Rogue Touch

by Woodward, Christine

  “OK,” he said, even though he’d already closed his eyes to settle down to sleep.

  “When I first met you, you seemed kind of… down on your luck. And now you’ve got plenty of money.”

  James sat up. He furrowed his brow a little, like he was trying to work out how to answer my question without addressing the larger ones that surrounded it. “Well,” he said slowly. “The first time I saw you, I hadn’t been in Mississippi very long. I was still trying to figure out how things worked.”

  “How’d you know to get all that stuff to scam the food stamp system?”

  “I was staying in Smith Park. There were other people sleeping there, and one of them noticed I didn’t have anything to eat. He gave me a bag of apples, and then that paperwork. Told me where to go to get the food stamps.”

  “So how’d you get from there to that big stack of cash?”

  “One thing about me is, I’m very good with machines. Like those computers you saw me using in the library.”

  “You saw me in the library?”

  He ignored this. “In Kroger, I saw those little cards people use, to pay for things. I watched people take cash out of those windows…”

  “ATMs?”

  “Yes, of course, ATMs.” James went on, telling me how on the computer he’d typed in one of the names of the banks he’d seen on an ATM, and set up an account for himself.

  “You created a phony bank account? But James, that’s just like stealing.”

  He shrugged. “From what I can see, it’s just numbers on the computer. Very odd form of currency. Also very easy to replicate. All I had to do was type in numbers. The bank thinks those numbers are how much money I have. Anything I buy, the person selling it gets paid. Though I guess it is stealing from the bank.”

  I looked at James, his big blue eyes starting to droop shut, and I thought about all the houses in Caldecott that the banks had foreclosed on in the past couple years, even after they got that bailout money from the government. Aunt Carrie sometimes had to call about late mortgage payments herself, and they never showed her an ounce of mercy. And once I’d overheard Emma Deane Wilford’s mama on the phone with them, pleading to lower her credit card payments, but they wouldn’t budge even though her husband was out of work. Truth was I did not mind James’s little scam at all, not in the slightest. Stealing from crooks to save my skin felt just fine to me.

  “You go on and get your beauty rest,” I told him. “I got some miles to cover.”

  The thing in the world Cody loved most was cars, fixing them and also driving them. But he never got to do what I was doing, just pressing my foot down on the pedal and heading into the great wide yonder. While James napped, I zoomed from one highway to another, heading north. Places I’d dreamed of visiting all my life just flashed by my window. There went Memphis and all that barbeque people said was so delicious, plus Graceland. Then I veered east, whooshing past Nashville and the Grand Ole Opry, and on up into Kentucky. At least there I could see the pretty grass and sometimes even horses from the road. Mostly the whole world passed me by in a blur of trees and highway signs. Under different circumstances I’d have liked to make the very same trip in days instead of hours, stopping to try food and music and sights along the way.

  James woke up somewhere in Kentucky. I was real glad, because my stomach had been growling for hours but I didn’t want to wake him.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” I said. “You feeling hungry?”

  He blinked, groggy, and ran his hand over his head, smoothing his long hair into place. “Sure,” he said. “I could eat.”

  It was pretty rural, and starting to get dark. I expected him to complain about the direction, the fact that we were heading north, but he didn’t. He just picked up my jacket and put it over himself like an extra blanket. We didn’t find anyplace to eat till we were almost in West Virginia, where I pulled over at a little barbeque place that looked like it had been nailed together out of plywood. It had chickens running around loose out front, and I wondered if they’d end up on tomorrow’s plates.

  There weren’t many people inside, just a table full of what looked like young farmers, and the old man behind the counter. Still it was noticeable how the place went quiet when James and I walked in. Despite the highway, I guess they didn’t get a whole lot of visitors who looked like us, all done up in leather, one with a pair of white skunk stripes in her hair. I ordered us two plates of pulled pork and collards and let James pay for it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out that wad of bills while I winced, reminding myself to mention that he shouldn’t be waving all that cash around. Old Gramps behind the counter narrowed his eyes, very suspicious, as James handed him some money.

