Side by Side

by Jenni L. Walsh

  “Hello there, Saint Bonnelyn. Clyde.”

  I feel like I’m seventeen again, meeting Mary for the first time. Cat had my tongue then, and at twenty-three years old, cat’s got my tongue now. Mary’s got that way ’bout her, where ya intrinsically know it’d be bad to do or say anything to displease her.

  “Let’s put the cards on the table, shall we?” she says. The tone of her voice ruffles my feathers. “I’m a sporting girl, yeah, and I’ve been at this racket awhile. Do I like it? Can’t say I enjoy the smell or the weight of those men on me. But it’s better than eight hours a day—if I could even get the job—standing behind some counter, talking nice to whoever walks up. I’d rather talk nice to men with money to spend, without getting flat-footed or sway-backed from being on my feet all day. I get three times as much money lying flat on my back.” She takes Raymond’s hand. “My sweetheart knows what I do, and I know what he does.” Mary meets my eyes. “And now, we all know, so I don’t want to see you looking down your nose at me, Bonnelyn.”

  I bob my head, prudently. I let the silence stretch, but I realize it’s not ’cause I’m intimidated anymore, but ’cause … “I’m going to lay the cards out on the table for you, Mary. I ain’t the same gal you bossed ’round. I know a little something ’bout surviving, and if you want to ride with us”—I motion between Clyde and me—“I’ll look at whoever, however I want.” I let that sink in, then add, “And I go by Bonnie now.”

  Clyde puts the car into gear. “Glad that’s all settled.”

  30

  What’s not settled is how long Raymond and Mary are going to be with us. Two more jobs? Three? To get our farm, we need more. We got a good haul the other day, though. Mary’s eyes lit up as Clyde and Raymond split the money, each adding to their stashes.

  I lay stretched out on a blanket, staring up at the trees. My fingers tap against my stomach. The boys are off hitting somewhere else, something smaller this time. Clyde wants a break from banks, and he’s likely to hit a place like an oil station, a meat packing plant, or a Piggly Wiggly grocery store.

  Mary went into town to get us food, hopefully at a place Clyde ain’t robbing. Town’s at least a mile away, and I know she’s going to regret walking all that way in her military heels. But I need a break from the gal, so I let her go without any type of fuss. She always seems to be at my hip, and for the life of me, I can’t look at her without seeing Blanche, without knowing I ruined Blanche.

  I roll onto my side, catching my eye on a rabbit two trees away. I begin to move for the pistol I always keep beneath the blanket, then stop. I don’t have it in me to shoot the thing, and Mary’s supposed to be bringing back food.

  Boy, am I ready to escape this life, once and for all. I know Clyde and me don’t exactly have a place to go yet, no land we’ve claimed as our own, but I need it to be Clyde and me, with no one else riding his coattails. That’s what they do. They look at Clyde and see him as someone who’s evaded the law for nearly two years now. He must know what he’s doing. That must be what they’re thinking. So here they are, hiding with us. Robbing with us.

  I reckon Clyde uses ’em back, him not all that keen on robbing alone. Ain’t like I can help.

  An engine roars not far off, and now I got the pistol firmly in my hand. The sound cuts off, and I watch between the trees for any movement. I spot two men—one tall, one shorter, both carrying bags—and I lower my gun.

  Raymond calls, “Where’s Mary?”

  “She went to fetch food forever ago.”

  Clyde shoots him a look, and it ain’t a friendly one.

  Raymond’s already backpedaling. “I’m going. I’ll get her.”

  Clyde hands him our keys, giving him a warning glare, then drops on the blanket beside me, laying his head ’cross my middle. Our loot’s in a large bag beside us, always close by.

  He says, “I don’t trust that lass.”

  I stroke his hair. “Why’s that? I mean, Mary ain’t easy to like, but she’s harmless, no?”

  “She comes from a rat family. Odell may be my pal, but I’ve always been careful what I say ’round him. And I can’t figure why she’s here. Last I heard Mary was part of a ringer house, meaning she had a madam to answer to. Unless she’s giving that all up…” He shrugs.

  “She misses Raymond?”

  “Would you miss that lout?”

  I laugh.

