Trailed

by Naomi Niles

  “Curtis.” Dad set down the paper and peered over at me from behind his glasses. “Why is there a man on our couch?”

  “That man is your son,” said Mama, coming over and setting down a gravy boat in the middle of the table. Gravy sloshed over the sides and onto the waxy tabletop. “Would you like me to introduce you?”

  “I know who he is,” said Dad. “I would like to know why he’s asleep in my couch. Darrens are not supposed to sleep on their parents’ couches—they are supposed to sleep in their beds in their own houses like a grown man.”

  “He, uh, came over to help me,” I said, glancing nervously at the windows. “I may have found someone who wants to rent out the tiny house near the barn, and he was helpin’ me get the place cleaned up before they come over and inspect it.”

  “Oh, how lovely!” said Mama, her eyes aglow, but Dad only grunted.

  “Is this person going to be able to afford rent?” he asked. “Are they clean, reliable, responsible? Do they have a steady income?”

  “Yes to all of those questions,” I said quickly. I always hated it when Dad became the Inquisition, but there was no avoiding it, best just to grit your teeth and get it over with. “How much are y’all wanting to charge a month?”

  “Oh, I don’t care,” said Mama. “I’m just thrilled that someone actually wants to live in that tiny old house. I was beginning to think we’d never find a use for it except as storage.” I could tell by the tone in her voice that she was looking forward to having another soul to take care of and was already scheduling out the meals she was going to feed them.

  “So,” she said, lowering her eyes and trying not to look too interested, “who is this person? When can I meet them?”

  This was the awkward part, the part I hadn’t been looking forward to. “Well, that’s just the thing,” I said. “It’s the girl, the vet’s assistant. We’d been talkin’ and she found out y’all had a space for rent, and she’s really interested to see it.”

  “Oh, excellent,” said Mama with heroic restraint.

  “Sweetums,” said Dad in a warning voice.

  “What, dear?” said Mama, turning round sharply.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head,” he said. “Whatever you’re planning, you can put it out of your mind. Just let the boy be.”

  “I’m not…planning anything,” said Mama, in a tone that left no doubt that she was.

  “I know you, Mama,” I said, coming over and tousling her hair. “There’s no need to play matchmaker. If it works out, it works out.”

  Mama set her rolling pin down on the counter with a sigh of disappointment. “Well, alright,” she said. “But when do we meet her? Is she coming over?”

  “I hate to disappoint you,” I said, “but I think I ought to be the one to show her around. At least for now. If we keep seeing each other, there’ll be plenty of time to meet her later on.”

  Mama looked like she was going to protest, but Dad held up his hand in warning. “Let ‘em be,” he said. “Boy wants to show her around by himself, he has that right.”

  “I know,” said Mama ruefully. “It just feels like I’ve been waiting forever to meet this girl.”

  “Since the day Curtis was born,” Dad replied.

  There was a loud cough, and Darren sat up on the couch, looking groggy. “Where the hell am I?” he asked.

  “You’re eating breakfast with your mother,” said Mama, setting the orange pitcher down on the table in front of my plate. “And then you’re going out with your brother to look over the tiny house.”

  “I just had the strangest dream,” said Darren, still looking befuddled. “I was down at the bar when I got drafted into an MMA fight. I got into the ring and come to find out that my opponent was Elizabeth Philips Davies. I thought, ‘Well, hell, this’ll be easy.’ So the fight starts and she just—she destroys me. I mean, it was the smackdown of the century. I was like, ‘Damn, where is she getting this strength?’ She’s a tiny woman, but man, she was fierce.” He laughed lightly. “I’m just glad it was just a dream.”

  I winked at Mama. “You sure about that, Darren?” I said, grinning.

  “Whatchoo mean?” he asked, his face paling.

  “You really don’t remember a single thing about last night? The fight, the beat-down?”

  “You don’t remember little Lizzie giving you the unholy beatdown of your life?” asked Mama, barely able to contain her laughter.