  “You got a ten?” Gramps said. “I’m real low on change.”

  I think he was hoping James would tell him to just keep the extra money, but James didn’t catch on. Instead he started shuffling through that big pile of money and said at the top of his voice, “No, I don’t have any tens. I have tons of twenties, though.”

  I grabbed our tray of food and told Gramps to keep the change. Then I jerked my head, real pointed, for James to follow me. The men at the table had started to look more like thugs than farmers. I could see them watching us real close, but I tried to avoid looking their way as I stabbed a little pile of greens with my fork. Not that I felt particularly hungry anymore. Outside the sky had started to darken, and no other cars pulled into the lot. In other words, the perfect scenario for jumping us when we headed back to the car.

  “You know,” I said to James, real low. He was shoveling food into his mouth without a care in the world, “you might want to be a little more discreet about your cash.”

  He got this confused sort of look on his face and put his hand into his pocket, like instead of being discreet he planned on pulling it out for another look. I held up my hand. “Just don’t,” I said. “Keep it in your pocket. We’ll talk in the car.”

  He shrugged and kept on eating. Over at the other table, the farmers were collecting their trays. They didn’t look at us as they shuffled back to the counter and said good night to Gramps, and I calmed down enough to take a bite of my barbeque, hoping I was just being paranoid. It tasted real vinegary and kind of dry, and I sure did still regret not being able to try the barbeque in Memphis.

  By the time James and I walked out of the restaurant the night had gone completely dark, just the stars and a flickering street lamp lighting our way to the car. I’d pretty much calmed down about the farmers, or whoever they were, having heard a car pull away not long after they left. But apparently it had only been a couple of them, because two stayed behind and now were leaning against the driver’s side of the Camaro. The taller, wider one had a baseball bat and was sort of thumping it against his leg as we walked toward them.

  “Hey,” James said, real friendly, like he’d never seen a pair of thugs about to jump him before.

  “Hey yourself,” said the one with the baseball bat, sounding considerably less friendly. They both wore Carhartts, and wife beaters that showed off their farmer’s sunburns. They looked real young, not much older than me, and truthfully I felt a little sorry for them. As we’d driven off the highway to this barbeque place, the area had looked real depressed, lots of broken-down motor homes and sad little houses. Thinking of all the people who’d fallen on hard times back in Caldecott, I could almost sympathize with their wanting to jump us—weird-looking strangers flashing around fistfuls of cash. Which is not at all to say that I felt like getting smacked with that baseball bat.

  Meanwhile James stood there looking as friendly and relaxed as a person possibly could, just waiting for them to move so we could get into our car. He did not look like he had any intention of putting his considerable size and muscle into protecting himself, let alone me. Finally he just said, “Well, that’s our car.”

  The two of them laughed, and the smaller one—he had real bad acne—spit on the ground.

  “Is it?” said the one with the bas
eball bat. He lifted it up and gave his palm a couple slow whacks. “Maybe now you can tell me something I don’t know. Like whether you’d like to part with that wad of cash in your pocket.”

  “Oh,” James said, still not sounding afraid, or even bothered. “Do you need some cash?” It took every ounce of effort I had not to slap my forehead. Or slap him, for that matter.

  “Look,” I interrupted. “It’s real nice of y’all to welcome us to town this way. But it so happens we need that cash for our travels. So if you wouldn’t mind moving so we can get into our car, we’d sure appreciate it.”

  “Would you now?” said the one with the baseball bat.

  “Yeah,” I told him. “We would.”

  Not so long ago, when I had normal clothes and hair, this small town Southerner would have recognized me as one of his own. Back then I might have stood a chance of convincing him to let us go. But this was now, and I knew I looked to him like a citified freak. I decided in that moment to just go ahead and hand the money over, then get in the car and burn rubber.

