by M. Mabie
“Can I pay you?” she asked, kicking the rocks at her feet.
“No,” I retorted automatically. We didn’t help for money. “Just get that station back up. It sucks working without anything to listen to.”
That made her smile and sway. “Oh, nobody really listens to it that much anymore.” Her eyes caught mine and I noticed how blue they were. Like a cloud-free, blue sky.
“Some of us do.”
Eddie waved at her and she waved back, but still devoted most of her attention to me. “I don’t think the power went out, so I might not have to do a full reboot. Fingers crossed. I should be back up in a few hours.”
Since it wasn’t raining, I’d probably get some mowing done before dark, but I’d be listening.
A few moments went by after I tore my eyes off her and focused on Eddie and Dad, but I didn’t say anything.
“You sure are different than you used to be, Rhett.”
I didn’t reply, wondering if different was good or bad.
A decade ago, I would have been talking her ear off. Trying to get her to talk to me. Notice me. I’d changed, but she had, too.
“You living at home now?” she asked, her voice a little quieter.
I lived on our property, but not under my parents’ roof. “I’m staying in the cabin on the south eighty.”
She viciously slapped at her tan leg. “Damn blood-sucking mosquitos. Farming with your dad?”
I laughed inwardly at how her expression changed in a blink from furious back to fine and dandy. I replied, “When it’s not raining.”
“Well, it’s good to see you back in Wynne.” She shuffled a few feet away, heading for the station, giving her legs a few more swats and swearing at the bugs under her breath.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
After a few slow steps, she turned around and smiled at me in a way she never had before. “You look good.” She leaned forward on her toes and added quietly, looking straight into my eyes, “Really good.” Then she jogged off toward the station and said thanks to my dad as she passed him.
Dad was grinning from ear to ear as he walked up, but I didn’t want to hear it so I jumped into the driver’s side of the pickup and cranked it to life. He waved from the passenger seat to Sunny and Eddie, and then to her parents as they pulled in when we turned onto the lane.
“Guess you can keep this load of wood down at the shack, if you want. Drop me off at the house.” He looked at his watch. “It’s still early and your mom’s got a list for me. Damn weather.”
I flipped the visor down to shield my eyes from the elusive afternoon sun. “I’ll split it and stack it around back.”
“Coming down for dinner?”
I wanted to say no, but I was starving and it was Sunday. My mom probably had something already started to feed her family. Besides, it would be a hell of a lot better than whatever leftovers I might warm up for myself.
“Yeah, I’ll be down. I have to get my truck anyway.”
“Reckon.” He pulled his hat off and smacked it off the dashboard. “Sunny was glad to see us. You know, I think if I was her, I’d probably cut the rest of that damn tree down and trim up those two apple trees in front of the station.”
He was probably the only man I knew who got excited about finding more work to do. Growing up, there was one word you didn’t say around my old man. Bored.
He’d mock, “Well, I love ya, son. So, I’m gonna help you out and cure that boredom for ya.” Then he’d put my bored-ass to work.
My father was a sun-up-to-sun-down guy. He kicked back on Sundays and loved a good vacation when they happened, but he didn’t sit still much.
Answering him about the trees he was hinting at, I said, “They’re hers. She’ll do what she wants with them.”
“Well, next time you talk to her … maybe tell her.” He played with the radio, looking for an alternative station, fidgeting, and being an all-around terrible passenger. “I’d see if she has a weed eater, too. Someone ain’t doing a very good job trimming. Maybe she needs some help.”
He wasn’t very coy. I could read through his bullshit.
“She’s the one who’s gotta live there. If she doesn’t mind, why should you?”
His face bunched and he pitched his mouth to the side, shaking his head. “You telling me you wouldn’t love a reason to talk to her?”
“Dad,” I warned. I wasn’t getting into it.
Was I the only person in this town who remembered anything? Maybe they didn’t get it because they weren’t the one getting rejected.
He scoffed. “What? All I’m saying is I think she’d listen to you.”
We turned into the farm’s driveway, and I swerved to miss the big puddle that nearly covered the entire width of the road.
“I’m not stupid, Dad. Leave it alone. I’ll be back for dinner. What’s Mom making?”
He looked disappointed as he hopped out in front of the wraparound front porch, but he accepted my change of topic. “Pot roast,” he answered. He clapped, then rubbed his hands together. “Wash up and be down by five.”
I let off the brake just when he reached out for the window frame to say something else. “Just a second, Rhett.” He looked behind himself to check our privacy. “You’re a free man. She’s a single woman. If you don’t want to talk to that pretty girl, then you are stupid, son.”
I left the auxiliary power on in my dad’s old farm truck, door open, so I could hear if and when the station came back to life.
I’d been cutting wood nearly all my life. Stand. Split. Stack. Repeat. I could do it in my sleep, and it didn’t take me very long to work through the truckload from Sunny’s.
I leaned across the seat to turn off the ignition just as I heard WDKR come alive.
