Red Creek Waltz

by Gregory Kay

  To be honest, she was a little on the skinny side then, and the extra weight suits her. More cushion for the pushin’, I reckon.

  Of course, he had been married more than long enough to know better than to ever articulate that kind of a thought; his wife wouldn’t think it was funny at all.

  Kathy stood at the stove, her back to her husband, and smiled as she felt his eyes on her. Frank was always ogling her – sometimes enough to be a pain about it – but even though she occasionally complained, she secretly enjoyed his attention. It made her feel secure, made her feel loved...and it made her feel like she was still worth lusting after too, a feeling that had a lot going for it as well.

  It was funny, in a way; she had been a natural-born rebel looking for a cause, and in the end, she'd married the only man her parents had ever approved of.

  “He’s solid,” her mama had told her, “and he’s mighty good looking too, but most important of all, he’s solid. Frank Estep is the kind of boy who understands responsibility, and he’ll will stick by you come hell or high water.” Shaking her head in a way that spoke eloquently of personal experience, she'd added, “Trust me, honey; you can't put a price on that.”

  Her mother turned out to be right. Frank was a heavy equipment mechanic who went from mine to mine fixing whatever the miners managed to tear up. He wasn’t rich, but he made damned good money for their area, more than he would have working the much more dangerous underground mining itself, and he didn’t drink too much or run around on her. If he wasn’t home, he was usually at work or off somewhere in the woods hunting or fishing.

  More importantly, in Kathy’s book anyway, was that he was always there when she needed him. Unlike most of the local men, he'd stood right beside her bed in the delivery room and held her hand when Jake was born, and he was there for her after the cysts developed, and she had the have the hysterectomy two years later. He wasn’t afraid to stand his ground when they argued, but afterwards, he’d hold her while she cried, like she always ended up doing whenever they raised their voices to one other. He was also a good father to Jake; firm when he had to be, but generally easy-going, giving the boy room to grow and make the occasional mistake...not that there were too many of those. Jake was a regular chip off the old block, looking and acting pretty much like his dad had at his age.

  Kathy was the worrier; she worried about Jake constantly. Oh, he didn’t mess around with dope, didn’t drink much, or at least didn’t get behind the wheel when he did, as far as she knew anyway, and she supposed all his alley catting was to be expected out of any teenage boy as cute as her son. No, that wasn’t it. Jake took chances – granted, he thought them out before he did, but he definitely took his share of them – and she'd sat in the emergency room more than once while they sewed him up, or, in one case, put a cast on his leg after an ATV crash. Every time, she would be beside herself, yelling at her son out of fear of what could have happened, but Frank would just shake his head, say, “Damn, boy, try to be more careful next time,” slap Jake on the shoulder, and go on about his business. She remembered what he'd said when she confronted him about it one day.

  “It’s all part of becoming a man. We’re all born full of piss and vinegar, and if we don’t get it out, it’ll sour inside us. We learn best from our mistakes, and, as long as I don’t let him take it too far, Jake’ll end up a better man for them. Besides, it’s better that he make ‘em now, because you heal a hell of a lot quicker when you’re young.”

  On an intellectual level, she suspected her husband was probably right, but in her heart, it was something she had difficulty accepting. She wanted to hold her son close, try to protect him from everything...

  And if I did that, he’d end up an emotional weakling like Scott, or else he’d be a full-blown rebel and push back against me every chance he got like Joe Bob. I love both those boys like they were my own, but bless their hearts, I think either one of them would be more than I could stand having to raise!

  Still feeling Frank’s gaze resting on her behind, she shook herself out of her funk, turned her head and teasingly asked over her shoulder, “You getting your eyes full?”

  “Nope,” he responded with a grin, “I’ve been trying for damned near twenty years, and I still ain’t got my eyes full of that. Mmm-mm!”

  Scooping the sausage and two over-easy eggs out onto his plate, she shook her head as she set the food on the table.

  “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

  “Actually, I’m hopeful, if you get my drift,” he said meaningfully.

