Those Girls

  “Sorry, Dani.” I smiled, happy that she was angry at me. Meant she was feeling better.

  Courtney came home when I was doing the dishes. She gave me a wan smile and a “Hey.”

  “Where you been?” Dani called out from the living room, where she was packing some of our framed photographs into a box.

  “Selling my guitar.”

  Dani came in. “What the hell? Why?”

  “We need the money and I don’t plan on singing anymore.” She touched her burn. “I’ll never make it big with this on my face.”

  “That’s stupid, Courtney,” I said. “You’re still beautiful.”

  “No. I’m not. And even if I were, I’m done with singing.”

  Dani and I looked at each other.

  “We should go to Cash Creek first,” Courtney said. “Troy, he’d lend us some money. We’re going to need a lot for fake ID.” Cash Creek was a small town about two and a half hours southwest of Littlefield. We’d heard it was nothing but farmers and fields. Everyone had felt sorry for Troy when he had to move.

  “We can’t let anyone know where we’re going,” Dani said.

  “He wouldn’t say anything—especially if he gives us money.” Troy dealt drugs, mostly just weed, but he always had cash on him. “He told me they were moving to a trailer park—I’m sure we can find his car easy.”

  Dani thought it over for a minute. “Okay.”

  * * *

  That night we packed up. I had some books, clothes, my camera, envelopes full of photos—we didn’t have any family albums. Dad had trashed them all when he was drunk one night. But I had my favorite photo of Mom from when she’d won a fishing derby and posed in front of the tackle shop, her hair wild under her hat, a big smile on her face. I tucked the photo inside one of my books, then shoved everything into a packsack. I also still had the camera lens and film Dad had brought home for me, but I pushed them to the bottom of my bag.

  Courtney packed almost all her clothes and cosmetics. She was going to leave her songwriting books, but we made her take them. We stored a few things in the shed and dragged out the old tent and camping equipment.

  We argued about whether to tell Ingrid and Walter or just leave a note. I wanted to tell them.

  “They depend on our showing up,” I said. “And Ingrid will be upset, she’ll be worried.”

  “That’s exactly why we can’t tell her. She’ll have too many questions.” Dani mimicked Ingrid’s rough voice, her hands on her hips. “Where are you going? What aunt? How come you never mentioned her before? Maybe we should talk to the sergeant and see if anyone’s heard from your father lately.”

  “We have to write a note, Jess,” Courtney said.

  “They’re going to think it’s weird,” I said.

  “They’re going to think whatever we do is weird,” Dani said. “But if we leave tonight, we have a few hours’ head start before anyone starts looking for us.”

  I hated it but they were right. We rehearsed a few different ways of saying it, and in the end they got me to write the note—I had the best handwriting.

  Dear Walter and Ingrid,

  Thanks for letting us stay. We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us and are really sorry to be leaving you. Our dad hasn’t come home and we’re out of money, so we’re going to stay with our aunt in Edmonton. If he shows up, tell him we’re at Helen’s.

  Love, Jess, Dani, Courtney

  We waited until two in the morning, when we figured the streets would be the quietest, taped the note to the front door, and drove off. As soon as we got out of town and the wooden sign for Littlefield disappeared in our rearview mirror, I was filled with apprehension. What was going to happen to us? Would Walter send the cops after us? Would they find some blood in the house? Had we missed something? We’d taken the gun—it was under the bench seat. If we got pulled over we’d be in trouble for having it, but that was the least of our problems.

  “You should try to get some rest,” Dani told us.

  But we couldn’t sleep. We talked a little about what Vancouver would be like, where we’d stay. Dani figured we’d find a youth hostel. Then we’d find jobs, maybe cleaning or waitressing. Dani wanted to see if there were any farms on the outskirts that were looking for workers. We’d have to get new ID right away—none of us had a social insurance number—but we didn’t know where to start. Dani said we’d just have to find out where the rough section of town was, like where drug dealers hung out, then we could ask.

