“Oh. Thanks,” I managed, my throat suddenly dry.
Taking a step forward to hand me the coat, Bobby tucked a lock of wet hair behind my ear. I shivered at his touch. His eyes darted over my mottled skin, goose bumped from the cold. I looked at the coat, then back to him.
“Oh,” he said, turning his back so I could slip it on. “Yeah, sorry.”
I pressed one side of the enormous jacket across me and folded the other side over it. Underneath, the towel loosened and fell to the ground. I pulled the coat closer to my body, soft against my skin. “Thanks,” I murmured.
Turning back around, he pointed to the path up the hill. “I was just heading back down to Soldier Creek. It’s over the hill and down a little bit. I can’t seem to find my knife—it must’ve dropped out when, uh . . . while I was putting on my jeans. Can’t lose that. Gramps gave it to me when I was ten.” He started for the path. “I’ll meet you back at the house.”
“Wait.”
Bobby turned back.
“I’ll go with you. I can help you look for it.”
He stood studying me a bit, then finally nodded and lit the lantern, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I followed him through the pines, a carpet of soft pine needles cushioning my bare feet.
Slips of moonlight flickered through the trees. The howl of a lone coyote lent song to the orchestral swell and fade of crickets, accompanied by the quonk of tree frogs. I ducked under an orb weaver’s web, where drops of dew were suspended, shimmering like jeweled beads on gossamer.
After a few minutes, the slope leveled out and we came to a small clearing. A nearby creek came to life. Rushing water splashed over the rocks, misting into the sweet air. Bobby stopped and raised the lantern high. “It should be close.”
I scanned the ground and immediately spotted the knife lying next to a dead branch at the edge of the clearing. “Over there, Bobby,” I pointed.
“Sharp eyes, Mudas!” He slipped the knife into his back pocket and set the lantern back down on the stump. He smiled. “Thanks. A Kentucky boy’s best friend.”
“Sharp knife,” I grinned back.
I stood under a tall pine and watched the fireflies light along the path and into the trees. “When I was little, Mama used to help me catch lightning bugs. She always said the best part was setting them free.” I smiled, remembering the joy that used to light up Mama’s eyes. She’d always worn the most beautiful smile. I couldn’t help thinking that she’d want me to wear one now, too. I pushed back a curl from my face and caught a whiff of the lovely goat soap again. “Pretty up here,” I said.
Bobby was staring at me, his brow knitted, all thoughtful-like.
“What is it, Bobby?”
He shook his head. “It’s just . . . well, I just can’t believe how pretty you are.”
A warm, swooping sensation hit my midsection and my breath quickened.
“Even now,” he laughed, “barefoot and wearing that big ol’ ugly jacket. Especially now.”
His scent carried, trailing thick on the night breeze. Feeling giddy, light-headed, I leaned against a tree trunk, my eyes never leaving Bobby’s.
After a moment, Bobby shifted and cleared his throat. “Well, I guess that’s that. We should get back to the house.” He turned and began walking back down to the house, lantern in hand.
I took another breath of the hill.
“You coming, Mudas?” He turned back.
I shifted and dropped my gaze. The coat slipped down over my shoulder.
His broad chest rose, falling into a slow, deep rhythm. “Mudas . . .”
I grappled for my sleeve, fumbling with a shaky hand.
“Here. I . . . don’t want to take advantage of you,” he said hoarsely, helping me pull it back up with his own shaky talking hand.
I slowly shook my head.
“Mudas?”
We both took a hesitant step toward each other. Cupping the back of my head, he seized a fistful of tangled wet curls and pulled me closer, his bare chest warm again mine. For the first time in a week, I felt my muscles relax—an emotional nod to surrender—and was gripped by an urgency to take this protected break from all the bad and churn it into a sweet physical release.
Pulling back, Bobby tenderly traced a thumb along my cheeks, my lips.
I looked up at him, searching.
Dark with wanting, his eyes met mine, questioning.
I let myself fall into those wide wading pools of sunlit amber and nodded a hungry yes.
Bobby pulled me down to the damp, cool earth and rolled me over onto the soft army coat.
