by Andi Loveall
She went for a sip of water and caught Devin’s gaze, flushing as if she hadn’t expected him to still be watching her with such fascination. How could he not be?
The talk wound down as the plates and bowls became empty, and it was followed by a relaxed quiet, interrupted only by the crickets and the far off groan of a car in the valley below.
“Two tampons are walking down the street,” Walter finally said. “And they see a mate of theirs. Which one waves first?”
“Walter,” Raven warned.
“Neither, they are both stuck up cun—”
“Walter!” She swatted him on the head.
Everyone laughed. Walter took the napkin from his lap, crunched it up, and tossed it onto his plate as if to declare that it was time for him to call it a night.
Raven stood up to begin clearing the table.
“Here,” Cora said. “I’ll help you.”
“Me too,” Devin blurted out.
Raven smiled. “Aren’t you tired from your trip?”
“Nah, it’s ok. Please—I insist.”
“Looks like I was right,” she said, smiling and eyeing Cora as she headed for the house.
“Right about what?” Devin called after her.
She disappeared inside before she could answer. Everyone else headed off, and he focused on the task at hand, placing the smallest of the serving bowls inside the largest, and stacking the glasses to form one tall, wobbly column.
Cora followed him, empty-handed. “Wow … You’re good at that.”
He grinned. “Professional busboy, at your service.”
“Are you really a busboy?”
“You sound shocked.”
“I thought maybe you had crazy parents who made you clear the table at gunpoint.”
He laughed. “Close, actually, but no. I was a server and a bartender, and I was able to withstand the daily grind by viewing it as training in the art of carrying things. Kind of like the art of falling down, it’s good to have a lot of practice.”
“You can be the mule tonight, then.”
“The mule?”
“The person who brings food up to the other kitchen.”
“Hey, I like exercise.” He widened his eyes. “Good at carrying things, likes exercise, good at falling down—I was destined to be the mule, pretty much. No one could tumble down a mountainside more efficient than me.”
“As long as you spare the groceries.”
Her smile was contagious.
Raven was filling up a sink of dishwater in the kitchen with Mo prancing back and forth at her feet. Devin unloaded the dishes into the hot suds, wiped off his hands and knelt down. Mo lovingly rammed his head into his knuckles.
“Hey, Mo,” he said, petting him. “Now you like me, huh? Aw. He’s purring.”
“Come here kitty.” Cora scooped him up and cradled him in her arms. “His real name is Morning. Morning like dawn, not mourning like someone died.”
He smiled, loving the way she drew out that word. Daeyed.
She let Mo jump down and took a spot next to him at the sink, rinsing the dishes as he scrubbed. Being so close to her made him feel fourteen again, in a way that was both stupid and good.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three next month,” he said.
“My birthday is next month too!”
“What day?”
“The tenth.”
He let out a little chuckle and sighed. “The eleventh.”
“You’re lying.”
“Nope.”
“Raven! Devin’s birthday is the day after mine.”
“I heard,” Raven said from the kitchen table, where she was flipping through a recipe book.
“What year?” Devin asked.
“Not telling,” Cora said. “What year do I look?”
He frowned. Guessing someone’s age was a horrible task. He always felt the need to underestimate, which sometimes backfired and offended the person anyway. He didn’t understand the joke of it all. Why couldn’t she just tell him?
“Well let’s see …”
On the other hand, it provided a nice excuse to look her over. She’d tied her light-blue tennis shoes with green laces which matched her apple-colored eyes. A pair of black shorts hung low on her hips, and a colorful strand of beads was tied around one ankle. Her tank top was white, and he only allowed himself to check out her breasts for a second because otherwise, he was going to stare forever. He concentrated on her sparkling eyes, thinking of the long line of genetics passed down since the dawn of humanity that allowed her to be standing before him today. All of the endless combinations of people and bloodlines, and here she was.
“I can’t make a guess,” he said. “But it’s safe to say that you look younger and better than whatever age you are.”
“Listen to you!” Raven patted him on the shoulder. “That’s a right answer if I ever heard one.”
“And how old do you think Raven is?”
“Ai-yi-yi—Devin, don’t answer that.”
“Fifty.” Cora flashed her eyes at Raven. “What? Don’t be embarrassed, I tell people because you look so good.”
“No way.” Devin shook his head. “I thought you were like, twenty-seven.”
Raven let out a loud, whooping laugh. “Boy, you’re sweet but you know it.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and another to Cora, and then she headed down the hall, waving a goodnight.
Cora looked back at Devin. “I’m about to be twenty.”
“Hey, I would’ve guessed eighteen. So my answer was right.”
She smiled and looked down.
“So um … Why’d you move to California?”
“My dad was starting a law practice in Palm Springs,” she said. “I hated it at first. People called me Country. I tried to get rid of my accent.”
“Your voice is cool. Don’t try to change it.”
“This is how it changed,” she said, giggling. “You should’ve heard me when I was little.”
Her elbow bumped into his as she reached past him, sending an assault squad of butterflies into his stomach. He tried to breathe through it.
