Skinny Dipping Season

by Cynthia Tennent

I had never been the kind of girl who fawned over teen idols and decorated my bedroom with posters of the latest heartthrobs. Not that my mother would have let me do that to my bedroom walls anyway. My college friends used to tease me because I didn’t engage in their debates about the sexiest men on the cover of People or even the sexiest professors on campus. I didn’t even flirt with my dad’s big donors at his fund-raising events like my sister, Alexa. But something about Officer Hardy was making me think I was experiencing another late-phase bout of teen hormones.

  Seriously? I ought to have my head examined again if I was feeling anything toward an officer of the law. Especially one as obnoxious as J. D. Hardy. I wandered to the magazine rack, hoping to replace my visions of Officer Hardy with someone like Bradley Cooper or Ryan Gosling. But my mind was too distracted to appreciate the stars on the covers in front of me. So, I reached above the magazine rack and picked up several books.

  As I mindlessly scanned the paperbacks, hoping to find something to distract me from Officer Hardy, I thought about how he looked in the daylight. He seemed more human. I suppose the fact that he was teasing me about junk food, rather than scaring me to death at the living-room window, had something to do with that.

  Normally, I shunned the blatant covers of the romances. Real Literature, the kind with a capital L was found in the library, not the grocery store. But now, I studied the paperbacks with a new curiosity. The artwork on the covers showed half-naked men and women in very compromising positions. I wondered if they used real models for those. My mind wandered to Officer Hardy. Oh my God, if he had been wearing next to nothing last night he would look just like some of those covers. Well, hell. Perhaps I needed to take therapy even further. I added a book to my cart.

  That was when I noticed a skinny girl browsing the teen-gossip magazines next to me. Her shoulders slouched forward and her greasy hair hung in her face, making it hard to see her eyes. She was probably in high school, but with teens it was hard to tell. Although I had a teaching degree, I had little actual experience with teenagers. I often joined my dad when he volunteered in high schools in D.C. Each time we visited a low-income urban school, Dad could hardly wait to get on to what he considered more important duties. But I often returned alone.

  Of course, I couldn’t imagine anyone approving of Congressman Lively’s daughter getting within a half mile of those kids now.

  The girl beside me shifted back and forth nervously. Something wasn’t right about her body language. I grabbed the handles of my cart and shrugged. I wasn’t even going to take a second look at the bulge in the girl’s armpit or the way she kept her arm stiffly to the side. I was not involved.

  I was halfway down the aisle when I spotted my hunky nemesis. He walked past me in a smooth, even gait that would have reminded me of a tiger stalking its prey if it wasn’t accompanied by a squelching sound every time he took a step. A reminder of last night’s run-in.

  I took advantage of the fact that he wasn’t focused on me and I leaned in to my shopping cart. I was almost to the toilet-paper section when I heard a scuffle and someone ran into me from behind. Before either one of us had a chance to say anything, Officer Hardy’s hand snaked out and grabbed the girl’s elbow.

  “Forget your cart, Cherry?”

  The girl looked up and for a split second I saw fear in her eyes. Then a mask settled over her face. “Leave me alone for once. You are always harassing people. Don’t you have something better to do?”

  She squirmed out of his grasp and shifted her shoulders to hide what was bulging inside her oversized black jacket. Officer Hardy’s eyebrows lowered and his jaw set. He had the same harsh look on his face that he had worn last night when he practically manhandled me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he handcuffed her right there in front of the toothpaste.

  Still, not my business. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I angled my cart out of the way and tried to keep moving. The girl let out a harsh breath and I turned, seeing something new in her eyes. It reminded me of my own panic I had been trying to forget for weeks.

  “She’s with me, Officer. Leave her alone,” I said.

  Both faces turned to me; one in astonishment, another in disgust.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Tell me I’m having a nightmare. I should have known you would try to screw this up.”

  “I’m not going to screw up anything, Officer Hardy. This is all just a minor misunderstanding,” I said.

