“Yes, ma’am. Just fine.” No reason to go into detail.
“We used to be fast friends, your momma and me, back in the day. Had us some good times.” Pamela giggled, reminding me of her daughter.
“Yes, ma’am.” We danced this conversation every time we ran into each other. Pamela asking about my mother, obviously hoping to rekindle an old friendship. Me trying my best not to hurt her feelings, since Momma never mentioned her.
I reached for the door. “I’d better be getting to work now.”
She smiled, but then her eyes focused past me, and I knew she saw Dodd waiting in the parking lot. “You sure are a hard-working young lady, Ruthie.” She returned her gaze to me, and her eyes changed, but I couldn’t tell in what way. “You tell your momma I said hello. Tell her to stay happy.”
“Will do, Pamela.” I fled to the safety of the outdoors, recognizing the irony of me escaping one Christian by running to another one.
“It was nice of you to offer me a ride.” I slipped quickly into the passenger side of Dodd’s El Camino, hoping Pamela’s were the only set of eyes watching us.
“No problem.” Dodd ducked his chin slightly, and I got the feeling he wasn’t too keen on being seen either. “You feel like getting a milkshake on the way?”
I shook my head. My newfound niceness extended only so far. “Might be late for work. Thanks, though.”
As he put the car in gear, Emily jogged toward us, waving.
I thought Dodd gave a tiny sigh of frustration when he rolled down his window. “What’s up, Emily?”
“I think I missed your car when I canvassed the parking lot during sixth period.” She giggled as she stuck a fluorescent orange flyer under his windshield wiper, then bent to peer in the window. “Hey, Ruthie. Why is Dodd giving you a ride?”
There was no way the girl could’ve known the day I’d had, but the question grated on my nerves just the same. Besides, it annoyed me that she called her algebra teacher by his first name. “Why shouldn’t he?”
She froze. “Uh … I don’t know.” Then she bounded toward the building, calling over her shoulder, “See you guys later.”
Dodd stared after her, not moving for several seconds.
I smiled. “Counting to ten?”
“Twenty-five,” he said as he exhaled.
“Did it help?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I guess so.”
Emily Sanders could test the patience of Mother Teresa herself, but still, I found it funny the preacher would be so irritated.
He glanced at me, and his face reddened. “My door handle is broken.” He quickly opened the door from the outside and removed the paper from his windshield. When he returned to the car, he held up the flyer. “At all costs, don’t miss the Halloween Carnival this Saturday.”
A thought occurred to me. “You don’t like it here, do you?”
He laughed, sounding guilty, as he pulled out of the parking lot. “This place is growing on me, but when we first moved here? No, I didn’t like it.”
“What’s not to like?” I knew countless answers to the question but wondered how the preacher would answer.
“It’s just different than the city. Not as many opportunities.”
Once again, his easy conversation clouded my judgment like Uncle Ansel’s stock tank after a summer rain, but I forced myself to remember who he was. “Elaborate, please.”
“For starters, the stores are limited. No mall. No real restaurants.” He chuckled. “No doctors or dentists or hospitals.”
“We have all that in Lubbock, though.”
“Sure.”
He sounded as if he was leaving something out. “And …?”
“At first I felt there weren’t enough people here. Or, you know, not enough to make a community. I worried I wouldn’t share the same interests with anyone.” He pushed at the sun visor. “Thought I’d be lonely.”
“That’s Trapp for you.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that.” He squinted at me. “I don’t feel that way now. Not about the people anyway.” He seemed to wait for a reply, but when he didn’t receive one, he added, “I still wish Trapp had a CiCi’s, though.”
“You like cardboard pizza?”
“I do.” He grinned. “As a teenager, I couldn’t wait to leave for college so I could eat at CiCi’s whenever I wanted.”
I dug in my purse for chewing gum. “I say that a lot.”
“You like CiCi’s?”
“No, I can’t wait to get to college.”
