Jerk, California

  I wash and duck into my room to change.

  Naomi sits on my bed, her skin glistening. I stop inside the doorway and think about my hands on that skin. She looks better than ever in that halter-top thing and those shorts.

  “Dirk won’t be able to take you into the city.”

  She stands and stares and my mouth quits working. It’s a new stare and reminds me of a cat before it pounces. I can’t look down. She approaches and reaches out her arms and lays them on jumpy shoulders. Her hand slides into my hair and pulls down my head. I feel her cheek against mine, her body against mine.

  “I got your note,” she whispers, and her lips brush against my face. “Consider this permission.” Naomi presses into me, stays a moment, and glides out the door as the letter I wrote flutters to my feet.

  George, she’s as tough to figure out as you were.

  The bell sounds again and I straighten, but it’s too warm to eat.

  Naomi sits by Dirk at the table. I stare at my bread.

  “You put in a full day. Aren’t you hungry, Jack?” Don says.

  “I was, but now I’m not.”

  I try not to peek at Naomi, but I can’t help it. Her eyes are magnets.

  “Hungry,” I stammer.

  Naomi’s eyes sparkle.

  After lunch, I head into my room to pack.

  “George, your granddaughter is . . . distracting.” I jam shirts into my duffel.“She keeps doing stuff. I apologize and she hugs me. Or did I hug her? Oh crap, probably screwed up again.”

  My gut turns. I’m anxious to be on the road, anxious to get Naomi away from Dirk. I’m anxious to get somewhere where I’m not so confused about Dad. I glance over the map.

  Next stop another two-nighter? Don’t know if I can handle this.

  chapter twenty-seven

  NAOMI’S FOOTSTEPS CREAK THE HARDWOOD floors above me. Must be packing. I walk my things out to the truck and glance toward the shed. Don sits in a lawn chair and watches me. There’s an empty chair next to his, and I know he wants me in it. But he doesn’t wave me over, so I quickly turn back toward the farmhouse.

  “Your dad built that.”

  I stop. “What?”

  “Windmill.”

  I stare way up at fins spinning free.

  “I heard he built those. Sort of wondered if he did this one.” I take another step toward the house.

  “Three days is all it took. Lydia stayed with us while he worked.”

  I turn toward Don. “Mom’s been here?”

  “Of course. Your folks slept in the same bed you did.”

  I squirm and run fingers through my hair.

  “And you slept in Dirk’s crib right beside ’em.”

  My feet move toward the empty chair. I don’t want to sit down, but I can’t shake my question.

  “Did they look happy?”

  “They were happy.”

  “’Cause there’s this problem,” I say. “I saw them in a picture lookin’ all happy, but I know they weren’t ’cause Old Bill’s told me stuff. And why would he ditch Mom and me if they were happy?”

  “Oh,” Don whispers. His knuckles whiten on his chair. I said something and he’s pissed, and I’m scared.

  Footsteps approach from behind, and we turn our heads. Kate walks up and stands behind Don and rubs his neck. Don looks up at her, smiles weakly, and then turns to me.

  “When George called and said you’d be coming, I told him to come along. He said, ‘Not this time, Don, got a feeling.’ He said that and my stomach flipped. And it never flips, does it, Kate?”

  She smiles. “That’s right. Only one other time I know of.” They both look at me. Long, serious looks. It’s spooky, and my stomach flips, too.

  “You know your folks and us spent a lot of holidays together? Kate and Lydia grew up together, kept in touch for a long time,” Don says.

  “I didn’t know.”

  He nods. “We were up the night of the crash.”

  “Dirk did tell me that.”

  “George was there.” Kate walks in front of us and folds her arms. “Never could pry him away from James. Oh, honey, do you remember how hot Jack was?”

  She looks back to me. “Imagine you’ve heard this enough times from Lydia.”

  I shake my head.

  “You had such a fever,” she says. “Your dad went out for medicine.”

  Don nods. “Just a quick run to the drugstore. It was snowing so hard. Remember how James acted?” Don reaches up and squeezes Kate’s hand. “Usually a man says, ‘Be right back.’ But James didn’t say a thing. He gave Lydia a kiss. Not a quick one neither. Darn near made my wife blush.”

