by Craig Lesley
I heard my mother suck in her breath, then say, "Don't be so uncouth, Riley. Remember, you actually work for the railroad."
"I don't work for them," he said, meaning the diners.
"Well, of course, you're setting a poor example for the boy," she said. "In any case, Culver and I have ridden on the train and we have enjoyed a wonderful dinner. And I'm certainly glad my appetite wasn't spoiled by seeing some man's hind end."
Riley didn't answer but managed to wink at me as he pulled up his shorts.
My mother sighed, and I knew she was thinking about the time we rode the train to see my uncle Jake in the beautiful, mountainous part of the state. I was nine. She intended to talk with him about my father's death—"To clear the air," as she put it.
My mother had saved some money so we could eat in the dining car. Before dinner I went into the men's lounge and slicked my hair back. She had brought along my Sunday school white shirt and an old tie that had belonged to my father. The tie was blue with a hand-painted leaping red fish. She had cut the tie and resewn it to fit, although it remained a little long.
The waiter provided us with menus and stubby pencils to mark our choices. The pencils had no erasers, so I was careful not to make a mistake. She ordered lamb chops with spearmint jelly, and when the chops came, each one had a little parsley ruffle around the blackened bone, and I didn't think I'd ever seen anything so elegant before. My mother had me taste the jelly, which came in a small white paper cup. "They make it from crushed mint leaves," she said. "It's nice when they go out of their way to make things special."
It was good, sweet and pungent at the same time, although I preferred my cheeseburger.
We sat at the window a long time, watching the countryside roll by. Once I saw a farmer changing hand line in his alfalfa field. Glancing up from his work, he took off his red cap and waved it at the train. I waved back, even though I doubted he saw anything but the train sliding by sleek as wind.
"I could get used to this," my mother said, pouring herself another cup of tea. Out the window, scenery rushed by and the setting sun lengthened the shadows of tall pines. Farmhouse lights were beginning to wink on.
Now, standing by that remote siding, my mother stared at the Coastal Flyer's brake lights dimming in the distance.
"Better times are coming," I said because I couldn't think of anything else.
After a moment, she said, "I expect they're just around the corner."
***
The third Friday after we'd moved in, my stepfather was away on the speeder, checking on the tie repairs the section crew was making near Barlow. Dwight watched me shooting baskets for a while from his front porch, then came off and challenged me to a game of one-on-one. I figured he'd be easy because he looked slow and clumsy in his usual coveralls and clodhoppers. But today he was wearing tennis shoes, and when he stripped down to a T-shirt and shorts, I saw he was no pushover. He was remarkably quick for a man his size, and I could seldom drive on him, so I had to rely on my outside shot, which was always streaky. If Dwight had the ball, he backed in, using his bulk to keep me away, then put up soft hooks or twisting jump shots. Luckily, he was rusty and soon became winded, or I might have lost.
My mother brought a chair from inside the house and placed it in the yard, first turning on the lawn sprinkler to get a little cool moisture. She'd made sun tea by leaving a pitcher of teabags and water in the sun, and she poured some of this over a tumbler of ice. She sat, sipping her tea and reading Hollywood gossip magazines.
After finishing the game, Dwight approached my mother's chair and tried to make conversation, but he was awkward at it. "This kid is a regular whiz," he said. "All he needs is to pack a few more pounds." He dribbled the ball a couple times and tried to palm it, but it slipped away. "I used to play college ball myself at a Mormon school in Utah. But I'm not Mormon."
"That explains the cigars then, doesn't it," my mother said. "We're not Mormon either."
"No, I didn't think you were," he said. "Not for a minute."
She offered him a glass of tea, but he declined and then unwrapped the cellophane from one of his cigars. "Cuban. I've got a friend who flies down there on business. He tells me these cigars are rolled on the damp thighs of young Cuban girls. Fidel sees to it they're all under sixteen. That's the rule."
