Nick and June Were Here

by Shalanda Stanley

  “Over here,” he said.

  He was standing proudly next to an old car, a classic, one I’d know anywhere.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “You needed a ride,” he said, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “In this car?”

  “It’s not like you can drive your car out of town. The police impounded it after you were arrested.”

  The car was a 1956 Continental Mark II—“Benny’s Baby,” as we called it at the garage. Benny had won it in a poker game in Memphis. It was his prize possession, the car he’d used as collateral to open the garage, a car he kept in a special storage room off the main garage, like a trophy. We’d all taken shifts washing it and driving it around from time to time to keep up the maintenance.

  I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I didn’t feel bad about it. Benny owed me double.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Tommy said. “You know as well as I do that this car has maybe a hundred miles left in it.”

  It wouldn’t make it all the way to the cabin, but it would make a point.

  “But I figure it’s what he deserves,” Tommy said.

  It was definitely what he deserved, and I felt happy for the first time since leaving Durrant.

  “You know this means you can’t come back,” he said. “Benny’s gonna think it was you who took it from the garage. If you come back, he’ll kill you.”

  He said it with a smile, but we both knew it was true.

  “I’m not coming back.”

  I opened the heavy car door and dropped my bag inside.

  “You’ve got a full tank.”

  “Thanks, Tommy. This is more than you should’ve done.”

  “You’re welcome.” He gestured to the barn. “This place is really cool. Do you mind if I come back out here?”

  “No, I don’t mind. Come out here all you want.”

  I liked the idea. I didn’t want to think about the barn being empty.

  * * *

  We were just inside Fordyce, and Benny’s car wasn’t going to make it much farther. We’d only been on the road a couple of hours. I thought about pulling over, or finding some dead end somewhere and parking, but I worried that someone might think we needed help and stop, so I parked in the lot of a tiny strip mall. Sometimes it was best to hide in plain sight. The car was wheezing out its last breaths. I’d ignored the knocking in the engine for the last fifteen miles. I picked a spot closer to the main road and parked away from the buildings.

  June woke up when the car stopped.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Fordyce,” I said, rolling down my window.

  She did the same.

  “This car didn’t make it as far as I’d hoped,” I said. “We’ll have to spend the rest of the night here. We’ll get a new one in the morning. We should be to Hank’s by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “A new one?” she asked.

  I looked at her warily, waiting for her to tell me that she wasn’t stealing cars with me, that it was a line she wouldn’t cross, and demand that I take her home. Instead she picked up the box of Hank’s ashes and weighed it carefully in her hands before putting it back in my bag.

  “Come here to me,” she said.

  She’d been saying that to me since we were ten years old, and I always listened. I scooted to the middle and she climbed in my lap, my arms going around her. She pushed my hair off my face and studied it, her face in a deep frown.

  “You look tired,” she said.

  “I am.”

  She looked in the back seat. “I think we’ll both fit.”

  We’d both fit. I didn’t care if I had to sleep on my side with one leg hanging off. I’d make it work. I wasn’t letting her go.

  I locked the doors and we climbed in the back. We lined up, the front of my body pressing against the back of hers. She reached back for my hand and I gave it to her. She brought it to her face and flipped it over to look at my palm. She looked at it like she might find answers there. Then she laced her fingers with mine and brought them to her chest.

  My mouth went to her neck and she shivered. She did it every time I kissed her there.

  “Do you think John is okay?” I asked.

  “I hope so,” she said. “Did you try calling him?”

  “A couple of times, but he didn’t answer. The service up there is shitty, though, so there’s a good chance he can’t get a signal.”

  It was quiet for a long time. I wondered if she realized I was making excuses for him, but maybe she’d gone back to sleep.

  “I’m sorry about your uncle,” she whispered. “I really wanted to meet him.”

  I’d wanted that, too. I tried pulling her closer to me, but we were as close as we could get. She rolled over so she was facing me and I grabbed her hip to keep her from falling off the seat.

  “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around everything. It’s not sinking in,” I said. “I’ve been trying to think of reasons that would explain why John’s already back. Or why he didn’t at least let me know what was going on. I don’t understand why he didn’t let me know that he’s home. I—”

  She covered my mouth with her hand. “It’s late. Now isn’t the time to start thinking about the things you don’t understand,” she said. She dropped her hand.

  “When is the time?”

  “In the morning, when you’re not so tired. Close your eyes,” she said.

  I closed them.

  She ran her fingers through my hair, slowly, over and over. The repetitive motion made my eyelids heavy. I wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer. I knew sleep was good, but it felt like wasted time.

  “You can go to sleep,” she said, her fingers still doing their magic. “I’ll watch over you and keep you safe,” she promised.

  I thought about protesting, reminding her that she needed protecting, too. Instead my fingers drew slow circles on her hip until it got too hard to move and I slept.

