Saving Thomas

by A. L. Moore

  “I’ll come Daddy,” I offered, bunching my hair into a ball and wrapping a hair tie around it. We always did these checks together. I had even grown to look forward to them, and with college starting soon I felt like I had to get in as many as I could. Who knew when I’d be around to help him once classes started.

  “Thanks, honey. Go ahead and grab that apron in case there’s anything salvageable on the ground out there.

  “Thomas, you should follow along. I could see from the drive that the mud’s overcome that corner fence post. Pretty soon we’re going to be chasing chickens, again.

  “Breelynn, why don’t you help Thomas with the fence,” Daddy said, bringing me to a stop.

  I’d rather help Thomas out of the fence and to somewhere else to stay. "Yes, sir," I muttered, pushing through the screen and hearing Mama fuss as it banged loudly into the house.

  Thomas was already headed to the back of the coup, but I was sure he’d heard Daddy. I controlled the scowl on my face until I had my back to the house, and then I sent a clump of mud ten feet into the air with the toe of my boot. It landed against the wheel barrel with a thud.

  “The mud’s worse over here,” Thomas said over his shoulder when I started for where he stood by the fence. “Just stay out. I can handle it.” He had mud well above his black boots and the cuffs of his worn jeans, shooing the chickens away so he could get a good swing with the hammer. I ignored him, stooping down and bracing the fence post against my knee. “You’re just going to get yourself hurt,” he said frustrated, hovering over me with a nail between his teeth. “Just get out of the way.”

  “I was told to help you, and that’s just what I’m going to do,” I said firmly, blowing at a stray hair that caught my lip.

  “Help,” he rolled his eyes like the very idea was ridiculous. “I think I know how to fix a fence post.”

  “Apparently not,” I said just as sarcastically. Something about him brought out the fifteen-year-old in me. “If you’d have fixed it right the first time, we wouldn’t be out here, would we?”

  That seemed to hit a nerve. He threw his arms up. “Hell’s bells, Bree! The ground is too soft. It doesn’t matter how many times I put it up, it’s just going to fall when it rains like this again.”

  Bree. Just hearing my name pass his lips brought back a rush of emotions I wasn’t prepared for. At one time, I could've lived off the sound of his voice saying my name. I stumbled back, losing my footing and landing on my backside. The grin that tugged at his lips helped me to my feet quicker than I would’ve thought possible. I grabbed the post on both sides and stared defiantly back where he welded a sledgehammer. He sighed heavily but gave in, bringing the hammer down with a bang. The vibration rang painfully into my hands and up my arms. As much as it hurt, I was not about to let go. My arms would fall off first.

  “Again?” he questioned, arching a brow. I nodded and the hammer came down again. “What we really need is cement.

  “With all this rain, it wouldn’t do much good either,” he said as an afterthought, using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “They had some quick-drying at the hardware store last week,” I said, waiting for the blood to return to my fingers. “I mentioned it to Daddy, but you might want to mention it, again.”

  He pushed strongly against the fence. “It’s still loose,” he frowned, the hammer still in his hand.

  “It’s good,” I said quickly. My hands were done whether he was or not. “An animal won’t be able to push it as hard as you can.”

  “I guess,” he shrugged. “It’s just going to fall again anyway.”

  I turned toward the house to look for Daddy and to stretch my hands without Thomas seeing the pain he’d inflicted. My stiff fingers would barely bend.

  “How’re your hands,” he asked, wiggling two chickens’ feet loose from the mud and setting them back inside the coup.

  “Fine,” I lied, sticking them behind my back as he came out of the gate.

  “Let me see,” he said, grabbing my hand before I could protest. “You’re going to have blisters,” he said, running his rough thumb across the pad of my palm. “I shouldn’t have swung so hard.”

  "You tried to warn me,” I said, unable to stop the shiver that raced my spine. Traitorous body! I had to keep reminding myself he was a stranger now.

  “You never were one for listening.” He almost smiled, but then seemed to think better of it and dropped my hand. “I better get back to work,” he said, snatching up the hammer and heading to the field without giving me a second look.