Somewhere amidst the soar of nature’s sweet music and the bitterness of life’s gritty, we surrendered and laid down our burdens. Letting go of everything and anything that could steal our attention, we fed gloriously on the sweet.
17
The Knowing
I stretched to the sweet, low-pitched hoot of an owl. Running my hand across the earth, I scrunched up a patch of damp leaves and brought them to my face. I inhaled the aromas sweetened with the scent of life—him. Tossing leaves into the air, I let them fall like confetti on my bare skin, celebrating my passage into womanhood, marveling at the rush of immortality.
Bobby rested on his elbow, watching me. His crooked smile warmed. I’d always thought this would be an awkward moment. Instead, it felt right, like Grammy Essie’s true-love tale. There were no pangs of regret or guilt—just us, hungry to know more, eager to reveal the pieces of ourselves we’d never been brave enough to share before. I sat up and covered myself with the coat, leaning into him.
“This field jacket sure does look better on you than it does on me. Or my brother.” He laughed and gave me a quick kiss.
“Oh, wow”—I touched the collar—“it’s Henry’s?”
Bobby lifted the sleeve draped across me. “Yeah, he left it for me last time he was home.”
“Does he get to come home soon? I heard that President Nixon is pulling out all the troops now.”
His eyes lit up, jeweled like tiger-eye stones. “Yeah, I can’t wait ’til he gets here! The last ground combat battalion is coming home in two weeks. I’ve sorely missed him. Can’t wait for this crazy war to end.”
I nodded. “I read about what that actress, Jane Fonda, did last month. Horrible.”
Bobby scratched the whiskers budding on his jaw. “Yeah, traitor. When I was in Boston, I saw the photo of her sitting on the North Vietnamese battery. . . . Henry served this country for two tours in Vietnam, and for others, they served with their lives, and that’s how she repays them. Jesus, I’m just relieved it’s almost over.”
I snuggled the coat, feeling safe and a part of Bobby, and all that he was a part of. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
He brought his mouth down and kissed me lightly, our mouths still trembly. We laughed off the awkwardness and snuggled closer.
“Do you spend a lot of time here with your gramps?”
“Yeah, in between looking at colleges, I’m here for the summer.” He frowned. “I like it here, and it makes it easier . . . my dad’s really uptight.”
I rested my head against his chest. “Didn’t you say your daddy worked in numbers in Nashville? Gone a lot?”
“Yeah, he’s a corporate accountant. Hardly ever see him anymore,” he sighed. “But when he’s around, he expects everybody to bow—struts around with a grin that looks like he’s just swallowed a pail of Kentucky coal and crapped out the Hope Diamond.” He shook his head. “I dunno, it makes me nervous. Like I told you a few weeks ago, he’s just so unpredictable. Easy to rile.”
I reached up and massaged his shoulder. “How’s your mama doing? You said she was sick. . . .”
“She’s . . . she’s still not well.” He looked away.
“I’m sorry, Bobby.”
“It’s those damn pills—Black Beauties,” he grimaced. “Spends half her time shopping ’round for them, the rest hopped up and driving everyone around her batty.”
�
��Oh, I . . . I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, thinking of Daddy’s drinking, Mama’s hidden refreshments, and suddenly seeing a glimpse of the little boy Bobby had been, his sadness bruising my heart. “I know what that’s like.”
“You do?” he looked up, surprised.
“Daddy has a weakness for the bottle,” I confessed, my face heating at the thought of outing Mama, or having another person thinking her “white trash.” And latching it on to me like a Mason jar lid.
His eyebrows shot up. “But he’s so . . . together.”
“Yeah, he gave it up. It’s been years since . . . but still, the worry’s always lurking in the shadows.”
“That’s good that he turned it around, Mudas. Real good.”
“Maybe your mama will, too,” I said, sending a silent wish and prayer for her like I’d done for Mama so many times.
“Naw.” Bobby shook his head. “She hasn’t been the same since . . . Well, when I was six, Mom found out my dad cheated on her, and went”—Bobby drew air circles next to his temple—“cuckoo. I came in from school and found her sitting on the floor in our living room, next to a big ol’ pile of family photos. She’d taken a red crayon and waxed an A for adultery over Dad’s face in every single one. Then about a week later, he caught her with—if you can believe it—the deputy sheriff of our town.”