  Kate slaps Don on the shoulder.

  “Well, it’s true. Then he went into the room where you whimpered, and I swear I heard him cry right along with you.”

  I stand back up and face the couple. No one seems eager to go on.

  Finally Kate shakes her head. “Of all the nights to have a snowstorm. An hour later we got the call.”

  “Wait. I was sick?” I feel sick now.

  Don nods.

  “So when did he pick up the woman?”

  “Woman,” Don says.

  “Yeah, and the booze. When he wrapped his drunk body around a telephone pole. They found him with a woman.”

  Don and Kate look at each other. Kate moves in front of me, kneels, and grabs my twitching right hand. “There was no liquor. There wasn’t a woman, Jack. It was George. George went with your father that night. He was with him when he died. The pole is right, but, oh, Jack, no; it was George. He said your dad hung on for hours. That’s when he scribbled you the note.”

  I stare at her.

  “Hasn’t George given it to you?”

  I stand up and cough hard. I need to run. I can’t run. My legs buckle, and Don eases me into the chair, wraps his big arm around my shoulder.

  “Do you have your dad’s letter, son?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “George gave it to me a few weeks back at graduation.”

  Don nods.“He called years ago. Asked our advice on that. He knew you had it rough. But your dad made him promise not to intervene until you were older, not if there was another man in Lydia’s life. We told him James knew what he was doing, that it wouldn’t be right to bust up a family, even one with Bill in it.” He exhales hard. “Did we counsel wrong?”

  My head is empty and light and I don’t know what to believe. But I feel a tug so strong it almost yanks me out of my chair. I’d give anything for George and Don to be right, anything for Old Bill to be what he’s always been—a liar. But I’ve heard his crap so long, and I can’t believe anyone would think about my life when they’re dying.

  I lean in to Don’s shoulder. “Tell me again.”

  “What, Jack?”

  “Tell me there was no woman. Tell me Dad loved Mom. Tell me what happened.”

  Donald straightens me and turns to face me. “James died because of a bad storm and an icy road and a telephone pole.”

  Kate squeezes my hands. “And he died loving your mom more than anyone, except his son.”

  My arms hang limp, and a tickle worms around my empty head—I almost believe her. I don’t know why Mom never told me. I only know that if she were here, I couldn’t look her in the eye.

  Mom’s eye.

  The yellow-and-blue one. There were colorful reasons why she kept her mouth shut.

  Don breaks the silence.

  “Do you think a man knows his time? Like your dad, or George?”

  His eyes tell me it’s an honest question.

  “How could they?” I say.

  Don nods.“Doesn’t explain this trip you’re on, though, does it?”

  “No.”

  The wind whistles and shivers my spine. From far above the windmill creaks.

  “Do you know why I’m going to California, Don? Did George tell you anything?”

  “He did not.” Don pushes himself up. “But if George wants you there . . . wh
ere do you go from here?”

  I dash to my truck and grab the map. “It’s a weird route.” I jog back and hand it to Don. He opens it, stares, and grins.

  “Ain’t so strange. He’s sending you along windmill road.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “This used to hang in your folks’ apartment. I remember these little pictures. It’s your dad’s old map, but George probably added the names and dates.” He points at each sketch. “Your father built each one of these. I’ve seen this one; it’s next on your journey. And mine, of course.” He rubs his meaty finger gently over the last two. “But these? Only heard about them.”

  He hands me the map; it’s a different map now. I fold it carefully and smooth out the creases.

  Don frowns at my truck and folds his arms. “She won’t make it through the Rockies.” He walks up to it and traces the lettering with his finger.

  “She’ll have to.” I wipe my face and sigh. Don looks at Kate, who smiles and nods.

  “Come on,” Don says.

  We leave Kate and walk to the second barn. Don lifts the door on a bright orange ’55 Chevy. It’s beautiful even beneath the thin layer of dust. I circle it, and wipe grime from its number: 55.

  “Man.” I lean over and peek inside. She’s immaculate.

  “What’s it worth?”

