The Plenty

by Peter Anthony

  Chapter 8.

  "Take me home, now!" Tara shouted at Jacob.

  Even while she berated him, Jacob could not stop smiling.

  "No need to get excited."

  She cussed at him from the passenger seat when he told her that he must stop at the Marak farm before dropping Tara off at her house in town.

  "I am dead," she said. "I am already dead. My father will freak."

  Jacob said, "I think you're the one that's freaking. You need to relax. I will take you home if you show me you can relax."

  She punched him in the shoulder and then sat back in her seat.

  "That's not relaxing," he said. "That's rowdy. None of this would have happened if you hadn't seduced me." She laughed and put her elbow on the door and leaned her head against the window. During the night, Jacob had pretended that the truck was stuck for hours. In hindsight, a regrettable decision, but only because Tara rejected him and he kept trying until they both dozed off to sleep. A little kiss, that was all that happened.

  Jacob said, "Put your head down."

  "What?" She said, "I am not putting my head in your lap."

  "I'm not asking for that. We're almost to the house. You don't want my mother to see you in the truck."

  "Why?"

  "She's crazy." He told Tara all manner of tales about Renee on the way to the farm, persuading her to hide. He insisted that his mother had nearly pulled the ear off Sarah Tannenbaum once. And on several occasions Renee had tied Jacob with rope, hands and feet and pulled him around the yard behind the 4-wheeler. Good with a rope, from her Girl Scout days.

  "I don't believe it. She doesn't seem like that at all," said Tara, crouching into the foot space uneasily.

  "Want to find out? Didn't Ethan ever tell you? Mom does all the butchering around here. Never seen a woman so handy with a cleaver."

  "Fine, I'm hiding. But we better be gone in two minutes."

  The truck turned into the gravel road that led to the house. A tractor in the shed moved. "Good, it's only Judd," Jacob muttered, seeing the blue poncho. He drove near the machine shed. The tractor emerged from the door. The face under the poncho tilted down and Jacob waved at Judd.

  It was not Judd.

  Jacob pressed the braked hard and turned the steering wheel. He veered and whipped the back end around, throwing gravel from muddy tires. He drove away from Ethan, some hundred feet before stopping abruptly. The pickup jugged to a halt and Jacob stepped out, quickly, to accost Ethan before he could drive the tractor past the truck and peer down into the windows.

  "What are you doing home?" Jacob yelled, his arms open in gesture, walking swiftly, toward his brother on the tractor, separating himself from Tara.

  Ethan stopped the tractor engine and dismounted. Jacob embraced Ethan, an uncommon greeting for the brothers, or any males in Immaculate.

  "Knock it off," said Ethan, pushing Jacob away.

  "I'm excited to see you."

  Ethan nodded at the truck. "What's with the driving?"

  "You startled me," said Jacob. "Thought you were Judd with that hood on. He wears that poncho."

  "It's my poncho."

  "He wears it." Bags sagged under Jacob's eyes.

  "You look like hell. What happened to your truck?"

  "What do you mean?" asked Jacob, furrowing his brow.

  "I mean the paint. It's all scraped up. Grass sticking out the sides."

  "Oh that."

  "Yes, that. Looks like the doors are wearing hula skirts."

  "A little mudding. We did a little mudding last night, me and some of the guys. After the police busted the Bluffs."

  Ethan started to walk toward the pickup. "It's a lot of damage."

  "Yeah, but, it's just paint." Jacob laughed and stepped in front of Ethan. "And you know what Judd always says. It's just money. You'll make more tomorrow."

  "Exhaust, side mirrors, even the side walls of your tires, they are shredded..."

  "What the shit? Just having a little fun." Jacob stepped in front of Ethan and pressed his hands against Ethan's shoulders, distracting him from his train of thought. "Forget the truck, dude. I'm starving and Mom is going to rip me a new one. But if you come inside with me maybe she'll go soft. You're her golden boy. Golden goose, can do no wrong."

  "I think they kill the goose in that story. Why should I help you? I can't undo your night."

  "You'll be good to have in the room. Call it a favor."

  "Another favor."

  "One more favor, for old times. Besides, I have to go to town and watch the video of the football game. Coach wants to get us ready for next week. So I'm just stopping in to kiss mother's ring and I'll be gone again."

  Ethan pointed at the shed, "I've got the cauterizing iron plugged in. Sitting on the dirt in the shed. Let me shut that off first."

  "Sitting on dirt? It ain't gonna burn dirt. Ever heard of a dirt fire?"

  "True," said Ethan.

  "Why are you home?"

  The two of them walked toward the house, with Ethan explaining what happened to Rhea in the cornfield, and how Renee had called him to come home and assist. Jacob kept turning over his shoulder to view the pickup, to make sure that Tara's head stayed down.

  The keys dangled from Jacob's hand as he entered the house, with Ethan behind him. They both took off their shoes and walked into the kitchen. Jacob sighed and entered the kitchen, first to face Renee.

  "Mom, I can explain," he started, pouring excuses out before the questions began. "I went to a party. I wasn't drinking, I was just giving people rides. I'm sure you've heard by now that the police busted it up and started giving out tickets. Well, shoot, I knew I shouldn't have gone there, but I just couldn't let my friends drink and drive. It's just not worth it to drink and drive, you know, with all the risks…"

  "You don't have to explain," Renee said, walking toward her son and snatching the keys out of his hand with a jerk. "But you should go and say goodbye to your truck."

  "What?" said Jacob. "Mom. Seriously." He laughed. "Mom, I have to go to town this morning."

  "You're not going anywhere."

  "Coach wants us to watch the video of last night's game. For the next game." He waited. "Mom, don't you want us to win?"

  "The game has nothing to do with responsibility," Renee said. She placed the keys in a front pocket on her jeans. "And the courtesy of a phone call could have saved you. But instead, you won't be getting these back until Christmas. Maybe never. I'm tired of you not listening to me."

  "How was I supposed to contact you, with a smoke signal? This is silly, Mom. Honestly, punishment for doing a good deed? Is that how you set an example? I was only helping my friends. Jesus, mother, you know I don't like to drink. I don't even like the taste of beer!"

  Renee said, "Then you should have come home, I guess."

  "I bought the truck. I saved all my money…"

  "You paid for a third of that truck. And it's a privilege to drive it. A privilege that you just lost."

  Jacob shook his head and walked over to a drawer where his spare keys were.

  "Looking for these?" Renee dangled Jacob's other set of keys from her fingertips. "You aren't going anywhere."

  "That's the last time I help people," Jacob said, with beggar's eyes. "Thanks for the lesson in charity, Mother. From now on, I'll look out for number one. So much for the Good-fricking-Samaritan. If I ever come across a traveling Jew on the road who had the tar beat out of him, I'll just tell him, 'Sorry asshole, if I help you, Mother will punish me.'"

  "So it is true after all," Renee said. "The devil can quote scripture for his purposes. Nice try, Jacob. Not gonna work."