by Naomi Niles
“Not my proudest moment,” I said with a sigh.
“That was back when they still did corporal punishment,” said Debran. “How many times did you get hit with the paddle for that?”
“Three,” I said. “Which was the maximum number of slaps allowed by law. Mom and Dad had to sign off on it, and they didn’t mind, given what I had done.”
“We hoped it might beat some sense into you,” said Dad.
“Yeah, but you’ve really turned yourself around,” said Debran, her eyes fixed on me in a way that made me uncomfortable. “I don’t know if anybody’s told you how different you are from when you was a boy, but I’ve seen a definite change in you in the last ten years or so. It’s like you’re not even the same person. Marriage must’ve done somethin’ to you.”
“It did,” I said quietly, my eyes on the path ahead. “It saved me.”
Debran went on telling the rest of the group about the scraggly kid she had known in high school and how much I had grown. It was annoying, but I didn’t think much of it until Dad came up to me at the end of the trip and said low in my ear, “That girl did nothin’ but flirt with you the whole time we was riding.”
“Was she actually flirting, though?” I asked. “Because if she was, I didn’t pick up on it.”
Dad shook his head in dismay. “That’s because you’re about as perceptive as a box of doughnuts. I know women, and I know flirting, and that woman wants you. Bad.”
Debran was just coming out of the barn as he said this. I looked her over like I had done when we were riding. She wasn’t bad-looking at all in her tight-fitting jeans, with her slender waist and unusually short legs. Making out with any gal seemed a tempting prospect in the wake of my fight with Allie, but at the same time, I was old and tired and sad, and I just wanted to go home to my dog and lie down and flip through channels until I fell asleep from boredom.
As I walked home through the muddy drive, I couldn’t help noticing that Allie still hadn’t returned from work. She was always back by now unless she had an appointment with Lindsay. When I got home, I made myself a microwave dinner and occasionally ventured a glance out the window to see if she had driven in yet. But she hadn’t, and she still hadn’t returned home by the time I fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Allie
On Friday morning, I awoke at Lindsay’s house about an hour before work. Through the living room window, I could see gray light breaking through the thickening cloud tops and washing over the misty fields. Lindsay stood in the kitchen frying breakfast enchiladas and rice in a cast-iron skillet.
“Hey, beautiful,” she said as I sat up. “Did you sleep good?”
“Decently,” I said, clutching my forehead. “I still have a massive headache. I don’t know if it’s because of the weather or because I haven’t been feeling well the last couple of days.”
“Sometimes my head hurts when I’m depressed,” said Lindsay. “I think because when I get anxious, I grind down on my teeth. I’ll bring you some Tylenol.”
“Thanks, love.”
Lindsay brought over a plate full of enchiladas, a couple of Tylenol tablets, and a can of Fresca. “Sorry, it’s all I have.” She pulled up the rocking chair next to me. “I didn’t realize I was running so low on pancake mix. I’ve been meaning to go to the store, but I’ve been up late grading papers all week.”
“You know you can order your groceries online now and have them delivered to your front door? That’s what I used to do in Boston when it was too cold to go anywhere.”
“I’d like that, but there are so few places out here that deliver. It would be one thing if we lived in Dallas or Fort Worth, but this is about as far out in the boons as you can get. I’m honestly amazed you’ve stayed as long as you have.”
I smiled through a mouthful of rice. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re a big city girl. And no one who’s tasted the pleasures of life in a big city would want to waste their twenties living in some hick, one-horse town. If I thought I could afford it, I would quit my job at the end of the year and set out for Portland or Seattle.”
“Big city living is great, don’t get me wrong,” I said. “But the people aren’t nearly as friendly. Texas has some of the friendliest people I’ve ever met, and it’s true what they say about leaving your doors unlocked at night because no one’s worried about getting robbed. At least out here in the country. Plus, back in Boston, no one ever made me these terrific breakfasts that you and Curtis’ mom are always making.”
Lindsay smiled modestly, as if pleased to be mentioned in the same breath as the legendary Mrs. Savery about whom she had heard so much. “Anyway,” she said, “are you ready to talk about why you stayed here instead of over there last night?”
I cracked open the can of Fresca; the bubbles rose to the top with a satisfying hiss. Avoiding her gaze, I said quietly, “Curtis and I, we had our first fight.”
“I figured that,” said Lindsay. “You wouldn’t have been over here otherwise. Was he mad because you wanted to name your son Lando and he doesn’t know who that is?”
I gave her a puzzled look. “Okay, as much as I would love to read the fan fiction you’ve been writing about us, that’s not what this is about.” I told her the story of how I had been woken by gunfire and gone outside to find him shooting the hogs, and how when I confronted him he had made fun of me.
“I don’t think he was making fun of your weight,” said Lindsay when I had finished. “You’re about as skinny as a bean pole anyway, so I don’t know what good that would do. It sounds like he was just saying you come over and eat a lot.”
“That’s not much better,” I said coldly. “He’s implying that I’m taking advantage of his family’s hospitality, that I’m too lazy or selfish to cook for myself.”