  But I guess Baseball Bat Man didn’t realize I was about to surrender, because he stepped away from the car and drew that bat back over his shoulder and started to swing it straight at James.

  Now, I’m sure what happened next only took a couple seconds. But for some reason I could see every little piece of it, even at the time, just like a slow-motion replay. I remember that I expected James to do something, but he didn’t put up a fight at all. He just stood there, like he had no idea the bat swinging his way could break his skull wide open. So I knew that if we were going to move on to the next part of our journey, it would have to be me that did something. And all that something had to be was taking off my gloves and reaching out to touch these fellows, these men with their bare arms and shoulders, and both of them would be lying flat on the ground. After that they’d be in comas, all the things that made them them transferred into me. It wasn’t just because I didn’t want their memories that I did not go straight to that course of action. Because even as this all happened so fast, and at such possible harm to me and James, I also didn’t want two more bodies on my conscience.

  You couldn’t call it luck. But it did work out in our favor that I had Cody inside me, because Cody was fast, and strong, and knew how to use a baseball bat. So before the thug could connect with James, I stepped forward and kicked him in the stomach, my thick-soled boot protecting him from worse damage than losing his wind. The baseball bat clattered to the ground and I picked it up and held it over my shoulder.

  The thug with the acne took a step toward me and I didn’t hesitate, though I did hold back a little. I aimed for his knees, taking a low swipe like I was hitting a ground ball, and next thing both of them were lying on the pavement, but not for long.

  “Get in the car!” I screamed at James, who had pretty much just stood back and watched the whole thing. I tossed the bat and dove for the driver’s seat while he hustled around to the other side.

  “Jesus Christ!” I yelled at him. “You think you could’ve helped me out a little there?” As we pulled out of the parking lot, I could see Gramps, standing in the doorway with a shotgun in one hand and a phone in the other. You could bet when the local police arrived they wouldn’t be hearing our side of the story, and I knew I’d better hightail it out of West Virginia as fast as humanly possible.

  “I’m sorry,” James said, after a few minutes had gone by. “I just had no idea. I couldn’t see it coming, not until it was happening.”

  “Look,” I said, trying not to yell, “I don’t know how things work where you come from. But around here you can’t flash money around like that. Got it?”

  From the corner of my eye I could see him nod. I checked the rearview mirror for flashing red lights and felt slightly comforted. If the police hadn’t started chasing us by now, chances were the incident hadn’t been reported. Probably the guys who attacked us had as much reason as us to avoid the police. I took my eyes off the road for a second, because James’s face had gone white, completely white, like something very serious grieved him.

  “Next time I’ll be prepared,” he said. “I promise, Anna Marie. That’s the last time you’ll be the one protecting me.”

  I couldn’t be so sure about that one, but I nodded to make him feel better. “Let’s just leave it in the past,” I said. The thing was, James didn’t seem cowardly, or weak. He just seemed innocent. New. So I couldn’t find my way to being angry at him, or even disappointed.

  After a long silence in the dark car, the hum of the engine the only sound surrounding us, James said, “They were hungry. Those men. Weren’t they?”

  I thought of the great big plates of barbeque we’d seen them eat with our very own eyes. “Not hungry for food,” I said. “But yeah. Hungry is the right word for sure.”

  “This is a very violent world,” James said. His voice broke like he’d never noticed anything sadder.

  And even though I hated to quote our near-assailants, I couldn’t help myself. “Tell me something I don’t know,” I said.

  By the time we got to Pennsylvania, it had been dark a long while, and I knew we should stop and get some sleep. I’d never stayed in a hotel in my entire life, but I figured the wad of cash that had made us targets would buy an awful nice room, so I pulled up in front of the one that I thought looked fanciest.

