“You should come sleep by me,” he said, whispering. “In the back. It’s more comfortable than the sofa bed or the one above the cabin.” He slid a bit closer. I could have let him kiss me, but Steve didn’t try.
“Are you kidding? Nanny would rather run over us both with this bus of a vehicle before she allowed that.”
A picture of Angel popped into my head. Had they . . . ? Had they . . . ? You know. Done. It. You know. Together.
Steve stepped past me. “All I’m saying, Churchill, is it’s kinda nice to be swayed to sleep.” He grinned then touched my arm. His hand was so warm my stomach skipped a beat. No wait. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach lurched like we had hit a pothole big as Ohio.{ 126 }
80
Visitor
Steve was right. Sleeping in the motor home was comfortable. Not a thing like lying down in the back seat of our old Dodge.
I was out for what seemed only a moment.
When I woke, the sky was dark as pitch, and both Denny and Thelma sat in the front seat, in my place.
Nanny smoked and drove with her knees on the steering wheel. There was ash on the floor, and I was too tired, almost, to hold my eyes open.
“You can’t smoke in here,” I said. “We gotta keep this place looking and smelling clean as a whistle. Otherwise the Simmonses are gonna know we stole from them.”
But Nanny didn’t answer.
The curtains opened in the back, and Mark Spitz, wet and wearing a Speedo, came to where I sat. His mustache dripped water.
“What are you doing here?” I said. “Did you win a medal?”
I could smell the pool. Mark Spitz flicked water on my face, and I jerked awake trying to remember where I was, my heart pounding.{ 127 }
“Nanny?”
She didn’t answer, maybe because my voice was a whisper.
“Thelma?”
Where was I? Nanny ran off the road a bit and I remembered everything. Our lawlessness, my mother, Steve.
I glanced her way. She still sat hunched over the steering wheel, but no cigarette burned. And Thelma was no place to be seen, though it was hard to see anything toward the back of the rig it was so dark.
“Go to sleep, Winston,” Nanny said. “You got another couple of hours to rest.”
How did she know I was awake?
Somehow she always knows.
“’Kay.” I turned over and was soothed to sleep.{ 128 }
81
A Break in the Trip
The next time I woke, it was for real, to Nanny pulling over. We bounced every which way.
When we came to a halt, a real halt (not a slow creeping up on a halt), there was the smell of salt water and I could hear the crash of waves.
I sat up, feeling dizzy. Steve pushed through the curtains, Thelma trailing behind. They looked like ghosts—a good-looking boy ghost and a used-to-be-the-best-dog-in-the-world ghost.
“So you met someone . . . Goody, goody,” popped into my head, and in my mind I saw Shelley Winters wielding a knife from the movie What’s the Matter with Helen? Nanny was right. I needed to stop going to the movie house to watch thrillers.
Now Nanny swiveled around in her chair. Light from outside made her face eerie too. What was this? An Alfred Hitchcock film? “Thought we could take a break, stretch our legs . . .”
“Get a smoke,” I said.
“ . . . and walk the beach,” Nanny said, glaring at me, “before we get on our way again. Some time here on the Gulf will be good.”{ 129 }
Thelma stretched out long, her tail pointing to the motor home roof. She sort of glanced in my direction and gave me a nod. Then she padded over so I could pet her head.
“I love that dog of yours,” Steve said.
Twice now, he loved something from my family. I swallowed. Thelma eased back by his side.
“She’s a man’s dog. A real dog.”
“You mean a girl’s dog, raised and trained by girls,” I said, but Steve didn’t seem to hear.
“A dog you can hunt with. Not a dog the size of your shoe. Yes sirree, I love this dog.” He squatted to pet her. She laid her head on his chest, right under his chin.
“Me too,” I said. “I love her too.” My mouth tasted like a dirty sock—and felt as dry. I scrunched my eyebrows, disappointment in Thelma traveling in my vital organs.
But, sheesh, could I blame her? Steve looked TV ready, his hair kinda messy, his teeth so white. How did he do that, first thing? I bet he didn’t even have stinky breath. Maybe the sweet smell of chocolate milk. For sure, I needed to go brush.
I made my way back to the bathroom, used the facilities, then scrubbed at my teeth. It was time for a clothes change, too, so I slipped on different shorts and an old button-up that was a coupla sizes too big.
Outside the vehicle, I could hear banging and feel a thumping come from under my feet.
Where were we? And did they have earthquakes here?{ 130 }
I hurried out into the evening.
No one. Not even Denny.
They’d left without me.
Forgotten me?
The moon, shining light thick as sweet cream, splashed down.
Everything was quiet. So quiet. Except for the ocean, which I couldn’t see—it had to be on the other side of the Simmonses’ motor home. No other sounds. What time was it?
I reached toward the moon, going up on my tiptoes, then breathed deep and caught a whiff of Nanny’s cigarette. I walked toward the sound of the waves, where I was sure I’d find my family and the jailbait.
What I didn’t expect was the ocean to look like a movie ocean, made of dark blue and almost-white colors.
