If I Had You

by Deborah Bedford

  “Yeah.”

  She didn’t accept it when he held out a hand to help her mount. She strode past him and swung herself into the saddle. Creede readied a second horse without speaking.

  They set off.

  Even in mid-winter the pasture grasses were tinged with green. The breeze and faded light moved through the alfalfa, ruffling it like confetti. They rode in silence for a while until the horses entered a pecan grove, hooves crunching over fallen hulls in the path. Tree limbs intertwined overhead like woven tapestry. Creede’s face filled with shadows.

  “Now are you going to tell me about her?” Tess let the tail end of the reins drape down over her knee.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  A blue jay cackled in the pecan branches above them. Somewhere in the distance, a crow answered back. The saddles creaked as they swayed with the movement of the horses’ withers.

  “Start somewhere.”

  Tess watched him trying to choose the right details. “She’s just graduated from North Texas State. She came here to student teach last year; that’s how we met each other.”

  “What’s she look like?”

  “A little like you.” This surprised her, that he would be blunt about that.

  “Your parents approve of her, don’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your dad, especially.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I know he talked to you about me. He didn’t think I was good enough—”

  “Tess.” He grabbed her horse’s reins and both animals drew up short. “I thought you wanted to find out about Candice, not talk about my dad.”

  “I’m the wild girl. That’s what he said.”

  “You left. You left, Tess. You said you couldn’t live with your mother anymore and you took off. It didn’t have anything to do with my dad.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance. “Still, I heard what he was saying. I had come to the church to find you.”

  He stared pointedly at her belly. “You can’t listen to everybody telling you what they think you are. You don’t have to be what everybody says.”

  “You were listening to him about me. You never said a word to tell him that he was wrong.”

  “I don’t argue with my father, Tess. If I think his words have merit, I take them to heart. If I don’t, then I discard them. My father taught me how to respect his opinions, even if I don’t agree with them. If you had believed in me enough to know that I believed in you, we could have fought off anything anyone said.”

  Tess wrestled Raina’s reins from him. “Yah!” She kicked and the horse bolted, stretching into a hard gallop, crashing through the trees. She gave Raina her head, leaning into the horse’s neck, clinging to the animal the same way she’d clung long ago in the pond. After they broke into the open, Tess rode for all she was worth, hearing the thudding of hooves, the hiss of grass, Creede behind her. Not until they’d passed the green-and-yellow biplane did she stop the horse short and let him catch up with her.

  “You remember,” he said, gasping for breath, “how to ride.”

  “Of course I do.” She was gasping, too. The horses were snorting, sweating. “Riding with you was one of the best things in my life.”

  He reined his mount in a circle and sat taller in the saddle. In the distance, a squirrel chittered and the cattail pond shone the same color as toffee.

  “So,” she asked, “do you love Candice Murfree?”

  “Yes. I do. More than anyone could ever know.”

  Tess couldn’t think of what else to say. Here they sat, in the middle of the pasture, with horses needing to be ridden home.

  “The father of your baby. Is he the one who likes horses? That looks toward the red horse in the sky?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see that red horse plenty when I’m up flying. All the pilots do. All of Dallas glows from the air but, for some reason, that red neon sign stands out from the others.” Then, “Are you going to tell me about your baby’s father?”

  “There isn’t much to tell. Maybe life is tough in South Dallas. But I found one person who sees the good in me.”

  No matter what happened between the two of them, Creede would always feel free to tease her. He’d gotten close enough to tug on a hank of Tess’s multi-streaked blonde hair. “You don’t watch out, some spider is going to come along and try to make something important out of that.”

  Tess asked, her heart heavy, “Things could’ve turned out differently between us, couldn’t they have?”

  “It seems to me, if you’d found a person to see the good in you, he’d be standing beside you, seeing you now.” Creede reined his horse toward the barn and the grass beneath its hooves whispered like voices.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nora had taken to going to bed late, waiting until she heard Ben snoring before she turned in for the night. She would peer at him and make sure he was sleeping, his disarrayed limbs making ridges under the blankets like a groundhog burrowing underground, before she would turn back the sheet and slip soundlessly between the covers.