  After we stole the gas we drove for another hour, through small towns and farmland, lakes and valleys lining the roads. The towns were dark at this time of night, our only company on the road the occasional truck. Dani fell asleep at the wheel once, swerving onto the dry shoulder, only waking when we yelled at her, so we pulled off onto a side road and spread out our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. We’d planned on getting up early, but we were all exhausted and woke with the sun beaming down on us, our bodies stiff and sore. We drank some water, ate some of our food, brushed our teeth—spitting into the ditch—and got back on the road. If we found Troy without too much trouble, we figured we could still make it to Vancouver by the afternoon.

  “We’ll go to the beach on your birthday,” Dani said.

  “That’d be cool.” I tried not to think about my father’s presents, how days earlier they’d been all I wanted.

  A half hour later when we were getting close to Cash Creek, steam started coming up through the hood, then billowed out in big gusts.

  “What the hell is that?” Courtney said.

  “Fuck if I know,” Dani said as we pulled onto the side of the road. We all piled out and looked at the truck. Water was dripping out from below.

  “Is it the radiator?” I said.

  “Probably. Shit.” Dani kicked the tire.

  “We’re going to have to hitch to town,” Courtney said.

  We grabbed what we could out of the back—water, our packsacks, some of the food—and started walking. We had to leave the rifle under the front seat and I worried about someone breaking into the truck. We hadn’t gone far, could still see the truck, when we heard the rumble of an engine—a black Ford pulled alongside us. Two guys, maybe in their early twenties, were smiling through the window. The driver, a dark-haired boy with a baseball cap and a white tank top, leaned over the steering wheel.

  “Truck break down?”

  Keeping her distance from the truck, Dani said, “Yeah, steam started coming out.”

  “Probably your radiator or the water pump. I can look at it—I’m a mechanic,” the dark-haired boy said. The other one had brown hair and a big toothy smile, no shirt. He had a farmer’s tan, lines on his neck and arms.

  Dani turned, met our eyes.

  Courtney shook her head. “We should just walk to town.”

  Dani whispered back, “It’ll take too long.”

  The boys glanced at each other. The dark-haired one shrugged.

  “It’s cool if you don’t want help. We can send the tow truck back, cost you about a hundred.”

  The other boy chimed in, “Or if you want to walk, probably take you an hour.” The heat was already waving off the road, sucking at our skin.

  Dani said, “If you could take a look, that’d be great.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Yep, it’s definitely the water pump,” the dark-haired boy said, his head under the hood. His name was Brian and he was tall and thin with dark round eyes, dark eyebrows and lashes, a small nose and mouth, and a necklace with a bullet on it. His faded jeans had rips in the knees and old stains, and his boots were scuffed and coated with dried mud. He smelled of grease and cigarettes.

  His brother, Gavin, didn’t really look like him, with lighter hair and a wide mouth full of white teeth. He was also bulkier, broad shouldered, and moved slower, but he was tall too. He had a different way of looking at you. Brian’s eyes were lively, and he spoke quickly, breaking into laughter a lot. His gaze darted around, his hands fas
t and confident as he checked things under the hood. Gavin was more watchful, quieter.

  Gavin was sitting on the tailgate now, taking long pulls from a beer. They’d handed us each one—ice-cold from a beer cooler, condensation dripping down the sides, and we guzzled them eagerly while I kept a wary eye on the boys. My camera was around my neck, and I rested one of my hands on the strap, the worn leather familiar and reassuring. I could tell my sisters were also uncomfortable. Courtney kept her face turned away, her fingers playing with the label on her beer. Dani’s answers were stiff when they asked where we were from—she said Golden, a town a couple of hours north of Littlefield. She’d told them her name was Leanne, and we’d also given fake names. Courtney was Sandy and I was Heather, the name of a girl who sat behind me in class for years.

  The boys didn’t seem to notice our nerves, or didn’t care. They were friendly and smiled lots, Brian telling us about how he worked at his uncle’s garage in town, Gavin teasing him for being a grease monkey.