“Oh, no, Bobby, really?”
“Yeah, got her revenge, I guess.” He hesitated. “My old man drove me and my brother over here to Gramps, then took Mom up to Louisville to one of those asylums where they give electric shock treatments. We moved up north the very next year, a fresh start. But Mom never could get right after all that. Never seemed to care much about me or Henry. Never knew how to take care of us.”
“Oh, Bobby.” I wanted to take a soft cloth and wipe off the misery puttying his face. Instead, I took his hand and squeezed.
“Well, I’ll be gone soon enough.” A spasm of pain seeped out and haloed Bobby’s voice.
I thought about Mama letting me take up running and those funny shoes she’d bought long ago. How she was forever giving me Band-Aids and our tradition of phone calls. Grammy Essie insisting I sign up for track.... Like most my age, I wasn’t entirely sure of a lot of things, especially now, but despite everything I’d been going through, I was beginning to realize how much I’d been blessed with the surety of love from two women, and I almost felt the urge to apologize.
Lacing his fingers between mine, Bobby raised our fists to the sky and gave a little shake. “What about you, Mudas Summers? What do you want?”
I felt a catch in my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to ask. What I wanted, more than anything, was to clear up all this mess about Mama. Clear her name, and the guilt I’d been carrying for leaving her on that porch. Or, better still, for it to have never happened. But I didn’t want to talk about that now, not when I’d just been gifted with life’s perfect release.
“You know I love the track team, but I’m giving it up this year.” I paused. “I’m an okay runner, and I thought that maybe I could get a scholarship. The coach from Mallardsburg came over and said I was really good. Said that I had better times in me, and the right amount of coaching and workouts, and should try out for one.”
“What? Really? Man, Coach Hall’s a top coach!”
“I know. But, hell, nothing’s gonna happen unless they give us a good coach—a coach who thinks it’s okay for girls to play sports. We can’t even use the school track most times.”
“I’ve seen you over on the boys’ track. You’re faster than some boys I know.” Bobby slid his leg down over mine. “I hope it works out that you can go to college, even without a scholarship.”
“I don’t know . . . ThommaLyn’s not going. She’s gonna stay to marry Paul Jameson. Her daddy wants her to help out the family.”
“PJ seems like a nice fella and a hard worker. They’ll make a great couple. It’s good she’s going to stay and have her babies here.”
I wasn’t so sure. ThommaLyn was a whiz at biology, pulling straight As and dreaming about being a nurse in the big city. We even talked about how we’d get a cute little apartment together, a place of our own with bright wallpaper and a lazy cat. But her daddy let her start dating at thirteen. “The quicker she gets hitched,” he’d said, “the quicker her man can help me grow more crops that’ll bring in bigger cash.” ThommaLyn fell hard for Paul within a year. Her daddy couldn’t have been happier. And I knew we wouldn’t be getting that cat after all.
“Maybe,” I said, “but I had hoped ThommaLyn would get out of this Podunk town.”
“Well, I can’t wait. I hope our senior year goes by real fast.”
“It can’t get here soon enough. My daddy rides me pretty hard, expects me to make all As.” I didn’t mention how the kids at school made fun of me and my cow-plop name. I’m sure he already knew about it; he was just too cool to bring it up.
“The year will go by quick, Mudas, you’ll see,” he said, tapping into my thoughts.
“I really can’t wait to get out of this town one day, but now I may have to back-burner that for a bit.” Life in a small town moved slowly enough—even slower in sadness. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it this past week. Thinking maybe I should stick around here another year before going. Because of my baby sister, Genevieve, and all that’s happened. I dunno. . . . She’s going to need me.” And if I was being perfectly honest with myself, I knew that I was going to need her. She was the very last reminder of Mama.
Bobby looked at me as if deep in thought about plans. His, mine.
