Calling Home

by Janna McMahan

  “I want two eggs over easy, toast, two sausage,” Coleman said.

  Shannon twisted the knobs on the grill. There were a few clicks and the audible poof of combustion. Flames warmed the metal surface.

  “When do people start showing up on weekdays?” she asked.

  “’Round seven. That’s fishing folks. Boat people start coming in ’round eight.”

  “What about the houseboat girls?”

  “Don’t usually show up till ten or so. They ain’t dependable.”

  “They know what to do? Which boats to clean?”

  “Yeah. You got to keep track of the time they’re here. Make sure they don’t clock in for one another and stuff like that. They’ll steal me blind if you don’t watch. Seem to like them pink Snoballs and Little Debbie’s a lot.”

  “Okay.”

  “You handle the rentals. Most folks call ahead. Take their credit card number over the phone and write it all down. I’ll call back to confirm.”

  Shannon tossed two frozen patties on the grill. They sizzled and popped. She cracked eggs. Smoke twisted above Coleman’s head.

  “Make sure customers pay. Sometimes they get to talking and walk right on out without paying. Prices for worms, crickets, and minners is up on that post behind the register. Drinks is seventy-five. Candy’s fifty. Other stuff like life preservers, bobbers, suntan lotion should all be marked. If it ain’t, you got to guess.”

  Shannon knew all this from Sarah’s instructions, but she just nodded as if the information were new. She glanced around the jumbled store. Metal racks held snack cakes and chips. Behind them were two rows of sundries—soap, cornflakes, aspirin, cans of beef stew and vienna sausages. Upright coolers against the back wall held sodas, milk, and bologna.

  “Ice is big business,” he went on. “And you know it’s a dry county, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Makes city folks mad when they find out we don’t sell no alcohol. You can send ’em out to Big John’s on the county line if they got to have something. Guess you know where that is.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I bet.”

  Coleman rubbed his stubbly red beard, and Shannon wondered how old he was. Most people older than forty seemed the same age to her. He motioned to the dusty wooden skis hanging above the screen door. “Had them skis for three summers now. You sell those and I’ll give you twenty bucks.” A happy skier waved from a logo that said Cypress on the top and Gardens on the bottom. Shannon had never skied, but she had been out running trotlines with her daddy a couple of times. The screen door groaned open and two men in swimming trunks and tee shirts shuffled across the wooden floor and pulled out stools. Their faces were drawn and tired, but their bodies were slender and tan.

  “Hey,” one of them said. “New girl. I’m Rob.” His eyes were set deep, giving him a brooding look.

  “Hey, Rob,” Shannon smiled. “Can I get you something?”

  “Tomato juice.”

  “How about you?” she asked the other.

  “Same.”

  She rooted around in the cooler and came up with a large can.

  “Throw a couple of ice cubes in there, darlin.” This one’s eyes were like secondary roads on a map. “I’m Kyle,” he said. “Shoot some hot sauce in mine.” He pulled a bottle from a back pocket of his shorts and added clear liquid into each glass. “Turn on Q104, would you? We need music.”

  Shannon cooked breakfast for most of the houseboat people and a couple who came by with a big mess of bass that they traded to Coleman for gas and two ham-and-egg sandwiches. Their boat etched a perfect V in the cove as it pulled away from the buoys toward flat, open lake.

  Shannon liked the marina; it was crawling with activity. Already she could tell when a boat was coming in by how the waterline moved against the bank outside the restaurant’s windows. Men’s footfalls shook the dock. Children’s were like scurrying animals. Only a woman could glide along undetected by her sense of vibration. When speedboaters launched, the whole marina shook. They revved motors and churned water, a psychedelic slick of oil spread around the metallic boats. The gearheads took off before clearing the buoys and made large wakes that banged boats against the dock. When their engines whined into the distance, the cove grew quiet again.

