The copper’s breath comes out in puffs. His eyes flick to me again. “Any reason why you’re moving so fast?”
Clyde smiles. “Didn’t think there was anyone ’round to stop me.”
I could smack him upside the head for saying that. Jones, now awake, stays quiet in the back. I keep my own mouth shut.
The officer’s eyes flick to me a third time. Clyde responds with our shotgun.
The fella becomes yet another unfortunate soul who finds himself in our rear seat, sitting on bags of money, trying to find space for his feet between our things. This time, Jones is the one to keep a gun on him as we give the copper a thrill ride, a short one. Our battery dies after an hour or so, taking with it our source of heat.
Clyde sucks a tooth ’til he decides Jones and the copper will go fetch us a new one. He runs a finger over a map. “It’s your lucky day; looks like there should be some folks not far off. Maybe a mile or so up ahead.”
The officer’s already bundled up from his motorcycle patrol. Clyde gives his coat to Jones, our Texas boy now wearing two. Off he goes with the patrolman, on foot, Clyde saying to me, “They’ll be the best of friends by the time they get back.”
I eye the stretch of road. It dips and disappears beyond a small hill. On either side of the road are clusters of barren trees. “If they aren’t frozen stiff.”
“What ’bout me, Bonnie? I’m the one without a coat.”
“Poor Clyde,” I say in a mocking voice. “Come here, honey. I’ll keep ya warm.” At first I think I conjured it, but no, Clyde has a glimmer in his eye. He only reaches for me, though, to hold me close. He whispers in my ear, “Can’t get it out of my head how you rounded that car for me. My very own Annie Oakley.”
I laugh at that. “Anything for my Billy the Kid.”
Minutes, then an hour ticks by before Jones and the copper appear again over the hill. Jones passes the car battery to the patrolman. After another thirty seconds or so, he passes it back. I imagine both their arms are quaking after hauling the thing. I can’t help wondering why the young officer didn’t run off, but I reckon Clyde’s got a way ’bout himself that makes ya want to listen.
It’s not long before our engine’s purring again, glorious heat filling the car. I sit in the passenger seat, letting it warm my bones.
Clyde drops the hood. Jones scrambles into the car. The officer stands there, his knees practically knocking together. He’s got to be in his early twenties like us. Any of that bravado he had while shouting at us from his motorcycle is gone.
“End of the road for ya,” Clyde says to him. “With us, anyway.”
The patrolman says, “Please.”
Spare me, that’s what he’s asking for.
Clyde points to the gravel road. “Have a seat.” Down the fella goes. “We’ll be on our way now. You stay right there.”
“Thank you,” he mutters.
I snort at that.
As fast as we can, we cross the state line into Kansas, which is plenty fast. It’s only a handful of miles, and it’s like that line is magic. The officer can’t follow us for two reasons. The obvious one is he’s without his motorcycle. But the second one is ’cause Kansas is out of his jurisdiction. He ain’t allowed.
Jones is the first to speak: “Clyde, I saw an apartment while getting the battery, in Joplin. Had a rental sign out front. Think we could ever stay in a place like that?”
I was facing forward when Jones said it, but there was such desperation in his voice I’m compelled to get a look at him. Ain’t a surprise there’s desperation on his face, too.
“What was it like?” I ask.
“Signage said it had a bathroom, kitchen, and two bedrooms. Fully furnished. Thirty-three forty-seven and a half Oak Ridge Drive is where it’s at.”
The idea of playing house has me saying, “I could sure use a dose of that. Clyde, why don’t we rent it? We got us some money saved up.”
“For the farms,” he counters.
“Which,” I point out, “we ain’t doing until Buck gets out. We’ve got ourselves nothin’ but time that we could spend sitting on a couch, with electricity and running water, where coppers can’t pull up beside us.”
Clyde taps his fingers on the wheel.
“Honey, what’s to think ’bout? The boy and I need this.”
Jones adds, “Rental comes with a garage, too. It’ll hold a Ford plenty well.”
