by Alison Ryan
“I have to get dinner started, Sarah. Hunt can take me home if you want to stay and catch up.”
“No, I want to be there when Daddy wakes up,” I replied. I wasn’t ready to be alone with Hayes.
He looked disappointed.
“I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon, if you’ll be home,” Hayes offered.
“You must plan to work on them guns all night if you think you’ll be done by then,” Hunt interjected, and Hayes waved him off.
“Is that okay with you?” he asked. He looked like a puppy hoping for a treat.
“I’d like that,” I lied. It was the last thing I needed. Being around Hayes was a bad idea.
Yet what was I supposed to say?
Momma and I drove off, and I watched Hayes in the rear-view mirror until the house was out of sight. Suddenly, it was 2007 again. I felt a mixture of dread and excitement, all at once.
I glanced over and my mother had a smug, self-satisfied smile on her face.
I started to speak, to ask why she’d orchestrated that entire scene. But I kept my questions to myself and turned my face to my shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of grease, and sweat, that Hayes had deposited there.
Welcome the fuck back to Whitmer, I thought to myself.
4
As I rolled up the long driveway to the house, Momma sighed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I stopped the car and threw it into park. “Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” she said. “It creeps up on me fast. Would you mind if I took a nap, sweetie?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I need to catch up on some emails anyway. What else can I do?”
Our eyes met for a moment.
“Answer something for me,” she said. “Can you do that?”
“It depends,” I said, slowly. “On the ‘something’.”
“Do you miss Hayes Calloway?” she asked.
God, what was it with her and her obsession with Hayes? He’d just been my high school boyfriend. How many mothers still gave their daughters grief about long lost high school love? A lifetime had happened since then.
I was lying to myself, of course. He wasn’t “just” anything.
At one time, he’d been everything.
“I miss the past,” I conceded. “I miss the days before… we lost him.”
It was the closest I’d come to talking about Kevin in a long time.
Momma’s eyes teared up for a moment. “Me too, baby.”
I couldn’t cry in front of her. She was going through so much and I knew if I allowed the tears to fall, they may never stop.
“Let’s get you inside,” I said. I shut my door before she could reply and walked to her side of the car to help her out.
“Thanks, baby,” she said, leaning on me for support as we walked up the steps to the house. “Good Lord, I can still hear your daddy snoring. Even from way out here.”
I laughed. “It’s kind of crazy how loud he gets.”
“Kevin used to snore too,” she said. “Especially if he had a bad cold.”
“I remember,” I replied. “It’s why I started sleeping with headphones on.”
We both laughed as we walked back to the bedroom she’d shared with my father for the last almost 40 years of their lives. It still looked exactly the same, with a king-size bed and a wooden headboard and footboard taking up most of the room. My granddaddy had it made for them as a wedding present. I ran my hand over the curve of the wood, marveling at the craftsmanship.
The bed was perfectly made. Momma always did that first thing in the morning. Before anything else.
“A well-made bed means you have a well-made life,” she’d tell me.
As Momma got settled in the room, a wave of nostalgia hit me. I’d spent so much time in here, having talks with my mom as she brushed and braided my hair as a little girl.
I’d gotten ready for prom in this room.
I’d held my mother in this bed the night we’d found out about Kevin.
It still smelled like potpourri and Chanel No. 5.
My momma may have lived in the country, but she always smelled like a million bucks.
As I helped tuck her in, she pulled me in for a hug.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered into my hair. “You’re what I dream of when I sleep, my baby girl.”
I smiled. “I love you.”
As I pulled away she spoke again, “Will you do me one favor?”
“Of course,” I replied, sitting down at the edge of the bed.
“The truck,” she said. “Your daddy has been so out of sorts and I can’t climb into it… Will you go in the garage and turn over the engine for me? Make sure it’ll still start? Your daddy usually does it, but I don’t think he’s done it in a good, long while. If it doesn’t turn over, I’ll need to get Rick out to look at it. Or maybe Ron.”
My stomach dropped.
“Kevin’s truck?” I asked, my mouth dry. “You still have it?”
She nodded. “Of course. I have to take care of his truck, it’s the closest thing he ever had to a child. You know how much he loved it.”
I sighed. She was really hitting me with a lot today.
“Okay,” I said. “I can do that. If you promise to sleep.”
“I will. But get me up by five, I need to make dinner.”
“You don’t need to do anything,” I said, standing up. “I’ll take you and Daddy out to dinner tonight.”
Momma laughed, “Where? The Waffle Hut? That’s the only place open in Whitmer.”
“What about The Pruitt Café?” I asked.
“It closed about five years ago,” she replied. “The recession hit it. Betty couldn’t keep up with the bills. It’s a Dollar General now.”
“Well, we’ll think of something,” I said as I walked over to her bedroom door. “Sleep, Momma.”
As I gently closed her door, I could already hear her soft, ladylike snores.
Kevin had been famous for a lot of things. His good looks, his charming smile, and his prowess on the football field and with the girls of Whitmer, the ones who huddled together in the stands on Friday nights to watch him throw and avoid getting sacked by the large, corn-fed defensive linemen that our part of Montana seemed to be very good at producing.