“Are you out there, Wynne? I’m back and ready to get the music rolling. We had a little nature knock at our door here at the station last night, but we’re up and running now. Thanks to Eddie, the best electrician in the world. Make sure you give him a call if you need anything. Also, thanks to the Caraways and the other good Samaritans who helped me and others around town. Now, how about some tunes?”
She went straight into a classic Dwight Yoakam song, and I switched it off feeling proud.
I pulled off my boots and socks at the back door and put them on the floor beside the old washer and dryer we used to have at the farm. Either my mom didn’t want to do my laundry, which I really wouldn’t expect her to do anymore, or she wanted a new washer and dryer and used me living in the cabin as a good reason to get them for the farm that spring. My guess was the latter.
I stripped down to my boxer briefs and strolled to the refrigerator for a swig—orange juice straight from the jug and a slice of cheese to hold me over until dinner. Then I hopped in the shower and took a minute to let the thrill of Sunny talking to me wash away the day’s sweat.
I wasn’t about to look like a fool again, but damn, if her attention didn’t feel like getting my best time in a race. There was no way she was truly into me—it wasn’t possible—but privately it sure was fun to think about.
Maybe I would look at those trees my dad was talking about. I wouldn’t want the station to go out again.
We made it through the meal with my dad only bringing her up twice. The last time my mom kicked him under the table. At least someone was on my side.
“Kent. Stop it,” she scolded. Then, she scolded my sister, too. “Haley, put that phone down. And, Rhett, you need a haircut. Want me to do it after dinner?”
It was getting too long, so I answered, “Yes, ma’am.”
After we ate, and Haley cleaned up the kitchen, I met my mom for my cut. She used to work uptown with Sunny’s mom, Penny. When we were about seven or eight, my parents built a mini-salon on the side of the house so she could work from home. She wasn’t nearly as busy as if she’d stayed in Wynne, but she had quite a few regulars.
I sat in the chair and she draped the smock around my shoulders then sprayed my head
with her squirt bottle.
“Don’t let your dad or anybody else tease you about Sunny Wilbanks. She’s a pretty girl, Rhett, but there are lots of pretty girls.” That statement made me curious. She was the only person saying anything like that. Almost everyone who’d brought her up acted like I was still thirteen.
“What’s wrong with Sunny?” I asked as she ran a comb through my hair to find my part. “Leave it a little longer on the top and shorter on the sides.”
“There’s nothing wrong with her, honey. But you don’t want her.” She stepped around my legs and started finger cutting the front.
“Oh, I don’t?” I asked, taking the bait as I looked up at her.
She firmly grabbed my chin and moved it so that I was looking forward, but first said, “You must not. Otherwise, you’d have her. Now keep your head straight.”
She trimmed me up and ran the clippers through the back before dusting me off and letting me stand.
Before I left, she loaded me down with groceries and a pile of old towels for the cabin, having replaced them with new ones for herself. It dawned on me that maybe she liked me living out there because she finally had somewhere to send her hand-me-downs when she wanted new things. I couldn’t complain—I was benefiting from her recent shopping sprees.
It was sprinkling again by the time I got back to my place, and as I walked up to the door, I saw a case of beer with a note taped to it.
Rhett,
Thanks for helping me today. Have a few beers on me. If you’d like me to pay for your time, just call.
402-822-0825
Sunny
I wasn’t sure what to think, but maybe it was time I started taking the advice I’d gotten from a pretty girl a long time ago.
“Dean told me about it,” Hannah admitted. “So what did he look like?”
“He’s handsome. Like crazy, crazy hot. I’m so damn gross. He’s like a kid compared to us.” I didn’t want to burden my best friend with my May-December problems, but she called me. It was her fault.
“Shut up. So you went to his house?” she asked, followed by a shushing sound like she was holding Sawyer.
“Well, first I went to his mom and dad’s, and his mom met me on the porch, and then she said he lived out at their hunting cabin. Of course, that’s when I remembered he’d already told me that, but, on the rare occasion he actually talks to me, I can’t even fucking concentrate or listen. I’m so dumb. Anyway, besides, I haven’t even been down that dead-end road in forever. So I chickened out and came home and had a beer myself. Okay, it was two.”
She laughed as she listened to me go on and on.
“So I drove down to his place with beer and left my number because he wasn’t there. Or maybe he was but didn’t want to see me.” I paced my kitchen as I droned on. “No. There weren’t any vehicles, so I’m pretty sure he was gone. Ugh. Doesn’t matter though, Hannah. I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”
“Oh, I doubt that. Maybe he’s shy now. He hasn’t lived in Wynne for years.”
I sat on my couch and played with the condensation rolling off my glass of iced tea. I was conflicted. It was odd being a few years older, but I was so drawn to him.
“Hannah, he’s not shy. He used to call my station twice a night and request songs. He’d damn near talk my ear off.”
Her voice rose as she reasoned, “Shit changes. Look at me.”
She was right, I supposed. People could change, and she was a testament to that. Just a year ago she was a single tomboy, and now she was a new mommy and married to a great guy.
But, if things had changed, then that only proved my theory: Rhett Caraway didn’t give a shit about me anymore. For the first time in my life, that kind of sucked.
“So, you’re home then?” I asked, not wanting to argue myself into a corner.
