Never Say Never

by Lisa Wingate

  “Kind of amazing what the wind blows in, I guess.” Without thinking, I’d quoted my mother. Before our family started falling apart, she used to say that when something good fell our way unexpectedly. Kind of amazing what the wind blows in.

  Kemp looked at me for so long that I thought he’d forgotten we were in a truck and he was the one driving it. “Kind of amazing,” he agreed. The expression in his eyes before he looked away seemed to apply the words to me. Kind of amazing.

  I floated off the seat again, leaving behind the still, small voice that was saying the wind could blow me out of Daily, Texas, just as quickly as it blew me in.

  “What’s that look for?” Kemp slanted a sideways glance at me, then focused on the road as we navigated a patch of potholes.

  “I’m wondering why you’re being so nice to me.” I made it sound like a joke, but really, I was hoping he’d answer.

  His lips twitched into a quirky one-sided smirk. “You’re interesting.” He shrugged, and the smirk morphed into a playful grin.

  “No, seriously.” Given Kemp’s history, and the obvious fact that he was drop-dead good-looking, there were undoubtedly all kinds of girls—interesting and otherwise—lined up outside the fence at the ballpark, hoping to grab his attention. Jennifer was interesting … and cute. Beautiful, actually. And they had history together. A wagon–load of fond memories. I, in my purple windsuit, couldn’t possibly compete.

  “I was being serious,” he answered, and I felt myself hopelessly tripping off to Never-Neverland, hovering an inch or two over my own life, unable to get a grip on anything solid, with only one thing certain; no matter what else happened, this was one hurrication I would never forget.

  The rest of the day went by in a strange mix of exhilaration and perspiration. After grabbing a soda at the Buy-n-Bye convenience store and moving the field house laundry to the dryer, we traveled to a church camp out in the country, where we received a quick debriefing on the housing problem with Sister Mona’s group, along with marching orders as to how we could help. We ended up scrubbing mildew off cots, with the help of several members of the Holy Ghost Church. It should have seemed like an unpleasant job, but the group laughed and joked and sang gospel songs, making the hours pass quickly. Kemp, Ernest, and Bluejay joked and jostled with each other as they stacked the cots in a horse trailer, and by the time we were finished, I had to admit that I’d never had so much fun scrubbing mildew in my life.

  When the trailer was loaded, we swung by the field house to pick up two loads of freshly laundered sweats and towels, then headed out to the Anderson-Shay ranch to watch the Holy Ghost caravan roll up the driveway. There was a sense of triumph in the air as Sister Mona, Pastor D., and the rest of the crew disembarked and looked around. The kids were impressed, and I couldn’t blame them. The old limestone ranch house was massive, with two stories plus attic rooms on the third level, and even though the furniture was a mishmash of folding chairs, card tables, army-green cots with assorted bedding, and plastic patioware, the place had the feeling of a grand Western resort—a dude ranch, of sorts. There were even horses and chickens in the barn. When Donetta caught up with us, she urged Kemp and me to take some of the kids out to see the animals.

  “Y’all done enough work,” she assessed. “Go on and walk the little guys out to the barn. They been cooped up downtown all day, watchin’ the storm coverage on TV. They can use a little fun. Get their mind off things.” She slipped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed me in a one-sided hug. “Looks like y’all had a good day together.” The words left behind a lingering expectation, like a weight pressing down.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer, so I just nodded and headed off to the barn with Kemp and a gaggle of happy kids, ready for pony rides. Kemp was surprised when he found out that even though I was a novice at calf feeding, I did know how to handle a horse.

  “My father played campfire music at a guest ranch in Colorado one summer,” I told him as we finished up the pony rides and pulled off the saddles. At the house, the dinner bell had started ringing, and Donetta was calling for the kids.

  Kemp sent them on their way, then turned back to me, shaking his head. “Is there anywhere you haven’t been?” He actually made it sound like a compliment, like he was awestruck by the mishmash of my life.

