“Can I use your bathroom quick?” I asked. I felt intrusive, asking this way, but it was that or go find a place to squat out amongst the sagebrush.
“Of course,” he said, tucking the orange cat under his arm. “Just to warn you…I wasn’t exactly expecting company…”
I rolled my eyes at him.
He smiled a little and clarified, “Your place was so clean today…”
“I just don’t have a lot to do in the evenings,” I said. “Normally I live in complete squalor.”
He laughed a little at my words. His yard was in shade at this point in the afternoon, only the top half of the barn bisected by the bright, slowly-sinking sun. Case led the way to his trailer, a green and white double-wide; the chili-pepper lights were strung in two rows above the screen door, which sang on its hinges as he opened it for me, taking me instantly back to the porch at Shore Leave, where the door always made the same sound.
Inside, my eyes roved all over his home. There was an undoubted intimacy to seeing someone’s space in this fashion. I might as well have peered into closets and underwear drawers while I was at it.
Case said, not following me inside, “On the right, down that hall.”
He retreated to feed the animals; I watched him out the window before moving in the direction he’d indicated. The windows were all open a good six inches, allowing the scent of sage into the interior. The walls were paneled in wood, the carpet in the living room a burnt-orange. There was a small television, an old leather couch with a bed pillow at one end; did he sleep out here?
The small kitchen had one table, three chairs, dishes stacked in the sink, probably a week’s worth. I trailed my fingers along the counter as I moved slowly through his house, picturing him leaning against it drinking coffee in the mornings, as the sun spilled through the east-facing windows. Blinds, but no curtains. Pictures on a lone shelf; I was drawn to these as though they were magnetized.
A couple of shots of him performing with the Rawleys, one from a long time ago, as he looked the way I remembered him from Camille’s wedding. And then, my heart seizing up, I spied a small wallet-sized photo, tucked like an afterthought into the edge of a larger frame, of him and Lynnette. Before I could question the wisdom (I had less than no right, it was so not my business) I lifted it from the shelf and studied the image.
An engagement picture, maybe. She was facing him, hands on his shoulders, and they were both smiling into the camera, outside somewhere, sunlight dusting their hair. She was pretty. Really pretty, with soft brown eyes and full pink lips, and I hated that I cared. Under the sunlight in the picture Case’s hair appeared afire, sparking with reds and golds. He seemed to be smiling genuinely; he appeared happy.
God, you are a selfish, selfish little bitch, I told myself harshly, tucking the picture back into place, feeling as though images of my fingerprints covered it visibly, incriminating, my rudeness on display. Of course he didn’t spend all these years longing for you.
But he wrote a song for me once.
I bet he wrote plenty of songs for her too.
Grow up, Tish, Jesus Christ.
I found the bathroom and could hardly meet my own gaze in the mirror. The space was tiny and cramped, tiled in greens that spoke of the 70s. It wasn’t really messy, just full of the evidence of the man who lived here. I imagined that woman, Lynnette, living here too, but pushed the nauseating thought away. The shower curtain was drawn aside, a lone bottle of shampoo on its side on a shelf built into the tiles. I flushed the toilet and then found myself lifting the bottle to my nose to inhale; it smelled spicy and just like him, and I closed my eyes.
A straight-blade razor on the counter, a large dark-blue towel hanging from a single towel rack, curled-up bottle of toothpaste, and to my chagrin, a pair of black boxers scrunched into the corner behind the door, as though carelessly tossed aside. Near these was the t-shirt he’d been wearing last night, at the fair. I bit my lip, hard, and carefully washed my hands, in a hurry now, feeling more like a trespasser than ever.
But then, after I used his towel to dry my hands, I bent, scooped up his soft old t-shirt, and pressed it directly to my face. Again I was inundated with the scent of him and I kept my face there, my heart quaking. It was only as I heard the screen door sing on its hinges for a second time that I snapped to motion, letting the shirt fall back to the floor, almost tripping over myself to scurry back out to the living room.