  Don kicks the tire. “One brown truck.”

  chapter twenty-eight

  LIGHT RAIN FALLS AS NAOMI AND I CARRY OUR bags toward the barn. We leave Don and Kate, arms around each other, standing on the porch. Lizbeth and Mary stomp through farmyard muck. Dirk rocks on the porch swing with arms crossed, his eyes slits. Naomi declined his offer to carry her bags. I said he could carry mine, but patient, perfect Mennonites must have their limits.

  “So where’s the truck?” Naomi asks.

  “There’s been a change.” I open the barn door. “Do you like orange?”

  She gasps and furrows her brow. She turns with a grin.

  I load our things in the backseat.

  “Let’s see if she sounds as good as she looks.”

  The Chevy roars. I know engines, and judging by the sound, this one’s been itching for an adventure. I feather the accelerator, and the car darts forward into the yard.

  I let it idle and walk with Naomi back to the porch. With each step I feel lonelier. I turn and take a last look at the truck parked in the barn. It’s a great trade, my brain knows it, but my chest is tight. It’s like losing George all over again.

  The family gathers around us.

  “It’s traditional to bless all those who stay here.” Don says. “You mind?”

  Naomi squirms, and I twitch.

  “Takin’ that as a green light. Dear Father . . .”

  Big Don prays long, but it’s different from when TV preachers pray. I know Don thinks someone is paying attention.

  “You two take care.” Kate hugs us and pecks our cheeks. Don follows with bear hugs of his own.

  “You’re a lot like your dad,” Don says.

  “I know, twitchin’ and all.”

  He looks sharp into my eyes and softens his gaze. “No. Gentle James lives on in Gentle Jack.”

  Before I can respond, the girls run up and cling to Naomi.

  “You coming back?” Lizbeth asks.

  “I don’t know.” Naomi wipes her shirt. “Depends on Sam.”

  Dirk strides up to me, extends his hand, and squeezes. Hard. “Drive safe.” He moves to Naomi. Hurt, puppy eyes look strange on a tight end’s body. He starts to speak, peeks at me, and suddenly lunges toward Naomi. It’s half hug, half tackle, and I’m sure they’re going down, but Dirk regains his footing. “Come on back anytime.” Another glance at me, and he quick reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a note and stuffs it into her hand.

  “For me? Thanks!” Naomi turns to me. “Hang on to this for me, will you, Sam? I don’t have pockets, and I don’t want to lose it.”

  There’s agony in Dirk’s eyes as he follows the paper into my hand. Don covers his face with his big paw, but can’t hide the chuckle that works his body.

  Kate sighs. “If you two are going to make Kansas by nightfall, you better get moving. Give our best to Turk and Trish.”

  We hop in, and I give the gas a flutter.

  Don reaches his head into the car. “South on 81 until 150. Brings you right into Hillsboro. Kansas has weather, so drive carefully.”

  “Thanks for everything.” I take my hands off the wheel.“For letting us stay, and for the car; do I owe you anything?”

  “Most people would leave a gift.”

  Without hesitation, Naomi hops out of the car, jogs up to Big Don, and kisses his rain-soaked cheek. The big guy flushes. She turns to Stu and freezes the poor teen. Naomi finally reaches Dirk, stops inches in front of him. Dirk’s eyes grow, he shifts his feet, brushes his hair back, wipes his brow.

  And passes out. Falls like a log into the mud. The family kneels around him.

  Kate looks up. “That’ll do, Naomi.”

  “Could I see my letter?” Naomi reaches out her hand, but I’m driving and pretend not to see it.

  She hits my shoulder. I dig in my pocket for the note. My fingers wrap around it and I want to throw it out the window into the storm. But my arm obeys her instead of me. She has it, reads it, and wears a big smile.

  “What does it say?”

  She glances at me and back down toward the sheet. “It’s my letter.”

  Minutes later she reads it again. I stretch back, peek over, and try to catch a few sentences.

  “Sam!” She folds the paper and scolds me with her look.

  “Here. Would you mind holding on to it?”

  I grab the note and squirm it into my front pocket. It’s not fair to be this close if I can’t see. Naomi’s not fair.