  Clyde turns his head, his cheek resting on my stomach. And there’s a hint of fear in his eyes, along with sadness. “I don’t like Mary off unsupervised, is all. What if she makes a deal? Bonnie”—he licks his lips—“I haven’t wanted to tell you this, but back in Sowers when the law almost got us, that man driving was a family friend of my pa’s. So-called friend,” he corrects. “He got a car and a fistful of money to let the po-lice know where we’d be. Where I’d be. The rest of you were put at risk ’cause of me.”

  “The rest of us chose to be there. Clyde, I choose to be here. With you. Whatever that may bring.”

  He breathes, long and hard. “Say, I got something to show you. Something happier than all this.” He produces a newspaper he had tucked in his trousers. “Now, I ain’t one to pat my own back.”

  “Sure you are.”

  He playfully narrows his eyes. “Go on and give her a read.”

  I take the paper, not sure what he’s getting at. I’m not surprised to see his photo. Since pictures can be wired through telegraph, photos of us appear in any ol’ newspaper ’cross the country. But the headline already has me shaking my head, giving me a clue ’bout Clyde’s inflated head.

  BARROW

  That’s it. “What is this?”

  He’s smiling. “Read it, Bonnie. It’s a poem some lass sent in.”

  My country ’cause of thee

  Sweet land of misery

  Please hear my plea.

  The bank’s my enemy,

  It stole so much from me.

  I look up at Clyde. “Why’d they print this?” I’m reading again before he can answer. The writer sweetly goes on ’bout how Clyde’s a phantom, evading the police—and thus, providing entertainment at a time when spirits are at their lowest. I can see it; a newspaper cost two cents, or nothin’ if picked up off the ground. They’re common enough, used plenty to shield the homeless from the cold. We know a thing or two ’bout that.

  “The end’s where it gets good. Skip there,” Clyde says.

  When his gun goes rat-tat-tat

  My heart goes pitter-pat.

  “Come on,” I say.

  “What?” Clyde’s grinning like a fool. “I think she’s got talent.”

  I laugh.

  I say, leave the ‘bad man’ be

  But if he’s caught,

  Bring that Barrow straight to me.

  “Wow.” I try to hide a smile, but this Barrow pulls it out of me. “Why’d they even publish this?”

  “Clearly, it gets a reaction.”

  “Clearly. Well, sorry, Mabel K. Moore, he’s all mine.”

  “Oh, is Mabel her name? Does it also say where she’s from?”

  I raise the paper, ready to whack him. “I never should’ve taught you to read.”

  “Too late for that, darling, and now—”

  A Ford rumbles nearby. “They’re back,” I deadpan.

  And they stay ’round. Always yappin’, when they’re awake, that is. I can’t help averting my eyes when I catch a flash of silver and a dark bottle. As the morphine works in their bodies, their voices grow louder.

  Wherever we are, sleeping in the car, resting out under the trees, taking birdbaths from whatever water we’re near—I try to quiet ’em.

  “Oh, Saint Bonnelyn, who’s going to hear us out here?” Mary rubs her fingers together, as if brushing off dirt. “The trees? I don’t know why your man can’t put you up in a real place. Has he heard of a hotel?”

  I grit my teeth and wait for ’em to come down from their high. Then, they sleep—and it’s blissfully quiet. Unless we got to move,
then they complain if they’re jostled awake by a bumpy road. But Clyde insists: If we’re dozing on the side of the road and someone drives past, that’s it. We need to change locations in case the fella decides to double back. Clyde’ll drive two hundred, three hundred miles, ’til I’m sure his eyes are ’bout to bleed, before he pulls over again. After that, he’ll sleep all day. If he can, without us having to move again. Being we don’t got a pattern. I reckon it makes it harder for the law to guess where we’re hiding.

  “Clyde,” I whisper one night. This time we tucked ourselves in the woods, out of the car, hoping for a full night’s sleep. I ain’t sure if he’s awake or not, stretched out beside me on his back. He’s got his eyes closed but his fingers steepled on his stomach. If I didn’t know better, that boy’s praying. “Clyde.”

  He opens one eye. “Yes, darling?”

  Raymond and Mary are on the other side of our campfire, only the embers glowing. Even now those two feel too nearby. With a bit of a struggle, I pull myself closer to Clyde. The springtime weather’s been warmer, but damper, and it’s like every drop of moisture cramps up my knee that much more.