Case barely looked at me as he stepped inside, moving to the fridge and extracting a can of mineral water, which he held to the side of his neck. He was even more disheveled than he’d been checking my oil, bits of hay clinging to his jeans and t-shirt, his hat on the kitchen table. Sweat trickled along his temples as he cracked open the can and drank about half of it, then backhanded his lips. I had never wanted to throw myself into someone’s arms more desperately in my entire life. Sweat snaked down my spine in a hot, wet line.
Still without a glance my direction, he asked, “Are you thirsty? I’ve got my tools in the truck, so we can head out anytime.”
So casual, so polite. Of course he had no idea what I had just done in his bathroom, taking ridiculous liberties. He had no idea that I was vibrating with desire, just a few yards from him, and he would not know these things, as I had no right to act upon them. Less than no right to feel them, really. I told myself that it was because he had once flattered my vanity, that no one before or since had said such things to me – that I was meant for them, that they had written a song for me.
You don’t deserve him, I realized. He’s way too good for you. You have casual sex with men you hardly care about, men you’ve never considered loving, just for the orgasm. Just because. And he’s someone who loves with his whole heart.
I was beginning to understand that fully.
And I had lost my chance with him, long ago.
And it was clear he no longer felt the same way about me that he once had.
Besides, he belongs here. And you belong in Chicago.
“Thanks,” I said, around a slight husk in my throat. Case handed me a can of the water and it was all I could do not to hold it to my own neck. He collected his hat from the table and let the orange cat inside as he went out; there was nothing I could do but follow, looking over my shoulder at his kitchen, one last time, before the door creaked closed behind me.
Rumbling along in his truck a minute later, I sipped the can of bubbly water and watched the foothills in the distance. I said, “The other night, standing out here, I felt like Montana doesn’t know what year it actually is.”
He angled me a glance and said, “I know just what you mean. When I ride, it could be a hundred years ago, more than that. Sometimes I even imagine that it is, for whatever reason.”
“Mathias said he felt like you guys had known each other forever,” I said. “I know he wishes you could hang out more often.”
“Yeah, that very first night we all met, when he sang with us at The Spoke, I had that feeling. Like he’d been my friend before I even knew him. Garth felt the same. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess some things you can’t explain.”
My heart pounded hard at these words but I realized we were approaching the wizard rock. I said, “There, out by that big rock formation shaped like a T,” and he braked instantly, drawing the truck to the shoulder. I indicated with my can. “Out that way, that’s where the SUV was parked last Friday.”
“There’s the old access road out there,” he said, peering out the passenger window. “Garth and Marsh and I used to play out there, by that rock, all the time. It was kind-of like our clubhouse.”
“So this is still your property.”
“Yes, for another mile or so,” he affirmed. “What the fuck were they doing out there?”
“Something low down and dirty,” I guessed. “That would be my first assumption, given what I think about Derrick Yancy.”
“Let’s drive out there,” he said. “Hold on.”
He turned the tires on
to the shoulder and then we were bumping over the uneven ground, Case avoiding the larger clumps of brush. I braced one hand on the seat between us, not daring to sip from my water for fear of inundating myself with liquid. We came to a gravel road and he turned onto this, both of us looking for any clue.
Case said, with a touch of self-deprecation, “Am I stupid enough to think that Yancy would have left a sign? He’s careful. Whatever he’s looking for, it won’t be obvious.”
I sighed a little, agreeing. “I’d bet he wasn’t even out here the other night. He seems like the kind who’d have others do his dirty work.”
“You’re a good sport,” he told me then, sitting with his left forearm braced over the top of the steering wheel. “Now I’m feeling silly for asking you to stake out my property. Like you don’t have better things to do on a Friday.”
I stared at him, just this side of outright horrified; if he thought I was about to give up any amount of time to hang out with him, he was dead wrong. Though I kept my voice very neutral as I replied, “This is the kind of thing I will never, ever get a chance to do, back in Chicago. So please, don’t feel that way. I’m actually kind-of excited.”