  “Our dad’s got a big spread,” Gavin said. “Three hundred head of cattle but we’ve got some horses, too. Brian, he’s always working on the tractors. Can’t keep him away from an engine.” He laughed.

  With country music playing on their truck radio, empties rolling around in the back, and cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, they could have been any of the kids we grew up with, and I began to relax. Courtney started smiling once in a while at something they said, and Dani asked a few questions about their ranch.

  “I might be able to find a water pump in the wrecking yard,” Brian said. “But it’ll take a couple of days. You girls in a hurry?”

  “Yeah, we’re meeting with our aunt,” I said.

  Dani shot me a dirty look, annoyed at me for answering first. “How much will it cost?”

  “Fifty for the part if I can find an old one, but it could be tough. New one will cost you about a hundred fifty, and a couple hours’ labor. Then there’s the tow truck. So maybe about three hundred altogether.”

  Dani winced. “We don’t have any money.”

  Brian glanced at Gavin. “We could probably find some work for you on our ranch,” he said, “fixing fences or cleaning stalls for cash. And we got a spot where you girls could camp.”

  Dani gnawed her lip. “You know a guy named Troy Dougan?”

  “Troy?” Brian laughed. “Everyone knows Troy. Why you asking?”

  “He’s a friend of a friend. If you give us a lift to town, we can give him a call.” I was relieved. I liked that idea a lot better than staying with these guys.

  “Too bad. Troy just left to go camping for a couple of weeks.” Brian said it like he felt bad for us, but I kind of got the feeling he was maybe a little happy.

  Courtney looked upset, and Dani just looked pissed off.

  “If we camp on your property, your parents won’t mind?” Dani said.

  “We won’t tell them you’re camping,” Gavin said. “As long as you don’t have a fire, should be all right.”

  “You can make enough to buy the part,” Brian said. “My uncle will want you to pay for shop time, but I’ll chip in my labor for free.”

  “Why would you do that?” Courtney said, frowning.

  He smiled big. “I’m a nice guy.”

  “You gonna say we owe you something else?” she said.

  He looked confused. I was starting to think he might not be all that smart about people, just trucks.

  “What else would you owe us?” He shrugged. “I just like working on stuff.” I glanced at his hands, the grease under his nails. His pinkie fingers were strange—they curved in toward the fingers next to them.

  “We need a minute to talk,” Dani said.

  “Sure, gotta take a leak anyway.” The boys walked into the woods. We could hear them breaking branches, then silence. We took a couple of steps to the other side of their truck, the music playing behind us.

  “I’m not sure about this,” Courtney said.

  “Me either,” Dani said. “But we need the truck.”

  “We could take the bus,” I said.

  “We don’t even know if one stops in town.”

  “We could hitch to Vancouver,” I said.

  “The cops might see us on the road and too many people will remember three girls—we stand out. Same with the bus, the cops can track us.”

  Dani was sounding annoyed, but I couldn’t stop my questions. “What about the gun under the seat? We’ll be stuck here for a couple of days.”

  “They don’t have any reason to look under the seat. Once the truck is fixed, we can get the hell out of here. No one knows where we’re heading.”

  I glanced back where the guys had gone into the bushes, saw them walking out.

  “You think they’re okay?” I whispered.

  Dani turned and looked at them. “Yeah, they’re just typical boys hoping to get lucky. If they want to be nice, fine, but we don’t have to do anything else.”

  * * *

  We climbed into the back of their truck, throwing our gear and the cooler in with us. The boys had helped us load the remaining boxes into the cab of our truck so we could lock it up. Brian said he’d come back with a tow truck later in the day. It would be added to our bill but he said he’d get his uncle to cut the rate.

