As soon as my ears woke up and started hearing the corners of the room, a sort of panic hit me—a you-gotta-figure-this-out-fast feeling. And then What the heck are you thinking? was what I was thinking. There is a girl hidden in your barn. But for some reason the only thing I could figure out to do was make her some food. I threw on some clothes and headed down to the kitchen. Eggs from our chickens. That’s what I would bring her. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, all angles and shadows.
“Come on, Hunter,” I said softly, but he must have already gone out the dog door somewhere. I covered the plate with an old dishtowel and slid out while my father was still passed out.
I picked my way through the already drying mud. The parched dirt was sucking up the puddles so fast you’d hardly know it had even rained last night if not for the drops of water beaded on the tall grass.
I rapped lightly on the barn door. “It’s me, Cade.”
No sound from inside. For all I knew she’d run off. Or . . . hadn’t even made it through the night. What if there was a dead person in my barn? I pushed the door open with my foot.
The girl was lying on her back, one arm over her busted eye, the other over my dog. When the heck did he come out here? Her chest rose and fell steadily. I didn’t want to wake her up, but the second Hunter smelled the food he left guard duty and barreled over to me. The girl let out a small whimper as she stirred, mumbling something that sounded like hell . . . or tell. I won’t tell?
“Hey. You’re okay. Hey there, Jane Doe. It’s me, um . . . Cade. Brought you some eggs. How ya doin’?”
She was silent for a second, taking stock of where she was.
“Hurts,” she whispered, all groggy.
“Yeah. I’ll bet. Mattey said to check that nothing looks like it’s got puss or is all puckered like.”
“And here I was thinking maybe I was hungry.”
“Ha. Sorry.” I leaned over and helped her sit up.
Jane Doe let out a cry, even as I supported her back. Her shirt was damp with sweat. She couldn’t lift her arms to feed herself, so I scooped up a forkful and held it to her mouth. She only had three tiny bites.
“No more.”
“How ’bout some water?”
“No thanks.”
“You need water.”
“I’m okay.”
“Drink a little.”
She gave in and took a sip. “Hey . . .”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t happen to find a bag, did you? Near where you found me?” she asked.
“No. But it’s not like I was looking.”
“I dropped my bag . . . somewhere. It, um, has all my stuff.”
“I have football practice,” I told her as I guided her back to lying down.
She looked at me like she didn’t know why she should care.
“But that’s it. Other than that, I can help you out. I’ll take a couple laps through the corn when I get back to see if I can’t find it. What color is it?”
“Black. Nothing special.”
The girl’s left eye was open a tiny slit compared to before. And she squinted her other eye at me. “Why are you helping me so much?”
“Why not? God made me stumble on you for a reason, right?”
She gave me a patronizing half smile. “Aw. You believe in God.”
JANE
While Cade was doing his football stuff, Mateo came over. He brought more pain pills and some clothes. He looked politely over his shoulder while helping peel off my bloody T-shirt and put on a fresh one. It smelled like clean laundry in someone’s house, a real house with food cooking and the TV on and people laughing.
“Whose are these?” I asked.
“My sisters’. I have four. They’ll blame each other . . . if they even notice they’re missing at all.”
“That’s a lot of sisters.”
“Big family.” Mateo smiled shyly and shrugged.
“You need something in your stomach,” he said, opening a thermos and unrolling some tinfoil. “Will you eat some of this? It’s my mom’s chicken soup and a few homemade tortillas. It’s what I always eat after I’m sick.”
“I can try.”
My body kept shifting from on fire to a deep and steady aching. The cut was a sinkhole, swallowing me like a pretty little neighborhood full of trees and cars and people pushing baby carriages.
“What about you?” Mateo asked. “Do you have any sisters or brothers?”
“Nice try.”
He looked confused for a second. “Oh. I get it. You don’t have to talk about you. It’s okay. I mean, you’re obviously hiding. I hope . . . I hope you’re very far away from whoever is after you?”
He was still fishing for information. All I said back was “Me too.”
“I know what Cade said. But are you sure you don’t want to go to police?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m going to ask you every day,” Mateo said.
“The answer will be the same.”
“That’s fine. At least I’ll know I tried.”
I didn’t say anything in response. The food was sitting okay. The tortillas were good. I took one more.
Mateo pulled out a pad of paper and some pencils.
“What are you doing?”
“I like to draw. If you’re not going to talk to me, I’ll sketch.”
I noticed he had dried paint stuck to the back of his hand and the edge of his T-shirt.
“You’re an artist?”
“Something like that. Someday.”
“Can I see what you’re drawing?”
Mateo flipped the pad around. There were two lines.
“Ha ha, very funny. Show me something you didn’t just start.”
He smirked at me but flipped back a few pages to show me a sketch of a city street. The bold lines popped, and the people’s faces pulled me in. The drawing had an energy to it, like you got dropped into it mid-motion, mid-thought.
“That can’t be around here,” I said.
Mateo tapped his head. “It’s from in here. I draw what I daydream. It’s like a promise to myself. I want to go to art school in New York City. NYU. Maybe the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn.”