  Shannon was excited. Everything was changing. School was out. Will was off today at Western checking out the dorms and athletic facilities. He would be going over the course catalog and signing up for his fall classes. Shannon had hated to quit her volunteer position at the library, but she loved this new job with all the different people and things to learn. Even her breakup with Kerry had turned out pretty friendly. At least he didn’t hate her. By the end of the week she would have money in her pocket. Everything was good.

  At lunchtime, six people hung around the counter talking and smoking. Sarah had told her the routine. First thing in the morning came the boozers who couldn’t sleep despite hangovers, then the people fishing since before daylight. Around lunchtime, pleasure boaters and skiers showed up with their pink-cheeked, coconut-smelling children. On Saturdays, the rental people came in from Louisville and Lexington, pale and tense, always on edge and poised to be dissatisfied. They brought coolers heavy with beer and food. They left a few days later burned and relaxed, headed back to their desks and plants and companies, their coolers and psyches lighter. The renters and regular lakers didn’t mix well, so Coleman kept them far apart, on different wings of the marina.

  After Shannon cleaned up from lunch, she waited for food delivery and flipped though catalogs. Coleman had asked her to order a gas hose for his runabout. She looked through shots of smiling families in their new life preservers and handsome men on skis with rooster tails of water flying out behind them. Sarah usually ordered everything for Coleman and the store, but Shannon would work Mondays, delivery days, so she would check deliveries against orders. And all day long they came—the cheerful snack guys and soda guys, the hustling UPS man, teenagers who sold night crawlers.

  Shannon watched a red delivery truck come down the sloping road to the marina parking lot. Black-and-white checkered flags were the background for a logo that read LEXINGTON MOTOR SUPPLY in giant letters on the side panels. The guy who got out had the blackest hair and the darkest tan Shannon had ever seen. He was tall and lean and he moved like a cat, slinking over the walkway onto the dock. He stopped to check out a catch in somebody’s well and he clapped one guy on the back and laughter tumbled from them. When he came inside, he slid onto a stool and smiled. His teeth were as white as Chiclets.

  “Hey there, darlin’,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  “Shannon.”

  “I’m Jake,” he said and leaned over the counter to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m your handy-dandy motor oil salesman here to fill your lubrication needs.”

  “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “You have?”

  “Sarah told me you might be coming today.”

  “Oh, what else did she tell you about me?”

  “That I shouldn’t believe a word out of your mouth.”

  He put his hand over his heart. “I am hurt. Cut off before I ever have a chance. That’s not fair.” His eyes were so dark Shannon felt like he was looking inside her.

  She grinned. “Let me get my order book and see what you’re supposed to bring me today.”

  He pulled a delivery slip from his back pocket. “Says here three cases of Valvoline. Two cases STP.”

  “That’s what I’ve got. You can put them over there on the rack.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  When he came back with the cases of oil on his shoulder, his shirt was unbuttoned and flapping in the wind. Shannon was sure this was for her benefit, but she had to admit that he was a fine-looking man.

  “Sign here,” he said. Shannon scrawled on the delivery slip. “You know Kyle and Rob?”

  “Sure.”

  “They here?”

  “Down on their boat
.”

  “Thank you, now,” he said and winked. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  How old was he? Thirty maybe. Probably more like twenty-five. A few minutes later Rob came in the store and took a couple of cans of Coke out of a back cooler. Shannon rang them up.

  “Come on down. You got to start hanging with us,” Rob said as he handed over a dollar.

  “Can’t. I’ve been here since six this morning. I’ve got to go home. Besides, my friend is coming to pick me up.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bring her on down, too. We’re going to take the boat out. Go swimming. Go jump off the cliffs across from the beach.”

  “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

  “You’ll miss the party.”

  “I’m too tired. Really. I’ll take a rain check.”

  By the time Sarah showed up to relieve Shannon, grills were smoking on decks and pontoons. The aroma of charcoal and charred meat floated on the air. Pam was late, so Shannon decided to watch the parking lot from Rob and Kyle’s boat. The dock burned her bare feet, but she walked slowly, enjoying the sensation. She could hear Foghat on the radio. Rob, Kyle, and Jake were sprawled wide-legged in green-and-yellow woven lawn chairs, their bare chests shiny and smooth.