  Chapter 6

  (Four years prior)

  The lighten-bugs flitted against the jar in John Tyler’s small hands. I’d made all the holes in my jar too big, and the glowing critters had crawled out. He held the jar in front of his snaggle tooth with a big smile. This was the first time he was old enough to come out with the rest of us. Mrs. Johnson was wrapped in a blanket, watching him like a hawk from their front porch. The chilly night air created prickles along my long, skinny legs. It was always cooler after a storm, especially as bad as the one we’d just had. Broken twigs littered Katy’s front yard, and Rusty said he’d found the flag from someone’s mailbox in his yard. Rusty’d come over when he'd seen us climb out of the cellar. There wasn’t a tornado warning this time, but Daddy always ushered us over to the Johnson’s cellar whenever the sky was tainted green.

  Rusty was on a higher branch than Katy, determined not to be out done. Mrs. Johnson had already called Katy down twice, but she showed no sign of giving in. Katy didn’t like to lose any more than I did.

  “Katy Marie Johnson, you get out of that tree or so help me I will take a hickory switch to your legs,” Mrs. Johnson yelled, leaning over the porch railing. “I swany-to-my-goodness, that girl is going to be the death of me,” she complained, plopping back in the rocker next to Mama.

  Katy’s face was as red as beet when she finally dropped to the ground. “You win,” she yelled up the tree. “I should’ve known better than to have a climbing contest with a monkey anyway.”

  Rusty was down the tree in a flash, chasing Katy clear across the field. She’d liked him since last summer, but she’d die before admitting it. I’d only found out because I'd caught her scribbling his name in the back of her notebook.

  “Oh no, John Tyler, don’t let them out!” I said, reaching for the opened jar in his small hand, but it was too late. The little black legs had already scurried to the rim of the jar and taken flight before I could get it.

  “Back. Back,” he cried, grabbing the air.

  “They’re too high,” I said, jumping up to catch the last one in sight.

  “Here you go, JT.” It was the high school boy, Thomas. He opened his fist and dropped two new bugs into John Tyler's jar. John Tyler quickly twisted the lid on. “Now, don’t take the lid off again or they’ll fly away,” Thomas warned to a very serious faced John Tyler.

  “Why?” John Tyler asked, his sticky hands leaving chocolate smudges where he gripped the glass.

  “Because they don’t like to be locked up,” Thomas said, stooping down to John Tyler’s level. “If you had wings wouldn’t you want to fly?”

  John Tyler studied over the question, tapping on the glass until the bug crawling up the side hit the bottom. “Yep but I want to keep ‘em. I’ll let ‘em go before bedtime.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” Thomas smiled, rustling John Tyler’s hair.

  John Tyler left the jar on the bottom step and darted off through the yard, flapping his arms like he was flying. I suddenly felt childish and hid my own jar down by my side.

  “You see Rusty?” Thomas asked, glancing my way and causing my heart to beat a little faster.

  “Um,” I said, peering on my tiptoes across the field. “He was chasing after Katy a little while ago.

  “Which way did they go?” he asked, following my line of sight to the stalks that rolled like ocean waves from the gusty wind.

  “Just th
rough the corn field. Do you want me to help you find them?”

  He looked up at the porch where I knew Daddy was watching.

  “You need something, son” Daddy asked, coming down the front steps, the soft glow of his cigarette lighting the way.

  “Just looking for Rusty, sir.”

  “Daddy this is—"

  “Thomas Baldwin,” the boy cut me off. “I’m staying with the Tyners.”

  “Marshal Parker." Daddy stuck out his hand, the glow of the cigarette bobbing as it dangled from his lips. Nice to meet you Thomas.”

  “Is it okay if I help him find Rusty?” I usually didn’t have to ask permission to go with my friends as long as we stayed on our land, but the way Daddy was sizing Thomas up, it felt like the right thing to do.

  Daddy rubbed his chin and glanced back at Mama using their special silent language. I never saw Mama move a muscle, but Daddy must’ve seen something I didn’t, because he sighed, shook his head and said, “I suppose so, just don’t be gone too long. It’s getting late.” Luckily, Thomas had his hands jammed in his pockets, staring at his feet and didn’t see Daddy’s reluctance to let me go with him. For the first time, I noticed Thomas was nearly as tall as Daddy.