“I can’t believe you came here by a total random,” she said.
“Yep. This is my first stop.”
“Where’s your next stop?”
He swallowed. “India.”
“Did you randomly choose that too?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But kind of.”
“And what are you gonna do there?”
“Explore,” he said.
He suddenly felt like the cool, mysterious traveler again. It was an odd contrast from earlier.
“And after that?”
“Move on to explore somewhere else, I guess.”
“So you’re just a rambling man then?”
“Something like that. How about you?”
“Am I rambling?” Her elbow bumped his again.
“No.” He flushed a little. “How did you end up here? Walter’s your godfather, right?”
“Raven and my mom grew up together in Georgia.” She carefully placed the rinsed dishes in the drainer. “But I came for the same reason as everyone else. I mean, look around.”
“It’s beautiful,” he agreed, staring at her.
She reached around him to grab the stack of glasses, letting her face get really close to his. Her braid slipped over her shoulder and brushed against his arm. He could smell her sweetness, like coconuts and earth.
“So um … ” He turned away, scrubbing the glasses. “W-what did you do before this?”
She looked at him. “Danced.”
“Really? What sort of dancing?”
“Exotic.”
“Like … stripping?”
“Yeah. Like stripping.”
For a second, he thought she must be kidding. Then his imagination took over, and he saw a parallel universe where a richer and cooler version of himself sauntered into a fancy club and plopped down on a velvet couch,
ready to forget about the stresses of his important rich-guy life. That was when he saw her, shimmering on stage in the soft red light. The deep, sexy rock pounded in his chest. She was a back-alley wonder, looking over her shoulder as she twisted and turned. She saw him watching her, and she smiled and bit her lip, teasing down the front of her top.
He snapped out of it, looking over at her.
“Cool.” The word came out half a whisper and half a choked-sounding gargle.
“Some people think it’s slutty.”
“No, no! Not slutty. More like … bold.”
Her lips curved into an adorable smile, and she reached past him for the towel. “Well, everything looks good here. You’re free to go, busboy. Thanks for the help.”
“No problem. You coming?”
“Not yet. I want to get online for a few minutes. Did you need to get online at all?”
“Oh, um … no, I’m cool. Maybe tomorrow.”
“You better get some rest then, huh? Oh! And here—” She walked over to the counter and gathered up a carton of eggs and a bag of fruit, stacking it in all his arms. “Mule away.”
“Okay, no problem … It was nice meeting you.”
“You too, Devin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
He felt peaceful as he moved across the moonlit trail, stars shining in the sky above. It was strange to think he was in California that morning, because it seemed like years ago now. He listened as his shoes scraped against the pebbly ground of North Carolina.
Screptch, screptch screptch … That was what arriving sounded like.
Chapter Three—Loving
Beentz! Beentz! Beentz!
Something was beeping. It was the cell phone, letting him know he had a message from Cora. She was still at the fair on the green and blue island, which was where he wanted to be now, cuddled up under a blanket as they watched the holy fireworks together. He would be there now had he not been held up by having to run for his godforsaken life from that giant rolling box. If Cora was messaging him, it was a sign that all was not lost. He had to get to the phone, explain the giant rolling box and the unbelievable carnage it had caused, and then she would be his forever.
Beentz! Beentz! Beentz!
He groaned, rolling over and bumping his knuckles against a flat surface. He felt warmth on his face and opened his eyes, squinting. A beam of golden sunlight was coming through the window and landing on his bed. He was filled with incredible joy as the dream began to fade. This was North Carolina.
He took a deep breath and untangled himself from the sheets. Over the years, he had learned that waking up was best done all at once, just like diving into cold water or ripping off a bandage. It took a lot of will, but it was better than submitting to the slow torture of the snooze button.
Beentz! Beentz! Beentz!
Lucius remained curled up in his blanket. He was apparently not bothered by the tonal screams of his alarm. Devin silenced it and leaned down, gently shaking the bed. Lucius opened his eyes and thrashed about.
Devin stumbled backward. “Dude! It’s just me!”
“Ugh!”
“Sorry. Your alarm was going off. It didn’t wake you.”
Lucius rubbed his face. “Need coffee.”
Devin headed to the kitchen to make some. It was cooler out than he expected. Someone had already started the coffee. Its rich aroma mixed with the dewy air and warmed his insides.
Panky sat at the kitchen table all cuddled up in a sweatshirt. He greeted her and headed for the fridge. He liked his food before his coffee.
“Are you gonna shoot me for not eating vegan?” he teased, eyeing her.
“Do I seem like someone who would do that?”
“Maybe … yeah.”
She sipped her coffee and gazed ahead. “Excellent.”
He cracked three eggs, going at them with the whisk while he heated his pan.
“Why don’t you guys eat eggs from these chickens?” he asked. “They seem pretty happy.”
“Why bother when we don’t need them? Anyway, chickens are what turned Lucius vegan. He spent hours tripping his tits off and watching them cluck around outside a hut in Don Det. He was never the same.”
“Sounds intense,” he said. “I’ve never done acid.”
“It was mushrooms, actually.”