  “Are you—are you funnin’ me?” Darren shouted, half-rising from the couch. A single vein in the center of his forehead throbbed dangerously. “You know I got the memory of a goldfish! Shit, don’t do that!”

  We laughed the rest of the way through breakfast.

  ***

  At Mama’s insistence, we left her to clean up the dishes while we went out to the tiny house. It had taken us several hours to clean it out the night before, they had stored so much in there: an old cello case belonging to Marshall, a sofa that had been set on its side because there was no other room for it, some moldy board games that needed to be thrown in the waste basket, a couple of rusty tennis rackets, a half-empty pesticide bottle.

  “Lord, what do they need all this stuff for?” Darren had asked.

  “They don’t,” I said, waving a hand over my face to dispel the musty odor. “That’s why it’s in here.”

  Now, as we stood looking it over in the warm light of mid-morning, it didn’t look nearly as bad. I had swept away the dirt and covered over the wood floor by laying down a hand-sewn rug I’d found in one of the hall closets. Then, I had gone out and bought a couple of framed paintings at Hobby Lobby and hung them up on the walls—one Van Gogh and a couple of Monets. She seemed like the sort of woman who’d appreciate it.

  “I know it’s not much,” I said to Darren. “But it looks better’n it did. You think she’ll like it?”

  “I suspect as much as anyone could like living in a yard outside a barn,” said Darren. “If you want to impress her, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “I wonder where she lives now that could be so bad that she’d want to live here,” I said.

  “Maybe her lease is up,” said Darren, going over to the fold-out desk and picking up a dusty rug, which he tossed in the waste basket. “Anyway, our place ain’t so bad. Sometimes I think we had it good growing up, living here like we did with Mom and Dad to take care of us.”

  “Maybe we did,” I said quietly. “I just don’t know what I’m thinking, asking a girl to come live out here with my parents.”

  “Well, it’s a place to live,” said Darren, “and it sounds like she’s looking. If she ends up movin’ in, it’ll be because she wants to live here because she checked the place out and she liked it.”

  “I guess so. If she ends up turning the place down, I’ll have to remember to not take it personally.”

  “No, it’s nothing against you. Whatever happens between you and her in the future, it’s got nothin’ to do with this. This is about her seeking out new lodgings, and you’re just helping her out.”

  I smiled. It was weird having siblings sometimes, how pretty much your whole life they were just there, not really doing much, and then there were those moments where they said the right thing at the right moment and you remembered how glad you were to have them.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Jake’s barking. Darren turned, shielding his face against the intense heat of the morning sun. “Looks like she’s here, man,” he said, giving me a thump on the shoulder.

  I turned to look. A battered green car was pulling up into the driveway, and through the windshield I could see Allie, grinning and waving awkwardly.

  Chapter Ten

  Allie

  I pulled the car to a stop, trying not to think about how I was probably smiling weird and all the hundred things I was doing wrong. Curtis was wearing his cowboy hat, and his teeth glinted in the morning sunlight. As he came loping toward me, I could feel my knees buckling. I steadied myself by kneeling d
own and inviting the dog over.

  “Hey, you,” I said as he nuzzled my hand. “How you doin’, boy? Are you bein’ a good boy?”

  “He’s pretty much always a good boy unless he sees a squirrel or a cat,” said Curtis, his shadow falling over me. “Then he can’t help himself.”

  “Well, dogs can’t help bein’ dogs,” I said, rising slowly. “Although the dog we had growing up, Portia, she was the sweetest little cocker spaniel. She and the cat used to sleep together in the same little bed every night. It was like they were best friends. One of them couldn’t get to sleep without the other.”

  “Huh,” said Curtis. For a moment silence fell between us, and I felt like an idiot, blabbing about my childhood pets. But then he said, “How many animals you got now?”