The group of them moved toward the shoreline, Denny hopping along on his leash, Thelma running ahead with Steve, who carried a surfboard (what?), Nanny’s cigarette glowing when she turned back to me and called out, “Come on, Winston. We don’t got all night.”{ 131 }
82
The Gulf
The Gulf looked like a cake with shiny icing. Waves rolled in, but they weren’t huge. The water was calm enough to do some decent swimming in. This place was way more tranquil than New Smyrna Beach.
I turned and ran back into the motor home.
My bag! My bathing suit! A towel!
In moments I was changed, leaving all my clothes on the tiny bathroom floor. Then I ran out the door again, leaping to the parking lot pavement.
Mark Spitz, I thought. I could almost see him from my dream. Mark Spitz and the 1976 Olympics for me, if I wasn’t doing time because of our unwise decision making in moments of severe stress.
By now, Nanny walked the shoreline, giving Denny plenty of time to hop this way and that. Steve was in the water. These nighttime waves in the Gulf of Mexico weren’t the same as what we got over on the East Coast.
“Winston,” Nanny said as I ran past her, “you be careful.”
Olympics. Here I come.
The water was warm, silky, and in a moment I was { 132 }
diving through a wave, swimming hard against the current, and popping up in time to ride a gentle swell up and down.
This was the life.{ 133 }
83
Gulf Swimming
I swam till Nanny called me closer and my arms were tired.
“You two,” she said when Steve and me stood knee-deep in the waves. Water ran down my face, down my back, dripped off my fingertips. “This sound is putting me to sleep. Fifteen more minutes for the both of you, then you get back in and we leave. I’m going in to bed. Make sure you dry Thelma off good before you bring her in our little home away from home and don’t track any sand into that vehicle. We will never get all that out.”
“Yes ma’am, Miss Jimmie,” Steve said.
“A few more minutes than fifteen,” I said. “Please, Nanny.”
Nanny walked off like I hadn’t spoken, and I knew the answer was no the way she didn’t even look back.
“Dang it,” I said.
“Kiss me, Churchill,” Steve sai
d.
Sure thing, I thought, but I said nothing. Did snot run down my face? I swallowed. Why did I walk toward him? I should wait until I knew Nanny wouldn’t look back and see us. I needed to take this time to swim, while I could, I only had fifteen minutes.{ 134 }
Fifteen minutes.
Enough time, Patty Bailey said, to have sex. I pushed Patty Bailey’s voice away.
My body walked toward Steve, who held on to his surfboard with one arm and reached toward me with the other. My mind worked. Mark Spitz. Olympics. A thousand miles to drive.
“Gotta swim while I can,” I said, as Steve’s hand closed around nothing but air.
I dove into the water to practice in the moonlit night my last few minutes of freedom.{ 135 }
84
Copilot
The highway was deserted, only a few cars traveling against us, only a few that passed. The cypress grew up like giants out of the water to our right. When I squinted, staring at the trees, they seemed to change to slender ladies, with moss for hair, arms dipping or reaching for the heavens, all of them standing in tar.
I worked my way down the hall, pulled the shade down in the kitchen, and went to the front of the motor home. Nanny had climbed up on the bed above us. And I knew why. To keep an eye and ear out to whatever me and Steve thought to do while we drove. How embarrassing!
“Churchill,” Steve said when I sat in the passenger seat. He sounded pleased. “You’re back.”
We’d been driving down the highway for a while now. The swim, the warm water, had made me sleepy. I’d washed the Gulf and salt away. Thought, while I stood in the tiny shower, how a boy was driving toward Vegas. The cutest boy in all of New Smyrna Beach, Florida. I’d bit my lip.
Now my hair was still bound up by a towel.
“I’m back.” I pulled the towel loose and let my damp { 136 }
hair go. It sprung into corkscrew curls. In the moonlight it looked the color of good silverware.
Was I going to be able to stay awake long enough to help drive?
Swimming is the best thing to put you to sleep. And ocean swimming wears you out.
“You’re good at that water thing.” Steve drove with both hands, but he did his driving like he did his surfing. So natural it looked like maybe he was born to take this trip with us. “I can see you in the Olympics.”
I grinned. “Really?” I sounded pleased, and I couldn’t make myself do anything but show that emotion. “I sure hope so. I got things to do with my life.” I stepped over Thelma and settled myself in the seat.
Steve sort of looked at me. A passing car lit up his face, and when he smiled, my heart did that Grinch thing and grew a little bigger. “Swimming things?”
I nodded. “Swimming things,” I said.
“Nothing else?”
“Like what?” I said. I pulled at my hair, trying to comb through it with my fingers. I needed my pick. “Do you mean like college?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Or business.”
I pulled my feet into the seat. “You think I want to always bus tables at your daddy’s restaurant? The answer is { 137 }
no. Maybe start a different restaurant for me and Nanny ourselves. Maybe.”
Steve looked at me a long second.
“Watch the road,” I said.
“I can see it.”
“No you can’t. You’re looking at me.”
“I can drive with my eyes shut,” he said.
“Well, don’t.”
He stared at the road a minute then closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I straightened up in my seat. The towel fell to the floor.
“Showing you my talents.”
“Open your eyes!”