I’d been famous only by association, of course. I was surprised anyone knew my actual name. I’d always gone by “Kevin Acres’ little sister” growing up.
But I hadn’t minded. I was proud to share his DNA, though I’d often wondered how it was possible we had the same parents. He was bigger than life.
I was just a background player in the movie that was him.
Anyway, Kevin was also famous for his truck. He’d saved every dime he’d made since middle school working at Mitch’s Hardware, where he stocked on weekends and in his rare off-seasons.
Dad had taken him into Great Falls one Saturday to see what he could buy for the little money Kevin had, expecting to have to subsidize his meager savings.
To our surprise, Kevin had found something on his own, a standard cab Chevy with blue interior and a two-toned blue exterior. It had a cassette player and working heat. That’s all that mattered to my parents. It got pretty cold in Whitmer and Momma had insisted that if he was going to buy something old, it at least needed to keep him warm.
That Saturday afternoon I’d sat on the porch with Hayes, waiting for them to drive up our drive in Kevin’s new wheels. I was 11 years old and Hayes was just my friend back then. We’d known each other since we were little kids, our mothers had taught Sunday School together.
We were still a few years away from being hopelessly in love with each other.
Hayes had heard my big brother was getting a truck and he’d begged me to let him come over and see it.
“You think Kevin might take me muddin’?” he asked as we sat on the steps, both bundled up in parkas. I shrugged.
“I don’t know,” I replied, looking out at the horizon. “Maybe.”
<
br /> Hayes was one of Kevin’s many sycophants. He thought Kevin hung the moon. He wasn’t wrong about that; I felt the same, but sometimes it was annoying to hear people drip so much praise over someone you lived with every day.
Suddenly I heard them. In the distance, I could see Daddy’s Ford rumbling up the drive and another truck further behind him.
“He’s here, Momma!” I called into the house. “They’re back!”
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the smile Kevin wore as he pulled up in his most prized possession of all time. Pride was painted all over his handsome face and he practically flew out of the truck and into my momma’s arms, swinging her around as she yelped.
“Goodness!” she said as he set her down. “My boy is now a man. You’re a foot taller than me and now you own your own truck. I’m so proud of you, baby.”
“Thanks, Momma,” Kevin said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Truthfully, “she” wasn’t. She was a 1992 edition and had over 250 thousand miles on her worn chassis and nearly-bald tires. But I understood why Kevin loved her. She represented freedom in a small town. And since he’d paid for her without any help, she belonged completely to him.
So many people wished they could have said the same.
Hayes was practically jumping out of his skin next to me. Kevin grinned at us. I just rolled my eyes, embarrassed at my friend’s excitement.
“Wanna go for a ride, guys?” Kevin asked. “Help me test her out?”
Hayes was in the cab within 5 seconds.
I looked at my brother, who put his arm around me.
“You’re going to drive us first?” I asked. “Don’t you want to pick up one of your girlfriends or something?”
He laughed. “Don’t you know, Sarah? You’re the only girl I love. You and Momma.” He looked over at Hayes who was clutching the steering wheel, gazing out the window and day dreaming of a future where he’d have his own truck. “Besides, Hayes looks like he’s about to piss himself. Might as well give you kids a thrill.”
I hugged him, something I rarely did. My skinny arms barely made it around his muscled waist.
“Thanks, Kev,” I said. “Let’s take it out back! It rained last night, bet the muddin’ is good.”
And it was.
I hadn’t seen the truck in ten years. After Kevin had passed, Momma put it in the garage out back where we kept the lawnmower and various other farming equipment. Daddy drove it sometimes; from what I’d heard.
But it sounded like he hadn’t done it in a long time.
And now Momma wanted me to get in that truck full of memories and turn the ignition on. It sounded like a simple enough task, but as I approached the garage, my heart pounded in my chest, my palms sweaty.
Of all the things for her to ask of me! This was even more scary than seeing Hayes again.
I slid the garage door open. It was rusty, and it was a struggle to get it to move, like it hadn’t been opened in a while.
The smell of gasoline and grass hit me first. My dad’s riding mower sat before me, covered in cobwebs and dust.
And behind that, with stripes of sunbeams hitting it, sat Kevin’s truck.
Tears sprang to my eyes, something I hadn’t expected. It was a damn truck after all. And I was not someone to cry so easily.
But seeing his truck was like seeing Kevin himself. And it reminded me how much I missed him. How desperately I wished he was back, to find out that he’d never left us at all.
I opened the driver’s side door and slid into the seat. It was made of a blue, velour material and the corner of it was detaching, showing the yellow stuffing beneath it.
I slid my hands over the worn steering wheel, thinking about how many times I’d ridden in this truck next to my brother, his wrist hanging over the edge of the wheel, his other hand shifting the gears. Every now and then he’d spit tobacco into an empty Coke bottle. I was the only one who knew he dipped, Momma would have killed him if she’d known.
“Only rednecks chew tobacco!” she’d cry. “You’ll get mouth cancer, Kevin Acres!”
“We’re hillbillies,” he’d say, winking at me. “We live in the mountains, so I guess we’re above these things.”