  “Were you going to kiss him?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Is there a problem with that?”

  I turn the windshield wiper to high.

  “A kiss is . . . well, doesn’t a kiss mean—” I twitch hard. “Is there anyone you wouldn’t kiss?”

  She whips her body toward me. “And what do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing, I—”

  “Oh, no. You said it. What do you mean?”

  My body jumps. Left shoulder, right shoulder. Fingers stretch, face muscles stretch. What was I saying? Rain sheets across the glass, and I peer ahead. Oh, hell!

  “When you kissed me during the snowstorm, didn’t it mean anything to you?”

  I puff out steam and wait for her rage.

  Her body softens, and she sweeps the hair off her face.

  “No.”

  “No?” My hand twitches so hard we swerve onto the chopped shoulder. I veer back onto the road. “No? Nothing?” My voice raises over the thunder. “You change my life and don’t give it a thought? Well, I did! Plenty!” I wipe sweaty hair from my eyes. “I thought about that kiss day and night for months. Months! So no more casual, oh-what-the-hell-I’ll-kiss-Sam stuff. Take your charity affection somewhere else—find a different monster to kiss. One who didn’t have a dad who went out in a storm to get medicine—” I’m suddenly exhausted and my muscles still and only the pounding rain has any energy left.

  I peek at what I’ve done. Naomi stares straight ahead. Unreadable.

  “Just that,” I say, “it mattered to me, is all.”

  “I wouldn’t kiss a monster.”

  Hours of torturous silence had passed since I spoke.

  “You asked if there was anyone I wouldn’t kiss.” Naomi pauses. “I don’t think I’d kiss a monster.”

  I shoot a glance in time to catch a slow exhale.

  “On second thought,” she says, “I have.”

  Her words pierce. She’s never mocked me or ripped my Tourette’s before. Finally, the cruel truth. I take a deep breath.

  Least I know where I stand. A monster.

  “I understand,” I say.

  She slowly turns her head as I make the left onto 150. She looks confused. Ahead,
skies lighten behind the Hillsboro sign. Yep, good to know where I stand. Being a creature sucks, but at least she finally said it. So it’s a “Beauty and the Beast” type of relationship. Least I didn’t lose my “bride” to Dirk.

  Don’t go getting fantasy and reality mixed up, Sam. Look at her.

  I do and my mouth flops open and I can’t stop my blurt.

  “You’re beautiful.” The car swerves. “Sorry. Stuff pops out.”

  Naomi lays her head against the window. “Beautiful, huh?”

  I slow as we enter Hillsboro. The town appears from nowhere, grows right up from surrounding fields. A water tower and a grain elevator—the only tall stuff there is.

  A small sign reads: WELCOME TO HILLSBORO. HOME OF TABOR COLLEGE.

  Great, more college guys. If Naomi’s still in this car when we pull out of here, I’ll call this stop a success.

  “Two nights in lovely Hillsboro, coming right up.” I drive to a rambler on A Street and stop. “Doesn’t look like they have a buggy either,” I say, and open the door. A cat runs out from beneath the partially lowered garage door and rubs against my leg. I’m sick of cats.

  “Sam.” Naomi’s eyes plead. “Save time for a walk tonight. We need to talk.”

  chapter twenty-nine

  WELCOME, JACK! MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME. YOU’LL have Aaron’s room and the rest of the basement to yourself. Trish is covering the store. I’m with Mom at the hospital. Be back later. Turk

  I rip the sheet off the screen door.

  “They’re not expecting me either.” Naomi turns and looks around. “Hope they won’t be put off by us traveling together.”

  “Reckon not.”

  The evening’s hot, the breeze is hot. Ramblers and old farm-houses line streets buckling in the heat. Large trees stretch their limbs over the tiny road, and somehow the grass is green. A steamy oasis in the heart of farm country.

  “Let’s bring our stuff in.” I head down the steps. “Maybe we can take that walk now. According to the map, there’s a windmill in this town that I should probably find.”

  We haul our things into the basement and make our way back outside. Tree roots lift the sidewalk’s concrete squares and make the walkway hazardous. We stroll in silence.