Hannah didn’t have the time to listen to me go on about being a panther—which is what I decided I was since I wasn’t twice his age, but only five or so years. Plus, I thought panthers were classier for some reason. I would have liked to have thought my display of recent morals—like not jumping his bones in front of his father—gave more scruples in return.
Yes. I’d held back like a saintly panther, which wasn’t good in all situations of my life. I still hadn’t called Mike, but he hadn’t called me either.
After giving it some thought, I could admit that my mom wasn’t stupid, and I was starting to agree with her. I needed to give a relationship a fair shot at going somewhere. So, even if it wasn’t the guy from the next town, I had to be hopeful that maybe it would be the next guy.
I could compromise. Give myself a shot at finding someone special, someone I could invest in and see myself with for a while with my future in mind. In turn, I still really wanted to find the one who I hopefully couldn’t live without. Someone who really did it for me.
A few seconds later, Hannah spoke. “No, tomorrow. Her temperature spiked a little last night, nothing major. They just want to be safe. One. More. Night,” she chanted.
“I have some packages for you. Text me when you get home.”
I unlatched the screen door to the garage when I heard Andy scratching. He’d run in there since it started raining again.
“I will. You text me if the Fuck-hot Farmer calls.” I wasn’t going to comment on that. I was still feeling saintly. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said.
“Okay, bye.”
He was totally fuck-hot though. It wasn’t fair to other men how attractive he was.
An image of him shirtless, mowing my yard, came to mind. I chalked it up to early onset panther syndrome and bent over at the hip to catch a breath that rushed through me, the image having left me winded.
The vantage revealed I needed new tile. I’d ask my dad if there was anyone in town who did that, which I knew was a tightly loaded question. Because, if he didn’t know anyone, he’d consider being the one.
He was my dad and he rocked. A complete nerd, but he was cool.
The radio station gene skipped a generation, right over his skinny, nearly bald head. He hated country music, and my Grandpa Sonny knew a station with my dad’s preference in music—think Simon and Garfunkel, Joni Mitchell, and James Taylor—would fail in our town.
Dad had been a great student though, and my grandpa was really proud of him. So in place of his natural predecessor, Grandpa Sonny taught me. Which was kind of perfect since I’d been named after him.
He was Sonny with an O, and I was Sunny with a U. Close enough.
I loved the shit out of our time together, too. He’d let me talk on the radio when I was a kid, and my mom would record it for me so I could listen to us talking over the air later.
I didn’t do sports in high school—except cheerleading, although we didn’t do any competing around here. No, I was too busy for stuff like that. I was at that station next to my grandpa every free moment I had.
Everyone loved him. He was “Sonny Wilbanks on WDKR-Radio in the Heartland,” and the coolest guy I knew. A career military man who came back home after basic training, married his high school sweetheart, and took her along for the journey.
As children, my dad and my uncle traveled all over the world with them. Then he retired young from the military and bought the run down station in Wynne.
The rest was history.
After catching my breath, I shuffled through the mail on the counter from the past week, which wasn’t all that exciting.
Although my grandfather had passed away, my grandma Bette was still energetic and outgoing. Sharp as a tack, too. She still did a lot of the bookkeeping and ad selling, but it was mostly an excuse to keep calling her friends who spent money with the station and find out the local gossip.
She liked doing the clerical work; I liked running the station. We had a good thing.
Grandma Bette didn’t need the money. Grandpa had left her with full benefits—the kind you couldn’t buy anymore. So, out of the station’s modest profits, she gav
e herself a small cut—which she claimed was just enough to get her hair and nails done uptown—gave a piece to the station for upkeep and upgrades, and paid me the rest.
Most of the mail went to her. Usually I only got sale ads and personal bills, but one envelope caught my attention. An orange one. Wildcat orange.
My stomach sunk a little as I slid my thumb through it.
Congratulations Class of 2006!
You’re invited to the Wynne Wildcat 10 Year Class Reunion.
The old cow in me cringed from the validation of it all.
The invite was full of things, including a weekend long schedule with the family, welcome barbeque, and other events.
Also, folded inside the envelope were a few pages formatted to look like our old school newspaper. It had cute headlines like: Guess What Wildcat Couple Just Bought a House? And Second Generation Best Friends, featuring BJ and Mandy, best friends from our class and their daughters who were—you guessed it—best friends.
I was cynical and pouting about being old as I twisted off the top of a beer and sat at my kitchen table to read the damn newsletter.
I finally got over myself by the time I was on the last page where a few fun games were making me laugh. Whoever took the time to put all of it together did a pretty cool job. A nickname crossmatch game, a teacher word find, and an alumni crossword. I grabbed a pen out of my purse and played as I drank my beer.
When I got to nine down and the clue was: Single, no kids. Noticing it was a five letter word—last letter Y—I decided I’d had enough fun.
Then I drank two more beers, and Andy and I decided I needed to get my act together. For real. I might just be single, no kids Sunny now, but by the next reunion I wanted to be happily married, with some kids maybe Sunny.
The sun had set on my time to just play around and see. Things needed to start happening.