  “Oh, I get your drift just fine...” Kathy cut off the rest of her teasing retort when she heard her son coming down the hallway. A few seconds later, Jake walked into the kitchen with his coat and cap on, and his rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Morning, Mom, Dad.”

  “Morning, Jake,” his father drawled, but Kathy frowned just a little. Her son’s face was pale and hollow-eyed; he looked like he hadn’t been to bed at all, but she knew better. He had actually been going to bed earlier lately, but evidently hadn’t been sleeping well. Still, she knew better than to ask; he would say the same thing as always, that nothing was wrong.

  “Do you want some sausage and eggs, honey?”

  He shook his head.

  “Sorry, Mom, ain’t got time. I’ll just take some coffee with me.”

  “What’s the hurry, son?” Frank asked around a mouthful of Jimmy Dean's finest, “You’ve got a couple of hours before sunup yet.”

  Picking up the coffee pot, Jake said, “I’ve got to go get Joe Bob, and we’ll grab something down at the 24-7.” He sighed, blowing out his breath in a sound of irritated disgust that was evident over the gurgling of the pouring coffee. “We’ve got to pick Scott up there anyway; Becky’s working this morning, and he’s bound and determined he just has to see her one more time before he leaves.

  “Do you all need anything from there? I can bring it back this evening.”

  “No, but why don’t you stop at the feed store while you’re out and about?” Frank said with a wry grin, “You can get one of those big brass bull-rings to put in Scott’s nose so Becky can lead him around proper.”

  Jake had just taken a sip of his coffee and promptly spat it back in the cup as he snorted with laughter, and then he quickly had to set his cup down to keep from spilling the whole thing when his father added, “Of course, I don’t think his nose is exactly what she’s leading him around by.”

  “Frank Estep!” Kathy chided, lightly slapping him on the shoulder in a playful reprimand even while she chuckled herself. Not that what he said wasn't true. Scott Donald had always been a follower, first of Jake and Joe Bob, and now of his fiancée. Kathy liked the boy, even loved him, maybe, but she had no real respect for him; he was so weak-willed, it was downright pitiful.

  Finally catching his breath, Jake said, “I reckon Scott’ll be alright...I hope.” Scott was his friend, so he did hope, but that was all he did; he was too smart to actually believe that hope might be true, and it showed on his face.

  Seeing his distress, Kathy couldn’t restrain herself any longer.

  “Are you okay, honey? You look a little tired; have you been getting enough sleep?”

  He shrugged. “I guess so; I’ve just been having really weird dreams lately.”

  “I told you about playing those video games before bed; all that fighting and shooting and car chasing can't help but get you all stirred up.”

  “It’s not that,” he reassured her, “I haven't played for better than a week now. It’s just....” Suddenly, he looked distinctly embarrassed. “I don’t know; it’s just hard to explain.”

  Kathy wanted to dig deeper, but Frank saw the expression on his son’s face and came to his rescue.

  “Well, since you’ve got to run all over hell and creation first, I expect you’d better get going if you want to be in the woods before daylight. Good luck, son.”

  “Thanks Dad.” Kathy knew from his tone that Jake’s gratit
ude was more for his father’s saving him from having to answer than for his well-wishing. “Bye, you all.”

  “Bye, Jake,” his father said, and suddenly Kathy was unable to stop herself from grabbing her son and hugging him tightly, despite the hard surface of the rifle barrel on his back pressing into her wrist.

  “You be careful out there. I heard the weatherman say there’s a big storm system coming into Ohio. It’s supposed to be here sometime between midnight and early tomorrow morning, but they don’t know everything; it might make it by tonight. You’ll need to keep an eye on the weather.”

  “We will, Mom.” The exaggerated long-suffering tone in his voice caused his father to chuckle behind his coffee cup. Kathy released him, and, in a moment, the door closed behind him. She stood watching through the tiny, diamond-shaped window as he walked to his truck.

  “Come here.”

  She turned at her husband’s voice, and saw him holding his hand out for her. As always, she accepted his invitation, took his hand, and he pulled her onto his lap. He always did that when he knew she was upset, and she always found it comforting, almost like being a little girl again.