  She didn’t want him to roll in her direction or take her in his arms. She didn’t want to feel his breath or the warmth of his skin. It frightened her, how untouchable she felt. Nora knew this one thing; she didn’t want her husband to invade her space. She wanted to stay separate.

  For what seemed like hours, Nora would lie flat on her back, her arms pressed against her sides, looking back at another day she had lived by rote. She hadn’t enjoyed this day or found anything joyous in it. She had merely survived it. Tomorrow, she knew, would be the same way.

  Oh, Father.

  Nora had no idea how long she’d been there tonight before Ben rolled toward her. It must have been minutes since she’d heard him snore. She held her breath, hoping he’d think she was asleep. He lifted his head and looked at her. “Nora?” he whispered. “You awake?”

  Maybe she was wrong not to answer her husband, but she couldn’t do it. Behind her closed eyes, she saw only the hopelessness of these past few months. She might as well have been slogging through quicksand, trying to slog through her own life.

  Oh, Lord. When I try to reach out to my daughter, nothing comes but stinging blows.

  Hot tears squeezed from Nora’s eyes. They rolled down the sides of her face into her hair. She didn’t dare move. Let me reach for her through you, beloved.

  She didn’t dare wipe the tears away. Her teeth clenched; her chin felt like a stone. Lying beside her husband, she felt utterly alone.

  “I don’t know,” Ben said quietly. “I had a wife once. But I think she’s gone.”

  I can’t, Ben. I can only think of Tess and the last thing I want to do is be here for you right now.

  “What is hurting you, Nora?” he whispered to nothing. “When Tess was young, why did you find so many things wrong with her?”

  I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.

  There he goes again, Lord, accusing me.

  Ben waited a long time. Finally she heard him let out a sigh and roll onto his opposite side. She slept then, Ben’s face and an awkward guilt looming just beyond where she could see. When she awoke hours later he was snoring again, still beside her, his broad hand splayed atop the blanket. She scooted a little further away from him. He’d fallen asleep reaching in her direction.

  THE BUNYAN STREET RITE-AID parking lot glittered with shattered glass, heaps of broken beer bottles. The brick walls on the far corner, the opposite edge of the parking lot from the floodlights, were covered with lewd spray-painted graffiti, the icons and initials scribbled in sharp, disjointed shapes.

  Jimmy Ray and Cootie hung out beside the curb, smoking the pack of Winston menthols they’d gone inside to buy. “I got this plan,” Cootie said, flicking his spent butt onto the asphalt with his thumb. “I’m thinking about going to see her. Steal a good car and head north.”
/>   “You should have sold those tires. Pilsen wanted them. You could have made gas money selling those monster treads.”

  “Want those for myself. Besides, don’t need gas money. Just got to find something with gas in it and take off for a while.” Cootie spoke with confidence. “So easy.”

  “Mira, Coot. They’ll haul you back to jail faster than a skunk dies on a road, they catch you hotwiring again. They aren’t going to let you out so fast next time.”

  “No reason to look at the bad side.”

  “My brother taught me. Plenty of reasons. Looking at the bad side keeps you alive, for one thing.”

  Cootie tapped another cigarette out of the pack. He flamed the lighter and took a drag against it, leaning against a circled red VL painted on the graffiti wall. As the tip glowed and he slipped the lighter into his pocket, he became aware of an underlying sound, something building in the distance—an engine rumbling toward them. “Hey, Coot.” That cautious, icy sound in Jimmy Ray’s voice made Cootie’s arm hairs prickle. “Don’t look now.”

  Cootie did look. There, threading along the street in front of Rite-Aid, was a decade-old grey Cadillac.

  “You know who that is?”

  “Sure I do.” Oh, yes. He did know. Alonzo. A rap groove vibrated the windows. Everything had grown quiet along Bunyan Street. Even the crickets had stopped chirring.

  “What’s he doing this far on the east side?”

  “You tell me.” Cootie knew his off-handed answer didn’t sound convincing. He knew by the way Jimmy Ray shoved up beside him and stared.