I had never heard anyone make such a remark in front of my mother before, and I didn't know how she would react. She placed the glass of iced tea against her cheek and laughed softly. "I imagine that's why you enjoy them so much," she said. "You and your friend must have extremely active imaginations."
He seemed pleased that he had impressed her and turned to me. "What do you think, sport? You want to try one of these dusky beauties? Let's see, those girls would be just about your age."
"I don't believe he'd care for one," my mother said. She held the glass of tea against her forehead. "Culver's interests lie in an entirely different direction, don't they, Culver?" Before I could answer she added, "So perhaps you should hang on to the cigars you have."
"You got a point there all right," he said.
It seemed for a minute he was going back to his house, but then he spoke again. "When I see you sitting out in this heat just reading those magazines, it makes me wonder if there isn't something else you might do. Develop some interests."
She ran her finger around the sweaty beaded outside of the glass and touched it lightly to her lips. "I have interests," she said. "There's the boy." She tipped the glass slightly in my direction. "And I'm very interested in travel. Now you must excuse me. I've got to think about supper." With that she folded her magazine and headed into the house.
From Griggs, it was three miles to Griggs Junction, a combination restaurant and truck stop crested with a blue neon eagle whose flashing wings imitated flying. On paydays, Riley enjoyed taking us there for what he called a fling, and as we drove in he'd wave at all the truck drivers and call out, "How's it going, George?" He had greeted strangers the same way ever since I had known him, and when I was younger, I had marveled that he knew so many men named George.
This night my mother had put on a cool green dress that emphasized the green in her hazel eyes. As she looked out the window at the parking lot filled with trucks, she seemed restless. When she put on a pair of new sunglasses she must have bought in town, I swear she could have been a movie star, sharp nose or not.
Grinning, Riley looked at me as if to say, "How'd you think I ever got so lucky?"
"Do you have any fresh fruit?" my mother asked the waitress when she came to take the orders. "It's so hot today, I'm feeling like a fruit salad would be just the thing."
The waitress scowled at the question. "We had some bananas but the flies got them." She tapped her pen against the pad to get the ink going. "Sure has been hot. Earlier, they couldn't get the kitchen fans working, and it's like a boiler room back there. Honey, let's see now, we've got some canned peaches and cottage cheese. Or some pears."
"Pears and cottage cheese would be just fine," my mother said and handed her the folded menu.
"I sure do like that dress," the waitress said. "It probably doesn't come in my size."
Riley and I had cheeseburgers as always, and I had a large chocolate shake. This was only late June, and I figured July and August were going to be unbearable. I'd written a letter to my uncle Jake about trying to fix me up with a job in the sporting goods store, and I was wondering if it was air conditioned. I hadn't told Riley or my mother, but if the job came through, I knew she'd approve.
A golden curtain above the counter opened and a little puppet band played music along with the juke box. My mother tapped her fingers to the tunes.
"We should go dancing sometime," Riley said. "We haven't been dancing since that night in Black Diamond. Geez, that seems years ago."
"It was," my mother said. "Black Diamond was Culver's first year in junior high school—five moves back."
Riley winced a little. "I'm getting old fast."
&n
bsp; My mother glanced in his direction, but she didn't say anything.
When the food came, Riley and I started eating ours, but my mother asked for a salad plate and then separated the pears from the cottage cheese. The cottage cheese did appear affected by the heat, and when she held a forkful to her nose, she wrinkled it. She cut the pears into very small bites and ate slowly. When she had finished and laid down her fork, Riley asked, "How was your salad, Flora?"
"It's a sorry business, Riley," she said. "A very sorry business altogether. Excuse me, I'm going to need the ladies' room."
After she was gone, Riley put another quarter in the jukebox, so the puppet band played again. "She's in a mood," he said.
"It's been hot," I said, and sucked on my milk shake.