  They brought us through town. It looked even smaller than Littlefield, and it was obvious the guys knew everyone—people waved at the truck as we drove past, giving us curious looks. I focused my camera and took a few pretend shots of downtown, which had only a couple of stoplights. I noticed a few stores, a diner, a brick motel. Between a pizza shop with some plastic chairs outside and a florist, a bulletin board was crammed with notices like no one had ever taken anything down. The hardware store had a sign for the post office. There only seemed to be one garage: “That’s where I work!” Brian yelled through the rear window. He pulled in front of one of the shop bays and got out.

  “Just have to talk to my uncle and make sure he’s cool with everything.” Gavin got out and went inside with Brian.

  We stayed in the back of the truck. The sun was beating down, reflecting off the black metal, hot to the touch. Courtney had her head resting against the plastic box under the rear window. It ran the length of the cab and had a padlock. Some of the men in Littlefield had the same boxes in their trucks for tools. Courtney’s hand was covering her burn. Dani was watching her and chewing her nails.

  I noticed a pub beside the garage, or at least I thought it was a pub, with music thumping and the smell of greasy food. The back door opened into an alley between the two businesses. Above the pub an open window looked down on the garage. Some curtains blew in the breeze and I wondered if people lived up there.

  The back door opened and a boy came out. He looked about my age, with blond hair that fell into his eyes. He brushed it away. His face was flushed like he was hot, his white apron stained. He glanced around and lit a cigarette, leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed as he took a long drag and slowly exhaled.

  Brian and Gavin came out of the shop, voices loud, door banging shut behind them. The boy in the alley stood straight, looked right at me.

  Our eyes met, held. Then he glanced at the boys. Something in his face, the way his eyes narrowed, told me he didn’t like them.

  Gavin gave him the finger. The boy didn’t react, just took another long, slow drag. An older man with a full beard and silver-streaked hair came out, looked like he was about to say something, then noticed us. Brian and Gavin climbed back into the truck. The man watched us pull away.

  The boys stopped outside a general store. Brian hopped out of the truck.

  “Gotta get some beer.”

  “Is there a bathroom?” Courtney said.

  “’Round back.”

  We piled out and went around the back of the store. Through the window I could see the boys picking up a couple of cases of beer. Gavin was elbowing Brian and they were laughing at something. I glanced at Dani—Courtney was in the bathr
oom. Dani was also watching the boys. I gave her a look.

  “They’re just being guys,” she said, but she sounded worried.

  Courtney came out and also noticed the boys. They glanced up, feeling our gaze, and gave us big smiles, lifting up a case of beer like a trophy.

  “See?” Dani said as she moved toward the bathroom. “Typical boys.”

  * * *

  We left the town and drove through some farms, then down a winding country road, the pavement cracked and rough. We passed a tractor, the old man giving us a nod. The air was filled with the scent of hay from recently cut fields. Dani’s eyes were sad, and I knew she was thinking of Corey.

  The road changed to dirt and we hunkered low but still got coated with a fine layer of dust, coughing and rubbing our eyes. Finally the boys turned off onto a smaller road and stopped at a metal gate. Gavin jumped out and opened it.

  “Almost there,” he said with a smile.

  We pulled into a grassy field and bumped over the rough ground until we stopped at a grove of trees by a creek that had dried to a slow crawl.

  Brian got out of the truck. “This is all part of our land. You girls can set up here. We’ll get your truck. In the morning, we’ll bring you up to the ranch.”

  He grabbed one of the cases of beer, handing us each a bottle and opening one for himself. He also handed us a bag of jerky. “Liquor store didn’t have much else, but you guys look hungry. We can bring you some more food tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to tell your parents?” Dani asked.

  He shrugged. “Ain’t no big secret. You’re some girls we met passing through who need to make some money so we can fix your truck.” He noticed us exchange looks. “I don’t have to say nothing if you want.”

  Gavin added, “We can just tell them you live in town.”

  “We’d appreciate that,” Dani said.

  “You girls running away or something?” Gavin laughed.

  “We just don’t like people knowing our business,” Dani said, her tone angry.

  Brian held up his hands. “Easy, sister. Whatever floats your boat.”