He quieted as he slowed for a stop sign, and I could hear several questions in his silence, but he asked only one. “Where do you plan on going?”
I exhaled, not comfortable discussing my plans with him. “Tech,” I said shortly, wondering if the Christians in Lubbock would be like the Cunninghams.
“I figured you for the type to leave the area.”
I expected to see cynicism in his eyes, but all I saw was interest. I rubbed my thumb along the seam of my jeans as Dodd stopped at the traffic light. “Well, I won’t be able to afford anything else. And even then, only if I get a scholarship.”
“Um … isn’t that your mom?”
My body went rigid. Sure enough, the hatchback was stopped at the red light, and when Dodd turned left, Momma’s gaze followed the El Camino through the intersection.
In the split second our eyes met, her expression changed from surprise to disbelief to fury. I gripped the hand rest but refused to turn and look out the back windshield to see if Momma was following us. I knew she was.
Dodd mimicked my silence until he stopped at the front doors of the United, where he called out a polite comment—have a good day, or see you tomorrow—just before I jumped out of the car.
“Thanks.” I said the word, but my body shrieked for me to hurry, run, escape, and I didn’t take the time to muster a smile or a nod or any other appropriate action to express my gratitude. Instead, I rushed headlong into the store, catching the reflection of Momma’s hatchback in the front windows as she sped into the parking lot, tires squealing, and slammed to a stop next to the El Camino.
I sought sanctuary in the break room, bracing myself against the back wall while I waited for the storm to hit.
Momma burst through the swinging doors. “Ruth Ann Turner, what are you thinking?”
“He gave me a ride, Momma. It’s no big deal.” Punching my employee code into the time clock, I willed my hands to stop shaking.
“Those people aren’t like us, Ruth Ann. You can’t trust them.”
Even though I agreed with her, I didn’t appreciate the uncontrolled intensity of her emotions. “JohnScott trusts them.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do they want with JohnScott?”
“Nothing. They’re friends.” I threw my purse in a locker and clanked the metal door, keeping my back to her.
“Well, what do they want with you?”
What did Dodd Cunningham want with me? Maybe he thought I needed a friend, maybe he thought I needed Jesus, maybe he just wanted somebody who would listen to him whine about Trapp.
“He gave me a ride to work, that’s all.” I tied my apron.
“Ruth Ann.” Momma snarled as though she wanted to spit. “Next time? Walk.”
Chapter Twenty
I completely ignored the preacher for two weeks. At least I tried. He insisted on talking to Maria and me, but I only ever gave him short, curt responses in an attempt to discourage his small talk. After Momma’s outburst at the store, I briefly questioned my decision to befriend him. Was befriend even the right word? Our friendship would be more of an acquaintanceship. Nothing more.
Maybe not even that much.
So when I met Maria at the Halloween Carnival that Saturday night, I hoped to avoid Dodd altogether. I had agreed to work with Mar
ia at the cakewalk, and at the risk of appearing silly, I wore a costume. Since we both lacked courage, we opted for the basic 1950s sock-hop look. Rolled-up jeans with tennis shoes, untucked shirts, and ponytails tied with scarves.
In the back of the gym were three long dessert tables stacked with cakes, pies, and cookies that filled the room with a sugary scent. I took my post at the CD player for the first round of the cakewalk as Emily approached, dressed like a little girl. Appropriate costume.
“How long are you working, Ruthie?”
Even though I had come to expect her to speak to me, it still felt strange. “An hour.” I noticed Emily’s mother a few booths over, nodding encouragement to her. I bit my tongue.
“I’m not sure why I play this game,” Emily said. “I like cake, but I don’t want to carry one around for three hours. You know what I mean?” She stepped onto a colored paper square next to nine other people as I punched a CD player to blare a few bars of “Monster Mash.”
She needn’t have worried about winning. The first cake went to Luis Vega’s little sister.