  “Permission to come aboard?” Shannon asked. Their houseboat was a homemade aluminum cabin atop pontoons. Nothing fancy, but lots of people could afford to live out their summers this way, since a slip was only $200 a month, utilities included. Shannon learned this from peeking at the marina books.

  “Hell, permission granted,” Rob said. “Get on here and have a beer with us. Sit here.” He motioned to a lawn chair with a moldy, square life preserver in the seat. “Don’t mind the boat cushion, the bottom’s busted on the chair.”

  All three men had unruly lake hair and they smelled like suntan lotion and sweat. Kyle grabbed a beer from the cooler and handed it to her still dripping with ice.

  “Where’s your manners?” Rob said. “Don’t let a lady open her own beer.” Biting his cigarette between his teeth, he twisted open the brown bottle and handed it back to her. Jake grinned that bright uneven smile.

  Rob found a cigar box underneath his chair and pulled out a baggie. He crumbled weed into a rolling paper, his thumbs moving smoothly to form a perfect, fat joint. Rob lit the end and inhaled. He held his breath for a few seconds then blew out a column of thick smoke that floated like a ghost out over the lake.

  “It’s going good,” he said and held out the joint to Shannon.

  “Here, let me,” Jake said. “You got some catching up to do.” He placed the fire of the joint inside his mouth. He moved close to Shannon. She had seen this done before and she leaned toward him. A thin line of smoke slowly snaked from his lips to hers. A pleasant burn started in her lungs and moved through her body.

  Jake sat back. “That good?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “I see you two have met,” Rob said.

  “Inside the store—restaurant—whatever you call it,” Jake said.

  Shannon let the smoke out of her lungs and waited to see if she would cough. When she didn’t she said, “You drive here all the way from Lexington today?”

  “Yeah, my route covers all the counties from Fayette on down past here to Green County and from Hardin County on over to here. Our areas are sort of like spokes on a wheel sticking out from Lexington. I like my route because I have so many lakes. I like that lake in Pulaski County a lot, too, but Green River’s my favorite. I always try to end my route here so I can hang with these guys.”

  “How’d you end up delivering oil?” she asked.

  “My dad owns an auto parts store in Lexington. I hated all those customers coming in all day yammering in my face about windshield wipers and antifreeze and brake fluid. Then one day this guy delivering oil came in and we got to talking. He said how he got to drive around in his truck all day listening to the radio, and I thought that sounded pretty good. So here I am. I been at it a couple of years.”

  “Bet your old man didn’t like you leaving,” Kyle said.

  “Aw, he didn’t seem to care too much. What he really wanted was for me to get an office job with some big company, since he paid for me to go to college.”

  “UK?” Shannon asked.

  “Majored in marketing.”

  “You’re sort of doing marketing I guess,” she said.

  “It’s all right for now.”

  “Did you like it? UK, I mean.”

  He grinned at her again and got up to stand on the edge of the pontoon. “It was something to do for a couple of years. I guess I’m glad I went.” He dove off into the cove so smoothly that he barely made a splash. He came up a few moments later twenty feet away and brushed his dark hair back from his face.

  “Come on in,” he said. “The water’s fine.”

  15

  The Fourth of July parade snaked down the hill that ran between the city high school and the big cemetery. It passed Shannon and continued in the other direction down Main Street, where it disappeared around the bend by the post office. Shannon never stood in front of the businesses along Main Street where buildings trapped fumes from tractors and fire engines. Sidewalk spots tended to be the most coveted seats for folks not concerned with carbon monoxide poisoning. They had arrived in town an hour before the parade to park Will’s truck in the Houchens Market parking lot. Her mother, never one for idle time, collected fast-food cups and soda cans that rolled in the truck bed. She stuck ball equipment and a tackle box in the metal tool chest behind the cab and piled waders and fishing rods to one side.

  “There now. At least we can see where we’re stepping.” Virginia lowered the tool chest lid. She and Patsy sat on top.