  “Here,” I answered, indicating the ranch as I bent over to investigate a tiny crystal at my feet. Next to it lay the limestone fossil of a snail and a small piece of clouded topaz. I tucked them into my pocket as I stood up, thinking that I’d polish them and use them in jewelry, to have something by which to remember this day. “This is a beautiful place. It’ll make a fantastic foster shelter someday.” I had the fleeting thought that I could have ended up in a place like this. There were so many times when my parents hit rock bottom, financially, emotionally, physically, in dealing with Gil’s illness. It would have been easier for them to have just let go and given us over to the state, where Gil’s medical care would have been provided. Carnies in campgrounds advised them to do it, explained the process to my father and told him how to work the system. They could get us back in a few years, when Gil’s health was better.

  My father never even considered it. Instead, he stuffed down his pride and did the thing he hated most—he went begging to Grandmother Miller. I’d never even considered what it must have cost him. I’d only thought about how his failures affected me.

  “You haven’t seen the half of it,” Kemp said, his words seeming prophetic. The next thing I knew, he was swinging, Indian style, onto the back of a gray pony.

  “What are you doing?” I coughed out, laughing. He looked ridiculous, like a cartoon character ready to stand up and let the pony walk out from under him.

  “Hop on.” He waved toward the other pony. “I’ll give you the tour.”

  The idea made me giggle. My pony was even smaller than his. “I’m too big for him.”

  “Are you kidding? These guys were bred to carry big, burly miners up the mountain to the coal mines. You’re not too big for him. Hop on.”

  There was enough of a challenge in the words to convince me to do it. I mounted the pony about as gracefully as a sumo wrestler getting on a balance beam, but I did it. Kemp trotted off, and my pony followed just as I was thinking, This really isn’t such a good idea… .

  The next thing I knew, I was crossing the pasture at a trot, gathering the reins in one hand, clutching the pony’s thick mane in the other, bouncing side to side, realizing the windsuit was too slippery for horse riding, and giggling out the words “It’s … ouch … been … a few … shoot … years … slow … down … already.”

  “It’s like riding a bicycle—you never forget,” Kemp called over his shoulder, and his pony accelerated into a smooth canter. In spite of the ridiculous size differential, he looked good up there. He rode as if he and his stubby mount were one.

  I, on the other hand, was like a Weeble on a Super Ball.

  “Kick him out of a trot. It’ll be smoother,” Kemp called.

  “No!” I hollered back, and my mount and I continued after him in a fast, yet bone-jarring gait.

  Finally, Kemp slowed down as we came to a trail leading up what had seemed like a hill from a distance, but now looked like a mountain. Kemp guided his pony onto the trail, making little smoochy sounds to keep it moving. My mount followed, and we started to climb, Kemp ducking tree limbs and knocking down spider webs with ease, while I clung to my horse’s mane with both hands and slowly slid tailward, thinking that this was what it would be like to traverse the rim of the Grand Canyon on a somewhat overweight burro.

  “I’m sliding off!” I clutched the pony’s mane tighter, hanging on for dear life.

  “No you’re not.” Kemp glanced over his shoulder.

  “Where are we going, anyway?”

  He didn’t answer, just continued winding upward on the trail until finally we emerged in a flat spot atop the hill. He halted against the setting sun in a pose that would have been majest
ic if it hadn’t been for the fact that he looked like Gumby out for a ride.

  “Not a bad view, huh?” he said, as I steered into the space beside Never Say Never i 251 his. Happy to be stopping, the ponies nuzzled noses and chewed each others’ bridles.

  My breath caught in my throat as I took in the scenery. From here, the view seemed to stretch endlessly, making the ranch house and barns look like playthings among the yawning live oaks. Beyond the buildings, amber grasses extended toward the horizon, the waving currents of an endless yellow sea. On the far shores, hills melted into one another, a rocky watercolor wash of violet and smoky blue and deep purple fading into the sky.

  The panorama paled suddenly, and I knew Kemp was watching me. I turned to him, and he leaned closer, and just before he kissed me, a last, random thought raced through my mind. This wasn’t a bad idea. This wasn’t a bad idea at all… .

  Chapter 21

  Donetta Bradford

  When I left after the Holy Ghost bunch was fed and bedded down out at the ranch, I headed home on the wings a’ victory. We’d pulled the wool right over Betty Prine’s eyes. A day don’t get much better than that.

