by P. G. Forte
I wonder what she looks like now?
The thought came out of nowhere, and for a moment he was overcome with the longing to find out. Jesus, but this was getting ridiculous. What could she look like, after all? She was thirty-six years old, for pity’s sake. She was probably settled and dull. Probably nothing at all like the wild, unpredictable girl he remembered.
Thirty-six year old women do not look or behave like teenagers. Which was, on the whole, he thought, a very good thing. There was a whole range of really objectionable, immature behaviors that he associated with those years, and he, for one, was just as happy to have seen the end of them.
Thirty-six year old women did not hitch rides, for instance – a dangerous and illegal activity the whole world would be better off without. And they don’t go around creating the kind of havoc Scout had positively excelled at when she was sixteen.
They had jobs and they had families and they had mortgages and commitments. And most of them wouldn’t be caught dead dancing around a balefire in the middle of the night, not even with their clothes on. Most of them – the sensible ones – wouldn’t even have bothered going to any damn pagan festival in the first place!
Except she had been there.
And she had not forgotten all about him, damn it.
She said I have your eyes.
Her own eyes had been a smoky, warm, greenish gold; like the moss that grew in damp, secret hollows all along Domingo Creek.
And her hair had been a streaky mass of yellow and brown. The same color as the grass along the cliffs there, late in summer, after it had been bleached and debauched and blown about by the sun and the wind.
And when she smiled – But no, he wouldn’t even think about that. He’d spent years forgetting her smile.
And anyway, none of it mattered. Not anymore. He was over her now, he reminded himself again more firmly. Definitely over her. And he was not going to go there again.
No possible way.
* * *
“Marsha, when you said ‘better than coffee’ you weren’t actually talking about keeping someone awake, were you?” Scout nodded at the tall glass that had held her second drink. The glass was empty, and Scout was feeling anything but awake.
And Glenn had gotten away, she thought again, grimly.
Marsha flashed an unrepentant grin. “Nope. It tastes better though, doesn’t it? At least, I suppose, if you really like the taste of coffee, you might not think so, but—”
“Damn it, Marsha, I can’t even keep my eyes open!” It wasn’t the heaviness of her eyelids that bothered Scout the most, or the warm, comfortable numbness that had crept over her entire body. She felt tears of self-pity welling up in her eyes. Once again, she’d been ambushed by her supposed former friend.
“Listen to me.” Marsha leaned forward to place a hand on her arm. “I did it for your own good, you know. You’re exhausted. You were exhausted before you ever walked in here this morning, but you were obviously too stubborn to admit that you needed to sleep.” Marsha’s voice sounded concerned, and there was a look in her eyes –
But Scout knew better than to trust such things. “So, what are you, now, my mother? I’m fine!”
Marsha shook her head. “No, you are not fine. I told you that last night. You need sleep.”
“If I wanted to sleep, Marsha, I could have gone home to do it. How the hell do you expect me to drive home now?”
“I don’t. And trust me, my friend, you were in no condition to drive before either. I know what I’m doing, Scout. Trust me. Now, come on. My van’s out back, behind the tent, you can crash there for a few hours.”
* * *
“Tell me I didn’t hear what I just thought I heard.” Lucy fixed Marsha with a stony glare. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that... that person... is out there, right now, asleep in your fuckin’ van!”
“Lucy, you’re making a much bigger deal of this than you need to,” Marsha said soothingly.
“The hell I am!” Lucy fumed. “What is with you, Marsha? You’re actually encouraging this whole situation. Why couldn’t she just have gone home?”
“She was way too tired to drive.” Marsha busied herself straightening a collection of athames in one of the glass display cases. “She was practically passing out.”
Lucy snorted. “Yeah, so I heard. Gee, and I wonder how that could’ve happened?”
“She’d been up all night, I guess,” Marsha answered, frowning slightly, her attention still focused on the knives.
“That’s not the way Celeste tells it.”
Marsha smiled at her friend. “Celeste doesn’t know everything.”
“I’m telling you, Marsha, I do not like this.”
Marsha sighed. “I know that. And while we’re on the subject, I know there’s something else you’re not telling me about why you’re so upset. But be that as it may, you’re just going to have to trust me. I’m following inner guidance on this, Luce. I don’t know why, but it feels like the right thing to do.”
Lucy frowned. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
Guidance. Just great. Lucy rolled her eyes. “Oh, hell. Why do I even bother trying to talk to you? If you have to, you have to, I guess. But I still don’t like it.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Marsha smiled crookedly. “Are you sure you’re okay here for a while? I just need maybe a half hour’s break, is all.”
Lucy shrugged. “Take as much time as you want. Dan and his brother have the nursery’s booth covered all day today, so I’m cool. Just tell me one thing. What do I do with our friend back there if she wakes up?”
Marsha chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Think of something? Yeah, sure, she could think of a lot of things to do with Scout. Or to Scout. She could think of a lot of things she wouldn’t mind telling Scout, either. Mostly though, she just wished that Scout would go away.