  “Just two, actually. Portia died a couple of years ago, and the other cat lives with my mom in Baltimore. All I’ve got now is River and Phoenix, and they’re both sweethearts. You’d love ‘em. If you like cats. I guess I shouldn’t be making assumptions.”

  “I don’t mind ‘em,” said Curtis, smiling. He must have been amused at how much I was talking. “Mama’s got herself a cat, Smoky, but she’s skittish and don’t come around much. Every now and then you’ll see her run out from under a bed, but then she’s gone again before you can blink.”

  He started walking in the direction of the rusted gate and I followed. “Would my pets be welcome here,” I asked, “if I ended up moving out here? Obviously, nothing’s official yet, but just in the event that I decided to live here—”

  “Yeah, my mom would be fine with it,” said Curtis, once again terse where I was verbose. “I think if it had been anyone else, she might have some questions, but since you work at the animal clinic, I think we can trust you to take care of your animals, make sure they don’t have fleas and are up-to-date on their shots.”

  “No, they’re good, clean animals,” I said, stepping over a hog that had planted herself in my way and refused to move. The hog squealed in irritation as I marched past her. “River loves to kill birds, and she’ll leave ‘em lying around for you to find, but that’s really her only vice.” In a quieter voice, I added, “I hope your mom isn’t a bird lover.”

  Curtis shrugged. “She leaves water and grains in the bird-feeder for the cardinals that come flying out here and rest on the cedars. But I think she knows cats are gonna be cats. She grew up on a farm, and she’s lived here for most of her life, so she’s not ignorant of how the world works.”

  “That’s a relief,” I said. My mouth was drying up rapidly, my tongue stuck to my throat. I should’ve brought a water bottle with me from the house. I cursed myself for not thinking of it sooner.

  “You got anything to drink?” I asked him. “I’m really sorry, I’m just dying out here.”

  “Shoot, I should’ve thought of that before you got here,” said Curtis, paling slightly. “I’ll be right back.” He darted off in the direction of the house while I stayed and ran my hands through the silk fur on the back of Jake’s neck.

  Although it was much warmer than I was used to, I couldn’t say I hated the place. There was a quietness about it that I appreciated, not eerie but serene like honey being poured over pancakes. Looking out over the back fence onto the prairie, it felt like I could see all the way to the world’s end. Everyone said the skies were bigger in Texas, but I’d never really believed it until I’d seen it for myself.

  I went over to examine the bird-feeder in the cedar and had just spotted a pale blue hummingbird when the back door came open and Curtis came running out carrying two plastic water bottles.

  “Sorry it took so long,” he said, handing me one. “The waters were buried all the way back in the fridge behind the sodas.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, holding the bottle up to my face. It was ice-cold, and I loved how it felt against my cheek. “Is that what you call ‘em here? Sodas?”

  “Yeah, do you not call them that in Boston?”

  “I always called ‘em ‘pop.’ And I never heard the word ‘fridge’ until I moved out here.”

  “This must be so weird for you, then.”

  “It’s like having to learn a whole ‘nother language,” I said. “I’ve been casually dropping the word ‘y’all’ into every conversation I have so no one suspects I’m not from here. I never heard so many ‘y’alls’ and ‘fixin tos.’”

  “Well, that’s how we talk here in the country,” said Curtis proudly. “If you wanna fit in, you’ll have to learn the local customs: backyard barbecues, eating crawdads out of a cooler, blasting country music from the back of your pickup—”

  “Okay, I don’t know what a crawdad is,” I said, laughing, “but I draw the line at blasting country music from the back of any vehicle. The only country music singer I ever cared for was Garth Brooks, and he only had that one song—”

  “Naw, he had lots of hits,” said Curtis. “Did you know he’s sold more albums than any other American artist?”

  I flinched, looking momentarily stunned. “That can’t possibly be true. But regardless, he only had one song that I cared for. ‘Friends in High Places’ or whatever.”