During our shift, children and adults continued to parade through the cakewalk while I pondered Emily. Not only was the girl talking to me, but now her mother was prodding her to do so. It didn’t take a genius to recognize Dodd’s influence, but the preacher and his God would have to be a little more creative if they expected to wipe away thirteen years of hurtful actions.
Our replacement workers arrived, and Maria and I ventured to the elementary cafeteria for the fashion show, performed by JohnScott and his athletes. Every year they were the highlight of the carnival, drawing the largest crowd and bringing in the most money.
We found two chairs near the front as Roy Orbison crooned “Pretty Woman” from the speakers, and football players, dressed as women, swaggered down a makeshift runway wearing wigs, evening gowns, and enhanced undergarments. After each “girl” was introduced, the team performed a Rockettes dance routine, complete with hairy-legged high kicks.
As we left the stage area, JohnScott, sporting a feather boa and heavy makeup, flirted into the audience and planted a waxy kiss on my cheek. I could feel his lipstick smear onto my skin.
“Ruthie, you’ve got something on your face.”
“And now I’ll have to get soap to get it off. Thanks, JohnScott.”
He fluttered his fake eyelashes. “Aw, just leave it.”
“Goodness, Coach Pickett,” Maria said, “how long did it take you to apply all that makeup?”
“Better part of an hour. I don’t know how you ladies do this every day.” He quickly kissed Maria on the cheek as well, but then a beefy lineman picked him up beneath the armpits and carried him away for the next show.
“See you later, Ruthie,” JohnScott called. “You, too, Maria.”
As I watched him wave his feather boa, my uncomfortable feelings toward the Sanders sifted from my mind like so much face powder, and I turned toward Maria and smiled. “How about a snow cone? They’re set up on the baseball field.” I led the way outside, filtering through the crowd to take our places at the end of the snow-cone line, where we started people watching.
“The fashion show was good this year,” I said.
“I loved the quarterback’s wig.” Maria surveyed the baseball field and the various games and booths. “Hey, look over there.”
I searched the crowd until I noticed Dodd near the baseball toss, dressed in a tuxedo with tails, and talking to someone over the fence. Big deal. Right before I turned back, he shifted to one side, and I did a double take.
“Clyde Felton?”
Maria faced me. “Now that’s just creepy.”
The convict had a rubber ghoul mask pushed back on his head, and he was listening attentively to whatever Dodd was saying.
“Ruthie, your mouth is hanging open. Stop it.” Maria examined me. “Tell me what they’re doing. Both of us can’t stare or they’ll notice.”
I positioned myself so I could watch them over Maria’s shoulder. If either Dodd or Clyde glanced our way, I would shift my eyes to Maria. “Talking.”
“About what?”
“How should I know?”
“Sorry.”
I considered them for a few minutes, wishing I had suggested a hot dog instead of a snow cone, because I could smell wieners grilling in the outfield. “They’re still talking. Dodd mostly. I think he’s holding a top hat.”
“The tux is cool. What’s Clyde doing?”
“Shaking his head. Shuffling his feet. Looking nasty.” We stepped forward in line. “Now he’s saying something.” I shifted again, waiting while a group of people moseyed past. “Dodd’s throwing the baseball.”
“Thrilling.”
“He knocked the bottles down the first time. Won a pink toy.”
“And?”
I waited. “They’re leaving now, but not together. Dodd’s going the other way, and—” I focused my gaze on the snow-cone stand.
Clyde drifted past us, the sinister mask hiding his face, and I felt a tiny bit of security from the chain-link fence separating him from the festivities.
The snow-cone line moved forward, and we ordered. Blue coconut for Maria, and cherry for me. As I crunched the syrupy ice crystals, curiosity nagged my thoughts, and I wondered about the preacher’s relationship with Clyde Felton. Weird.
After Maria and I washed the sticky syrup from our hands, we tossed basketballs, threw darts, and fished for candy. When closing time approached, we headed to the high school parking lot for the hayride. As we neared the trailer, I noticed Dodd helping children climb onto the hay, and my skin tingled.