Marsha was probably right, Lucy thought, as she puttered around in the tent a short while later. She probably was making too big a deal of this. She needed to relax. Let go. Learn to trust. Maybe she should get Tina or Wendy to make her one of those special steamed milk drinks, like the ones Marsha had given Scout. That should chill her right out.
“Hey, cuz, how’s it going?”
Lucy jumped at the sound of Nick’s voice, and gave up on the whole idea of relaxing. There wasn’t enough steamed milk in the whole world for that.
“Nick? Shit, what are you doing here?” This should not be happening. He never came to these things, damn it. He hated these things. And besides, he was just here yesterday.
“Oh. Um, well, see, since I’m not going on the camping trip, I thought perhaps the guys might want to borrow my stove?” He jiggled the green metal box he carried, and shrugged. It was a good shrug. One that fell just short of looking casual.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “So, you just decided to get in your car and bring it all the way up here?”
“Yep.” He shook his head and laughed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hand clenched tightly on the handle of the stove. “That’s just what I did, alright.”
It was a weird, angry sounding chuckle; it made Lucy nervous. She had a pretty good idea what his real reason for being here was. She had a pretty good idea his real reason was less than thirty yards behind her, fast asleep – she sincerely hoped – in the back of Marsha’s van.
Every ounce of mental energy she possessed was focused on sending powerful messages in the direction of that van. Messages that could basically be summed up by a single sentence. Don’t even think about waking up right now!
“So. Why’d you back out on the camping trip?” she asked, crossing her arms in what she hoped was a more credible attempt at looking casual than Nick had managed. She leaned against one of the posts that held up the awning, as though she had all afternoon to chat with her cousin, and no earthly reason for wishing him miles away.
Nick shrugg
ed again. “It’s like I told Dan. I’ve just got a lot of work right now.”
Work? He was a cop, for Christ’s sake. In Oberon. How much work could he have? “Yeah? You didn’t say anything about all this work when we saw you Friday night?”
“I just decided yesterday,” Nick mumbled, turning to scan the crowds.
He is such a liar. They almost deserve each other. The words she knew he wanted to hear were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. Nick was still her cousin, after all, even if he was an idiot. She felt compelled to save him from himself.
She straightened away from the post. “Yeah, well, whatever. Look Nick, I’ve gotta get back to work now. Dan’s over at the other booth. Why don’t you run over there and ask him about the stove, okay? I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah. Fine,” he said, but without conviction. And without moving away.
He looked like he wanted to ask her something, and she had a pretty good idea what that something might be, too. Hadn’t they done this often enough in the past? He looked so damn miserable she was once again tempted to tell him.
The only thing that saved her was thinking about the hell she’d catch from his mother if she ever found out. Lillian Greco was not someone whose bad side she wanted to be on if she could help it.
* * *
Scout had dreamed – vague images in brown and gold, and softly murmuring voices that made her feel safe and warm. She awoke to find herself in Marsha’s van, where it was not just warm, but hot as hell, even with the front windows cracked and the skylight open. The dog lay beside her, panting. She sat up and looked around.
The most interesting thing about the van was not that it looked to be about forty years old… but that it looked to have been decorated almost forty years ago as well. The third seat had been removed and replaced with a mattress covered in Indian cotton, which is what she’d been sleeping on.
Stained glass patterned contact paper covered the rear windows, the now useless rear view mirror was hung with strings of colorful plastic beads, and the entire interior had been carpeted in thick, rust brown shag. Except for the remaining seats, of course, which were buried beneath sheepskin covers. She had a very vague memory of being driven home from somewhere once, about twenty-five years ago, by one of Marsha’s older sisters. One of the twins. Probably Siobhan. In a vehicle that had looked very much like this. Talk about a time warp!
Much as she hated to admit it, Marsha had been right. She felt about a thousand times better than she had before. This was probably the longest she’d been able to sleep in at least a week.
Maybe it was the van? She wondered if Marsha would consider selling it to her. Or maybe she could just borrow it to sleep in. She was tempted to lie down again and see if she couldn’t sleep a little longer, but the dog looked at her so piteously that she knew she’d have to get up and let her out.
She opened the door of the van. The fresh air felt wonderful against her warm skin – cool and invigorating. The dog jumped around, wagging its tail enthusiastically, as she made her way around to the front of the tent.
It looked like they were doing a brisk business. Most of the tables were full. She saw Celeste, along with a couple of the other women she recognized from yesterday, giving readings. She didn’t see Marsha, but Lucy was there. She was standing rather tensely at the front of the booth with her back to Scout, hands on her hips, staring off into the distance, as though she were watching someone in the crowd.
“Hey,” Scout said, coming up behind her, making her jump.
“Oh, jeez. Scout. Fuck. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry. I—”
“Oh. Uh no, that’s okay, really. Don’t worry about it. Come on, now. Let’s go back inside.”
Lucy tugged at Scout’s arm impatiently, urging her inside the tent, and talking a mile a minute as she did so. “Scout... so. I uh, uh, I hear you were here all night, huh? Jeez, I haven’t done that in years. Was it fun? Did you like it? What did you think?”