  Dear Bethany,

  It’s the first day I’ll spend without you. I’m in a parking lot and across the street is a sign that reads “Garbage Only No Trash” and I’ve been sitting here for the last few minutes trying to figure it out. Remember that time we were going to gymnastics camp and we passed a sign that said “Humps for 500 Yards” and we laughed so hard you almost wet yourself? In related news, I peed behind a bush this morning. That was a first.

  I need to go. Nick is waking up.

  I miss you.

  Love, June

  I tore the page out of my notebook and folded it carefully before putting it in my pocket.

  Nick sat up and rubbed his face. “You should’ve woken me up. How long have you been awake?”

  “Just a little while,” I lied. “What time is it?”

  He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “I don’t have my cell phone and there’s no clock in this car.”

  A car with no seat belts wouldn’t have a clock. He looked out the window like there might be clues to the time outside somewhere. The parking lot had filled up. It had to be pretty late in the morning.

  “I need to take my meds,” I said. “And I need some water. Bad.”

  My mouth felt like it was full of cotton. I was constantly thirsty now, another side effect of the medication. I needed to be careful with that. Dr. Keels had said dehydration could happen easily.

  “I’m going to need a lot of water,” I added.

  He nodded. His face was serious. “I’ll get you water.” He put his shoes on and reached in his bag and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll go across the street to that gas station,” he said, pointing. “Do you mind staying with our stuff?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He got out and I watched him walk across the street a
nd into the store. I climbed over the front seat. I couldn’t shake the nervous feeling I had. It felt like we were on the edge of something important and I didn’t know if we were ready for it.

  Nick came back out in no time, his arms full of water bottles and a bag dangling from his wrist. When he got to the car, I opened the door for him.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking one of the water bottles.

  I grabbed my medicine from my bag and pulled out a tablet and placed it on my tongue. I wasn’t supposed to swallow or chew it. I had to let it dissolve. It had a metallic taste, like I was sucking on a penny. Closing my eyes, I counted to ten to give it enough time to completely dissolve and then chased it with half of the bottle of water. It felt like my mouth was waking back up.

  He reached in the plastic bag and pulled out a couple of cinnamon buns. They were my favorite gas station food. He handed me one.

  “I didn’t know if you could take your medicine on an empty stomach and I thought you might be hungry anyway.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking it from him and opening the wrapper. “What do we do now?” I asked.

  His eyes scanned the parking lot, like he was deciding which car we’d steal. My heartbeat sped up. I was going to be no use to us if I was already scared. I tried to think of it not as a crime but as something that was necessary so that we could get Hank back to his cabin. Extreme times called for extreme measures. I’d read that somewhere.

  “There’s a neighborhood behind the shopping center,” Nick said. “I saw it when we pulled in last night.”

  “Not one of these?” I asked, pointing to the cars around us.

  He shook his head. “It’s a bad idea to steal a car from a parking lot. The owner could be back at any minute.”

  We ate and then gathered all of our things, stuffing the water bottles into our bags, some in his, some in mine, and making sure Hank was secure. The front pocket of Nick’s bag was open and I saw pictures of us. Bethany had taken them in the barn. He saw me notice them.

  “I wanted something to look at,” he said.

  Because he wasn’t coming back. Because this was one long goodbye.

  We got out of the car and walked to the houses behind the line of stores, leaving the first stolen car I’d ever ridden in.

  Nick took my hand and we walked down the sidewalk like it was a normal day and we were normal people. There was a NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH sign posted in the first front yard we passed and I wondered which house had the watcher. The street was lined with trees and there was a bench next to the sidewalk. As we walked by it, I pulled out Bethany’s letter and dropped it there. Nick didn’t see. If he did, he didn’t say anything.

  “Second cars are always a good option,” he said. He gestured toward the driveways that had cars parked in them. “People don’t usually notice they’re missing until they get home from work, and maybe it’s just an Arkansas thing, but most people leave their keys in the car when they park at home.”

  I wanted to ask him what happened if the cars in the driveways weren’t actually left behind but were there because someone was still at home, but his face was hard and didn’t look open for questions. It was a look I’d never seen him wear before. This was Car Thief Nick.

  “We need something that can handle rough terrain,” he said.

  There was a jeep, a couple of old trucks that made Bethany’s truck look new, and a Camry. We faced the jeep, coming to the same conclusion.

  We walked to the jeep and my hands started sweating. Nick noticed, because he was still holding one.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be quick. It’ll be fine.”

  But his three arrests said otherwise.

  He walked to the driver’s-side door and tried the handle. It was unlocked and I started breathing again. I ran around to the passenger side and dropped down in the seat, shutting the door as quietly as I could.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “What?”

  “No keys.”

  He started digging in his backpack, like maybe there was a chance the keys were in there. I lowered the visor and the keys dropped in my lap.

