by Tim Sandlin
I didn’t really want to kidnap Colette either. No woman is fun to live with if you have to hold a gun to her head.
What I wanted to do most was crawl under Lizbeth’s desk and sleep for a week.
While I pondered the sky and my future, the Hart cars and trucks returned one at a time. I watched them upside down—first Mrs. Hart’s Toyota, then Colette’s Subaru, and later, both Powerwagons. Everyone went inside, leaving me with the sinking sun.
I slithered off the rock and trudged the trail back to camp. Life just wasn’t fun anymore. At first, loving Colette was exciting. It gave me direction. Somehow, though, the perfect love hadn’t lived up to my plans. I’d been watching for two weeks and, outwardly anyway, Colette gave no sign that she was miserable without me.
She was supposed to suddenly realize how useless life was alone and come walking up the hill crying and wailing, “Oh, why did I ever let Kelly go. I’m such a fool. If only he would come back, I’d appreciate him and have him for all eternity,” and I would jump out from behind a tree and yell “Surprise!” and she would run into my arms.
For some reason, things hadn’t worked out right.
***
Toward the top of the hill, I smelled smoke. Between raving water and the television in my frontal lobe, I knew better than to trust my senses, but this definitely smelled like smoke, and my nose had never betrayed me before.
Dad knelt in front of the firepit, feeding sticks into a small blaze. “Didn’t think you’d be here till dark,” he said.
“I knocked off early.”
“Knocked off what?”
I didn’t answer. Stashing the binoculars in the tent, I walked to the water bucket and dipped the Sierra cup. Two large steaks covered in plastic sat on a rock next to the fire.
“Hungry?” Dad asked.
“Sure.” I drank the water. It was fresh. He must have filled the bucket before I arrived. “Been here long?”
“Couple of hours.”
I picked up the coffeepot and walked to the creek to fill it and clean myself the best I could. The creek sang a Willie Nelson song in which Willie alternately screams like a panther or cries like a baby throughout a tough night.
“You look a mess,” Dad said.
“Had some trouble with a moose.” I carried the pot back from the creek. Coffee was running short and I wasn’t sure whether Dad was a hallucination or not, so I decided not to put in the grounds until the water boiled.
“How’d you find me?” I asked.
Dad glanced across the fire. “Little blond girl upstairs.”
“The fink.”
“Don’t go blaming her, I’m your father. She hasn’t told anyone else, and, Lord knows, there’s enough people looking for you.” He draped my grill over the coals and set the steaks on at about a thirty-degree angle. Juice ran off the bottom end and sputtered in the fire.
“How are Mom’s dance lessons coming?”
“Aw, she looks kind of silly out there with those teenagers, but she’s happy. I don’t see as how she’s hurting anybody.”
“You still telling her she’s talented?”
“She is talented.”
The meat smelled too good to be a dream, so I dumped in a double load of coffee grounds. Dad watched the steaks and whistled. He never talks when he’s upset. He just whistles—mostly old show tunes from Oklahoma and South Pacific.
After we ate, I poured a cup of coffee and we passed it back and forth between us.
“Best food I’ve eaten in weeks,” I said.
Dad held the metal cup with both hands, blowing softly through the steam. His eyes landed on me, then slid away. “What’re you doing here, Kelly?”
“I’m in love.”
Dad handed over the cup. “This is a curious way to show it.”
Shrugging, I sipped the coffee. The grounds hadn’t settled right. It was a bit chewy.
“You know a man named John Hart?” Dad asked.
I nodded. The sun was just going down and I couldn’t see that Dad had a sleeping bag. I wondered if he meant to stay the night.
“This Mr. Hart has something against you.”
“I don’t know what.”
“Well, it’s something pretty strong. He and Julie have been around a good deal lately, talking to Mama and me about you.”
“What about?”
Dad didn’t answer the question. He sipped coffee awhile and stared at the fire. I reached over and refilled the cup. A nighthawk boomed overhead. Clouds above the Gros Ventres glowed a bottom-lit burgundy color.
Dad finally spoke. “Your mama thinks the first rainbow appeared when Julie was born, but honestly, Kelly, it’s always been my opinion you picked the rottenest peach in the pile.”
“Mom couldn’t stand Julie before we split up.”
“Why didn’t you ever divorce her?”
After Julie left, I never thought much about the legal aspects. Maybe I was afraid to try for a divorce for fear I couldn’t prove we’d been married in the first place. “Never had the money, I guess,” I said.
Dad coughed, more of a disgusted snort than a cough. “Well, you screwed up royally. That Mr. Hart’s hotshot lawyers have a decree signed by your legal wife and a judge, and if anyone ever finds you, you’re committed to a mental institution until your wife lets you out.”
I took the cup from his hand. “Did Mom and you sign the papers too?”
“Mama wanted to, but I wouldn’t let her.”
The coffee was cold, so I poured it back in the pot and set the pot on the hottest coals. With the firelight in my eyes, I could barely see Dad’s outline on the other side of the pit. He seemed to be watching me.