“Well, it was different. Kind of impressive, I guess,” Scout answered slowly, confused by Lucy’s sudden interest in her opinion. How long had she been sleeping, anyway?
“Yeah, I must say, I always liked everything but the idiot Frat boys spitting alcohol at the flames. That always struck me as really stupid, you know?”
“Gee, I must have missed that.” Scout grinned. “Too bad. Is Marsha around?”
“No. She’s taking a break,” Lucy said, her voice curt, once more. Her face resumed its usual sullen expression. Well. So much for conviviality.
“Okay. Well, I guess I’m going to head out now. But tell her I said thanks, okay? Oh, and tell her I said she was right.”
“You’re leaving?” Lucy asked, her face brightening, again.
“Try not to look so sad,” Scout said sarcastically. “I didn’t mean I was leaving town or anything. Just the immediate vicinity.”
“Oh, well. “ Lucy flashed a malicious smile. “But hey, it’s a start.”
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Ten
* * * *
By the time Scout had hiked back up to her car, the sun glowed gold in the western sky. The exodus from the park had already begun. Rather than join the crawling snake of cars trying to leave by the main gate, Scout turned onto the smaller service road that would allow her to exit directly onto Domingo Creek Road.
The San Domingo was one of several creeks that wove their way down through the foothills. It flowed in a generally southwesterly direction until it fetched up at the coast a couple of miles below Oberon. It was by then the merest trickle, whose cascade down the side of the cliffs went mostly unnoticed. The road, which for the most part followed the creek’s path, had been built on a narrow ledge, high on the canyon wall.
It was not a route that anyone not bent on suicide would care to travel after dark, or if there was even the slightest chance of a storm. But since neither of these factors was currently present, Scout decided to go for it.
She liked to take risks and she liked to drive fast. And the opportunity to travel, for even a mere two miles, along the rocky Pacific Coast on a golden, midsummer afternoon was well-nigh irresistible. Besides, it had been a long time since she had been out that way. She was curious to see if anything was still as she remembered it.
What she remembered was the way it had looked in springtime, when the hills were ablaze with wild flowers. The way the wind whipped her hair in her face. The way her heart had pounded along with the music that blasted from the car’s speakers. The way her head had reeled from excitement and blackberry wine.
She remembered following the road to a point where the cliff ledge widened enough for a turnout. Where you could stop to see the whole town laid out below you; and the ocean gleaming silver in the distance, under the vast, cloudless expanse of the sky.
And where you could also, if there were two of you, and you were young, and wild, and reckless enough, drive each other to a frenzy in the back seat.
“I don’t want to stop this,” Nick groaned as he sat up and pulled away from her. His breathing was as harsh and ragged as her own.
“Then... don’t,” Scout answered, swallowing hard as she said it… staring deep into his eyes, her heart beating wildly. And blushing fiercely because, with the way her hands remained clenched in the material of his shirt and the urgent, half strangled sound of her voice, she knew it was more than an invitation. It was a plea. “Don’t stop.”
“Jen. Jeez, hon, we have to. If I’m ever going to get you home on time, we have to stop now,” he said it gently, insistently. But instead of pulling away further, he lowered his head and kissed her again, deeply and thoroughly, taking her whole mouth with his, completely swamping her ability to reason. She could feel the weight of him, the length of him, the heat of him, as he stretched himself out on top of her once more, pressing her back down into the seat’s cushion. She slid her hands up behind his neck and fisted them in his hair, pullin
g him even more tightly against her, kissing him back every bit as hard as he kissed her, her tongue slipping deep into his mouth.
“Oh, God.” He wrenched himself away again. “C’mon, babe. Help me out here.” He laughed weakly. “You could put up a little resistance, you know. What kind of girl are you anyway? Haven’t you ever heard of playing hard to get?”
Embarrassment was more effective than a cold shower. Scout felt her cheeks flame as she pushed him away. She climbed into the front seat without saying a word and paid no attention to him as he slowly folded himself into the driver’s seat. He glanced at her, a slight frown on his face as she pulled her clothes back into order. She grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the dash and punched viciously at the cigarette lighter several times before it stuck.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked, his voice hesitant, as he steered the car out onto the road.
She continued to ignore him, lighting her cigarette with hands that trembled.
“Hey.” His voice was a caress when she couldn’t bear to be touched. Scout shivered uncontrollably. “Talk to me. Jen?”
A sob escaped her lips, and then she couldn’t halt the tears that were sliding down her face.
“Oh, hell,” she heard him mutter, but what did it matter? She couldn’t be any more mortified than she already was. She sobbed steadily as the car flew over the narrow curving road. Had she been sober, had she not been beyond caring, she might have been frightened by the grim expression on his face and his fey driving.
In no time at all, they were out of the canyon. Nick brought the car to a stop in the parking lot of the diner and convenience store, where earlier they’d stopped to buy the wine. He grabbed the cigarette from her hand and threw it out the open window before pulling her into his arms.
“Now, tell me. What’s wrong?” His voice vibrated in her ear.
“You think I’m cheap,” she whispered, barely getting the words past the tightness in her throat. “You think I’m... that I... .”