  Something else I’d never done in my life? Sleep in the same room as a man. Thank goodness there were two beds is all I can say. While James went into the bathroom, I turned on the TV, trying to find some news. By now I’d stopped worrying about the men in the barbeque parking lot. And of course even if Wendy Lee were dead, and it was considered a murder, it seemed unlikely that the story would be on the news all the way in Altoona, Pennsylvania. So I gave up after a minute and decided to go downstairs and use the computer room I’d seen connected to the lobby. From inside the bathroom I could hear James running a tub. I knocked, trying to stop myself from wondering what state of undress he might be in.

  “Yes,” James said, from the other side of the door. I told him I was going downstairs to check the computer. “OK,” he said, like we’d been married twenty years. “See you in a bit.”

  The hotel computer room had a window that overlooked the outdoor swimming pool. It was dark out there, but I could see the shimmer off the water. How nice would it be to slip on a bathing suit? The last time I’d worn one, I’d gone over to Emma Deane Wilford’s house back in Caldecott. They had an aboveground pool in the backyard, and Emma Deane and her cousin and I had sat in the water wearing bikinis and drinking lemonade.

  What would I have done different that day if I’d known it was the last time I’d ever get to do such a thing? Sit beside friends in the cool water, our harmless skin hovering next to and sometimes brushing against one another’s?

  I turned my mind away from those thoughts and went to the Clarion-Ledger’s website. Surely if Wendy Lee were dead—a respectable, churchgoing business owner assaulted in her own bakery—it would be front page news. But all I could see was a bunch of articles about the Baptists opposing gay marriage and the football stadium expansion—pretty much the same boring stuff I read anytime I picked up that paper, which wasn’t very often. I clicked on the obituaries. Nothing. Of course there hadn’t been any obituary for Cody either. Not yet, anyway.

  Back in the hotel room, James sat on one of the beds, bundled up in a white robe, flicking through the channels. He’d cranked up the radiator so it was good and musky in the room. I sat down on the other bed, my feet on the floor, my knees just a few feet from his bare elbow. I took off my jacket. It felt good being with someone who knew not to touch me, even if he didn’t know why. I tried not to think about all the things I suddenly knew how to do, things I’d learned from Wendy Lee, and what all would happen if I reached over and pulled that robe off him. James flicked off the TV and tossed the remote onto the bed.

  “That was quite something,” he said. “The way you handled yourself ba
ck there. With those men.”

  I knew he meant it as a compliment, but I sure didn’t feel like saying thank you. “You mind if we don’t talk about it?” I said instead.

  “Sure,” he agreed. And then, out of the clear blue sky, he said, “You don’t look like an Anna Marie.”

  I snorted. “Really. Sorry to tell you I’ve been an Anna Marie since the day I was born. What all do you think I look like?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.”

  I smiled. Then I did something I hadn’t done in the presence of another person in what felt like forever. I took off my sweater. I had on a tank top underneath, so it’s not like I was naked, though considering the change that came over James’s face, you might have thought I was. He wasn’t shy about letting his eyes roam across my bare shoulders, my collarbone. I closed my eyes and imagined his hands doing the same. But not for long.

  “Hey,” I said, coming to my senses. “Aren’t you ever going to ask me why I’m on the run?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why I am?” he answered.

  This took me by surprise. I hadn’t thought of him as on the run. I thought of him as the person helping me escape. Probably it had to do with being on my own so long, not having to worry about anyone else. Or maybe because he’d seemed like such a misfit—such a visitor—there in the first place. I’d forgot he must have reasons all his own for just up and driving out of Jackson.

  “Well then,” I said. “Why are you on the run?”

  “I can’t tell you that.” He put his hands behind his head and kept on looking at me, like I was a great big milkshake he wanted to slurp right down. He had this real nice twinkle in his eye, and it was hard to imagine he was running from anything.

  “So, Anna Marie.” He said my name like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world, like I was named Hydrangea, or Moonbeam, or some such nonsense. “Why are you on the run?”

  I took a deep breath. For all James didn’t seem to mind the thought of scamming the welfare office, or stealing from a bank, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d cotton to hurting anyone, especially if I took what had happened in that parking lot as an example. So I needed to choose my words real carefully.