  “You and I have been together for a long time now, and I’ve gotten to know you pretty well. What’s bothering you?”

  Kathy looked down at her own hands folded at the juncture of her legs, and blushed a little, embarrassed at her own fears, and at her own wish that Jake would confide his secrets to her once again, like he used to when he was little.

  “I’m just worried about the boys...”

  “Don’t you worry about the boys; they’ll be fine.” Frank said that like a plain statement of fact, with so much assurance that she had to question her own feelings.

  “I know, but Scott’s so twitter-pated over Becky he doesn’t know his butt from a hole in the ground anymore, and Joe Bob’s just...well, Joe Bob! He never had the good sense God gave a goose! They’ve gotten each other into more than one mess, you know.”

  He laughed. “That’s what boys do, honey; that just means they’re normal. Besides, they’ve got Jake; he’ll look out for them. He’s always been the responsible one.” Frank paused, looking at her closely, and his smile faded just a bit. “There’s something else wrong, ain’t there?

  She nodded hesitantly. “I had a horrible dream last night.”

  “What about?”

  “I can’t remember; just that it had to do with Jake and the other two, and it was bad. I know it sounds silly, but after that, I woke up with this awful feeling, like a premonition of some kind. I felt like something was going to happen to them. It scared me so much I almost asked him not to go.”

  Frank pursed his lips in thought as he reached around her and picked up his coffee cup, taking a sip to hide his expression. Even though he would have vehemently denied it if asked, he came from a culture and from a long line of people who took such potential omens very seriously. His own grandmother often 'knew things' before they happened, and had been right too many times for him to simply discount it as coincidence. No matter how much he might resist it, he felt a shiver run up his spine like a centipede on a hundred pointy feet; still, he refused to let it show, lest it worry his wife. Instead he simply asked, “Why didn’t you?” without inflection.

  “You know why. Those boys have always been friends all their lives. They’ve been best friends since the first grade, and this’ll probably be their last hunt together. Scott’s getting married, and he can’t hardly get away from Becky now; once she finally gets her hooks in him all the way, she won’t let him out of her sight. And then, what with Joe Bob going into the Marines right after graduation...my God, Frank, what’s it going to do to Jake if they send that boy off to Iraq or somewhere and he doesn’t come back?”

  Frank laughed out loud, even though he didn’t really feel like doing it. “Joe Bob will be back; he’s too ornery to die. He’s a lot more likely to be shot by some girl’s father or some woman's husband if he stays around here...or by his mama, once she finally gets fed up with his shenanigans.” Both of them knew his words of joking bravado were like a good luck charm, deliberately flinging an affirmation of life into the face of grimmer possibilities, and were intended as much to reassure him as her.

  Suddenly, Kathy felt his hand wandering down the back of her housecoat to where a little bit of her rear stuck out past her seat on his thigh. He patted it affectionately, then caressed it, trailing his fingers up and down the cloth where it creased between her cheeks, and his words as well as the expression that grew across his face were as full of meaning as the bulge she felt growing beneath her where she sat.

  “And, speaking of ornery, today’s Saturday: my day off. What with Jake gone, it looks like we’ve got the whole house to ourselves for awhile.”

  Kathy snickered, her bad mood pushed to the back of her mind just as Frank had intended. Leaning her forehead against his, she smiled broadly.

  “Like you said, speaking of ornery! You’re awful, you know that?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do know that. That’s what makes me so lovable.”

  She pressed her lips against his, agreeing with him wholeheartedly.

  Chapter 4

  Joe Bob Mackenzie felt like he was going to die, and as bad as his head hurt, he wasn’t real sure that would be such a bad thing. If nothing else, at least he’d get some peace and quiet.

  Except for that girl's voice in my head, the horny one that won't even shut the hell up long enough to let me sleep! It's like having involuntary phone sex!

