by Naomi Niles
It was the first time he had ever admitted in words that I loved me, and I felt myself strangely moved by it. “You don’t have to just think it,” I said softly. “Believe me when I tell you, I love you, too.”
“I think I’m starting to,” said Curtis. And we sat there together in silence for a while longer, listening to the whirring of sprinklers through the living room window.
***
On Friday night after work, I drove with Lindsay back over to Curtis’ house. He was still getting ready but had left the front door open so that we could come in. As we entered the living room, the most wonderful smell wafted down from upstairs: a smell of sandalwood, pipe tobacco, and burning logs.
“Okay,” I was telling Lindsay, “but you have to go out riding with us tomorrow. I don’t care if you’ve never had a lesson; Curtis will teach you. He’s incredibly patient with new riders.”
“Is he patient with students he’s not in love with?” Lindsay asked.
Just then, Curtis appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a stylish pair of boots and a pair of tight-fitting dark blue jeans, and surrounded by a cloud of cologne like a genie rising up out of a brass lamp. “You girls ready?” he asked.
“If you are,” I said with a grin. Lindsay let out a whoop of excitement.
We went back to the Palladium. It was a Friday night, and once again the place was filled to capacity. As we edged our way through the doors and along the wall toward the bar, we could hear the band playing a cover of Hank Williams, Jr.’s, “All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down.” A melancholy air seemed to hang over the room as the dancers, many of whom I recognized from our last trip, moved in slow procession.
“Can you believe he wrote this song before he wrote ‘All My Rowdy Friends (Are Coming Over Tonight)?’” Curtis asked as we stood at the bar waiting for the bartender to appear.
“I’ve never heard either of those songs,” I said, smiling. It was fun to watch him get flustered when I hadn’t heard some “classic” song.
“You’ve heard it, you just don’t know it,” came a voice from behind me. Surprised, I turned around to see a clean-shaven young man wearing a black cowboy hat. He was grinning. “It’s the song the old Monday Night Football theme is based on. ‘Do you wanna drink? Do you wanna party?’”
“I have never watched Monday Night Football,” I said, sounding offended by the idea. This time both Lindsay and Curtis stared at me in shock.
As if on cue, the band segued from “All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down” to “All My Rowdy Friends (Are Coming Over Tonight),” a rollicking blues-based song with a killer piano bassline. The change in the room’s mood was instantaneous. It was like that scene in Back to the Future where Marty gets up at the school dance and plays Chuck Berry for the first time.
The man in the black cowboy hat (who looked remarkably like a young Garth Brooks) came and stood next to me. “You like it?”
“The song, you mean?” I asked with a prickly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hated talking to strangers in bars. “Yeah, it’s great. I think I liked the first one better.”
“This one works best if you dance to it,” the man said. “Care to join me?”
I stood there for an uncomfortable moment, not wanting to turn him down and offend him but also not wanting to dance. Not knowing what else to do, I reached for my phone and began pressing the buttons idly. “I’m good, thanks,” I mumbled.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” He raised one hand to his ear.
To my immense relief, Curtis came over and stood next to me, stony-faced and imposing. “She said she’s good, thanks.”
The young man jerked back in surprise, giving Curtis a confused stare. It was clear he wanted to challenge him, but Curtis was so much bigger and, at the moment, more threatening-looking that he dared not.
“Why don’t you just move along,” Curtis said. It wasn’t really a question. It was the sort of command a person ignores at his own peril.
The young man tipped his hat curtly and moved from the bar. The moment he was gone, I flung my arms appreciatively around Curtis’ neck. There was a lot I wanted to say, about how I hated being approached by strange men and how it had been a long time since a man had stood up for me like that, but it was so loud in the bar, and there were so many people crowded around us jockeying for stools that I held my tongue.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Curtis
I was the only one who didn’t drink that night. The way Lindsay and Allie were going to town over at the bar, I figured they would need a designated driver. We only stayed for a couple hours before Lindsay slumped over in a corner, laughing. When she tried to stand up, her legs gave way beneath her.
Realizing I needed to get Lindsay to the car, but not wanting to leave Allie alone even for a few minutes in the crowded bar, I hooked their arms in both of mine and led them out. It was a warm night, and a warm wind blew on our faces as we made our way across the parking lot to my pickup.
When we reached home, I carried Lindsay out of the car while Allie stood on the front steps fumbling with her key ring. After two or three failed attempts to unlock the door, I grabbed them away from her and unlocked it myself. Without even bothering to turn on the lights or take off her boots, Allie flung herself down on the bed while I carried Lindsay to the sofa, River, Pheonix, and Gandalf sniffing curiously around her. I went to get her some water, and when I came back less than a minute later, she was fast asleep.
My bones ached from the trail ride earlier and all the dancing we had done that night. It was with a feeling of great relief that I took off my boots and sweaty socks and climbed into the bed beside Allie. I had thought she was asleep, but after I’d lain there for a moment, she reached over and rubbed my forehead in a soothing manner. By the light from outside, I could see her smiling as my eyes struggled to stay open.