“I’m telling you, I can drive with my eyes closed. I have a sixth sense.”
“Stephen.”
“I like it when you say my name that way.”
The motor home never left the road, but stayed right between the white and yellow lines. He was pretty darn good at driving blind, but . . . “Open your eyes!” My voice was something of a whispered screech. “Nanny is gonna skin us both alive.”
Instead, Steve turned and glanced at me. His right eye was closed. The left, open.
“You jerk,” I said. Then laughed.{ 138 }
85
Almost Night Driving
We drove with the late-night radio playing. Out of Orange, Texas. Into Beaumont, Texas. Another state down. Whew!
Jackson Browne, Cher, Dr. Hook. Donny Osmond, Carly Simon, Neil Diamond. Roberta Flack, the Jackson 5, and even a bit of Jesus Christ Superstar.
The sky was covered with clouds now. Lightning was blinding, even at this distance.
“Probably a twister coming,” Steve said.
“Probably,” I said. I slept sitting up. I fought to stay awake, but my body wasn’t having any of that. As I slipped off to sleep, Thelma came up to sit next to Steve and keep him company while he drove.
Then someone said, “Winston Churchill. You are something else.”
“What?” I said. My eyes snapped open. Electricity sliced the sky in half. Pecan pie sounded great.
“You’re dreaming,” Thelma said.
“Yes, I am,” I said.{ 139 }
86
Sleeping on the Road
I woke up on the sofa, Nanny pulling into a Phillips gas station.
“Guess where we’re headed?” she said.
I blinked. Cleared my throat.
“That’s right. San Antonio. You know what’s there?”
I tried to speak.
“The Alamo.”
“Oh.” There it was. I had my voice back.
“You know what happened at that historic site?”
I opened my mouth.
“Your great-great-uncle twice removed fought against the Mexicans and was shot in the neck.”
“Huh? I didn’t know,” I said. “You never told me that story.”
“I forgot about this particular relative.” Nanny nodded once like the nod might cement the telling in her brain.
“How far have we gone?”
“Since Houston—which you slept through—almost two hundred miles. I got lost only once. Stevie helped me get back on track. Thank goodness Leon Simmons is armed with a road atlas.” Nanny gestured at the book of maps on the dashboard.{ 140 }
“Who’s Stevie?” I sat up. Yes sirree, I could get used to sleeping in a moving vehicle. Seeing there was a refrigerator less than three feet from my sleeping spot. And a place to potty. This was the life! Not including the illegal stuff, but I could put that all out of my head. I went to look through the fridge for something to eat. I came back with a big container of yogurt and an apple.
“I wonder how the hens are,” Nanny said. “And how Doris is doing as front-end manger. Think the restaurant is doing okay without me?”
“No ma’am,” I said. I opened the yogurt. “Business has slowed since we left. But don’t you worry. It’ll pick up once you get back to arm wrestle it into shape.” I bit into the apple and wished, right away, that I had chosen an orange instead.
“Smart alecks never prosper,” Nanny said.
“Are you sure?” I flopped onto the sofa.
Outside, storm clouds swirled. The Texas sky looked like a Florida sky right before the heavens open and angels dumps truckloads of water on us. The attendant washed down the windows. Didn’t he see it was gonna rain? And it sure was taking a long time for the tank to fill. Again. I let out a morning sigh, fanning at my gross morning yogurt breath.
“Wish you’d put that in a bowl,” Nanny said. “One of these days I am sending a request to yogurt companies { 141 }
around the world asking them to make individual containers of yogurt so you—” She pointed at me. There was an unlit cigarette between her fingers. “—stop contaminating breakfast.”
“I know,” I said.
Nanny paid for gas after the tank was full and started out of the station just as the rain fell. The drops were
light, sometimes disappearing before they hit the ground, then falling heavier.
“Where’s Steve?”
“Sleeping.”
I moved to the front of the motor home.
“Nanny,” I said, after I had crunched the last of the meat off the apple, “tell me about you and Steve’s daddy.”{ 142 }
87
The Telling
Nanny looked at me side eyed. She puffed at the unlit cigarette. “Making this last,” she said, saluting me with it.
“I mean, I know you loved him. That he was your only true love . . .”
“I loved your grandfather, God rest his soul.”
Nanny says that anytime she mentions Mike who ran off right after Nanny got pregnant. Kinda like my momma, except Momma was six months till seventeen when I was born. Nanny was seventeen her own self, when she got my momma as her baby. As you can see, this is a pattern. A pattern I plan to break. Maybe I will never have babies, but for sure I will do it with a husband. Or when I am super old, like twenty-five.
“I am sure you loved him,” I said.
Now the rain came down harder.
“We’re headed straight into the storm,” Nanny said. “I hope to goodness we drive through this baby so I can see the Alamo.”
“Tell me the truth,” I said.
Like God was involved, a sign came up on the side of the road. We had a good ways to go till the Alamo (hey, a { 143 }
rhyme!) and with Steve asleep in the back, this was a perfect chance for Nanny to spill her guts. “We got forty-eight miles more till you can see where your cousin twice removed got shot in the neck.”
Signed, Skye Harper Page 7