A small chuckle comes out as Clyde shakes his head. “Quiet, both of ya. I am trying to think. We can’t rent it straight off, not with us fleeing the area only seconds ago. We’ll wait a stretch. Better yet, if we wait for Buck to get the place, he can stay with us. It’ll give me some time to work on him, convince him to do Eastham with me.”
I fight the urge to point out how Buck isn’t supposed to be released for another five months. Five more months of hopping from place to place and from car to car. Each of ’em is an opportunity for the law to spot us. I sigh but agree, then promptly cross my fingers Buck is pardoned early.
We fall into that familiar routine: drive, sleep, rob. Plus, now we’ll also check for those yellow flowers, once a month, we decide. But it’s not as if we can simply drive by my ma’s house; Cement City is short on people and even shorter on folks with automobiles.
We park a ways off and Jones goes by foot. I imagine him passing the library nestled next to Ma’s house. Next, the cemetery will be on his right. There ain’t much more before he’s at the church, general store, and telephone connections building. Then that’s that, my hometown.
The days are starting to warm, enough where the nights don’t leave me shivering no more, and on Jones’s second trip to my ma’s house he walks at a clip back to us, a blessed flower behind one ear.
Clyde hoots.
I say, “You went and picked one!”
“Didn’t want Clyde doubting me,” he jabs, then mocks Clyde’s deep voice: “You sure it was yellow, lad? Not green?”
At least Clyde’s laughing as he puts Jones in a chokehold. The boy surprises me, twisting out of it. Moment later, they’re both fixing their hair.
That night, three blessed months earlier than I was expecting, Clyde makes a call to 3347½ Oak Ridge Drive and reserves the apartment under the alias William Callihan.
“Now,” Clyde says. “It’s time to have a chat with Buck.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Blanche.”
* * *
She sure doesn’t make it easy to have that chat, which heightens all the emotions I’m having ’bout asking to borrow Buck. Guilt, shame, and ya might as well throw jitters into the mix. Her and Buck have up and left town, or so my ma says when we sent Jones to her door. I wish it were me, knocking, hearing her voice, seeing the inside of my childhood home. I wonder if Ma’s had a chance to stitch the tear in her favorite chair. For months before I left with Clyde, she kept saying how she’d get ’round to it one of these days.
“That lass,” Clyde says, referring to Blanche. His voice pulls me back to the here and now: some road outside of Dallas. His head drops to the wheel. “Where could they have gone? Ain’t like she knows anybody outside of town.”
It dawns on me. “Her mama’s house,” I say mostly to myself. “She said that once, after Buck got out, she was going to track her down. Truth be told, didn’t think she would. I forgot she even said it ’til now.”
“Where’s that?” Clyde says.
I close my eyes, search my memory. “Honey, I can feel you looking at me.” It comes to me, despite feeling like I’m on a witness stand. “Wilmer.”
Clyde snorts. “First stroke of luck we’ve had. That’s a stone’s throw away.”
We get lucky once more that Wilmer ain’t a big town. Population: 247. It takes all of five minutes ’til I see her, Big Bertha. I spent enough time with Blanche in that car growing up to recognize her dents and marks anywhere.
Of course, when Blanche comes storming out of the house, Buck on her heels, we know for certain we’re in the
right place.
Even with Blanche originally in the lead, Buck overtakes her and reaches us first. Rather, he reaches his brother first. Buck goes for a hug; Clyde resists, but Buck persists, not releasing him ’til Clyde shakes him off. Buck still doesn’t let go. He takes Clyde’s head between his hands and bends ’til their foreheads touch. The words they exchange are private.
All of it is a punch to the gut, seeing their reunion, but also seeing how small Clyde looks next to his brother. Clyde’s always been two heads shorter, but Buck’s emerged from prison seemingly taller. And whole.
Now I sit beside Blanche on a big ol’ rock, her ma’s house off behind us. She stares out at a river and the flowered fields beyond.
It’s so good to see her; all I want to do is give her my own hug. But she’s holding back tears, and if I embrace her too tightly I may squeeze ’em right out.
She says, “Confronting my so-called Ma didn’t go so well. The woman had no answers, couldn’t give me a sound reason for her disappearing act. Just up and left.” Blanche swings her arm into the air, disturbing Snow Ball. “Poof!”