  I was high as a paper kite in a March wind, I’ll tell you. My spirits were so lofty they couldn’t be brought down, even by the fact that Ronald’s disappearin’ act’d come up in conversation while we were fixing dinner for the guests at the ranch. Just out of the blue, Brother Ervin’d said, “Too bad Ronald ain’t here. He could’ve supplied some fish fillets to go with this brisket.”

  My face went hot and prickly, but I just bent over the choppin’ block and kept cuttin’ up celery for the salad. “His boat and tackle’s gone. Reckon he’s off down the river someplace.” Doin’ whatever he wants to do. Not one whit worried about whether anybody else got trapped in a hurricane. “Guess he’ll come back when he’s ready.” There was a sharp edge in those words, and I knew Brother Ervin was lookin’ at me, trying to figure out what wasn’t bein’ said.

  “At the lake, maybe,” Brother Ervin said. “Harlan was down the river checkin’ his trotlines yesterday mornin’. Said he didn’t see a soul. The river was up and the fishin’ was poor. He’da mentioned it if he saw Ronald’s truck parked around the lot at Boggy Bend.”

  “Well, the lake, then.” There’s places all around that lake that got boat docks, with restaurants and phones. From the lake, Ronald coulda called to check on me anytime he wanted, even without a cell phone. “Could be he drove to Dallas and picked up his brother, and they’re camped out at the deer lease.” When Ronald and his brother went off in the woods together, they were apt to miss birthday parties, Christmas, and whatever else came up.

  Brother Ervin scraped the brisket knife on the edge of the pan. “Reckon. But you might better give him a call and make sure he’s all right.”

  “He won’t carry one of them cell phones, Brother Ervin. You know that.”

  Brother Ervin nodded. He knew how much Ronald hated anything technological—except the fish-findin’ radar on his boat. He liked that just fine. “His brother’s house, then. Just call up there. Raymond’s probably checkin’ his phone messages from out in the woods. You know he’s always got some horse-sellin’ deal goin’ on. He don’t stay out of touch for long.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said, just to end the conversation. Then I realized I’d made a promise to the preacher, which meant, sooner or later, I’d have to break down and call. If Ronald didn’t call me first.

  I put it out of my mind and just enjoyed the evenin’ at the ranch. My promise to Brother Ervin didn’t come back to me until I was on my way home. Just as soon as I thought about it, I felt the damper falling over my head, so I turned on the radio and started listening to the Ophelia Show, just as she was sending out good wishes to the folks involved in the hurricane. She was doin’ a special feature where people called in and told what’d happened to them during Glorietta, and then if they wanted, they could dedicate a song to someone they loved or to their hometown or their family. The show was named “Voices From the Storm,” and it was real touchin’. I got choked up and tears come in my eyes, but they were good tears.

  Rolling up my driveway, I noticed my house was still empty. Kai hadn’t showed back up yet. That was interestin’… .

  Once I got inside, I called Imagene to let her know. “You sittin’ down?” I said.

  “Don’t have any choice. My legs fell off a hour ago. What’s up?”

  “Them two still ain’t back.” I turned on the radio so I could finish listening to the Ophelia Show. “Them two been out all day together, Imagene.”

  “What two?”

  “Well, Kemp and Kai, of course. They’re still out together. Ain’t that somethin’?”

  Imagene made a hmmm sound. “The way they were lookin’ at each other at the ranch, that don’t surprise me, but …” She trailed off in a way that said there was something more.

  “But what? I ain’t ever seen Kemp that moony over a girl, especially one he’s only just met. It’s a good sign.”

  “Jenny’s back in town.”

  It took a minute for what Imagene said to sink in. “Jenny Mayfield? What? Where?” That wasn’t good news. Not good news at all. First Ronald was who-knew-where, and now Jenny Mayfield was back in town. Kemp and Jenny’d been sweethearts since they were kids. They’d wasted years going back and forth with each other, off and on, long distance and otherwise. Those two were like a threadbare brown suit. An old brown suit is comfortable, but it ain’t very excitin’.