  “I ain’t sure I can take much more of ’em. Mary’s been ribbing at me.”

  He absently plays with the serpent ring he made for me. “She’s jealous of you.”

  “Of me? She don’t seem to ’specially enjoy this lifestyle of mine.”

  “She’s jealous you got more waiting for you.”

  The way he says it, a hint of excitement in his voice, has me propping myself up on my elbow. The moon’s full tonight, lighting up the sky and one of his dimples. “Clyde Barrow, is there something you ain’t telling me?”

  He nods, years dropping from his face. “Found out something this morning when I made some calls. Something good. But I’ve been holding it close, ’fraid I’ll jinx us.”

  “Clyde, you’re going to make me burst!”

  He lets out one of those laughs that’s all breath. “I live to see you this way, all lit up. Okay,” he quickly adds when I drum my fingers on his chest. “Henry Methvin wants to meet back up with us.” He holds up a hand to quiet my protests. “But only ’cause he’s got land for us.”

  I sit up. “Land?”

  “His daddy’s. Ya know, that land you were planning in your head.” He winks.

  I’m at a loss for words. All this time, land, land, land. It’s what we’ve been working for. And here it is, Henry putting it on a silver platter for us. “Clyde…” I palm my mouth.

  “I know, Bonnie, I can’t quite believe it either. But he says it’s ours if we want it.”

  “Can we afford it?”

  “He don’t want much for it. Nothin’, really. Henry said the house and all that land is too much for his daddy. The deed was handed to him dirt cheap, so he wants to pass it on. Maybe he’s hoping for that good Lord of yours to drop some good fortune in his lap for helping us out.”

  “You think? But what ’bout Henry? He’s a wanted man. Ain’t his daddy’s land a safe haven for him?”

  “That’s his business, and the lad hasn’t given me a reason to question him. My business is giving you what I promised. That is, if you want it?”

  “That’s a fool’s question. When do we leave?”

  “We’re going to meet up with Henry first. He’ll take us there.”

  “Fine, then, when we doing that?”

  Clyde smirks. “Soon.”

  * * *

  I’m giddy. With vigor, I scrub my extra dress in the river. I don’t even care my hands are a splotchy red. When’s the last time I’ve been honest-to-goodness giddy? It’s got to be when Blanche told me that Clyde was coming for me, when I was locked away in that jail. And now, Clyde’s coming through again, making good on his promise to get us out of this life and onto our own land.

  I drop my dress and, on my knees, I splash the cold water on my face. It’s exhilarating, even as my body shimmies from the blast of coldness. I don’t want to get too ahead of myself, ’cause life has a way of yanking me back, but I can’t help continuing my daydream I started days ago as we drove up to our soon-to-be farmhouse. I’ll want to bring out my ma, after we make sure it’s safe, of course. She can rest her fingers after sewing at the factory for countless years. And Clyde’s parents—I wring water from my dress—his parents can finally leave their nightmares from Dallas behind.

  I fling my dress in the air, catch it as it comes back down.

  “Is that how ya wash clothes without a nice man from the dry cleaners doing it for ya? Maybe I can pay you to do mine,” Mary says.

  I ain’t too big to admit a soft growl rumbles in my throat at both the comment and Mary’s presence. I’d keep washing, but I’m done. Instead, I try to stand but the damned grass is slick.

  “Looks like ya could use a hand, Bonnie.” She puffs on her cigarette, blowing the smoke from the corner of her mouth. “Wouldn’t hurt for us to play nice. Let me start by helping you up.”

  I accept her hand; standing up can be a son of a bitch, a bigger bitch than Mary. I go to let go, hopping ain’t anything new to me, but Mary holds on tight. She leads me back to our campsite. Clyde ain’t here. But he didn’t tell me he was going anywhere, and the car’s still here. I look ’round, but all I see is Raymond with his arms behind his head, his ankles crossed, hat over his face.

  “Why don’t you have a seat,” Mary says, “and I can do something nice with your hair.”

  I pat my head, letting my hand linger there. The dye I darkened it with has long grown out, that being ’bout a year ago. I haven’t done up my hair yet today. I usually do, even if it’s putting on a hat and fingering some waves into the hair that shows.