He tried singing along with the music but he gave it up shortly. After what seemed a long time, he took the railroad watch from his pocket. "She must be having a session in there." A few more minutes passed. "She had one of those after we ate Chinese food that time in Grass Valley. You remember? She was gone over half an hour that time."
"I remember all right," I said. I was only eleven then and didn't remember too clearly.
He put a couple quarters on the table. "You pick them. Play something that snaps along a little. I'm going back there to see if I can speed things up. I've got to head out to Barlow early tomorrow."
I asked for a glass of water at the counter because my throat was dry. Out on the river a small sailboat caught the last rays of the sun, and I couldn't imagine who might be out there sailing in this desolate place.
Riley returned, his mouth set in a thin line. "I can't figure where she's got herself off to."
"Maybe she walked home," I said. "Maybe she wanted to be on her own a while."
"Darned crazy thing to do, if she did."
Riley asked the waitress to check the women's bathroom and make certain Mom hadn't fainted from the heat, but she came back out shaking her head. We hung around another half hour and Riley tried not to look at the waitress. "She didn't say anything?" he asked me.
I spread my hands. "Not to me."
Finally, Riley went outside to talk with one of the kids pumping gas. I could tell how much Riley hated doing it, because they were the kind of wiseasses you always see at gas stations—ripped jeans, dirty caps tipped back on their heads—kids just waiting to drink a couple six packs after work.
"Saw a gal climb into a big old Bekins moving truck and head north," one kid said. He stuffed part of a candy bar into his mouth and tossed the wrapper at the trash bucket. "I suppose that could have been her."
"Was she wearing a green dress?" Riley asked. "Sunglasses?"
"Can't say for sure," the kid said. "Wasn't looking much at the dress." Smirking now, he winked at his buddy.
"Good legs for an old gal," the buddy said.
Anger flushed my face, and even though they were a couple years older than me, I wanted for Riley and me to take them, but he let it drop.
"I'm sure that wasn't Flora," Riley said as we headed for the car. "That's not one bit like her."
The speedometer stayed under ten miles per hour all the way to Griggs. "Look sharp," he told me. "She might have took sick and be lying in the ditch somewhere. Those pears looked touched. She saw that right off. I wished she'd ordered the peaches instead."
"I'm keeping my eyes peeled, Riley," I said. And I was, but when I got to thinking about the new green dress and the sunglasses, I didn't think she was in any ditch. As we pulled off the main road and into Griggs, the Coastal Flyer came by, and I thought of the time I had ridden across the state with my mother. Now I half wished she might be on that train, heading somewhere exciting.
As the train passed, Riley opened the car door to spit, so I spotted them first. The crossing gate was still going up, its red lights blinking, and I had to strain my eyes a little to make out the two white figures against the shadowy background of willows at the river edge. The moon had just risen above the basalt cliffs and covered everything with an eerie pale light.
Dwight had taken off all his clothes, including the railroad cap, but his size and shape were unmistakable, even at that distance. She was naked too, and they were in the shallows but wading toward deep water.
Riley hadn't closed the car door; his arm remained straight out from his side and seemed frozen stiff. Then he muttered, "Flora, by God."
When he looked at me, Riley's eyes were widened in amazement and confusion. I realized then that he understood nothing about his life or circumstances; chances were slim he ever would. And I believed he was capable of some desperate act, the kind you read about in newspapers.
He got out of the car, and the gravel crunched beneath his feet as he began striding toward the two waders. "Hey," he shouted, but they didn't hear him. "Hey, God damn it!"
I climbed out too, thinking I could stop him. I slammed the car door and broke into a run, hoping I could catch up.
2
AS RILEY APPROACHED, Dwight's head snapped up. "What in thunder are you doing intruding on us like this?" Dwight said. "We want a little privacy!"
The woman was glaring at us, too, and up close you could tell right off she wasn't my mother, although at a distance they bore some resemblance. When I looked back and saw a second car in Dwight's yard, I knew how wrong we'd been.
