When he looked up, Wes was staring straight into his eyes. As if taking some kind of measurements.
“Can you be trusted with a child?”
“Yes,” August said quietly.
“Yeah,” Wes said. “I thought so.”
Then he got up, smashed out his cigarette, and got himself back to work.
Chapter Three:
NEW DEAL
Around the time the sun was going down, August wandered into the shop area again. Wes was on his back on a rolling cart, half underneath the engine. He couldn’t put the rig up on a lift, because it was too tall and too heavy, and the shop ceiling wasn’t high enough.
Wes did not pull his head out.
“Haven’t seen your kids around all afternoon,” August said.
First nothing. As though he hadn’t spoken at all.
Then Wes said, “I told ’em to stay away from you.”
“Now why would you do that?”
“Didn’t want you to think I was playing dirty, like telling ’em to follow you around and look up at you with those big brown eyes. I said give the man time to think.” Still Wes did not slide out from under the rig. The sound just filtered up. “Also . . . if you’re gonna say no, I don’t want ’em to see it in your face.”
“Got it,” August said.
As he walked back to the door of the rig, he thought, Yeah. Keep them far away if you don’t want them to smell a no coming.
At twenty minutes to midnight, a knock blasted August out of sleep. Woody went nuts, letting off a stream of noise, more one long shriek than individual barks.
August stumbled to the door, rubbing his eyes. Woody followed behind him, close enough to bump the back of August’s leg with his nose, a rumbly, rolling growl escaping his throat.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
“It’s Wes.”
August sighed and opened the door, and Woody sat close by, leaning against his leg and wagging faintly.
“Sorry,” Wes said. “Sorry I woke you up. Maybe I’m wrong to. But I told you to sleep on it. But then I rethought things and came up with a whole different sort of a deal. So now you’re sleeping on the wrong thing. So, can I tell you the new thing, and then you go sleep on that?”
August looked at the mechanic’s face in the half dark. His hair was comically disarranged. Wes had obviously been in bed himself when the new deal had arrived in his brain. August looked over Wes’s head, saw the moon hanging nearly full over the flat, mostly uninhabited landscape, and thought, He’s right. This is nothing. Those boys have seen nothing because there’s nothing out here to see.
“Well. I’m awake now. So I guess you might as well.”
“I’m giving you the repair. Either way. It’s yours, no strings attached. I just decided. Know why I’m doing it? Because you need it. I’m seeing the need in you, one man to another, and we’re both human, so I’m gonna reach out and help your situation. Because I can. If that makes you so happy you want to turn around and help my situation, that would be much appreciated. But whether you do or not, you’re free to drive out of here when I’m done. No charge. So, congratulations. You’re going to Yellowstone.”
August blinked a few times, too aware of his own blinking. He heard crickets. He hadn’t heard crickets since he was a boy. At least not that he could remember. Then it hit him that they must have been there all along, and he just hadn’t registered hearing them. It seemed strange that he could be so unaware of the sound then and so aware of it now.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Sleep on it.”
And with that Wes walked away, around the corner of the shop to whatever living quarters lay hidden away back there. In the bright light of the full moon, August could see the little puffs of dry dust kicked up by the mechanic’s shoes. He closed the door and looked down at his dog.
“That was curious,” he said, and Woody gave him a puzzled look, like he should be helping August figure it out. “I wonder what I’m to make of that.”
Woody tilted his head slightly but left August to sort things.
“You know that just makes it even harder to say no.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, set his forehead in one hand, and tried to figure out if the added sense of pressure had been purposely applied to him, or if the offer was a pure act of altruism and the guilt just a side effect. He couldn’t make even the slightest headway in telling the two apart, so he went back to sleep.
Eventually.
August slept much later than he meant to. When he woke, he dressed quickly and began the process of raising the window shades. He started with the driver’s side, the window over the dinette table. The mechanic’s face appeared just inches from the window screen, startling him. August jumped back and let out a small noise, immediately embarrassed that he had. Woody barked once, sharply.
“Sorry,” Wes said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. But I could tell you were up, because the rig moves a little when you walk around in it. You slept late. Did you know it’s after ten?”
“Oh. Not exactly, but I knew it was weirdly late. I don’t usually sleep in like that, but I was awake a long time in the night.”
“Right. Sorry. My fault, I know. Anyway . . . I just had some news, so I been waiting to tell you. I’m ahead of schedule. Looks like I’ll be done early this afternoon. Well. Not early early. But maybe more like three instead of six. Thought you’d want to know.”
August leaned forward and pressed his hands down on the dinette table, because it felt too weird and awkward to stand, hands at his sides, and carry on a conversation through the window.
“Now how did you manage to pick up three hours just this morning?”
“Well,” Wes said, and scratched his head. As if it was a mystery to him as well. “I didn’t exactly. It’s more that I always add a cushion of time. Because it seems like something always goes wrong. A bolt strips while I’m taking something apart. Or shears right off. And I got to drill it out or something. Or I get things apart and there’s more going on in there than I thought. But now I’m putting it all back together. And nothing’s gone wrong. And nothing much left to go wrong. So I thought I’d let you know. Because I figured . . . if I get you done by three, you’ll be wanting to get on the road today.” Long pause. “Right?”