  “Go on,” Mary urges and practically pushes me onto my blanket. “Turn this way,” she demands. “The lights better through the trees.”

  I sigh, but do as she says and let her fuss with my hair. Ain’t long before my stomach is hollering at me, coiling itself into knots. This … right here … someone doing my hair is something Blanche would do. I grab my hat, twisting the crochet fabric between my hands. It’s hard to think ’bout Blanche without being hard on myself. But I should be, after all I put her through and where she is now—without the man she loves. I reckon that’s something I’m going to pay for, for all of eternity.

  Mary shifts on her knees, stopping in front of me. Her tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth as she calculates her next move. She gestures for my hat, and I hand it over.

  Up close, under all that makeup, I notice a scar. And another. I search for more, but Mary’s eyes flick to mine, and I look away. Makes me wonder, once again, what the past four years have done to Mary. If maybe these marks are from overzealous or unhappy Johns. It’d be easy for Mary to get morphine from her uncle to numb the pain, whatever pain that may be. Easy, too, for Raymond to get hooked on her stash, and also on Mary.

  Sad. That’s what it is.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “How’s your uncle?”

  She doesn’t respond, and I search her face. Mary’s gaze ain’t on my hair, it’s overtop my head. I start to move, and Mary snaps back to attention, holding my head in place. Tight, too tightly.

  “Mary,” I say.

  “Sorry, Bonnie, just a li’l more.”

  “No, what’s going on?” The gal ain’t much bigger than me—probably only a hundred pounds soaking wet—and I tear out of her grasp. Raymond’s hat is on the ground the last place I saw him, sleeping. Now he’s at the car, on the driver’s side. That right there is peculiar enough. Clyde always drives.

  “Raymond.” I draw out his name. He’s frozen still, his hand under the breast of his jacket. “What ya doing over there? Where’s Clyde?”

  As if responding to his name, Clyde strides from the trees, his Browning rifle trained on Raymond. Without thinking, without a reason why, I pull my pistol from beneath my blanket and make Mary my target.

  “Clyde,” I say. “Why we got our guns aimed at these two?”

  “R
eckon that’s a better question for Ray. Bet if he empties his pockets, you’ll have your answer.”

  Mary curses under her breath.

  Clyde wags at Raymond with his gun. “Go on now.”

  By the time he’s done, Raymond—nothin’ more than a snake—has tossed five stacks of money, wrapped ’round the middle with a band, onto the front seat.

  He says, “Clyde, man, let’s not do anything rash.”

  Clyde spits on the ground, and Raymond quiets down.

  I brace myself for the gunshot. Ain’t anyone ’round to hear, and this is the second time Raymond’s double-crossed us, this time skimming from our money. I may hobble over there and do it myself. But Clyde only says to me, “Let’s go, Bonnie. This bullet’s better served elsewhere. Ray’s good enough dead as is.”

  I bend to grab my blanket, but Clyde says to leave it. “We’ve got better waiting for us.”

  Ain’t that the truth.

  31

  A few miles down the road, Clyde and I share a glance and both start laughing. We left those scoundrels high and dry—before they could go and do it to us. That had to be their plan: rob us blind then skedaddle.

  Clyde whistles. “Ain’t that something?”

  “Where were you? Before all that?”

  “Off sitting in the woods.”

  I cock my head.

  “I don’t trust a dopehead as far as I can throw him, and Ray’s a big lad. A broad like Mary is only after money. Had a feeling they were scheming long before she crawled into our backseat. I simply gave ’em the opportunity by making myself scarce.”

  I try to mimic Clyde’s whistle, but I’ve never been one for whistling. Clyde chuckles. “At least your hair looks pretty.” He means to keep our jokes going, but the mention of hair strikes a chord with me. “Hey, now, Bonnie, why’s that face of yours going south?”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot ’bout Blanche.”

  “We’ll get her back.” And I know he doesn’t mean out of prison. I twist my lips, not so sure Blanche’ll come near us again, ’specially since she’ll see Buck every time she sets eyes on Clyde. “Well,” he says, “we can try. But first, let’s get Methvin. We got us a drive back to Texas.”