“If I ever do get out of Peckinpaw, I’m cutting a path straight across western Kentucky to Louisville for a degree in business.” I picked up a leaf and traced it, thinking about what Daddy expected me to do: stand beside his lawyering boots and do secretarial law, and become a female Olympic runner. “I’d really love to run . . . maybe make it to the Olympics one day.” I laughed even though I was dead serious. When Bobby didn’t snicker back, I dipped farther into the water. “And I’d also like to follow in my grammy’s footsteps as the county librarian. Who knows . . . maybe even open the first bookstore in these parts.”
“Neato,” Bobby said, his eyes holding mine.
“I even know what I’d call it . . .”
“Yeah? C’mon, spill,” Bobby teased, lightly tickling my ribs.
“Okay, okay. Dandelion Books. It’s for my Grammy Essie; she used to make all kinds of things with them. Jelly, coffee, wine, you name it. Anyway, it’s silly, but dandelions make me think of her, and she would’ve loved to have a bookstore here in town, like they do in Louisville. It’s silly,” I shrugged.
I held my breath, waiting for him to laugh at me. But he didn’t. Instead, Bobby smiled warmly and stretched for a buttercup. He ran the petals over my lips. “Bet you could serve those book lovers a Mason jar of that recipe and they’d empty their wallets, big time.”
“Mmm.” I grinned lazily, savoring.
“Mmm-hmm,” he echoed. The corners of his mouth lifted and, in a swift and easy movement, he sat up and pulled me on top of him, scattering pine needles and leaves. Cupping my face with both hands, Bobby dragged my mouth to his. I watched as his long, thick lashes fluttered open to expose his deep amber eyes. He let out a long sigh and ran his fingers through my twisted curls, and brought the strands to his mouth. “Mudas,” he breathed my name, sweetening its syllables. I loved the way he abandoned my nickname—loved the sweet drawl he sowed into my given name when he spoke it.
I felt a deep warmth torch my ears. “We should probably scoot, before your gramps comes looking.”
Laughing, Bobby placed one arm behind him, wrapped the other around me, and lifted us both off the ground. He swung me around, then planted me on my feet and brushed his lips over my temple. He tilted my chin and looked up with sincerity and determination. “Mudas Elizabeth Summers, I mean to make you mine one day, to honor, love, and protect, like no other. To love you right
an’ tight.” My eyes widened, but before I could react, he plowed forward. “In the meantime and before anybody else can lay claim: Will you come to senior prom with me?”
Gasping, my hands flew to my cheeks and tears sprang to my eyes. I had resigned myself years ago that I wouldn’t be attending senior prom. Sure, for a moment I’d thought I had a chance with Tripp, but not now that I’d kicked him to the curb. And it was practically here, like tomorrow-here. People were already talking about it. Sewing machines had been dusted and tuned, and people were going to White’s department store in the city.
Still, I would have been content to see it through ThommaLyn’s eyes. She hadn’t missed a single dance in all the years I’d known her. And it was a given that I’d go over and fix her hair and makeup before every date or dance. Then her mama would pull out the old Polaroid. I always tried to beg an excuse, but Mrs. Green never failed to huddle me, ThommaLyn, and her date into a semicircle and snap our picture, leaving me embarrassed, a third wheel splotched with red paint.
Afterward, I’d go home to my running field. There, I’d wear myself out until I numbed the hurt, the rejection, and the loneliness. The next day, I’d break and beg ThommaLyn for details. Watching her eyes light up as she recounted the dance was the next best thing to being there, I reckoned, and about as close to Heaven as I’d ever get.
“Mudas?” Bobby took my hand and squeezed, pulling me back to the present.
I grinned wide and nodded, before he could change his mind and before the what-ifs could take hold of my thought-ticking hands and send them flying. “Yes, yes!” I blurted out, bursting with that “prism full of colors” Mama had told me about.
“Yes!” he beamed, planting a big ol’ kiss on my lips, leaving me lighter than air. Snatching up his jeans, Bobby dressed and turned to grab the lantern. I slipped the army coat back on. Gathering our things, both of us were quiet in the newness of us, our expectations, the possibilities, and the undeniable tugging scent of our physical and emotional oneness.
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