His eyes held something, deep within, but he was so damn good at hiding things. Even if Clark hadn’t told me this, I would have known. But damned if I could tell what he was really feeling. He studied me silently and then his gaze lowered just a hair, to my lips, but only for the length of a breath. I felt punched in the gut, even as his eyes moved instantly back out the window.
Damn, damn, damn you, I thought, not certain if I was talking to myself or to him.
“Well, your car isn’t getting fixed with me sitting here,” he said, all business again.
“You’re right,” I muttered, and this time really did hold the cold can to my neck.
***
Case swapped out the battery as the sun sank behind the law office and sunset decorated the sky. I leaned against the hood on the far side and took great pleasure in covertly observing him. My cotton dress was grimy, but I didn’t care. I handed him tools; I knew what was what in a toolbox, thanks to Uncle Justin. He had made all of us learn how to change oil, change a tire, drive a stick shift. Clint and Ruthie had been eager, while I was a grudging student at best; I liked it much better when Uncle Justin took us out in the motor boat, letting Clint, Ruthie and I take turns driving.
“You know, I was just wishing we were close enough to Flickertail Lake to jump in,” I said.
Case said, without looking up, “That’s the lake by your family’s café, right?”
“Yes. God, it’s perfect this time of night.”
“You sound homesick,” he observed.
“Maybe a little,” I admitted.
“But that’s not where you plan to live?”
I shook my head, then, realizing he wasn’t looking directly at me, said, “No.” My voice was soft. “I hope to have a good job offer at Ron Turnbull’s firm. And I’ve put in my time at his firm already, the past two summers. It won’t be easy, but I’m a fast learner. And I know how to work hard.” Case was listening silently. I went on, not sounding particularly convincing, “I really do love Chicago. I’m flying back next week to take the bar exam, actually. Shit, that came fast.”
Bent over my open hood, Case did look at me then, his eyes searching my face. He said, quietly, “Can you hand me the smaller pliers?”
“Sure,” I said.
“But you’ll be back out, after that? Through August, you said?”
My throat felt tight. Our fingers brushed as I passed him the tool and I said faintly, “Through Labor Day weekend.”
He nodded silently at this information.
I babbled on, “I don’t have a place to live there yet, so I’ll probably stay with my dad and his wife, Lanny, for a while anyway. You should see her, she’s like a caricature. Everything false. Fake lips, fake breasts, fake nails, hair extensions, but classy ones, not the dime-store kind.” I didn’t know why I was going on in this fashion. I didn’t know why all I could think about was how fucking much I was going to miss this place. And how much I wanted Case to stand up and curl me against his chest.
Case said, “Your dad must be into appearances.”
“Yeah,” I reflected. “He’s materialistic. But he’s not a bad guy. I mean, there are worse things than that.”
“That’s for sure,” Case agreed, and I thought of Owen Spicer and knew that this was utterly true. My father may be shallow, but at least I knew he loved me, in his own way. Watched out for me.
“There’s Derrick,” I said then, suddenly spying the black 4x4 rolling down Main Street. Case straightened up and together we watched as the big vehicle, with its tinted windows, halted at the stoplight.
“He’s a weasel,” Case said. “He’s a weasel and a bully, both, and damned if I’m going to let him fuck us over around here.”
I shivered a little at the tone in his voice; he was so reassuring, confident of his position, and I loved that. No one would push him around. I was glad I could help him, at least for this summer.
This one summer…
The 4x4 was headed our way now, on the opposite side of the street, and the driver’s side window lowered smoothly at the touch of a button inside the vehicle. Slowing down, Derrick leaned to call over to us, “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
When neither of us responded, Derrick grinned, flashing white teeth, and accelerated away.
“What a prick,” I said.
“You can say that again,” Case muttered, before changing the subject and saying, “You want to fire her up? You should let it run for a good half hour, let the new battery charge.”