I let her talk; I know she’s got more to say. “All these years and she’s been a handful of miles away. Can you believe it, Bonn? I even called her Lillian to her face, thinking she’d flinch. Not even a li’l. I didn’t bother to bring up my pa, how he hasn’t been there for me, either. What’s the point? But you know what, I feel like I’ve won. The way she looked at Buck, when she’s living all alone. That could’ve been me; didn’t think marriage was for me, with Lillian and Freddy for parents. But I showed her. Showed her my backside, too, as I stormed out of the house.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say.
“It’s fine. All I need is you and Buck.”
“In that order,” I say, hoping for a smile. I get one.
“Speaking of you. What on earth are you doing here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see your face. It’s your other half that’s giving me the heebie-jeebies right ’bout now. Buck still has the stench of jail on him, then up pops Clyde.”
I sigh and try to think of the best way to appeal to Blanche. “Remember my blouse with the ruffles?” I wave my hand down my chest. “And with the bow ’cross here?” I run a hand over my navel.
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“Well, it’s gone.” Blanche scrunches her brow, and I’m not sure why I expected a monumental response from her at that moment, like now it’s crystal clear why I’m here. “I dropped it off at the cleaners a few weeks ago. The woman eyed me funny, and when we went back, my gut said, don’t go inside.” I remember trembling, the fear of another shoot-out almost too much to bear. I let out a slow breath. “I’ll never see that blouse again, Blanche.”
“And you want me to take you shopping?”
“No. I want to stand still for a moment, with you. Clyde’s got an apartment reserved. Come live with us for a few weeks. It’s not like you and Buck have a place of your own, right?”
“Right,” Blanche says slowly. Her eyes are glued on Snow Ball. “Listen, Bonn, me telling Buck to go back to prison … prison,” she repeats. “Well, that was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But now he’s out. He didn’t have a conditional pardon like Clyde did, Bonn. He was flat-out pardoned. There’s a difference.”
“No one’s going to come after him,” I whisper and pick at a thread on my dress.
Blanche shakes her head. “’Cept maybe his brother and that boy he’s with.”
“That’s Jones,” I offer.
“Where’d he come from?”
I regret offering.
“Bonn?”
“We’ve been keeping him safe,” I half lie.
“’Cause you two got him in trouble. Am I right? There was the time I envied your pants off, but now, I want nothin’ to do with your pants. And frankly, if you guys keep both feet on the ground like you’re doing, you won’t ever be able to get your own pants off.”
I say, “I ain’t even wearing pants.”
That gets a light chuckle from Blanche. I miss her throaty laugh.
“I saw it in a book. Stop,” she says, before I can react to her newfound pastime. “It was a proverb. Basically, you keep doing what you’re doing and nothin’ will change.”
“And that’s exactly why we want to get off the road for a bit. Clyde needs time to plan without having to always look over his shoulder.”
She runs her hand from the dog’s snout up over his ears, stretching Snow Ball’s eyes with each pull. “Is that where Buck comes in?”
“You’ll have to ask Clyde that one.” It’s a coward’s response, but how can I ask her to let Clyde borrow Buck? All I can ask is, “Will you consider living with us?”
“I don’t know, Bonn.”
I should walk away. I want to slug myself for not walking away, but I don’t. I won’t. “You’ll like this, Blanche. You’ll get to make the place our own with whatever furnishings you want. Then,” I say, emphasizing the word, “when you and Buck go back to Dallas, you can take it all with you. Think of it as our gift for helping us feel human again.” I realize that’s what it all comes down to for me. Clyde may want Blanche to get to Buck. But I want Blanche for me. Getting the first farm out of the way is an added bonus. A big one, I admit. It means being closer to the second farm, and not having to run anymore, and no more police traps, and a litter of kids with Clyde. I sigh. “It’s been so long, Blanche. Give me just a few weeks of you and me.”
Blanche twists her lips. She dangles the dog in front of her face, their noses nearly touching. “We miss Bonn, don’t we?” she asks the dog in her baby voice. Her attention’s back on me. “How ’bout this. I’m going to let Snow Ball decide.”
“The dog?”