  “She’s working for Doc down at the vet clinic.” Imagene had a grave sound in her voice, so that it was lower than usual. “I hear Kemp and Kai ran into her today.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” There’s something wrong when your best friend gets the gossip before you do.

  “I passed by her folks’ place on my way home while ago. They were sittin’ out in the carport. I stopped off to say hello, and there was Jenny. She mentioned she saw Kemp today at the vet clinic.”

  “And you didn’t think you better call and tell me that?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your day,” Imagene said, like she was passing along a funeral notice. “You know what happens every time Kemp and Jenny run back into each other.”

  A whole series of past hits and misses with Kemp and Jenny scampered through my thoughts—up to and including the first time he hurt his arm in the minors, and had to come home, and ended up actually buying Jenny an engagement ring when she visited for the Fourth of July. They laughed about it later. Kemp went back to the minors and Jenny was off to Galveston to study dolphins, and neither of them seemed too disappointed about calling off the wedding.

  “That’s about the worst thing that could happen right now, with Kemp having to give up his spot on the Rangers and not knowin’ whether those doctors’ll ever clear him to go back.” If Jenny was between plans enough to be working in Daily, that probably meant she’d be here awhile. “The last thing he needs is Jenny back in town.”

  “I know.” Imagene yawned long and loud. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

  Sometimes, even though we’re best friends, I don’t understand Imagene’s thinkin’ at all. “It’s better for me to know … so I can get prepared—come up with a plan.”

  “Now, Netta.” I could picture her with her hands held out like two chubby little stop signs.

  “Don’t now Netta me.”

  “Frank says you need to leave things alone. Whatever happens with Jenny’ll happen.”

  My back bristled up like a cat’s. “You been talkin’ to Frank? You told Frank Jenny was back, but you didn’t tell me?”

  “He called to make sure I was home all right, that’s all.”

  “Imagene Doll …”

  “I wasn’t tryin’ to keep secrets,” Imagene cooed, like she was dealin’ with a toddler about to go into a hissy fit. “I didn’t want to get you upset. You been upset enough already.”

  “I’m not upset. I don’t have one other
thing to be upset about.”

  “You’re upset about Ronald not bein’ home, Netta, and you know it.”

  Blood washed into my face, and my throat clogged up so that I had to blow it out with a cough before I could talk. “He took his boat and tackle and went off fishin’. What’s to be upset about that?”

  Imagene gave a long, weary sigh. Even over the phone, she knew that wasn’t the truth. “You’re my best friend, Netta. I can’t be happy if you’re miserable.”

  My eyes stung and I sniffed back tears. “I’m not miserable, Imagene.”

  “You wouldn’t say so if you were.” Her voice was tender, but even so, it hurt. “You always do for everybody else, Netta, and that’s a wonderful way to be. I hadn’t ever known anybody as good as you in my whole life. But you never stand up and say it when you need somethin’. Maybe you should once in a while. If you want Ronald to take you out and dance, you got to just put your foot down and say, ‘Ronald, we been married all these years, and I’m tired of waitin’ for you to wake up and smell the coffee. I ain’t sittin’ in this house one more day with an old pooh, so just dust off your suit coat and put on your dancin’ shoes.’ ”

  I pictured myself saying those things to Ronald, and I almost got tickled right through the tears. “Imagene, if I walked in here and said ‘Ronald, you take me dancin’ or else,’ he’d have a coronary heart attack.”

  “Let him.” It wasn’t like Imagene to sound so hard. She’d been thinking about this for a while. Probably talking about it to Frank, too. “You stick to your guns.”

  “Ronald don’t dance. I knew that when I married the man.” Why I felt I had to make excuses for Ronald was a pure mystery, but it just come natural. Every time Ronald stayed home in his chair like a fart, while things were goin’ on without him, I tried to keep it from looking bad to other folks. Oh, Ronald’s not a dancer. Oh, Ronald don’t like parades. Well, Ronald’s arthritis gets him down in the mornin’s, that’s why he don’t make it to Sunday service. Ronald said to tell y’all he’s sorry he missed the party. He got tied up at deer camp… .