Sighing, he sat up straight. “I love your mom, Kelly, and I’m tired of you breaking her heart. I won’t put up with it anymore.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That means whatever you’re doing now is bound to land you in prison or a mental institution or both. Don’t look to us for help.”
I nodded, staring at the coffeepot.
“You understand?” he asked.
I nodded again.
Dad stood up, looking down on me. “I’ll be going now.”
I looked at him. Dad is almost as skinny as me. “It’s dark. Stay the night if you want.”
He shook his head no. “I’ve got a flashlight.” Dad stood there for a long time. Maybe he wanted to say more or expected me to say more. I don’t know. Finally he said, “Good-bye, Kelly.”
I kind of waved with my right hand. “Thanks for the steaks.” Dad walked away into the darkness.
***
Eating meat right before bed, especially if you haven’t had any for some time, does odd things to the body and mind. That night I dreamed Julie and I were making love, and as I pulled down her pants, I realized she had hairy legs and a huge penis, big as Grandpa Hawken’s.
11
I lay in the basic desert reconnaissance position—belly flat on the rock, elbows out front, feet slightly spread with the toes pointing straight back—peering through my cardboard-hooded binoculars. Colette rode Dixie in slow figure-eights around the pasture.
At the crossover point of the 8, Dixie changed her lead foot, always trotting with the outside foot in front. No matter how fast Dixie trotted, Colette’s right hand never touched the horn or reins. I was reminded of Shirley, the kinky barrel racer.
It was a perfect day for spring. Chickadees chirped. The hill bloomed red and blue from Indian paintbrush and lupines. Sunshine knifed through air so clean you could taste it at the back of your throat. Jackson Hole in the summertime is the paradise of the universe. God may live in Texas, but he vacations in Jackson Hole.
Added to the glory of the day, my true love was all alone on the ranch, riding a beautiful horse round and round.
It was sexually stimulating, in a relaxed sort of way. Each time Dixie and Colette made the loop at the southeast corner of the lot, I focused in for a perfect front view, her hair streaming up and flowing down, her breasts bouncing lightly, the stretched crotch of her jeans banging against the saddle. Horse and woman seemed fastened together in one slow, steady sex act. Even the expression on Colette’s face was sensual, a light smile, fixed concentration on herself.
I loved it. I loved her.
Colette broke the eight and rode Dixie to the woods next to the creek. Looping the reins over Dixie’s head, she dismounted and stood watching the water while Dixie drank. Then she tossed the reins around a branch and disappeared.
The one drawback of my rock position was the blind spots. The front door of the big house, for instance. Or the woods along the base of the hill. What I needed—and what I’ll have next time—was a series of closed-circuit television cameras. I figured I could cover the entire area with six. Then I could sit in my tent watching monitors and never miss a move.
Carefully, I scanned the edge of the woods, looking for a sign of Colette. All that bouncing up and down astride Dixie had probably excited her, and she was off masturbating in the shade of a pine tree. I didn’t want to miss that. I wondered what Colette would do if I walked up on her while she was playing with herself. Would she want me to jump on?
“Hey.” Someone kicked the sole of my boot. “Hey.”
Boots, jeans, western shirt, brown eyes, Cinderella hair—Colette in the flesh stood on the rock, looking down on me.
I hissed, “Get down,” and motioned with my hand.
“What?”
“Get down, they’ll see us.”
Colette looked over at the ranch. “There’s no one to see us but me, and I’m here.”
Which made sense, but I was still nervous. “Come on,” I whispered, slithering back off the rock into the clearing. Colette followed like a kid watching a harmless snake.
When I had slithered safely out of sight of the ranch, I stood up, facing Colette, and smiled. “Gee, it’s good to see you, Colette.”
“Don’t ‘gee’ me. You’ve seen me every day, schmuck.” She talked angry, but her eyes sparkled as though I amused her in some way.
“Not in person, close up,” I said.
I felt like we should have hugged or something. I mean, it had been at least two weeks, but Colette just stood with both hands on her hips, looking me up and down. “Jesus, Kelly, you look like shit.”
“You look beautiful.”
She dug into her pocket and pulled out an almost used-up bar of soap. “I brought you something.”
When she handed me the soap, the tips of our fingers touched. “Thanks,” I said. “That’s really nice of you, Colette.”
“I figured you didn’t think to bring any. You never think.”
I studied the soap closely. It was green. “How long have you known I was here?”
“I knew you were somewhere close ever since you disappeared. It took until a couple of days ago to figure out exactly where.”
“How did you know I was somewhere close?”
Colette smiled, a beautiful, open smile. “I’m beginning to understand how that devious little mind of yours works.”
“How does it work?”
“What?”
“How does my devious little mind work?”
“You always do the most immature and romantic thing possible. I searched the basement twice, thinking you’d probably hide down there.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. “I didn’t know you had a basement.” I put the soap in my pocket. Colette and I stood maybe a foot apart, not touching, looking at each other. I stared into her right eye, hoping to will her into my arms.
