over, opening the back. It’s one of those Polaroid pictures with the section of white across the bottom. Since part of it is stuck, it takes a few minutes to pry it loose without doing any damage. I want to remove the image, stick it in my wallet, but I’m surprised when I see the back of the white section.

  Or really, by what’s written there.

  S 6 R 9 T 4

  I have no idea what it means. From the looks of the place, no one has been inside this house for years. But for some reason, this combination of letters and numbers meant something to Dad, and I wish I knew what it was.

  • • •

  I jump the small fence in the backyard and clear the steps leading to the back door. When I push open the screen door, Mom shrieks.