  Curtis shook his head sadly, as if only now realizing the hopelessness of my situation. He led me into the tiny house, which somehow looked even cozier on the inside than it did on the outside and bore the lemon scent of a place that had just been cleaned. A leather armchair stood against the back wall alongside a narrow white bookshelf stocked with cheap paperbacks. I spotted a couple of Agatha Christies and a young adult novel James Patterson had co-written with another author.

  “This is so precious,” I said, motioning to the framed Monets. “You really went out of your way to make this place seem welcoming.”

  Curtis nodded and smiled. He seemed pleased with how pleased I was. “And if you ever need anything,” he said, “my parents are right across the yard, and my house is just down the street. Text me at any time of the day or night, and I’ll be right over.”

  “It’s perfect,” I said, lightly fingering a tea cozy that was resting on the fold-out desk. “My lease isn’t up for another couple of weeks, so I won’t be able to move in until then. But I can go ahead and start packing up my things and getting them moved over. Will I need to sign anything? Is your mom going to draw up a lease agreement?”

  “I doubt it,” said Curtis.

  “Okay, that’s a relief.”

  “I think she’s just excited you’re moving in. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like, and if you have to move out suddenly, like if a friend back home dies, and you need to move back to Baltimore in a hurry, she won’t mind. Mama’s really understanding that way. Wasn’t always like that, but she’s really mellowed in her old age.”

  I stood in the doorway with my back to the pasture, nodding attentively. Now it was getting to the hard part, the part that was always awkward because I never knew how to say bye properly. “Listen, Curtis,” I said, and it was the first time I had used his name, “I can’t tell you how excited I am to be moving in here.”

  I searched his face, hoping to see some sign of returned excitement, but Curtis just nodded in his usual taciturn way. “We’ll see how it goes,” he said. “I think Mama is really gonna like having you out here. Heck, I may not even mind it myself.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Curtis

  It had been nearly two weeks since Allie agreed to move into the tiny house. Since then, I had been feverish with anticipation waiting for the day. I kept myself busy in the meantime by going out on the trail once a day.

  On the day before Allie was scheduled to move in, I helped Darren move into his new lodgings.

  “Has anyone told you how hot your girlfriend is?” Darren asked as we were dragging his couch up the stairs in the sweltering heat. “I feel like you maybe don’t fully appreciate it.”

  “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend,” I said, pausing to mop my brow, “and yes, I’m aware that there is a certain level of hotness.”<
br />
  That was putting it lightly. Lately it was all I could think about. There was something so charming in the way she wore a dress, the way her shoulders perked up when she giggled, in the intricate braids she was always wearing. Growing up in Sulphur Springs, I hadn’t known many women of intelligence and class, and most of the ones I had known had moved away right after high school and never come back. Then this woman had entered my world like a meteor from some distant place.

  “You’d better get a move on if you wanna go out with her,” said Darren as we eased the sofa through the front door. “I would totally bang that—just sayin’.”

  “Just because we’re not dating yet doesn’t mean I won’t kill you if you lay a finger on her,” I said.

  He brought up a good point, though: at some point in the next couple of weeks we would need to define our relationship. I was really into her, and she seemed really into me, but until we talked about it, I could never be sure. It definitely felt like she had been flirting with me the last couple of times we had talked, but I didn’t want to assume that only to find out later that she had no such thing in mind.

  Later that afternoon as we were sitting on the floor of the living room eating hot ham and pineapple pizza out of a cardboard box, I asked Darren about it.

  “Darren, how do you know when a woman’s flirting with you?”

  “You mean to tell me you’ve been married and you don’t know this?” said Darren. He gawked at me like a zoo animal.

  “With Christine, it was never really an issue.” I reached into the cooler and pulled out a long-necked beer bottle, which I twisted open with the hem of my shirt. “From the get-go we were both very direct about our intentions and what we wanted out of the relationship. Christine wanted a family and a couple of boys to run around the yard with. I wanted a little girl, so we never agreed on that, but there was never any question that she was into me and I was into her.”

  “Did you never date anyone in high school?”