Quietly, I said, “I love you, Colette.”
“I love you too, Kelly.”
“You do?”
She broke the eye contact. “Yes, dammit. I’ve been miserable wondering where you were.”
“Miserable?”
“I was so scared you’d given up and left.”
Fantasies do come true after all. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been miserable without me?”
“Dammit all, yes.”
“Isn’t that nice.”
Her eyes flashed, the first hint of building anger. “No, it’s not nice. I can’t stand being miserable.”
I don’t care for it much myself. Reaching across the gap, I took Colette’s hands in mine. “Are you ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Away. We’ll live together and laugh and have babies and bake bread in the winter. You’ll see. It’ll be neat.”
“You always say these ridiculous things, Kelly, and expect me to believe them. I can’t run away with you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m married.”
“So am I”
“That’s another thing I found out while you were up here enjoying yourself. You’re still married.”
“So are you.” This flawless logic seemed to exasperate Colette. She looked at me and sighed. Then she looked away.
“John’s after your ass,” she said. “He won’t tell me what he’s got on you, but it must be awful. He says if you show your nose in Jackson, you’ll never see sunshine again.”
“To hell with John. I’m talking about us.”
Colette threw my hands back at me. “What us?”
“You and me. Are we going to get married or not? I want to know, right now.”
“Right now?”
“This minute.”
Colette walked a few feet away. She picked a flower, a paintbrush, and twirled it slowly between her fingers. “I doubt it. I love you, Kelly, but I don’t see how I could ever live with you.”
“Why not?”
She looked at me. “You’re too weird.”
“Weird’s better than mediocre.”
“Is that a cut against Danny?”
“It’s a cut against you. You don’t want to be normal your whole life.”
“What’s wrong with normal?”
With each comeback, our voices rose higher and louder. The whole thing was stupid, two grown people standing in the middle of a clearing in the Wyoming wilds, yelling at each other.
“Oh, hell, Colette,” I shouted. “Do you want to be happy or not?”
“Fuck you, Kelly. What makes you think you know all the answers?”
“I know happy beats the holy hell out of unhappy. And you’ll never be happy with him.”
“What makes you think I’ll be happy with you?”
“With me, there’s a chance. No matter how slim it is, how can you pass up a chance?”
That did it. Colette’s lower lip trembled. Her eyes got wet and shiny. She sat on the ground, picking leaves off the paintbrush and tearing them into green shreds.
I walked over and sat in front of her, picking leaves off my side of the plant. She wouldn’t look at me.
“You confuse me,” she said.
“You should be confused. It’s much better than complacent.”
Her voice shook like a scared little girl. “What’s complacent?”
“Satisfied with shit when you could be eating prime.”
“And you’re prime?”
“You bet, honey. I’m the best you’re ever going to see.”
“Oh, fuck you.” But this time when she said “fuck you,” Colette smiled and sniffed. We sat a long time, ripping plants into tiny shreds. I threw my pieces up and let the breeze carry them off. Colette kept hers in a little pile.
She looked at me. “I’m comfortable with Danny. Because of him, I have a home and money and nice friends. He’s given me everything.”
“You won’t have any of that stuff with me,” I said. “I live in a tent and my onl
y friend is Cora Ann and she doesn’t like you.”
“Why not?”
“She thinks I’m too good for you.”
“Maybe you are.”
“Horseshit.” I doubled my fist and flattened a little green weed. Looking around at the trees and the sky and the Teton Mountains, my personal problems didn’t seem worth all this horrible emotion. The whole thing was too much for one inept person to handle.
“Listen, Colette,” I said. “I’m tired of this soap-opera jive. I’m ready to get on with my life.” I touched her chin, making her look at me. “Do you love me, Colette?”
“Yes, Kelly, I love you.” She didn’t say it with any tenderness. More like grudging admission.
“Do you want to be with me?”
Colette tried to move her face, but I wouldn’t let her. For a moment she looked at me, then she lowered her eyes. “Yes.”
“Okay, let’s cut the crap and do it.”
“But the consequences—”
“Fuck the consequences.”
“Danny—”
“Danny will be better off without you and you know it.”
“My father—”
“Can get a real bank loan and pay off Hart.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple, Colette.”
I released her chin. She twisted around to face the mountains on the other side of the valley. I couldn’t see Colette’s eyes, but her breathing came short, as if she was crying. Every now and then Colette mumbled, “Shit.”
Finally she said, “Once when I was a sophomore and Dirk was a senior, he walked out of PE and came and got me out of Civics, told the teacher there was a family emergency. In the hall he said he was sick of school and he was going to hitchhike to Quebec.”
“Why Quebec?”
“I don’t know. Dirk read a book about it, I think. He asked me to go with him.” Colette looked down at her hands. “I was afraid of what would happen to us. I said no.”
“Did he leave without you?”
Colette nodded. “Dirk almost got run over, hitchhiking in Canada. Then when he came home, they kicked him out of school for a semester. Dad grounded him. Mom cried for weeks.”