  Thomas followed as I started away from the house, but I didn’t dare turn back until we were out of sight from watchful eyes. The corn stalks provided a haven from the eight looking after us from the porch. I glanced back at Thomas and tried to see what had made Daddy act so strangely before. He usually got along with my friends. Besides being tall, Thomas wasn’t so much different than the other boys around here, conceited, still a bit gangly with dirt under his nails. Although, his ever changing eye color was a different shade of green than I'd ever seen on a boy, like new grass in the spring, and the few times I'd been close to him, he'd smelled fresh, like he'd just taken a bath. That was definitely something new, but nothing to fret over. Thomas smiled crookedly when he caught me staring. Heat rose from my chest, and I quickly looked away.

  Okay, maybe that was new.

  “Don’t your feet hurt,” he asked, frowning at my bare feet.

  I glanced down at my dirty feet, the pink polish chipping in places. I never wore shoes in the summer, unless I was doing chores. “Not much,” I shrugged.

  “I got cut once, stepped on a broken bottle,” he said. “If you’d ever picked glass out of your foot with a sewing needle, you’d put on a pair of shoes.”

  “Yeah, we don’t run into too many glass bottles out here in the fields, just corn husks mostly.

  “Where were you when it happened," I asked, sneaking a peek at him from beneath my lashes. "The glass, I mean.”

  “Just the neighborhood around my house,” he said, walking slow enough to keep pace with me. His legs were a good bit longer than mine, but he didn’t seem to be in any great rush to find Rusty. I wasn’t either.

  “Idiots always threw garbage out into the street,” he said, his voice taking on a slight edge as he snapped one of the stalks by his side.

  “I wouldn’t let my daddy see you do that.”

  He looked absently at his hand as if he were surprised to find the broken stalk there. “Oh, sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, feeling foolish for scalding him. I stretched onto my tiptoes and peered over the stalks for Katy and Rusty. “I know they came this way.”

  “I’m not in a hurry,” he said absently. “It sounded like your daddy was though.”

  “Sorry about that. He usually isn’t so uptight.”

  “I’m used to it,” he shrugged. “It kind of goes with the whole foster kid thing.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” I said, wondering why he’d come to that conclusion so quickly. “He likes Rusty just fine. You’re just new is all,” I frowned. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about my family. Daddy, like Mr. Johnson, got along really well with all the kids around here. Daddy hadn’t had the easiest childhood himself.

  “It’s cool,” he said, giving my ponytail a playful tug. “You’re probably right.” He took off the straw-colored cowboy hat he was wearing and ran his fingers through his short, brown hair. “I needed to get out of that house,” he sighed before putting the hat back on.

  “You don’t like the Tyner’s?” I asked surprised. Rusty had never said a bad word about them. Of course, Rusty didn’t talk about anything but mud-bogging and frog- gigging.

  “You know much about them?” Thomas questioned with a sideways glance.

  “They seem nice enough. I’ve seen Mr. Tyner checking the mail, and he always smiles and says hello.”

  “You know, Breelynn— Can I call you Bree?” he asked. “Breelynn’s kind of a mouthful.” I shrugged indifferently, even though my stomach fluttered a little when he said it. “A smile doesn't make someone a nice person.”

  Before I had a chance to ask what he meant, he stuck out his arm keeping me from stepping on Rusty and Katy who were horizontal between two rows of corn. My mouth dropped open as they scrambled to get upright. They’d definitely gotten over their argument.

  “Sorry guys,” Thomas smirked, trying and failing to hold back a laugh.

  Katy shoved Rusty and tried to play it off, but I’d already seen them kissing. Rusty had a smug grin on his face, and Katy looked like she wanted to burrow into the ground and die. I pulled a piece of corn silk from her hair while she dusted the back of her shorts. I didn’t know what to say. This was the last thing I expected to find.

  “If you tell anyone,” she started, her cheeks flush as she combed through her blond hair with her fingers.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Thomas said innocently, holding his hands in the air.