  “Who knew I’d be good at this?” I asked.

  Nick smiled, the first real one he’d had since we left my house, and swiped them from my lap. The jeep roared to life, his smile bigger now. Mine matched it. We drove out of the neighborhood, my head spinning with how fast a life could change.

  “How much gas is in it?” I asked.

  “A little less than half a tank.”

  I wanted to ask him if he had enough money for gas but I was afraid he’d say no, and if we were going to rob gas stations, I didn’t want to know about it yet.

  We’d been on the road about an hour when Nick pulled off to the side.

  “Are we already out of gas?” I asked.

  “No, we should have enough to get us to Little Rock.”

  “Then what are we doing?”

  “It’s time for your driving lesson,” he said.

  “No, it’s not time for that.”

  My hands were sweating just thinking about it. Nick looked like his mind was made up and I tried not to remember everything I knew about the dangers of driving.

  “Nick, this is a really bad idea.”

  “It’s now or never,” he said.

  “We’re on a mountain,” I said, pointing out the side of the jeep, in case he’d missed it. “There’s only a flimsy guardrail keeping us from plummeting to our deaths. I don’t think this should be my starter lesson.”

  “Once we get to Little Rock, the path we’re taking isn’t smooth. In some places you can’t even call it a road. This is the best place for your first practice. You’ve got to be able to drive Hank’s truck back home. This is important.”

  I didn’t want to think about going home without him, living the rest of my life without him, but I said, “Okay.”

  That word again.

  He hopped out of the jeep and we switched sides. He was excited. He’d wanted to teach me how to drive for a while now.

  I scooted the seat up, moving slowly, giving him time to realize this was a mistake and stop me.

  “The first thing you do is check your mirrors,” he said.

  He wasn’t stopping me.

  “Fix them so you can see out of them,” he said. “This is an automatic, so we only have to worry about two pedals.”

  Thank God for small miracles.

  “Go ahead and tap the brake,” he said.

  The jeep was still running. I pressed the brake down.

  “Good.” He scooted close to me. “Now shift it into drive.” He looked behind us. “You’ve got it. Take your foot off the brake, slowly.” His breath moved across my shoulder and the hairs on the back of my neck stood.

  “Are you sure?” My breathing was heavy. The nervous feeling from earlier was back twofold. My tongue felt thick. I was the last person who should be driving this jeep.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. He put his hand over mine and shifted the car into drive. “Pull out onto the road. Give it some gas. Good. A little more.” His hand touched my leg, pushing it down. “A little more gas. You’ve got this.”

  The road was narrow, with two lanes, and I gripped the steering wheel, trying to remember if I was supposed to keep my hands at ten and two or nine and three. I couldn’t remember what the manual had said was the best hand position. Even though I’d never planned on actually driving, I’d read the driver’s manual a few times because it was always better to be informed.

  A tan Suburban came around the corner. I was sure the road wasn’t big enough for both of us. I felt dizzy.

  “It’s coming right for us,” I said, my breaths too short. It felt like I was panting and I couldn’t stop it.

  “It’s not coming for us,” he said. His hand hover
ed over mine on the steering wheel. He was more in my seat than he was in his. “It’s in its lane. Take deep breaths.”

  “I should pull over,” I said. “Just until they pass.”

  “You can’t pull over every time a car comes by. You’ll never make it back home. Stay in your lane. You’re doing good.”

  “But this road is so narrow. Ahhh…” It was coming closer. “I can’t look.”

  “Look! You have to look,” he said, his hand on the wheel now.

  The Suburban flew by us, shaking the jeep.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re doing fine. Don’t slow down. Keep accelerating. That’s it,” he said as he lifted his hand from the wheel. “You’re doing it. I knew you could. You’re driving, June.”

  I was driving. This was something everyone did and now I was doing it. I was pretty sure I was terrible at it but I wasn’t going to let that get me down. Nick was proud of me. My breathing went back to normal. The view was amazing, a tiny, winding road surrounded by the green of the trees and the blue sky. It looked like one of Nick’s paintings.

  * * *

  “I don’t ever remember you not knowing how to drive,” I said.

  Nick was back in the driver’s seat. I’d never gone past thirty-five miles per hour, not the speed you needed to be going when you had an uncle to bury.

  “I don’t remember not knowing how to drive either,” he said. “I spent so much time in the garage with my dad. Cars are just a part of me.”

  “Will you miss them?” I asked. “When you’re out there, in the wilderness, building your cabin.”

  He didn’t say anything at first, like he was really thinking about it, and then, “No.” He glanced over at me. “It’s a love-hate relationship,” he said. “I loved spending time with my dad and my brother in the garage, working on cars, building them. I hate what they came to mean for me.”

  Like the situation he was in now. We passed a sign that said we were fifteen miles from a place called Amelia’s Diner and my stomach growled. I put my hands on it to shut it up.