“Love you, girl,” I heard myself whisper, just before I fell asleep. I never knew whether she replied or not.
When I got up shortly after sunrise, they were both still asleep. Quietly as I could, I put on my boots and crept out of the room, down the long drive toward my house. Having fed Jake, I returned a few minutes later carrying a package of bacon, two packages of breakfast sausage, a container of biscuit dough, and some orange juice. I was just frying up the bacon in my skillet when Allie stirred and rose from the bed.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why does it feel like nails are being driven into my skull?”
“Probably because you have a hangover,” I said. “I’d be surprised if you can remember much of anything that happened last night.” I came over and handed her a glass of water and two aspirin. “These should help a little. Breakfast’ll be ready in just a couple minutes.”
“Poor Lindsay’s going to be so confused when she wakes up,” said Allie, but when Lindsay stirred a few minutes later, she looked around cheerfully at each of us as though we had been having a slumber party.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked. “And why is my head killing me?”
I came over carrying another glass of water and two tablets. “Take these. By the time we hit the trail, you’ll be feeling better.”
Allie grinned. “You sure you’re ready for this, Lindsay?” she asked. “Last night, it was all you could talk about.”
“I was born ready,” said Lindsay proudly. “Me and horses, we have this special bond. I don’t even have to communicate with them because they can read my thoughts. The last time I went out riding, in Florida, was the summer before my fifteenth birthday. The horse’s name was Sharon, and we were best friends.”
But when we actually got out to the stable after breakfast, Lindsay looked like she had never seen a horse in her life. “So, how does this thing go on again?” she asked, holding up her saddle. “Forgive me; it’s been a while.”
“You sure you wanna do this?” I asked with an amused look. “It’s not too late to quit. Mama’s making a red velvet cake for tonight.”
“I’m not going to be the girl who turned down an adventure so she could stay home and eat cake,” said Lindsay in a tone of defiance. Banging her fist on the saddle, she shouted, “Let’s hit the trail!” Kinko glared at her in annoyance.
As she had warned us, though, Lindsay turned out to be a decent rider. She knew how to direct the horse and stayed in the saddle even when the terrain got bumpy as we approached the river. I would have been impressed if she hadn’t complained the whole way there and back. She complained about the heat, the gnats, and the queasy feeling in her stomach that might have been nerves or might have been the alcohol from last night.
“This reminds me of the one cruise I went on in my life,” she said in a dark tone as we reached a rocky outcropping strewn with large boulders where almost no grass grew. Shaking her head, she said, “Never again.”
Allie and I, who had been riding a few paces behind her, exchanged amused glances. “You mean you don’t like riding a horse for hours through the Texas heat?” asked Allie, feigning surprise.
“Please, no,” said Lindsay. “Set me up in a cool, air-conditioned room surrounded by velvet cushions and double dark chocolate cake.”
“Told you, you could have stayed with Mama,” I muttered. But she rode on in silence as if she hadn’t heard me.
She didn’t even bother sticking around for cake, but left as soon as we reached home; her own car had been parked in my driveway for the last day or so. Allie was still smirking as she helped me put up the horses.
“Honestly,” she said, “it was like having a child tagging along with us the whole time we were out there.”
“I’ve known kids that behaved better than that,” I said, shaking my head in annoyance. “I hope to God my own kids aren’t whiners. If I ended up raising an ornery little cuss like Darren, that I think I could deal with. But I can’t stand whining.”
It was the first time we had ever raised the subject of children. Allie grew strangely quiet, and I could sense the wheels turning in her head. “Would you ever want to have kids?” she asked finally.
I had to think about it for a long moment, but finally, I settled on, “Yes.”
Allie raised one eyebrow shrewdly. “Must not want ‘em very much if it took you that long to decide.”
“Well, kids are a risk. You never know what sort of personality they’re gonna end up with. I’d like to have a boy I could go shooting and fishing with.”
“What about a girl?”
Once again, I hesitated before answering. “I wouldn’t mind a girl,” I said. “As long as she wasn’t a whiner.”
Allie laughed and pulled me along toward Mama’s house, where the cake was waiting. But long after we had gone to bed that night, long after Allie had fallen asleep, I lay there next to her in the darkness, still pondering the answer to her question.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Allie
The next morning as we were eating breakfast, Mr. Savery somewhat abruptly set down his knife and fork and folded his fingers under his chin, looking at me thoughtfully.
“I hope you haven’t made any plans for the rest of the day, Allie,” he said. “I’m going to shoot skeet today, and I’d love it if you’d join me.”
“Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve played that game,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve played since college.”
Curtis spit out his drink, spraying it everywhere. Both he and his father stared at me, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know you’d ever been huntin’,” said Curtis. “If I’d known that, I might’ve gone out with you sooner.”
“Hunting?” I said, perplexed. I felt like I was losing the thread of the conversation. “You must be mistaken. I’ve never picked up a gun in my life.”
“How’d you manage to go skeet-shootin’ then?” asked Mr. Savery.