  If looks could kill, J. D. Hardy was committing homicide. The young girl tried to take advantage of the situation. With Officer Hardy’s attention on me, she crept backward on her toes, inch by inch, until Officer Hardy barred her way with my cart, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Stay right there,” he commanded her.

  I clenched my hands to hide the fact that I was shaking. “You seem to enjoy frightening young girls as much as you do women in empty houses. Are you going to read this girl her rights for a crime that hasn’t been committed, or just stand around scowling like that?”

  The greasy-haired girl folded her arms to her chest and I couldn’t help admiring her bravado. The bulge in her coat made it obvious she was still hiding something, but she eyed him with a contempt that was pretty impressive for an underage thief.

  Officer Hardy closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he was back in control. “Okay, Miss Lively, if you’re so smart, explain what it is Cherry has stashed up her sleeve. And before you deny it, we will have footage on a videotape showing her attempting to shoplift.” He gestured to the security camera in the ceiling.

  “She isn’t really hiding anything at all,” I corrected in my best foundation spokesperson’s voice. “And it’s not a crime if she hasn’t left the store.”

  “Oh, and when did you get your law degree?” he said in an equally casual tone. I wasn’t fooled. He was having trouble restraining himself from strangling me. Then he did something strange. He reached over and rubbed his thumb across the corner of my mouth. I looked down and saw a tiny piece of cheese on his thumb. As if he’d done nothing out of the ordinary, he pulled out a tissue and wiped his hand before he continued. “You do realize that if you are covering for her I can bring you up on charges of obstruction of justice. As far as I’m concerned, you are every bit as guilty as a would-be shoplifter if you’re trying to protect her. That makes you an accomplice.”

  “Of course I know that,” I snapped. What was I doing? Had I lost my mind?

  I stared at the girl, trying to think. For the first time I noticed a smattering of freckles on her nose and the fact that she had beautiful light green eyes. The girl stared back at me and said nothing.

  If it had been anyone else but Officer Hardy, I am sure I would have been in my car by now and away from this scene. But I was past the point of no return. For the second time in a year I was about to tell a great big lie.

  “Well, I told her I would buy her some things. . . .”

  A muscle in his jaw quivered. “What exactly did you buy for her?”

  I prayed the girl didn’t have anything else up her sleeve, like a bottle of wine from the prominent display at the end of the aisle. There was no way I would be excused for purchasing liquor for a minor. I had been the president of Students Against Drunk Driving in high school. It was a club I had been passionate about.

  I thought carefully and hedged my bets.

  “What did I buy her . . . Oh, you know,” I said in a casual voice. “Magazines and things.”

  He reached for the girl’s coat. She started struggling again and managed to string some rather impressive obscenities together. I was beginning to get the feeling that these two knew each other well.

  “You can either hand over what you’re hiding, or I take you both to the station. And you know how that will go down,” he said, tilting his head and leaning down until his eyes were level with hers. “Your choice, Cherry.”

  “Just don’t get your panties in a wad, J. D. I’ll show you!”

  She open
ed the inside of her jacket and lifted out several magazines for him to see before tossing them in the cart with a touch of dramatic flair.

  “I was storing these under my arm so I could use both hands to reach this big box of . . .” she paused, looking around.

  “Of tampons!” I said with gusto as I grabbed a box on a nearby shelf. “I guess Officer Hardy doesn’t understand how cumbersome those bargain sizes can be,” I added, feeling ashamed at the amount of fun I was beginning to have duping the guy.

  The young girl lifted her chin in triumph as if she were the queen herself. “I thought you were going to wait for me. If you had, I would have put these in the cart and we wouldn’t be standing here with Officer Hard-ass!”

  I couldn’t quite hide my smile at the not-so-subtle dig at Officer Hardy. But when he glared at me, I wiped it off my face. I was about to cover for a juvenile delinquent. I should be furious with my lawlessness. But I figured if I was going to lie, I might as well make it convincing.