“Probably so,” August said, identifying the subtext without addressing it.
“And you’ll want to . . . you know. Get ready and all. And . . . like that.”
“Right,” August said. “Like that.”
“Take her out for a test drive,” Wes said a little after two thirty.
August climbed into the driver’s seat for the first time in three days. Woody leapt into his position on the dog bed, on the floor between the driver and passenger seats. As he always did. He seemed to feel as though staying anywhere behind the cab of the rig while August drove away might amount to being left behind.
August started up the engine, a trifle apprehensive, but it started well and ran smoothly and quietly. He looked up at Wes through the windshield. The mechanic gave him a thumbs-up, the fear and need on his face nearly breaking August’s heart. August looked away again and shifted into reverse. Put his foot on the gas. Just as the cab of the rig pulled level with the front of the garage, August glanced over and saw the boys.
They were leaning with their backs against the garage in the hot sun. Their hair was freshly combed. Almost too neat and perfect to be real. Their clean white shirts were tucked into their shorts all the way around. Two firsts, August thought. The first time their shirts were clean, and the first time they stayed tucked in. Then again, for your shirt to untuck, you have to move. The boys weren’t moving.
Beside each boy sat a small, ancient, hard-side suitcase. One was dark green, the other a battered tan with one dark-maroon vertical stripe. August looked away quickly because it was too sad.
When he pulled back up in front of the garage, the boys had not moved. Wes had
not moved. It was as though August had thrown them all into a state of suspended animation by failing to make—or at least announce—a clear decision.
August shifted out of gear and stepped on the parking brake. Wes dropped to the ground and looked underneath the rig for a long time. Checking for leaks, August assumed. August braved another look at the boys. They reminded him of children alone on a train platform during the war, waiting for possible strangers to possibly transport them to safety. Hoping for rescue, despite their parents being left behind. Not that he had ever witnessed such a scene with his own eyes. But still.
Henry turned his head to look off into the distance, and, in doing so, he caused one lock of his otherwise perfectly combed hair to fall out of place. It trailed onto his forehead, the tiniest possible rebellion. As August watched, Seth pulled a black plastic comb from his shorts pocket, leaned over closer to his brother, and combed the errant lock back into position.
August’s heart broke. Cleanly and decisively. And now he had to go break theirs.
A strong pushback rose in his chest. It made him angry. It felt unfair that he had been put in this position. Then he remembered what he’d been given in return. He told himself that breaking bad news to them was the whole price he had to pay for Yellowstone and three days’ worth of expensive repair work. Thing is, it wasn’t a small price to pay. Maybe it should have been, but it wasn’t. Or at least it didn’t feel small.
He opened the door and stepped down, leaving the engine running. He walked around the back—the long way—to avoid Wes. Predictably, the boys turned their eyes up to him. Just the way their father had told them not to do in the interim. Because it wasn’t fair. It just so wasn’t fair.
“You boys look like you’re sure you’re going somewhere,” he said. Hoping to ease into the thing.
“Our dad told us to be all ready,” Seth said. “Just in case. He said that way if you said yes, we wouldn’t keep you waiting. But he said he didn’t think you were gonna say yes.”
Henry shifted his eyes down to the dirt, and the lock of hair fell onto his forehead again. Seth twitched but did not ultimately move, as if he’d been about to reach for it, then changed his mind. August could see the stress it caused him. He watched Seth unable to take his eyes off his brother’s forehead, unable to take his focus off an imperfection he apparently felt was his responsibility.
August heard a slight whimper and turned to see Woody in the passenger seat, front paws up on the window, longing to get to the boys.
“Here’s the thing,” August said.
Then he stopped talking for a time. He would later go over the moment again and again in his head, examining what he knew and when. The boys both looked up into his face with those eyes. Those unfair brown eyes. They didn’t say a word. They waited.
“There are drawers in the rig,” August said at last, “and there are cupboards. The cupboards are high, but it’s okay for Henry to stand on the couch to reach them if he takes his dirty shoes off first. I’ll clear out a drawer to share and a cupboard for each of you. And then when you get your stuff in them, I want you to leave the suitcases behind. Because they’ll only get in the way. It’ll be small in there for three people and a dog. Even though the dog is small. Anyway. We’ll have to do our best to work around each other.”
Then he stopped talking, and the silence resonated and seemed to last a long time.
Seth broke it.
“Dad!” he screamed. Loud enough to hurt August’s Seth-side ear. “Dad! Guess what? He said yes!”
And August thought, Oh, holy crap. Did I? Did I say yes? And why exactly did I do that? And how could I have done a thing like that without at least talking to myself about it first?
Then he realized that none of that nonsense mattered anyway. It was too late to take it back. It was done.
“I’m writing down my cell phone number,” August said.