“It’s March, in Texas. So, yes, the dog.” Blanche settles Snow Ball in her lap and tilts her head at me, as if saying, Are you really questioning me? But she actually says, “He’s brought me nothin’ but good fortune since I’ve scooped him up. Haven’t you, my li’l fur ball?”
I stare at the dog, not sure what I’m waiting for. Then Snow Ball, bless his heart, chooses that moment to lick my hand. I could kiss him right back.
13
I peek out the cabin’s window. No Blanche, not yet. But soon, after her and Buck get here, we’ll be saying sayonara to this tourist camp. It’s the nicest one the boys and I have been in yet, with a brick exterior, a separate bedroom, and an attached garage. It’ll be nothin’ compared to the garage apartment we’re headed to in Joplin, Missouri.
I almost feel like I should be marking my whereabouts on an actual map, but a spiderweb comes to mind, with all that we’ve been moving around. That’s ’bout to change, for a few weeks anyway.
I pull on a dress, tug free my hair and finger-comb it. I pull aside the curtain again. I’m supposed to be packing. There are guns, ammunition, clothing, and random odds and ends strewn about. I’m still a bit shy of those guns. Still find it alarming how quickly I fired at a living, breathing man—and how I’d do it again for Clyde.
I squeeze the back of my neck and change the direction of my thoughts. With the mess, our cabin may as well be a college dorm. It’s certainly small enough. It’s fun to imagine: me at a university. In a different lifetime, I don’t think getting a higher education would be too far off, ’specially since teaching and nursing are the top two fields for women. But standing in front of a classroom isn’t the path I’m on, hasn’t been for a while. And I’m okay with that, ’cause of the fella ’cross the room, studying a map.
Clyde does that often, familiarizing himself with how the roads bend and curve, how they intersect, and the ones that dead-end.
I often track for him as we drive. I like being a team, working toward a life together where the sun will beat down on our tanned skin while we shoo our chickens into their roost and get our milk straight from a cow. At night, our kids will chase the fireflies between the trees. Clyde once said he wanted a simple life, away from the rules and the peop
le telling him that he’s doing wrong. My Lord, I want that, too. You hear me up there?
I smile to myself and push aside the curtain again. Well, lookie here, Blanche climbs out of a car. Strange, though, it’s not Big Bertha. There must be a story behind that, and also the frown she’s wearing. Though her resistance to joining us may easily explain the latter. Blanche reaches into the car, Snow Ball appearing in her arms. I love that dog.
After shoving my belongings into my luggage, I throw my arms ’round Blanche, then we’re off to our new home. Clyde asks me to ride with Blanche and Buck into town to get some breakfast. Him and Jones are going to stay a few miles off in the countryside, where fewer eyes can spot ’em.
I climb into their sedan, pausing on the way when my eye catches on the president’s face on the car’s radiator. From the rear seat I ask, “Do y’all know Roosevelt is on the front of your car?”
Buck’s laugh booms, deep and low, and my insides warm. Clyde’s veins are still thawing from prison, but Buck is Buck, his snicker that of a man ready to scheme. “Blanche’s been calling her Teddy.”
I pull a pack of cigarettes from my dress pocket. Only got one cigarette left, I realize. I light it and drop the box at my feet. “What happened to Big—”
“I don’t want to talk ’bout it,” Blanche says, holding, yet not petting Snow Ball.
“She was showing her age,” Buck says, “and it would’ve been more expensive to fix her than to get this here Marmon. Teddy’s bigger than Bertha, too, despite having Big in her name.”
“Big Bertha was perfect, and Buck went and traded her for a newer model. Is that what you’re going do to me when my ladies are touching my knees?” Blanche stares out the window.
I blow out some smoke and hide a smile behind a new draw.
“If you put it that way.” Buck shrugs.
Blanche responds, falling into their familiar routine of playful bickering, but I’m looking over my shoulder, not listening no more. Clyde and Jones are only a few car lengths behind us. It feels like miles. Clyde and I are always in arm’s reach of one another, ’cept when one of us slips from the car to pick up food or clothing or to use the John. It’s been that way for nearly a year. I want it to be that way forever.
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