  “What did you do?”

  Cootie shoved his hands inside his pockets. For lack of anything better, he fiddled with his lighter and stared at the moths dancing around the floodlight. “The deal over at Krisik’s. I couldn’t back out of it, it was too good.”

  Jimmy Ray gave a thin whistle. “What are you doing, dealing in Ambrose territory?”

  “Didn’t figure they’d find out.”

  Alonzo’s Cadillac crept along the road. He must have only seen them standing outside the arc of light, their Winstons glowing, their silhouettes dark against the wall, after he passed. Red brake lights glowed and the massive car hung a U and returned. Alonzo cruised into the parking lot, the bass groove on the car speakers so loud Cootie could feel it in his bones. Glass popped beneath the tires.

  Jimmy Ray was looking for cover. Cootie could tell by the way he pressed his hands against the wall and his eyes darted. “Don’t move,” Cootie whispered. “You run and he’ll be on you.”

  “You can’t just stand here.”

  “He wants us to run. I’m not doing it.”

  As the Caddy began to pivot toward them, in that second before it pinpointed them in its headlights, Cootie thought how the nose of a car could look like a person. The front grille grinned at him with the same leering mouth as a middle-schooler with metal braces. The headlamps glared at him with ill intent. They observed him, unblinkingly understood him, as they approached.

  Hurt me. I dare you. See if you can take anything away from me that I haven’t already lost.

  Alonzo eased the Cadillac over the edge of the curb, and Jimmy Ray cursed. They held their ground until you could have bridged the gap between the hood ornament and their jeans buttons with a crescent wrench, and the front bumper nudged their knees. Only when Cootie felt the fear-cold wall pressing his shoulder blades did he realize sweat was pouring out of him. His back felt oiled.

  C’mon, Alonzo. Do better than that. Squeeze play. Take us out.

  Jimmy Ray arced his lit cigarette somewhere on the asphalt beneath the chassis. It fizzled on the pavement. There they stood in the dusty streams of halogen, crumbled glass at their feet, holding their breaths, unable to hear beyond the growling whine of the engine and the thunder of rap music.

  Maybe this is how they would die.

  But just as Cootie found Alonzo’s face behind the steering wheel, nothing much visible except the whites of his angry eyes and the rim of his green sweater cap and the edge of his teeth, the hydraulics kicked on and the left side of the car began to rise. It fell again, and rose. Fell again, and rose.

  Behind the dashboard, he could see Alonzo’s eyes narrowing in challenge as he rose and fell, too.

  Cootie ached to laugh. He wanted to laugh and laugh until this flood of relief reached every extremity of his body. He wanted to sing with joy when he realized that his best homie, Jimmy Ray, wasn’t going to bite the dust in the Rite-Aid parking lot tonight.

  “This won’t end here,” Jimmy Ray said, his breath coming in a nasty rush.

  The last thing Cootie saw before the Caddy revved into reverse was a red beaded A swaying from the rear-view mirror, the flare of Alonzo’s nostrils in hate. “Have a little faith. These guys don’t have any guts,” he said with false bravado. “They’re all show.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mr. and Mrs. Jack Murfree

  request the honor of your presence

  at the marriage of their daughter

  Candice Jane Murfree

  to

  Mr. Creede Leonard Franklin

  on Saturday March 29

  at 3:00 p.m.

  The Homestead Bridge

  Miles Butler State Park

  Butlers Bend, Texas

  Reception will immediately follow at the picnic grounds of Miles Butler State Park

  When news of Creede Franklin’s marriage to Candice Murfree went around, Butlers Bend felt different, pulsating with excitement and anticipation.

  The billboard at A&W Root Beer, right below the pronouncement “Our Strawberry Cheesecake Shake Will Surprise You” read: Congratulations Candice M. and Creede F. When Camille Lester strung hearts with big, dull bulbs in her shop window for Valentine’s Day, she also posted numbers to count off the days. Only 45 Shopping Days until The Franklin/Murfree Wedding. This she kept changing. Only eight days. Seven days. Six.