“That’s probably closer to what he meant,” said Lindsay. “But here’s the thing: I don’t think he actually meant it.”
I folded my arms skeptically. It was just like Lindsay to take my boyfriend’s side over mine in a fight.
“The thing you have to understand about being in a relationship,” said Lindsay, “is that sometimes when two people are pissed at each other, they say things they don’t mean. That’s even true, or especially true, if they’re in love. Your partner, who knows you better than anyone else, will say things that are designed to hurt you in the hopes of winning the argument. No one else could get under your skin like that because no one else knows you so well.”
“Do all couples do that?”
“Most of ‘em,” said Lindsay. “You’ll probably do it, too, given enough time.”
I made a disgusted face. “I’d just as soon not be in a relationship if that’s how we’re going to treat each other.”
“But the point I’m getting at is that Curtis probably didn’t mean any of those things, and he probably wishes he hadn’t said them. I bet if you talked to him, he would apologize. Y’all had a good thing. Don’t let it end just because of this one fight.”
I poured the last of the Fresca into a glass and downed it in one gulp. “It’s not just the horrible things he said about me,” I said. “I don’t like seeing animals killed. And I realize he’s a farmer, and that’s part of the job, but he knows I’m sensitive and he knows I love animals and he could have done it somewhere else, away from my house, rather than blasting his gun outside my window in the middle of the night.” I could feel myself getting angry again as I talked about it; my neck tensed and my stomach ached.
“Well, there’s something to be said for that,” said Lindsay. “If the treatment of animals is really that important to you, maybe you should consider dating someone else. Hasn’t Dave asked you out a couple of times now?”
“He has. But I turned him down because things with me and Curtis were going so well. At least today is a half-day, so we only have to sit awkwardly next to each other for a few hours.”
“You ought to ask him again.” Lindsay rose from the chair, her ey
es radiant with expectation. “You might find you have more in common than you realize. I’m willing to bet he’s the only man in this town who’s never shot another animal.”
“Well, I’ve been consistently put off by him since I started working in the clinic,” I said with a sigh of exasperation. “Why would I do something so out of character and unlike me?”
“Because he really likes you,” said Lindsay.
“I don’t think that’s a very good reason,” I replied. “But I’ll humor him if it means he’ll stop asking me.”
***
That night, Dave and I ate dinner at Texas Roadhouse. As we sat together looking over the menu, which mostly consisted of steaks and barbecue, a waiter wearing a black apron walked past us sweeping peanut shells off the floor with a long broom.
“I don’t know what I want,” I said sadly. I was tired from having to wrestle an alpaca and beginning to remember why I hadn’t wanted to go out with Dave in the first place. “Every time I go to a restaurant with a lot of options on the menu, I get overwhelmed and end up just ordering a plain burger no mustard.”
“I guess you could say you never mustered the strength to try something new,” said Dave, chuckling at his own joke. He laughed wheezily, through his nostrils, reminding me of a boy I knew in junior high who used to jack off through his pants pockets in the middle of class.
“You could say that,” I said, adding under my breath, “I don’t know why you would…”
I was still deliberating when Cheryl, our waitress, came back over carrying a notepad in one hand.
“I think I’ll have the buffalo burger with wedge fries,” he said, folding up his menu and handing it back to the waitress. “And the lady here doesn’t know what she wants yet. We might need a few minutes.”
I flashed Cheryl an apologetic smile. She turned on her heels and retreated into the back room.
“I’m thinking about getting a salad,” I said slowly as I came to the end of the menu. “I always feel bad for eating meat, even though I’ll be the first to admit it tastes good. It’s hard being a semi-vegetarian in Texas because everyone here eats so much meat. Back when I lived in Boston, I was a full pescatarian, but I haven’t been able to keep it up here because the pressure is too great.”
“I’m reminded of the words of Oscar Wilde,” said Dave: “‘I can resist everything except temptation.’” He wheeze-laughed again.
It was one of those situations where I was regretting more and more with every passing moment that I had gotten myself into it. I knew once I figured out what I wanted, I would be obliged to stay through the end of the meal, and maybe that’s the reason I kept putting off making a decision.
“Listen, Dave,” I said finally, setting down my menu and drawing a deep breath. “I really appreciate your agreeing to come out with me, and I hate to ditch you before your food gets here.”
“Are you leaving?” Dave’s face fell, and a miserable look came into his eyes, which made it hard to finish saying what I had to say.
“It’s not you. Well, it sort of is. I’m not feeling well, and I’m not particularly hungry, and I’m probably going to go home and heat up some leftover lasagna. But also, I think maybe it was a mistake to ask you out in the first place. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You’re great, and you’ve been really sweet, but I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m still seeing someone, and I only ever meant for this to be a friendly dinner.”
“Did I ever suggest it was otherwise?” asked Dave.
“Well, no…” It was impossible to say what I was thinking, which was that he had been behaving that way, with a certain schoolboy eagerness, ever since we entered the building.