  “I’m trying to forget,” I grumbled, stepping away from them.

  I wondered if it was the first time they’d kissed. Katy and I told each other everything, but I didn’t even know she knew how to kiss like that. From the looks of it, she’d had a lot of practice.

  “He attacked me,” she said quickly as if the idea just came to her.

  “Oh, I did not,” Rusty said rolling his eyes.

  “Yes, you did!” Katy said dramatically, her finger wagging in his face. “And if you tell anyone about this, that is just what I’ll say. The police will lock you up, Rusty Tyner. Do you want to go to jail?”

  “Grow up, Katy,” Rusty brushed her off. “Or I’ll tell Breelynn…”

  “You shut your big, fat mouth right now, Rusty Tyner, or I will make sure your bloodline ends with you!” Katy charged at him, balling her fists.

  “Slow down you two,” Thomas said still laughing as he stepped in to block Katy's path.

  Katy finally gave in and stalked back to her house while Thomas pulled Rusty over to the side. “We’re on our own tonight,” he said in a hushed voice just loud enough for me to hear. “What do you usually do on nights like this?” Rusty’s eyes grew wide, and he shook his head, gesturing toward me.

  “I can take off,” I offered, taking a step in the other direction.

  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Thomas said, shaking his head for me to stay. “It happened at my last place, too. Do you have a stash somewhere or what?”

  Rusty looked at me grudgingly, like he wished I’d turn into a scarecrow. “There’s peanut butter crackers and a couple of cans of tuna fish in the top cabinet over the washer and dryer. It’s behind the bleach.”

  “Wait a minute.” I stepped forward, the realization of what they were talking about dawning on me. “You guys don’t have anything to eat? Where are the Tyners?”

  Rusty's face reddened as he clinched his fists. “See what I mean,” he snapped. “Now, she’ll go run her mouth, and I’ll be sent away. I know the Tyner’s aren’t saints, but I like it here.”

  “Bree’s not going to say anything,” Thomas said, putting his hand on Rusty’s shoulder to calm him before turning back to me. The green in his eyes caught a glimmer of moonlight as he looked to me for confirmation.
“We can trust her.”

  And the moment his eyes met mine, I knew he was right. I’d never tell a soul. Their secret was now my secret. No one had ever trusted me with anything like this before. I didn’t think I knew anyone who had secrets like these. It felt wrong not to tell. It was wrong. Sure, Thomas was seventeen, but the Tyner’s were supposed to be his parents. My parents would’ve never left me with nothing to eat.

  Rusty was about to come out of his skin. I’d seen him mad like this once at school. He’d turned his desk over and been sent to the principal because someone had stolen the pencil from his book-bag.

  “How far is the nearest store,” Thomas asked, not as bothered by the vein protruding in Rusty’s forehead as I was.

  “About five miles,” I said. “And that’s just a gas station. The nearest grocery store is twenty miles toward town.” We only went to the grocery store a couple of times a month. I’d been watching Mama carefully the last few times. Daddy said I could go in by myself after the baby came.

  Thomas pulled a roll of bills out of the side of his shoe, and I thought Rusty’s eyes were going to pop out of his head.

  “What’d you do, rob a bank?” Rusty gasped.

  Thomas smirked and lightly smacked him in the back of the head. “No, you dope. I had a job at my last place. I stocked shelves at a furniture warehouse. I hated to give it up. It paid pretty good.”

  “I can see that,” Rusty said, the lack of food at his house clearly forgotten.

  Thomas kicked at the dirt. “Guess there’s no chance of finding work around here in the sticks. We’ll just have to make this last,” he said, counting the money. “There’s still several hundred. I just need enough to get through the next school year.” Satisfied that it was all there, he rolled the bills and stuck them back in his shoe. “Just two more years and that diploma will be in my hand. That’s the only reason I haven’t taken off for good.”

  “Can’t you just quit?” I asked. I was sure Daddy did that in the tenth grade...or maybe it was the eleventh.

  “I didn’t go this long not to get that piece of paper,” he said smugly. “Without it, I’d probably just end up like the Tyner’s.”