  “Look! Here come those crazy Shriners!” Patsy said. The Shriners zoomed their miniature, sparkly cars in figure eights, looking as if they were sure to crash, but always skimming by each other, the tassels on their fezzes dangling above pink, middle-aged faces. The Shriners were followed by the town’s only fire engine with uniformed, candy-tossing football players and cheerleaders on top. Next came a line of convertibles with signs of posterboard and glitter on the sides—MISS BAYLOR COUNTY FAIR, MR. AND MISS SENIOR. The homecoming court jerked by in a wagon pulled by a pickup truck full of Pep Club members. Shannon recognized this float as left over from the basketball homecoming parade because she had helped stuff newspaper into chicken wire for two days. The paper had later been spray-painted to make a bright orange setting sun background.

  “Here comes the FFA Sweetheart!” Patsy said. The young lady sat atop rectangular bales of hay on a flatbed pulled by a tractor. She was surrounded by smiling club members, their blue jackets replaced by FFA shirts on such a hot day. “Your momma was such a pretty sweetheart. She beat that girl all to pieces. There’s Kerry.”

  Kerry, who was vice president of Future Farmers of America, found Shannon’s face in the crowd and waved. She smiled and waved back. Except for the overly happy Shriners and a few somber Vietnam vets, the parade was dominated by high school students. It was sprinkled with marching bands; one stopped in place and mangled “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Everyone stood with hands over hearts. The flag corps held their flags down in reverence to Old Glory, carried by a Boy Scout troop. Next came baseball players on the back of a pickup. They threw little packs of chocolate baseballs into the crowd, and children scrambled into the road to retrieve the candy as nervous mothers jerked them away from the parade vehicles. Will pelted Shannon so hard that the candy balls stung when they hit her. Shannon picked up a few and tried to throw them at him.

  “Lord, lord,” Patsy said. “This parade gets longer every year. You know they say it’s the biggest one in Kentucky.”

  “Really?” Shannon said. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I swear that’s what I read.”

  Half an hour later, the Junior Miss rode by on the back of a blue Corvette convertible, her dress spread ou
t around her like Alice in Wonderland perched on a magic mushroom. Her crown glittered, and she flashed her smile and waved, even though she must have been dying from the heat and fumes, but that was the spirit of Junior Miss—poise, personality, and promise. Shannon wanted to ride on the back of one of those cars, to be a Miss Somebody. Even her mother had been a Miss Somebody on the back of a car in a parade way back when.

  Next came the 4-H float. Shannon had helped put it together again this year. She could have ridden on it, but she hadn’t wanted to be the oldest one on the float. The many faces of 4-H was the float’s theme, and in addition to a display of all types of vegetables, there were piglets in pens, chickens in a coop, and a couple of kids who kept repositioning their sheep by grabbing their animals’ necks and sticking their fingers in the poor things’ rear ends. Kids from the annual 4-H talent show had giant papier-mâché heads that kept bouncing around on their shoulders, making them look like bobble-headed drunks. Quilts and other handwork were displayed on a big board at the back of the float. First-place ribbons fluttered from everything.

  The parade was brought up by a gingham-clad grandmother pushing a baby buggy of floppy puppies, blue and pink ribbons around their necks. A sign on the side of the buggy read, “Free to Good Home.” Two clowns followed with signs on their rumps that read THE and END.

  When that clown walked by, vendors closed in on Main Street, unfolding chairs and long tables, setting up their booths, where they started to hawk food and trinkets. Thick smoke from the 4-H chicken barbecue soon filled the street and people lined up to pay long before the chickens were ready. Kids wandered around with pink hornet’s nests of cotton candy and colorfully swirled stick candies. Teenage couples ambled through the crowd, their hands in each other’s back pockets.

  “Let’s get us some barbecue!” Patsy said as Shannon helped her aunt down from the truck.

  “Least that’s one meal I won’t have to fix today,” Virginia said. “But I got to get on back so I can finish up my pies for the reunion.”