I imagined him leaving me here, now that there was no logical excuse to stick around, driving back out to his place and caring for his animals, making supper for himself, eating as he maybe watched TV. Would he take Cider out for a ride? Would he sleep on that lonely pillow on the couch? Or would he prowl his yard, restless in the dark, waiting for a sight of the black 4x4 with Colorado plates?
Let me come back with you. Oh God, I can’t stand the thought of you going there without me, too. I want to wrap your towel around my naked body, after you make love to me in your shower. And on all fours on your bed. And then on the kitchen table…the living room rug…
Oh my God.
I felt just this side of outright insane. A large, hot, and tightly-gripping fist seemed to be squeezing all sense from my brain; my nipples were nearly jutting through the material of my dress. I realized I was staring at him with all of these thoughts rioting through me, and almost jumped in my haste to move to the driver’s side, to break the intensity of my imagination.
Tish.
Get a fucking hold on yourself.
I leaned in the window and turned over the key; the engine sputtered a little and then caught, and the Honda sprang to life.
“That’s a good little four-cylinder in there,” Case said, closing the hood gently. “Once you get home, let her run for another fifteen minutes.”
I nodded inanely.
He said, “I’ll see you tomorrow night, at Clark’s.”
The time between this moment and that one was more than an eternity. I found my voice and said, “Thank you again, for everything. You’re a lifesaver.”
He shrugged as though it was nothing; was that a pleased expression in his eyes? I hoped so. I squelched the fierce urge to touch him and instead curled my hands around the top edge of the open window.
I asked, “Do you play again, tonight?”
“Not until Saturday,” he said, collecting his tools. He regarded me for just a second longer, then slipped his sunglasses into place, toolbox in hand.
“See you tomorrow,” I said, not quite able to offer a smile.
He tipped his hat brim at me and then left me standing there beside my car, alone.
Chapter Eleven
It was sometime after midnight when I came awake to the grumble of thunder. The living room was
icy enough that goosebumps broke out all along my arms and I shivered, stumbling from the couch to close the sliding glass door to the porch, effectively shutting out the cold draft. It had not yet started raining, though the scent of it was heavy in the air. On second thought, I grabbed the blanket from the back of couch, where I’d fallen asleep yet again, and wrapped it around myself, then headed out onto my solo chair near the railing.
I curled up and watched the sky; even in the darkness it was fearsome-looking, an anvil cloud suddenly backlit by a sizzle of lightning. I shivered again, wrapping more securely into the blanket. Thunder growled, ever increasing, as though a vindictive giant was dragging its feet in the direction of Jalesville, intent on smashing it apart. I thought of sitting on the dock at Shore Leave, with Ruthann and Clint, watching storms roll across Flickertail Lake, pock-marking the water and creating whitecaps. I had always found a thrilling joy in the sound of thunder; something within me that longed for danger found it appealing.
Case.
I curled arms around my knees and let myself acknowledge who I truly wanted to be thinking about, knowing there was no point in doing otherwise.
Are you awake right now?
I wish you were here with me right now.
I want to be in your arms.
I thought of how I’d touched him last weekend, around the fire, how I had put my fingertips on his back, the way he’d held my forearm in his hands just today. I thought of breathing the scent of him from his shampoo bottle, his t-shirt, the insanity of that.
Oh God, Case, come over here. Please, just come be near me.
Tish.
Where is this coming from?
Was it loneliness? Lack of physical contact? Maybe this meant I needed to get back to Chicago that much more quickly. That perhaps after the bar exam next week I could find an excuse to stay there, in the city…
Oh, God…
No…
I pressed my fists to my eyes just as another crackly burst sounded off, much closer this time. I held that pose for long moments, blocking my vision, longing for him when again I recognized with sterling clarity that I had no right. Not when I was returning to the life I was supposed to live, come the end of summer. And then I suddenly realized something and sat up straight, crackling with awareness.
The First Law of Love Page 19