“Honestly,” I said, “it would be great if we just stayed friends. Or, whatever our professional relationship is. Employer and employee. I’m not looking for anything more out of you than that. I hope this doesn’t make working together awkward.” Though I couldn’t imagine it being much more awkward than it already was.
Or at least that was what I thought before I saw Dave wiping a stray tear from his eye. “It’s fine,” he said, chuckling to himself in that way people do when they’re embarrassed. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
At the tables around us, couples turned to look, whispering, pointing, occasionally sniggering behind their hands. I stood there for a moment wishing I could sink into the earth.
In a remarkable case of bad timing, Cheryl chose that moment to return for my order.
“And have you made up your mind yet?” she asked with a slight edge in her voice.
“I think I have, yes,” I said, handing her back the menu. “I’m going home.” I threw a loose wad of cash down at the table. I hadn’t counted it, but I knew it was at least twenty dollars. “Use this to pay for your meal, since I made you drive all the way out here.”
Dave glanced at the money without touching it. “Guess I’ll see you at work,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, guess so.” I picked up my purse off the back of the chair and stalked out of the room, stepping on peanut shells as I went.
Knowing I couldn’t spend another night at Lindsay’s, I begrudgingly drove back to the tiny house. Curtis’ truck wasn’t in his driveway or his parents’ driveway, which I thought was just as well. As much as I knew I needed to do it, I didn’t feel ready to forgive him just yet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Curtis
On Friday morning, I went over early to Mama’s house to eat breakfast with Zach. He would be leaving the following night, and we were trying to cram in as many hours together as we could before I had to drive him to the airport.
Allie and I still weren’t talking, and I hadn’t seen her in a couple of days.
“I don’t think she’s been coming home at night,” said Mama over a breakfast of blueberry pancakes with boysenberry honey, spinach omelets, warm, buttery biscuits, and homemade doughnuts. “I look out there every night before I go to bed, but her light’s out, and there’s no car in the driveway.”
“Better get ahold of your woman, man,” said Zach, reaching for the bear-shaped honey jar. “If she’s not getting the D at home, she’ll go where she can get it.”
Mama and I both glared at him.
“I’m sure it’s not like that,” I said, though the thought had occurred to me more than once. “I think she’s probably been staying with her friend for a couple of days.”
“Well, you’d better get it straightened out. I know even if I was angry at my partner, I’d be pissed if I went a couple of days without hearing from ‘em. Right now she’s probably over it and just waiting for you to reach out to her.”
“Have you tried texting her?” Mama asked.
“Yeah, a couple of times,” I said, a tone of irritation in my voice. “She hasn’t responded, for whatever reason.”
“Well, keep reaching out to her,” said Zach. “She may not seem like she appreciates it, but she does.”
“When your dad and I first met,” said Mama, “it didn’t take me long to figure out he was the one. I thought he felt the same way. But then one evening I was talking to Ernie Goodman down at the hardware store, and he told me your dad had said he could never marry me, without explaining why.
“I was heartbroken, of course, and I told him I didn’t want to see him again, not if he was gonna lead me on like that. He was bewildered, and it took him a while to figure out what was going on.
“End of the next week, he showed up at my doorstep in the pouring rain carrying a bouquet of flowers. He explained to me what he had really said to Ernie: he said he could never marry me because I was ‘too perfect’ and there was no way he could ever do right by me. But when I broke things off, he realized what a serious mistake he’d be making if he turned down his one chance at happiness. Right there, in the rain, on my front porch, he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.”
Zach and I turned to each other, dumbstruck. “How come you ain’t nev
er told us that story, Mama?”
Mama blushed and tittered. “Because it’s special,” she said quietly. “So anyway, just because she’s been gone for a couple days don’t mean it’s the end. It might mean there’s been a miscommunication, or maybe she wants you to go after her. Next time you see her, though, you’ll need to have a serious talk about where y’all are heading and what you want out of the relationship.”
***
Zach and I continued talking that afternoon as we sat in a rowboat on Shadow Creek Lake. Dad had been planning to come with us, but bowed out at the last minute, complaining of fatigue and a nasty headache. That left the two of us alone on either side of the boat drinking light beer and listening to Waylon Jennings on Zach’s phone.
“Listen, I know Mom can be hard to deal with sometimes,” said Zach. “I know she’s been after you for days to reconcile with Allie, I think because in her heart she took Allie’s side in the fight.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked, my shoulders tensing.
“Just some of the comments she’s made. I know Mama understands we have to kill if we wanna eat, but she’s taken after that woman like the daughter she never had. And I think she was personally affronted when you made fun of Allie for coming over all the time because it drove her away. Mama liked it when she came over.”
I threw up my hands in the air. “A man can’t say nothin’ right around here, can he? I’m surprised I wasn’t dragged before the law to atone for my words.”
“Don’t take it so personally,” said Zach. “There’s times in every man’s life when he’s tested, and this is just one of those tests.”
This was the thing about Zach: he had a reputation for being the most macho guy in our family. Yet he was also, in a lot of ways, the most sentimental. One afternoon when he thought nobody was home, I came into his room and caught him reading Eat, Pray, Love and crying.