“Sounds like you have it all mapped out. How old are you anyway?” I asked.
“Just turned fifteen. I’m going to be a sophomore. We live right down the road from Cade, so I’ve known him forever. He’s a senior. How old are you? Oh, I mean, never mind. Sorry.”
This kid was too sweet, like 1950s television shows, hair-slicked-to-the-side sweet. And Cade’s dog acted like Lassie, staying right by my side. I ran my fingers along the furry ridge of its back.
“What’s the dog’s name?”
“Hunter. Our old neighbor Savannah Maddison’s dog had puppies a couple years ago, and she gave Cade one. I wanted one so bad too, but my mom said her kids were her wild pack of perritos. She didn’t have the time or money to take care of anything more.” Mateo rolled his eyes. “I would have helped.”
“So you’re Mexican, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah. Half this town is.” Mateo gave me a funny look. “Why?”
“Because I hate Mexico,” I said, cracking up at his shocked expression.
Mateo was about to hand me a bottle of water, but he pulled his arm back.
“That’s a pretty messed-up thing to say to a Mexican.”
“Especially one who saves your life with cow meds.” I motioned for him to give me the drink, trying to soften what I’d said with a smile. Or at least what I hoped was a smile. I had no idea what my face looked like. My swollen cheekbone felt like there was sand grating in it. He didn’t smile back.
“Relax, Mateo. I was only kidding.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Let’s just say that country isn�
��t exactly on my bucket list to visit any time soon because of some . . . stuff . . . that happened. Some choices I made. How’s that?”
Mateo pointed to my cut. “So this . . . happened. And now you hate all of Mexico?”
“No, Mateo. That was a bad joke,” I said, then quieter: “I only hate myself.”
CADE
“The US damn government of A may want to ban two-a-days, but don’t think I won’t still try an’ kill you,” Coach yelled. His face got purple shouting at us in this heat.
The football field was the only bright green patch around, with the city water restrictions because of the drought. You might not be allowed to water your cornfield, but the football field was a different story. You didn’t mess with that.
“There’s hot, and then there’s this.” My buddy Gunner looked like he’d run under a hose. “These up-downs make me puke in my mouth.”
“You make me puke in my mouth,” yelled one of the twins, laughing at his own joke.
I had to look back to see whether it was Taylor or Justin. Taylor had lighter eyebrows. It was the only way to sometimes tell them apart. Today I couldn’t tell.
“Fajardo makes me puke in my mouth,” said the other twin.
“How did I get dragged into this?” Fajardo complained. His round face was raining sweat.
“’Cause you’re fat,” Gunner panted as we jogged in place.
Fajardo just laughed.
“Less talking, more working,” Coach Hollis yelled.
There was a collective grunt as we dropped to the ground, then used a push-up to launch ourselves back up to standing, then did it all again. Up-downs. Coach blew the whistle. And again.
“Ugh. You’d never even know it rained last night.” Gunner kept complaining even after we were all heading to the locker room. “It’s hotter than Haiti.”
“Hades. It’s hotter than Hades,” I said.
“I always thought it was Haiti.”
“Nah,” I laughed. “You’re a dumbass. It’s Hades, like hell.”
“Whatever. It’s hotter ’n hell then. How’s that?” Gunner answered.
“I don’t mind the double workouts,” I said.
“Go to hell,” Taylor or Justin chimed in. “How’s that?”
My helmet came off my head with a nasty sucking noise over my ears. Soaked.
“Yeah, you ain’t right in the head if you like this twice in a row,” Fajardo added, looking at me like I was nuts.
“Says who? You? Some of us are trying to start,” I said with a laugh.
Fajardo grinned and shrugged. He knew he didn’t care like I did. “Some of us are smart. It’s too miserable out. Why kill ourselves?”
“I heard this is the hottest summer we ever had. Like, record-breaking,” Gunner said. “Crops are shit.”
“Our crops are always shit.”
Gunner frowned at me that way he does when he thinks I’m being too negative. When he pulled off his helmet, his thick, curly hair stuck up, making it hard to take him seriously. But Gunner was trying to be serious. He started to say something, then stopped, waiting for everyone else to head to the showers.
“What?” I demanded.
He pointed to my feet. “Dude, you can’t play in taped-up shoes.”
“Done it before.”
“Not varsity ball, man. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’ll pick up a new pair after I clean a few more pools,” I tried to brush him off.
Gunner hemmed and hawed for a second, then said, “When school starts . . . maybe, um, apply for the free-lunch thing? That could save you a couple extra bucks, right?”
I shook my head no, with an insulted snort.
“It’s for, like, anybody who needs it,” Gunner stumbled along.
“Really?” I challenged. “Have you ever used it?”
“No, but it’s not like money hasn’t ever been tight for my parents before. A sheriff and a trucker don’t exactly make bank.”
“You don’t get it.”
“Come on, Cade. Y’all aren’t the only ones in Tanner scrambling. I mean, my mom’s a black woman trying to boss around a bunch of white dudes. And you know my dad came in on a work visa, and we thought for a while he’d never get his green card. My aunt had to front our mortgage sometimes. It’s okay to ask for help.”