“Incredibly nice tux,” Maria said under her breath.
As much as I hated to admit it, I agreed with her. Even though ancient and tattered, the suit fit Dodd well, and the top hat cocked to one side only added to the image. I absentmindedly pressed a palm against my naval as we climbed onto a hay bale at the back and swung our bobby socks behind the trailer. The sweet scent of hay flashed me back to summers at Ansel and Velma’s, and I pulled a dry straw from my makeshift seat and twirled it between my fingers.
Dodd noticed us when the tractor pulled away from the school, and Maria greeted him from our backseat perch, prompting him to match the slow pace of the tractor. “Y’all having fun?”
“Y’all?” Maria asked.
He smiled broadly, flashing his teeth. “I’m attempting to blend into society.” He took one long stride and settled on the corner bale next to her, holding his top hat in his lap.
A strong survival instinct entered my lungs with a short gasp, but I told myself not to jump off the back of the trailer. That would never do. Friends—or acquaintances, or whatever Dodd and I were—didn’t behave that way.
Maria nudged him and then whined, “You weren’t in the fashion show. Why not?”
He shrugged. “A little too wild for me. I’d rather be out here with the kids, I guess. I watched it, though.” He leaned forward to look at me. “Your cousin is going to die.”
“I thought he might,” I said. “I noticed your lipstick.”
Maria and I both turned our cheeks and pointed at our own lip prints.
“You’re not serious.” He wiped at his face.
Reaching across Maria, I grabbed his wrist. “Stop. You’re making it worse. You’ve got to use soap.”
He held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, until Maria raised her voice. “So … did you do the baseball toss?”
I elbowed her.
“Yes, I did, and I won a teddy bear.”
Maria squealed. “How fun. Can I have it?”
“Actually, I already gave it to another young lady, shorter than you and dressed like a princess.”
“Must’ve been Bethany,” I said. “Isn’t she cute?”
“How old is she?”
�
�Around four, I guess.”
The tractor puttered back to the school, and Dodd stepped off to help the children. He swung a little boy into the air before setting him on the sidewalk, as three other kids pulled on his coattails. You’d think they preferred Dodd over the hayride.
A crowd streamed out of the high school, and Maria and I made our way across the parking lot.
“That guy has it bad for you, Ruthie.” She sighed dreamily. “I think it’s your hair.”
“What about my hair?” I felt my scarved ponytail, wondering what she was going on about.
“Well, it’s long and shiny, and most guys go for that, you know. I’ve seen him staring at you. His gaze begins at your face and slides all the way down your hair to your backside.” She giggled. “Then, being a preacher, he embarrasses himself and looks away.”
I halted in the middle of the parking lot because my legs stopped working properly. My neck seemed to be malfunctioning as well, but I managed to swivel my head and look at her. “Dodd Cunningham?”
“Yes, Dodd Cunningham.” She put a hand on her hip. “He’s crazy about you.”
“That’s absurd.”
“He sat by us, didn’t he?”
“He sat by you,” I protested. “Now that I think about it, he’s been talking to you at lunch a lot lately.”
She stared at me with her bottom lip hanging half an inch below the top. “You honestly don’t see it? Ruthie, he doesn’t talk to me all the time. He talks to you all the time. I just happen to sit next to you … all the time. He never talks to me if you’re not around.” Her eyebrows lifted into two sharp spikes. “But I bet he talks to you when I’m not around.”
I held my breath while her words tumbled in my head like wet sneakers in a dryer. Whoosh-bang. Whoosh-bang. Whoosh-bang. She was wrong, of course. Dodd Cunningham only wanted to preach at me like he preached to the Debate Club, nothing more.
“He can’t be interested in me, Maria.” I shook my head. “Absolutely not.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sunday I woke up with a headache and stayed in bed till early afternoon.
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