“Never done that either.”
“A fungal virgin,” she said. “Interesting.”
“Where I’m from, people mostly just drink cough syrup. Or get addicted to crystal meth.”
She laughed. “That’s awful.”
“There’s alcohol and weed too,” he said, maintaining a serious face. “But I guess that happens everywhere. Hey, where is Don Det?”
“Laos,” she said, heading for the doorway with a cigarette. She hovered there, blowing the smoke outside.
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this,” he said. “But cigarettes are bad for you.”
“What? No!”
“True story. I heard something about it on the BBC.”
“You’re witty.”
“I have my moments.”
“It’s charming,” she said. “ … Sexy even.”
A funny feeling tingled in his stomach, and he turned away. Was she flirting with him? Was it even possible that he could find a beautiful place with chill owners, good food, and two attractive women who might be interested in sex with him?
He peered over his shoulder. She was watching him, taking a drag.
“Thanks,” he said. He had taken way too long to answer, and now she probably thought he was considering the possibility of having sex with her … which he was. If he was going for anyone, it was Cora. But he could still consider.
Walter was waiting in the vegetable garden. He noticed them coming and started a little dance by the tomato plants.
“We walk upon blessed soil,” he said. “We truly do.”
He sent Panky and Lucius off to take care of chores up near the house, and he and Devin stayed in the garden. They walked up and down each row, Walter pointing out all the different varieties of tomatoes and carrots and zucchini and greens. Cora was nowhere to be seen, and Devin tried to not make it obvious that he was looking.
From there they explored west, having a look inside the greenhouses, and then following the trail down a sunny, open hill to a small campground. There was a wooden picnic table, a small shack with a stack of firewood, and a brick fire pit. Walter explained that they had bonfires there and that those bonfires were a long-standing symbol of becoming one with the family and promising to leave a signature mark on this place like so many who had come before. Even the pit itself contained history, built from bricks from an old chimney that once stood on the north side of the property.
“Things becoming other things,” Walter said, smiling. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Devin loved bonfires. Of course, the ones he had been to were probably a lot worse than Walter’s. The most epic had ended with one of their friends accidentally getting run over by his girlfriend, which was only funny because he didn’t die. It was amazing how quickly a game of whiskey-shot chess could turn ugly.
They continued on, going back up to the house so Walter could show him how to take care of the animals. Devin had to pretend the seventy pound bags of feed were easy to lift, but it wasn’t complicated.
“Now the chickens,” Walter said, leading him around to the coop. “They’ll eat just about anything. We give them as many of our scraps as we can, and they have their feed. We keep it in the shed here …”
The hens clucked around at their feet in a frenzy as Walter demonstrated a feeding. He ticked off all of their names, but when he was finished, Devin could only remember two: Constable Jean and Tiger-Snap.
“Sometimes hawks go after them,” Walter said as they went back outside. “So keep an eye out.”
“What do I do if I see one?”
“Tell him to enjoy the meal and remember the gratuity,” Walter hooted wit
h laughter. “No, just try to get them into the coop until we’re clear. But don’t stress yourself about it. Their fate is their own responsibility when we allow them to roam free. The free world’s a beautiful place, but there’s always a price to pay.”
They walked over to the shady part of the pasture and leaned against the fence, the biggest of the oak trees towering above them. Judy, the cow, was making her way over to greet them. Walter smiled and reached out for her.
“My father was a butcher,” he said, rubbing her on the nose. “Growing up in Ireland, he taught me a lot about meat. I believe it has its place. We’re all a part of nature, and nature kills—but it’s like you said last night at dinner; if we can be more compassionate, we should be.”
“Yeah.” Devin paused, flattered that Walter would remember something he said.
“I’ve been here twenty years now.”
“Why’d you move here?”
“Ah well … There isn’t much a man wouldn’t do for the right lady. Especially a man like me.” Walter looked over and winked. “Now, tell you what, you find Lucius, kick him in the rear if he’s lollygagging, and go meet Cora in the orchard. She has a project waiting.”
Cora in the orchard. The words flowed through Devin’s mind like a river.
Lucius was by the compost bins on the back side of the house, busy using his pitchfork as a leaning post while he chatted to Panky who was weeding the area around the greenhouse.
“Hey!” Devin cupped his hands around his mouth. “Get to work!”
“I am!” Lucius yanked the pitchfork from the ground and danced back over to the wooden bins.
“What do you have to do to it anyway? Walter didn’t fully explain.” Devin peered at the giant piles of earthy brown mush. There were visible apple cores, eggshells, and avocado peels in the mix. Crawly and winged things wriggled and hovered around the pile.
“Composting one oh one,” Lucius said. “You take the scraps. You add them to the pile and cover it with dirt or leaves. And sometimes, you turn it.”
He stabbed the pitchfork into the pile and turned a huge chunk. Bugs scattered in every direction, fleeing for their lives.
“Turning it helps the oxygen get in. Eventually, it’ll be broken down to perfection, they’ll have nutrients for the plants. We eat the plants, the nutrients return to our bodies, and the cycle is complete.”