  Not that the tall, lean, dark-haired eighteen year-old objected to phone sex, or any other kind of female sex for that matter, but he liked to finish what he started, and, for some reason, the girl in the dream never let him, always taking him right to the very edge and then leaving him throbbing on the corner of Main Street in Blue-Ball City. It was frustrating as hell, enough to make him want to yell, cuss, and stomp the floor.

  Of course he wasn't about to do that, at least not yet. No matter how aggravated he was, he knew as long as he was quiet right now, he might be able to sneak out before his mother was up, so at least he wouldn’t have to listen to her this morning. More importantly, he wanted to slip Mary out before Mrs. MacKenzie noticed, or there would definitely be fire on the mountain over that.

  Rising long enough to pull on his jeans over a pair of long, lean legs, he promptly sat back down and rubbed his scalp through his dark hair, trying to make his head stop spinning as the effects of too much alcohol and too little sleep the night before made themselves known. Deciding some nicotine might help, he reached for his disposable Bic and lit the first Marlboro of the day. He rested there for a moment, taking a couple of deep drags into his lungs and tapping the ash off into one of several empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans lying scattered around.

  Damn! I better get this cleaned up, or Mom is literally gonna shit!

  He grinned at the thought; he figured his mother was so tight-assed that she probably never shit. He doubted she could even manage to squeak out a fart!

  Joe Bob supposed Sylvia MacKenzie must have been more or less normal once, but if she was, it was longer ago than he could really remember. She was uptight, if not quite so bad, before the big blowup happened...the mother of all blowups. When Joe Bob was seven, the two of them had come home from grocery shopping and caught Junior MacKenzie – Joe Bob’s father – banging Sylvia's own sister, Joe Bob's Aunt Helen, on the living room couch.

  Joe Bob still remembered his mother's expression as she stood there with her mouth hanging wide open, staring at her sister's bare feet sticking up over her husband's shoulders, Helen's toes curling while Junior's hairy ass churned and he poured the coal to her for all he was worth. Then Sylvia MacKenzie finally found her voice, and she hadn't lost it since.

  That was a real hissy-fit!

  Whether it was a real hissy-fit or not, in fifteen minutes time, Joe Bob’s old man had put on his pants, packed his bags and left for parts unknown, and no one had seen him sinc
e. Before he headed out the door, he'd ruffled his skinny son’s dark hair and told him, “Sorry, boy, but you’re on your own.”

  Joe Bob hated him for it: not for leaving, so much, since he sure as hell couldn’t blame him for that, but for not taking him with him.

  Things had definitely changed afterward; his mother had gotten religion. Not Methodist or Baptist or even Catholic; oh no, they were all a bunch of heretics who were going straight to Hell in a hand-cart, do not pass go and do not collect $200, to hear her and Reverend Allison, her long-winded jackass of a preacher, tell it. Instead, she’d become a long dress, long sleeve, bun-wearing Independent Holiness. She'd insisted that Joe Bob do the same, and the ten-year war with her son began. She cut his hair in a white wall, so he shaved his head. She took away his tee shirts and blue jeans and he took the scissors and cut up every new preacher-approved white shirt and pair of black pants she bought him. She got a forsythia switch and whipped the hell out of him until she brought the blood, and he got the hatchet and chopped the offending bush she had inherited from her mother down to the ground, and dug the roots up before hacking them to pieces too. She burned his rock and roll CDs, so he soaked her family picture album with kerosene and struck a match to it right there on the coffee table, inadvertently starting a blaze that destroyed half the living room and took the volunteer fire department to extinguish.

  Finally, about a year into the ever-escalating conflict, she decided to quit actively attacking him while she still had a house left, as long as he made a begrudging weekly appearance at church Sunday morning and kept his sinful, downright demonic ways out of her home. Just to make sure her son remained aware of her displeasure, however, she preached at him...constantly. Joe Bob, in turn, figured, if he was going to be bitched at anyway, he might as well do all he could to earn it, and set out to be the biggest pain in her ass he could, and generally succeeded at it until he became so notorious in Morgan’s Knob that no one would hire him, and thus he couldn’t afford to move out and rent a place of his own.