  “Is your son going to make his getaway in that Grumman Ag-Cat?” Donny Fraser asked Pete Franklin as the pastor stepped down off the chancel the Sunday before the wedding. “Are we going to have to tie tin cans on the tail of an airplane?”

  “I certainly hope not.” The pastor shifted his black Bible from one hand to the other. “But with Creede, you never know.”

  The wedding would be held in a lovely spot, the pulpit placed at the north end of the bridge across the creek, where the bride and groom would be shaded from sun, protected from rain, and standing over a rush of water beneath them. Only the creek wasn’t a rush—not anymore. It was an algae pool where minnows nibbled at the banks and leaves floated in circles.

  The service trucks Candice Murfree’s mother hired to set up the reception rattled along the rutted road like an army battalion occupying new ground, white-panel trucks one after another without any space between. The Gingerbread House Specialty Catering. Butlers Bend Garden Center. Ranchlander’s Linens. TX Sound Systems. Fred’s Barbecue. Forevermore Bridal Consultants (which, Pete Franklin joked, was the logo because the bride’s family would be paying bills forevermore).

  Guests began arriving not many hours after the trucks did. First came the Butlers Bend Baptist Handbell Choir, members having been told to arrive thirty minutes early to don their robes and figure out where they should stand. Everyone else arrived soon after, from the Heritage House Senior Apartments shuttle van to Pete Franklin’s mentor, the chairman of the North Corner State Baptist Association (so-named because some folks thought the top of Texas was as far north as any smart person should go).

  Tess and Nora Crabtree entered the gathering the same way everyone else did, stepping smartly through an archway of woven ivy and white sweetheart roses, shoulder to shoulder, chins proudly raised. An usher presented his tuxedoed arm to Nora and she took it, curling her fingers upon his arm. “Bride’s side or groom’s side?” he asked Nora, smiling, and Tess whispered, “Groom.”

  They each noticed at the same moment how quiet the crowd became. Not one minute b
efore, everyone had been chattering about the view or the weather or the homemade pink mints molded into the shape of hearts and left in a silver bowl beside the guestbook. Now it seemed those conversations had ceased. A good number of people turned to watch as Nora smiled at the usher and made some off-handed comment about his boutonniere. Why would everyone be staring at them like this? Everyone in Butlers Bend must have known for months already. “What is this?” Nora whispered. “You’d think they’d never seen a pregnant girl before.”

  Tess’s breath caught in her throat. Her mother had never responded this way.

  She wants to stand up for me.

  That thought was so foreign, so surprising, that Tess wrapped her arms around her shoulders (the only part that was still small enough to wrap her arms around) and gave herself a hug.

  Here she was, standing in front of everyone, as big around as the state capitol rotunda in Austin, impossible to ignore. Tess’s lower back ached. She touched the yellow bow at the hollow of her throat and remembered that this, too, had been a surprising gift from her mother.

  “Here. I’ve made you something,” her mother had said earlier that day as she held the shirt up from the sewing machine and shook out the wrinkles tentatively. “When I was at the end with you, I got so tired of all the old things to wear. I thought you could use something new.”

  Tess, holding the fresh yellow fabric to her shoulders as if it might tear, measuring to make sure it would fit.

  “Here are your seats,” the usher said.

  “Oh, thank you,” her mother said, “but I don’t believe we’ll sit down just yet. We’ll mingle. All these people want to chat with us.”

  When she had first left home and run away to Dallas, Tess had stolen stuff. Just reached inside cars that had been left unlocked at NorthPark, probably by teenaged girls because any adult would have been too smart. She’d taken lots of things to sell. CDs mostly. Bottles of Clinique Happy cologne. And one pair of 14K gold earrings shaped like horses, still posted on a Neiman Marcus card. If she’d sold those, she’d have made money to get high for a week. But a girl who picked her up and gave her a ride to Oak Cliff had liked those and Tess had given them to that girl as thanks instead. The rest of that week, as her craving for coke became something living inside of her, jeering, clawing at her insides, Tess had regretted that choice clear to the roots of her teeth.