Sliding On The Edge (5 page)

Kay believed in having regularity in
her life—setting up systems that made the day run smoothly. For
over sixteen years she’d managed the ranch, paying her bills and
building a life she liked to think was solid and respectable. She’d
never been bored with this rancher’s life, and at the end of every
day, she was always too tired to be bored. But she’d given up being
happy when Nic died. And then, after Peter left, well, what was
there to be happy about?

The back porch door slammed. Kay knew
it wouldn’t be Kenny. He knew better than to slam her
doors.

She looked at the strange girl who
stared back at her.

“
You all done?” Kay
asked.

“
More than done. I’m beat.”
Shawna slouched into the kitchen and dropped onto one of the
chairs. She stretched out her long legs.

“
One rule around here is you
take off your boots and leave them on the porch when you come in
from the barn.”

“
These are all I’ve got.”
Shawna held up one foot. The sole of her tennis shoe was covered
with barn muck and straw.

“
Well then, take them off.
We’ll go into town tomorrow and buy you some boots. For now,
there’re some clean slippers by the back door you can
use.”

Shawna shrugged, pulled off her
sneakers, and tossed them onto the back porch. They landed with a
clunk and sent the muck scattering onto the floor.

Kay clenched her teeth. “I put towels
in your bathroom, so why don’t you go get cleaned up? Dinner will
be on the table in an hour. And, Shawna, don’t slam the doors when
you come and go.”

“
Another rule?”

Kay nodded.

“
Seems like a lot of rules
for one place to have.” Shawna shuffled through the kitchen and
disappeared down the hall, her feet dragging across the wood
floor.

“
That’s gonna be a tough
filly to break in.” Kenny leaned against the kitchen
door.

“
How long you been
eavesdropping?” Kay asked as she turned up the heat under the
potatoes.

He pushed away from the door and went
to the sink. “She can do the work. That ain’t the problem. It’s the
charming attitude that’s gonna be fun to handle.”

“
If you got any ideas on
what to do, don’t sit on your backside and keep it to yourself,
okay?”

“
I see she’s brought your
crabby side out,” he said, drying his hands and pushing his boots
off.

“
Sorry.” She had no right to
snap at him, but she did it now and then. There was nobody else to
snap at, so Kenny Fargo got it, took it, and made it
better.

She reached into the
cupboard for the dishes.
I almost turned
him away
, she thought. She shook her head
when she remembered Kenny on the lower back step, looking up at her
as she stood like a suspicious sentry at her kitchen
door.

“
I need a place to work and
park my trailer,” he’d said. “I’ll be glad to pay for what I use in
the way of water and electricity.”

“
No. I . . . don’t think
so.” She’d stepped back and pushed the screen door
closed.

He took off his hat and held it in
front of him, like an old-fashioned suitor in a cowboy western. “I
love two things: horses and good whiskey,” he said. “And I never
mix those pleasures.”

She recognized the honesty in his
words and in the way he looked at her. She also recognized how much
it cost him to beg. So she hired him and later that day, she fought
to keep him when Peter told her that Kenny had to go.

“
You don’t know a thing
about the man, Kay. Are you insane?” Peter yelled when she told him
what she’d done.

“
We could use the help. What
harm can it do? He can park his trailer behind the barn, so you
won’t even have to see it.” She could still hear her voice—the way
it sounded—a bit scared and yet firm. Every fight they’d had that
year, she’d heard her voice always a little fearful, yet becoming
firmer with each argument.

“
He’s got the look of war
about him. One of those derelict Vietnam vets with no end of
problems.” Peter grasped the back of the kitchen chair, his
knuckles turning white.

“
He stays. We need
him.”

He’d smiled at her, his lips tight and
the message bitter. Then he’d left the kitchen without saying
another word.

“
Leave the past where it
should be. You’ve got enough to manage in the present,” she mumbled
to herself.

“
You say something?” Kenny
called from the back porch.

“
Just thinking out loud.”
She lifted two plates from the cupboard and set them on the table.
Then, shaking her head, she took down a third one and pulled up
another chair. So her perfectly ordered life had taken a turn, and
now she was headed down a road that had more ruts than the one
leading to her property. How was she going to manage a
sixteen-year-old girl? And this wasn’t just any teenaged girl.
Shawna may not have come with suitcases, but she sure came with
some heavy baggage. This little gal was an iceberg, and Kay felt
like the
Titanic
.

Chapter 9

Shawna

“
Take a bath, Shawna. Curry
the horse, Shawna. Don’t slam the doors, Shawna. Do this, Shawna,
do that.” There are more rules around this place than at the
blackjack tables. I close my eyes and lean against the bathroom
door.

I do not care.

I do not care.

I can’t shake that song out
of my head. I saw this Yoga class on TV once, where all the people
were trying to turn themselves into pretzels. When they weren’t
doing that, they were sitting around chanting “
ohm
” over and over—looking like they
were zoning out. Well, that doesn’t do it for me.
I do not care. I do not care
. Now that makes sense.

I look into the bathroom mirror and
sing-song my mantra. Dorky old me shrugs back. Life is getting
better, though. Here the mirror isn’t cracked, so at least I can
see the whole dork.

“
Well,” I say to the face in
the mirror, “I do care about one thing—the way I smell.” If I’m not
careful, I’ll be the one needing a currycomb run down my backside.
My hands smell like . . . “Ugh!”
Horse!

While the tub fills with water, I peel
off my socks, jeans, and T-shirt and kick them away. On the shelf,
I find bath salts and dump in the contents before I slip into the
hot water.

I slide down until my ears fill with
the gurgle of underwater sounds. My hair billows like a sea
creature around my head, and my arms float up beside me. I feel
like my body is separating into parts by weight—the light parts
leave the heavier ones on the bottom.