  “I was so busy browsing through”—I looked at the title of the vampire romance novel in my cart—“Fifty Fangs of Grey that I completely forgot about your magazines, Cherry dear.” The girl’s eyes popped wide in surprise. The half-naked vampire cover was clearly displayed for all to see. I threw a bag of marshmallows over it. She was too young for that kind of smut.

  “Let’s you and me head over to the checkout counter right now and pay for everything,” I said.

  “Oh definitely,” said Cherry. “Some people automatically suspect us teens of a crime no matter how innocent we are.”

  Officer Hardy stared down at his shoes. His lips moved, as if he was counting. Then, he turned and stomped off. I watched his back, feeling ever so slightly guilty for ruining his morning.

  I tossed my head to the side and signaled the girl to follow me to the front of the store. The checkout clerk and several customers stood at the checkout counter, craning their necks over the top of the candy displays as we approached. They must have heard everything. The large woman, who had been talking to J. D. earlier, sat at the front desk to the right of the automatic doors. She ran her hand up and down her neck and bit her lip as if she were having trouble deciding if this was a good or bad ending to the situation.

  Everyone scurried back to their places at the registers as my young accomplice and I corralled the grocery cart into the checkout line. This was not how I had envisioned my first encounter with the citizens of Truhart. Hoping they didn’t think I was the latest escapee from the insane asylum, I tucked my hair behind my ears and straightened my shoulders.

  I loaded the conveyer belt with my groceries and smiled at the greasy-looking girl behind me as if we had known each other for years. The sullen expression I received from her in return made me regret everything. What did I do to deserve that? I had just saved her from the wrath of the law. It wasn’t too late to yank the troublemaker by the arm and take her back to Officer Hardy.

  The checkout girl smacked her gum and scanned the first few items on the belt as I pulled forward to the digital card reader. Through the automatic glass doors I could see the sheriff’s SUV pulling out of the parking lot. I tamped down my guilt. The girl might be a shoplifter, but she didn’t deserve time in the county jail, or whatever punishment Hardy had planned.

  “Paper or plastic?” the checkout clerk asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  Reaching into my purse, I shoved aside the pack of cigarettes I had thrown in earlier, hoping no one saw them. Then I pulled out three perfectly folded green Mylar grocery sacks. Cherry let out a huff and rolled her eyes, but said nothing as she waited, impatiently tapping her foot.

  Several customers and the checkout ladies leaned in closer. They smiled at both of us, as if they were relieved by my rescue.

  “Do you have a Family Fare super-shopper card?” asked the young checkout girl as she scanned the magazines Cherry had tried to pilfer. Looking down, I realized that although two of the magazines were teen-gossip rags, one was a craft magazine.

  “No, I’m new here,” I said, puzzling over the craft magazine.

  My words got the cashier’s attention. Her head came up and her eyes widened. “You mean you’re new—as in you are going to live here?”

  I nodded.

  “You mean you’re not passing through, you actually live here?”

  “Well, yes. I just moved into my grandmother’s old house on Crooked Road. I plan on staying a while.”

  “Really?” Yelling across two vacant checkout lines, she said, “Hey, Marva, we’ve got a new lady moving into town who needs a super-shopper card.”

  Now everyone in line gathered around. The large woman at the front desk stood up. She seemed to be in charge. Her teased brown hair surrounded her head like a halo and her pink rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. I couldn’t help thinking that she looked like John Travolta in drag.

  She picked up her clipboard and walked over. “New to town?”

  “I hate to hold up the line. Do you want me to fill it out later?” I asked, handing the magazines to Cherry, whose head hung so low her hair covered her face. It would be nice to chat with the women, but maybe I could come back later. My young accomplice and I needed to have a little talk.

  “Oh no, don’t worry about holding us up. Nobody minds waiting. Do you?” The lady smiled excitedly as she peered around and nodded at the people behind me. A young mother, pushing a plastic race-car shopping cart with a redheaded little boy in the driver’s seat, waved. And another middle-aged lady, wearing an oversized man’s hunting jacket, shook her head.