“What is this?” I glared at him. “Some sort of intervention?”
Gunner looked down. “I told my mom you’d get mad if I brought it up.”
I made myself take a beat. I knew he meant well. “Farms are weird. You never know how they’re going to do.”
“Yeah,” Gunner said. “You heard from your mom at all?”
“No. It is what it is,” I mumbled. “Who cares?”
“You do.”
“I can’t. What’s it gonna get me?” I was done talking about this.
Gunner gave up and retreated to the showers. The faucets screeched and hissed. We sounded like we were in a factory assembly line. I closed my eyes and let the water slide over my face. Sometimes it feels like maybe I never even had a mom. Other times I forget she left and think that when I go home she’ll be right there, tromping dirt from the fields into the kitchen. Leaving a trail of pots and pans behind. Wrestling on the floor with Hunter. Forget it, she used to say about the messes she made. Live life in the moment. We can worry about the cleanup later. If we do it all together it won’t feel like chores.
I wonder what she thinks about this mess.
Now that there is no more “together,” who is supposed to clean up?
* * *
• • •
On the way home I stopped at the Walmart. I had some cash on me from cleaning Mama Travis’s pool. It was enough for a not-totally-crappy plastic fan, toothbrush, toothpaste, and some soap and shampoo. I picked a purple bottle with fruit and flowers on it that must be like how Hawaii smells.
“Aye,” the cashier said. It was her version of hello. She pointed to the shampoo and laughed.
“What’s up, Lola?” I grinned at her. “Ha ha yourself. Stop making fun of me. The shampoo’s not for me.”
“Mmm.”
“Yeah, yeah. You think you’re so funny.”
I always tried to act normal around Lola after what happened to her. It wasn’t like the Javiers were those kind of people. Normal family. Lola grew up here with us our whole life . . . but a guy she started dating after she graduated got all mixed up in running drugs. When they broke up, some cartel guys sliced up Lola’s tongue so she couldn’t say what she knew. Frickin’ awful. But just cuz she couldn’t talk didn’t mean her brain wasn’t the same, right? Her voice was stuck inside. So I always made sure to chat with her when I shopped here.
“Bye, girl, see ya next time. Your sister’s back from Afghanistan for good now, right? Tell her I say hey.”
I shoved the change into my pocket, walked across the parking lot, and started my truck. Less than a quarter tank of gas. Great. I hadn’t realized that. I looked down at the plastic bag in the passenger seat and wondered if I should return the fan to have enough to fill up the truck.
Who was my next pool cleaning? The Kahns. But not till next Saturday. But I had Dr. Garcia too, so it would be okay. I could use some of this week’s food money for gas. We had some frozen venison left. If I made stew, we could eat that a bunch of nights. I could probably stretch the box of flapjack batter for breakfast too.
The light turned red at the intersection with the Bootjack and Chevrolet. Someday I would buy myself a nice pair of boots. Square toe. Solid. And I’d climb up into my brand-new pickup. Gunmetal gray. That’s the color.
A new billboard caught my eye. Luxury canal homes from the three hundreds. Three hundred thousand dollars? To live in Tanner. I couldn’t believe anyone wanted to stay here, let alone move here, for any kinda money, forget that kind
a money.
Factories were doing well lately though. As I headed out of town, I glanced over at the manufacturing plants that sat along the river that divided us from Mexico. Weird to think there’s a whole other country just behind some brush and buildings. The smokestacks chugged like they were panting from running too many laps.
A car ahead of me abruptly slowed, breaking my stream of thought. The driver rolled down a window to check in with someone pulled over on the side of the road.
“Everything all right?” she called out to a man standing outside his SUV. “Car overheat?”
“Nah, sweetheart. All good. Just stopped to take a leak,” the guy said.
“All right then.” She laughed and offered me a little wave of apology for the holdup.
I waved back that it was fine but found myself shooting a few extra looks in the rearview mirror to make sure the guy drove away.
When I pulled up at the house, I poked my head inside for a quick second.
“Dad, I’m home. I’m gonna go check the corn.”
No answer.
I searched around for my pocketknife to cut open the packaging on the fan. As usual, the drawers were overflowing with crap, and I had no idea where anything was. I grabbed a long chopping knife from the block by the stove instead and headed out to the barn.
As I rounded the last bend, I came to an abrupt halt. Something was wrong.
The door of the barn was wide open. And no one was inside.
JANE
I heard someone approach the barn from the other side of the bushes.
I froze and grabbed Mateo’s arm, but he called out before I could stop him. “We’re right back here.”
Cade emerged from around the corner, Hunter bounding next to him. My whole body slumped in relief to see it was only him. I patted Hunter’s head, rubbing my fingers down the bridge of his nose. He licked my fingers and wagged his tail.
“Everything all good here?” Cade asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Is something wrong?”
“I got worried because the barn was empty,” Cade said. “Where were you?”
“She had to . . .” Mateo was embarrassed.
Hide with Me Page 3