Maybe this is what happens when you
die. The soul rises up and strands the heavy part of you back on
earth.

I try to imagine how the soul might
feel, suddenly set free, without the weight of a head, arms, legs,
and all the rest. It reminds me of the time I dreamed I was flying
and looked down on all the Las Vegas lights. They were so far away,
so beautiful, and I was . . . safe.

“
Dinner in ten minutes!”
Kay’s voice comes through the bathroom door, jolting me awake and
onto my feet, sending shock waves through all my body
parts.

My first thought is to leap out of the
water and make sure I locked the door. Then I remember I’m not in
Vegas. I’m not in the apartment. No sweethearts here. Only Kay the
Stone and Kenny Fargo, King of Spit.

I stand in the cooled water and
shiver.

Don’t get soft. Next time
check your locks like always
.

I grab a towel, dry off, and wrap it
around me. My clothes smell bad, even from the corner where I’d
kicked them. But then I notice the folded clothes on the back of
the toilet. Clean jeans, a long-sleeved plaid shirt, and socks.
When I pull them on they’re too big, but they smell good and I’m
not going to put my horsy clothes back on—no matter what. I roll
the jean legs and the shirtsleeves up, pull on the socks, and run
my fingers through my wet hair.

I glance in the mirror. “God, I look
like I’m ten!” I turn sideways and study my profile. “Maybe
eleven.” It’s the clothes. Who’d ever wear stuff like
this?

When I open the bathroom door, food
smells wake up my stomach. I haven’t had anything since that ham
sandwich hours ago and I’m in the mood for chow. I make it down the
hall, past where I’ll sleep, Kay’s office, and the living room, and
walk into the kitchen.

Kenny sits at one end of the table,
sipping brown liquid from a shot glass.

“
Sit here, Shawna.” Kay
pulls out a chair and then sits at the other end of the table
opposite Kenny.

Under each plate there’s a mat, and
next to the fork and knife, a napkin made out of cloth, not paper.
How am I not going to leave grease marks on it?

Kenny’s looking spiffy. Clean shirt,
hair slicked back, and . . . check out the hands. No horsy smell
anywhere.

Kay looks neatened up too. Her shirt
is still plaid, but it’s not the same one she was cooking in
earlier. I’d be able to pick out her closet in a sec. Three hundred
plaid shirts, starched, the collars all facing the same direction
on the hangers.

A heaped bowl of fluffy white potatoes
sits in the center of the table, and steak sliced and soaking in
juice is on a platter next to it. There’s lettuce and tomatoes
tossed into a salad.

I’m reaching for the potatoes when Kay
says, “I’ll pass them to you.”

“
Whatever.” I help myself to
two big plops and set the bowl down.

“
Please pass them on to
Kenny.”

What? Am I playing
football? Pass. Pass. Pass. When do I get to like . . .
eat?

I pick up my fork. The steak’s coming
my way. I put down my fork, take the platter and . . . “I know.
Pass.”

Kay doesn’t smile. I don’t think
that’s something she does.

“
Can I eat now?”

Kay presses her lips together like
she’s going to say something starting with M. Then she switches and
says, “Salad,” handing me the bowl of tossed greens.

I’m a quick learner, so I pass the
salad to Kenny; then I sit back and fold my arms.

Kay snaps her napkin and lays it
across her lap.

Okay. I get it. I do the
same.

She picks up her fork and waggles it
in the air. “Now,” she says.

Finally
.

Kenny starts in about the gray, her
temperature, her meds. I’m swallowing, not sure I’ve chewed much
before I do. This is not ketchup soup or Wong’s takeout or even
Kirby’s special deluxe grease.

The potatoes don’t taste
like any potatoes I’ve ever eaten before. Where did they come from?
The tomatoes—my gawd—they’re red candy. Can I have more?

Kay is holding the salad out
to me. I guess the answer is yes, I can have more. And now
passing
is not a problem.
I’ve got that down, along with how Kay likes to be the queen at the
dinner table. There are rules here, too. Like napkins and passing
and waiting until the right time to eat. User Manual Entry #4: Play
the Queen’s Rules at Dinner.

Chapter 10

Shawna

“
You wear plaid. I don’t.” I
stand inside the small dressing room cubicle, my arms crossed and
my jaw set.

I’d said no to everything the clerk
and Kay had brought in for me to try.

“
Then get dressed and come
out here and look yourself,” Kay says.

“
There’s nothing in this
crappy store that I’d be caught dead in.”

Kay waves the clerk out and waits in
the doorway. “Fine. Then we’ll go someplace else.” She yanks the
curtain closed. “I’ll meet you outside.”

“
There’s nothing in this
whole friggin’ town that I’d be caught dead in,” I say loud enough
for anyone in the store to hear. I pull my Bad Ass Attitude shirt
over my head and jam my feet into my shoes.

On the way out, the two clerks look at
me and then away, like they don’t want me to see them seeing
me—like if our eyes locked, they’d have to sterilize their
eyeballs. They whisper behind me, sending little wis-wis sounds to
follow me outside.

At the door, I turn around. “Hey,
Chicas!”I’

ve got their attention. “Screw you!” I
tuck my hair behind my ears and slam the door behind me.

Kay stands, leaning on her truck
fender. “Nice, Shawna.”

“
I’m sick of this shopping
crap.”

Kay arches her neck like her horses do
whenever they go ornery. Right now, her neck tells me I’m in for a
fight—one I’d lose. “Fine. You can wear my jeans and one of my
plaid shirts to school.”

I shift my weight to one foot and
stick out my left hip. “All right.” I’m giving in, but I want her
to know it’s only this time. “But you gotta take me someplace
that’s got clothes, not cowgirl getups.