  Taking a wad of brochures from the bottom of her clipboard, the manager continued: “My name is Marva O’Shea. I am the manager and these are for you. You should know there are some really special deals that will help you meet the ladies in town. It’s hard being new. And this summer, the usual town gatherings leave a lot to be desired.” She leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “The sheriff and his wife are out of town, and the mayor’s wife is trying to take over. The priest has retired and the young one in Vernon only comes every other week. Things are just a little off, if you know what I mean. So I’m keeping things together all on my own. These little home-selling parties are a great way to get to know people around town. It would be perfect for a newcomer like you.”

  The lady in the oversized coat leaned in and said, “Marva is kind of the unofficial CEO of home-based businesses in Truhart.”

  “More like the pimp,” the cashier mumbled. Someone in the other aisle laughed, and Marva sent them a withering look.

  Pointing to the first piece of paper, Marva pushed her glasses farther up her nose and continued. “This here is for Cozy Candles. I am a Cozy Candle representative and if you host a party I can sell you anything you want at a ten-percent discount. If I sell up to a hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise you get a free candle. And believe me, these are the best things you could ever want. They make your house smell wonderful and give such a beautiful glow on a cold winter night. Don’t they, girls?” The ladies standing behind me in line were all nodding their heads.

  “Don’t forget to tell her about Bountiful Beauty Makeup. Carla’s got a free introductory offer for anyone who lets her give a full makeover,” shouted the lady two carts back in line. “She has some colors that would really bring out your lips.” Cherry suddenly stiffened and covered her eyes, then she moved around me to stand at the end of the register.

  “And I am an authorized personalization specialist. Anything you want monogrammed I can embroider. We have a special on boxers this week for the man in your life,” said the young mother, who tapped her little redheaded boy on the hand as he reached for a candy bar.

  He smiled toothlessly. “Wanna see my undies? They got my name, Andwew, witten all over ’em.” I laughed before turning back to Cherry.

  She was gone. The magazines were gone too.

  “Where did she go?”

  “Don’t know who she is . . . the kids are all off school today,�
�� Marva said, looking down at her clipboard and biting her lip.

  Several others just shrugged. Marva eyed my groceries and her eyes grew bigger. I opened my mouth, ready to explain about the junk food, when Marva reached her meaty hand into one of my Mylar bags.

  “Oh, do you know Nestor?” she asked, holding up the Twinkies. Then she grabbed the book with the dreamy vampire on the cover. “And hey, I absolutely loved this one!”

  Instead of heading back to Crooked Road, I drove past a modern ATV dealership and a hardware store and turned toward town. I didn’t have a clue where I was going, but some sort of internal compass had taken over. Hugging the wheel with both hands, I drove slowly, keeping an eye out for any old landmarks. In a clearing on my right was a marina where a boat launch and a dock extended into the shimmering water of Echo Lake. A half-mile away was Echo’s smaller twin, Reply Lake, one of dozens of lakes that dotted the county and connected in a series of rivers that fed the larger Au Sable River. Grandma once told me that Truhart had been a boomtown during the glory days of the Michigan logging industry. But logging was just a history lesson in Michigan now. And Truhart looked like it hadn’t changed since the last log was pushed down the river. Basically, it was a town gone bust.

  A handful of false clapboard buildings lined the center of Truhart. A sign that was strung across the road was coming loose. I tried to read it, but the corner flap was in the way. Something about Timber —. The ice cream store that was still boarded up for the winter, and a Laundromat across the street from a dry cleaner’s looked familiar. A bookstore in the middle of a cluster of buildings had peeling paper over its windows and a torn awning. The sign over the vacant corner grocery store was still gone, making it anyone’s guess what the name had once been. When we drove by on our way to the Family Fare, Grandma always apologetically told me that no one had wanted to put the last owner of the small-town grocery store out of business. But the cheaper prices and bigger variety of the Family Fare were just too tempting.

  I was about to make a right turn at the only stoplight in town when I noticed a familiar neon sign that read Cookee’s. Impulsively, I made a U-turn and drove into the small parking lot.