He and Wes were standing in the tiny office. The place where you meet with the garage owner at the end of the repair, usually so you can settle up your bill. Usually not so you can exchange information for the purpose of returning his children at the end of the summer.
August glanced over his shoulder through the wide-open office door. Seth was belted into the passenger seat of the rig, and Henry was standing up between the seats, one hand stretched out to each. They both stared at the adults through the windshield. Their elation seemed to have worn off quickly, revealing the miscellaneous uncertainties beneath.
“Thanks,” Wes said. “And I looked up the number of the county jail and wrote it down. I gave it to Seth. And I gave him some money so they can call from a pay phone. I can get calls up to three times a week. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Just inside certain hours. I wrote down the hours.”
“You can receive calls? I didn’t think inmates could receive calls.”
Wes seemed to wince at the word “inmates.” “Rule is, only in an emergency or by special permission. I got permission on account of I’m the sole provider for these two kids, and I knew they’d be in no position to come visit. Either way.”
“Oh,” August said. “Okay. Seth can call from my cell phone. I’ve got minutes coming out of my ears.”
“Good. Thanks.”
August watched the mechanic carefully. Watched his eyes, his mood, his reactions. Because he wanted to see how a man felt as he sent his kids off to spend the summer with a relative stranger. But Wes either felt very little emotion or, more likely, didn’t like to give his feelings away.
“It’s no problem. It costs me nothing. We’ll call three times a week.”
“Yeah. That would be good. That would help a lot. Help them and me both. Hey, hope you don’t mind, I wrote down your license number, and I thought you could put your full name and address on this paper. It’s just that . . . if the authorities ask me where I put my kids . . . you know . . . sounds kind of bad if I don’t specifically know. I mean, what do I say? ‘Well, they drove off with some guy, but he seemed okay and he said he’d bring ’em back later.’ I mean, I can’t just tell people I gave my kids to this guy I don’t even know.”
The mechanic’s own words twisted his face into a wry smile, and he ended on a snort that was almost laughter. Sardonic laughter. Then his face changed suddenly. His eyes went wide, and he lowered himself into his desk chair. He brought one of his hands to his chest as though he was having trouble breathing.
“Hey,” August said. “Wes. You all right?”
At first Wes just looked up at him, eyes still showing whites all around. Looking but clearly not seeing. Then he said, “Is that what I’m doing? My God. That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? I’m giving my kids to this guy I don’t even know.”
August leaned over the desk and grabbed Wes hard by both shoulders. “Look at me,” he said. It didn’t take at first, so he tried again. “Wes. Look at me.” This time Wes’s panicked eyes met his own. “I’m going to take good care of those boys. And we’re going to call you three times a week. They’re going to see some amazing things. Places they never knew existed. And I’ll bring them back in September. And if you ever want to know how they are, I’m on the other end of my cell phone.”
“I’d have to call collect.”
“Go ahead if you need to. If it feels important.”
“Let me give you some money for their food.”
Wes pulled out his wallet and removed every bill it contained. August accepted the money without looking or counting and without comment.
“Thanks. Seriously. Thanks, August. I mean it. I knew you were okay. I knew I didn’t make a mistake with you. I don’t know why I lost track of that for a minute. I just . . .”
“Love those boys?”
Wes began to cry. Not openly, like sobbing. It was silent, and he obviously tried to resist it. But August clearly saw the tears well up and spill over.
“They’re my whole life,” he said, swiping hard at his eyes with the back of one hand. “My whole world. You know?”
“I know,” August said.
“Mind if I go in the rig alone and say good-bye?”
“Go ahead.”
In fact, August didn’t even watch them through the windshield. He considered the moment entirely theirs and let them have it.
“Was my dad okay?” Seth asked as they pulled out onto the road that would take them back to the highway.
“Pretty okay.”
“He looked like he was having a heart attack or something.”
“No. Nothing like that. I think he just got scared because he was sending you away with me.”
“But you’re okay. Aren’t you?”
“I am. Which I reminded him. And then he felt better. He just loves you guys a lot.”
Seth smiled, but it was a sad, lost little smile.
August looked in the rearview mirror at Henry. He was sitting on the couch. Wearing his lap belt, as instructed. Woody was sitting with his front end draped over Henry’s lap, his back end on the couch. Henry was stroking the dog with one hand. And crying. And wiping his nose on the sleeve of his clean white shirt.
“I don’t remember your name,” Seth said. “I remember the dog’s name but not yours.”
“August.”
“Like the month?”
“Yes. Like the month.”
“Mr. August?”
“No. Just August. It’s my first name.”
“Oh. I never knew anybody named after a month before.”
“Ever known a girl named April? Or May? Or June?”
“Um. Let me think. No. Not really known. But I guess I’ve heard of such a thing. But I never heard of a man named after a month. So what do I call you?”
“August.”
“You sure that’s not disrespectful? My dad said to be real respectful.”
“It might be disrespectful to call a grown-up by their first name if they haven’t asked you to, and if you’re not sure how they feel about that. But if a grown-up says, ‘Call me August,’ then that’s what you do.”
Take Me With You Page 3