“I’m being serious!” Momma said, swatting at him. “If I ever catch you chewin’ that nasty stuff, I’ll tan your hide. I’m your Momma, no matter how big you get. Remember that!”
And he did remember, because he never let her know, though I’m sure she had her suspicions. All the baseball players at Whitmer dipped, and my brother was no exception. Right after football season ended, he’d start training for the Spring season where he was the star pitcher for the Whitmer Warriors. Basketball came so naturally to him that he never had to work at it. He’d just show up and play. Pitching a baseball and throwing a football were different enough that he had to keep his shoulder maintained for whichever season was next. He kept a can of Skoal or Copenhagen in the glove compartment at all times, badly hidden under a wrinkled road map of Montana.
The memory hit me hard and I leaned over to open the glove compartment. A balled up Whitmer Warriors basketball practice jersey lay on the passenger side floorboard next to a half empty bottle of green Gatorade, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been Kevin’s.
As the glove compartment flipped open, my breath caught. Sure enough, there was an unopened can of Copenhagen sitting under that same stupid map, folded over it like it hadn’t moved in a decade.
I swallowed the first sob, but then there was no holding it back. It was like being inside a museum of his life. A life I’d loved so much.
I’d been sixteen years old when he’d joined the Army.
It had been completely unexpected. Kevin had been three months away from graduating from Montana State where he’d played second string quarterback and majored in Communications. He’d had big plans to try to break into Sports broadcasting and had already made incredible connections and completed a coveted internship at ESPN the summer before.
And all of a sudden, he wanted to put that on the backburner so he could enlist. It made no sense to any of us.
“Why?” Momma had asked. “You’ve got such great plans, baby. You’ve never talked about wanting to be in the Army.”
Kevin sighed. “I want to see the world. The parts that aren’t pretty, the parts of the world we’re sheltered from over here. I want to serve my country and give it all I have. It’s given so much to me and something is calling me to do it. I can’t explain it.”
“It doesn’t make a lick of sense! Have you lost your mind?” she’d cried out. “Don’t you know we’re in a time of war? Boys get sent to those places and they sometimes don’t come back. Or if they do, they come back different. And I love you just like you are, Kevin. Whole and perfect. This is coming out of nowhere.”
I was just as angry and confused.
Kevin had always had this problem. I called it The Perfect Son Syndrome. He wanted to be all the things to everyone. The perfect son, the best brother, the great friend, the amazing boyfriend, the leader, and now the hero.
It was selfish and I hated him for it.
“What do you think?” he’d asked me that night. “You’re always on my side at least.”
“Not with this,” I said. We were sitting on the front steps looking up at a Montana sky full of stars. “You’re doing this to put something else on your resume. To be the well-rounded, textbook flawless man. But it’s not a joke over there, Kevin. Whitmer has lost two of its own already.”
It was true. Two of our small-town boys had lost their lives as Marines overseas. One in Iraq and the other in Afghanistan.
Kevin shook his head. “I’m coming back, Sarah. This isn’t about a resume. This isn’t about wanting to please anyone, not even myself. Something is calling me there. I really feel like I’m supposed to do this. I need your support.”
I’d wanted to give it to him.
But I couldn’t.
Because I’d been the selfish
one. I’d been the one who didn’t want to give him up. Not for anything.
Kevin would always be the better part of all of us.
5
Kevin Acres never came back.
He was supposed to. He was two weeks away from his year deployment being over.
I had just graduated from high school. It was summer time and I was eighteen years old with the whole world at my lovesick feet. I spent every single waking moment when I wasn’t in school with my boyfriend, Hayes Calloway, who I loved more than anything in the universe.
Two nights after we’d both walked across the stage in our caps and gowns, we’d found ourselves alone in a hayloft.
We’d been out riding when a storm blew in from the mountains, too quickly for us to outrun it. The first drops plopped down on the brim of Hayes’ cowboy hat heavily, and the wind went from a light breeze to whipping through the field beside us in a matter of moments.
“Just through those trees is Len Gehring’s place. He built that new barn last year, but the old one is still standing, right on the edge of his property. We can wait it out in there,” Hayes said.
“You don’t think he’ll mind?” I asked, turning around the hat I’d been wearing backwards, Hayes’ Whitmer High baseball cap, so that the bill would keep the rain off my face.
“He ain’t gonna know we were ever in there,” Hayes insisted. “Look at what’s coming. Think he’s planning to venture out to his old barn in a storm?”
Hayes pointed out to the mountains, where sheet lightning flickered menacingly. The weather was beginning to make our mounts uneasy. It was now or never.
“Let’s do it. Hee-yah!” I gave my horse, Spearmint Patty, enough of a kick to convince her to gallop, and Hayes followed in hot pursuit.
Daddy had brought the chestnut mare back from the Great Falls auction as a pony, when I was nine, and he let me name her. As a fan of Peanuts, I wanted to call her Peppermint Patty, because of her red coat, but he told me she deserved her own name. So, being the wildly creative nine-year-old that I was, I came up with the brilliant “Spearmint Patty.” Daddy and Kevin laughed at me, but I dug my heels in and the name stuck. She was my favorite of all our horses.