It was rapidly becoming clear that we weren’t talking about the same thing. “You know that game with the table and the pegs, where you hit things?”
“Foosball?” said Curtis.
I waved him away. “No, not foosball! I know what foosball is. You guys, I’ve played this game so many times. There’s a room with a big wooden table, and you have, like, a puck, and you have to hit it into these triangles…”
“You mean hockey?” said Curtis, looking gape-mouthed at his father. But it was Mrs. Savery who came to my rescue.
“Oh, you mean shuffleboard,” she said.
I threw up my hands in the air and pointed at her. “Yes! Thank you! Shuffleboard!”
Curtis shook his head. “That is not at all what skeet-shooting is.”
I sat back down and dabbed at my mouth delicately with a cloth napkin. “Oh, well then I’ve never done that.”
“You’ll love it,” said Mr. Savery with an excited gleam in his eyes. “I don’t care if you’ve never picked up a gun. I’ll show you how to do it. The weather’s fairly mild out, and there’ll be plenty of time for us to chat and hang out.”
He rose from the table and bounded down the hallway with a bounce in his step. I turned to Curtis and said in a quiet voice, “Aren’t you coming?”
Curtis shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t been invited.”
“Huh.” Mr. Savery and I had never spent any time together one on one. I couldn’t help wondering what he wanted with me.
After breakfast, Curtis stuck around the house and helped his mother make a spiced apple cake. Instead of taking the horses, Mr. Savery led me a distance of about a thousand yards to a large clearing dotted with clumps of scrub. He had been right about the mildness of the weather; it was unseasonably chilly, more like autumn than late summer, and I began to wish I had brought a sweater.
Mr. Savery offered me his hunting jacket, which I accepted gratefully as he showed me the basics of raising and firing a gun.
“You probably won’t hit anything the first few times you come out here,” he said. “But at least you’ll get practice, and with that and enough time, you’ll get better at aiming, and eventually you’ll be the one bringing home supper.”
I tried to imagine what Curtis would say if he found out that the excellent meal his mother had just set before him had been shot and bagged by me. I felt a warm glow of pleasure at picturing the stunned look on his face.
But Mr. Savery was right about needing practice. I fired a few shots at the clay figures without hitting a single one.
He led us to another part of the clearing where grackles were gathered among the bare branches of a couple of dead cedars. Along the way, we got to talking. Every few paces or so, he would pause to take a shot, then resume the conversation.
“Reason I asked you out here,” he said, “is because I wanted to get to know you a little better. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Curtis thinks the world of you.”
“He does seem to enjoy me,” I said, not really knowing what else to say. “We have fun together.”
“He’s crazy about you,” said Mr. Savery, his gaze fixed on a lone bird perched on a branch about fifty yards distant. “I’d even venture to say he’s in love with you. I can tell by the way he looks at you. It’s the same way my wife looks at me when she thinks I’m not looking. Still completely smitten after all these years.”
I hadn’t put it in those terms yet, but now that I thought about it, I supposed he must be. The thought gave me a pleasant shiver. Despite all the obstacles that had conspired to separate us, we were in love now. I didn’t know what that meant for the future, but I felt sure it could only be good.
We left the clearing and returned home just as the sun was setting, bathing the surrounding fields in a dusky orange glow. As we entered the house through the back door, we found Curtis rinsing his hands at the kitchen sink. He gave me a hard stare as we came in, as if to say, “What was that all about?”
Mr. Savery, however, just nodded and went to put up our guns.
“You have no idea how confused I am by all of this,” Curtis said as we walked home that night beneath a saffron sky.
“What did you and my dad even have to talk about? I can’t imagine any conversation lasting longer than a couple minutes.”
I began whistling, my hands in my back pockets. “Oh, we found things to talk about.”
Curtis rolled his eyes. “You’re never going to tell me, are you?”
I turned to face him, walking back over the tall grass. He looked so cute when he was flustered like this, and I couldn’t help grinning as I looked at him. “Maybe someday,” I said with a shrug.
“Allison Driscoll,” he said with a shake of his head as we entered the dark house. “Long as I live, I’m never going to understand you.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Curtis
When I woke up and went over to Mama’s house for breakfast the next morning, Allie had already left for work. “Shame she couldn’t make it,” said Mama as she laid out a plate of breakfast sausages, lightly salted eggs, and rice with avocado. “Even when she doesn’t have much to say, I always enjoy having her here in the mornings.”
“Yeah, but your breakfasts make it hard on me,” I said lightly. “She comes over here and eats your food, and then I can’t convince her to eat my food.”
“Does she not like your cooking?” asked Mama, pouring several cups of sugar into the blue lemonade pitcher and stirring rapidly.
“She likes it well enough. Or at least she’ll eat it. But you don’t hear her raving about what an amazing meal she just had, not like she does when she eats here, after she’s gotten full off of your hash browns and eggs and waffles and French toast and sausages.”
I sighed in exasperation, but Mama smiled. “She’s a good girl, Curtis,” she said from behind her coffee mug. “If y’all break up, no one will weep louder than me.”