Riley's mouth opened, but he didn't say anything, so I mumbled an apology and tried to look anywhere but directly at Dwight and his wife, even though I'd already seen pretty much what there was to see.
"Maybe you'd better head back to your place and let us be," Dwight said. "She's been away two weeks."
Taking Riley's elbow gently, I turned him back toward Griggs and our little place. After undressing without saying a word, he carried a pillow and blanket out to the couch so he could be near the phone.
I had trouble falling asleep and kept thinking about Dwight and his wife down at the river. In the middle of the night, Riley shook me from the fretful sleep, and my heart raced when I figured there'd been bad news.
"What is it, Riley?" I asked, gripping his shoulders.
"Do you think she took any money with her? Do you?"
"I don't know, Riley," I said, then relaxed my hold. "I really don't have any idea."
***
Riley headed to Barlow early the next morning after first making me promise to stay close by the phone. "Women will find a way to frost your balls every time, Culver," he said. "Remember that. She's having herself some kind of genuine fit, but I can't hang around and take a chance on losing this job."
"I hear you, Riley."
I fixed some corn flakes and then went outside to shoot baskets. All the windows were open, so I could hear the phone if it rang. The morning was still cool and the red-winged blackbirds fluttered in the willows at the river edge. When I looked at the place where Dwight had been swimming with his wife, I blinked a couple of times to make certain I hadn't imagined the whole thing.
About nine, my mother called.
"We were worried plenty," I said. "Are you all right?"
"Where's Riley?" she asked.
"Gone off to Barlow," I said.
"That's good. Your uncle Jake and I are coming with a truck, and I don't care to see Riley just now. You understand, don't you, honey?" She paused and when I didn't answer, she continued. "So you better start getting your things together. We're going to have a brand-new life, Culver. An absolutely fresh start."
Her enthusiasm seemed genuine and I didn't want to spoil her mood, but to be honest, I wasn't looking forward much to the fresh start. We hadn't finished unpacking from the last one.
"Say hi to your uncle Jake. He can't wait to see you."
Jake got on the phone. "Hey, Culver, I've got some good news. The store's air conditioned and the job's yours."
He sounded hearty and confident, the way I remembered him. I tried to seem upbeat. "That's terrific."
"These rich dudes keep hiring me to go fishing, and I need a good man to hold down t
he store. We're busier than a one-armed fry cook. Gateway's going through quite a boom. You'll love it."
"Sounds great." I held the phone away from my ear a little. "Say, where are you, anyway?"
"Having breakfast in Pratt. See you in an hour. This call is burning money."
"In an hour," I said, but he had already hung up.
Almost by habit, I packed my clothes in two battered blue suitcases that had belonged to my father. Then I carried in some of the empty moving boxes. They were still marked according to what they had held for the Griggs move, and I started stuffing sheets and pillowcases into the "linen" box. After a few minutes I stopped because I couldn't understand how to divide things.
Five long honks announced the truck's arrival, and I went outside to see the U-Haul bouncing over the tracks. It was a small truck with a twelve-foot bed and I knew at least they had the size right. We didn't have all that much stuff.
Jake backed the truck to the front door, and even though I gave him some hand signals, he didn't need them. Jumping out, he revealed a quickness that made him seem younger than forty. His arms and face were tanned from spending so many hours on the river, and his gray eyes were slightly bloodshot from the sun's glare. When he shook my hand, he grinned and exclaimed, "Look at this scrapper. He's grown into a good-looking devil."
"Isn't he handsome?" my mother said. "I'm not just saying that because he's my son. Everybody thinks he's handsome." Smiling, she hugged me. "I'm sorry you were so worried. When's Riley due back?"
I shrugged. "He didn't say, but it sounded like they had a big day."
"Perhaps we should get started," she said, looking at Jake.
"All right," he said. "I'm anxious to have this boy see Gateway."
