The Last Days of Summer (19 page)

She slides onto the seat beside Josh and shuts the door.

They sit in silence for a second. He doesn't look at her. Says, ‘I hope to hell that same poison ain't runnin' in your veins,' then turns the key in the ignition and pulls off.

He pauses in the kitchen door, uncertain what has stopped him. Maybe it's the warmth of the light spilling from the room. Maybe it's the tune she's humming. Her back is to him. She stands on a small wooden stool so that her hip bones are even with the sink. Head bowed over the work she's doing, the peels fall one by one into a mountain in the washing-up bowl as she places each potato in a pot, ready to be boiled. He didn't think he made a sound, but he must have because she turns. No smile, not at first, and he wonders what she sees in him, what scars of anger must still line his face. She'd said they were friends. He wonders if she meant it.

‘I didn't mean to startle you.' His voice rough, husky, still too long out of practice at trying to sound ‘nice'.

‘You didn't.' She turns back to the sink.

He stays in the doorway, uncertain if he should enter.

She looks back again. ‘You can help, if you want.'

‘Help?' Even to him his voice sounds broken.

Her focus is back on the task at hand. ‘You ever peeled a potato before?'

He takes a cautious step forward. Cocks his head. ‘It's been a while.'

Joanne places a now nude potato in the pot with the others. ‘It's real easy. You can't mess it up. Here, I'll show you.' And she bounces down off the stool, crosses the kitchen, opens a drawer and pulls out a peeler. ‘You'll
need this.' Still no smile on her lips. Tiny drops of water drip from her wet hands onto the floor. Seems strange not to see her smile. She crosses the kitchen again. Steps back up on that stool. Somehow he finds himself beside her.

For the second time that night, Jasper is aware of just how much he's come to enjoy working with his hands. He likes the feel of the earth still clinging to the potato skins before he washes it off. Likes the rhythmic pattern of the peeling, the simple satisfaction at seeing the peel pile grow, the pot fill. Carrots are next, mud thick upon them, colouring the water as it pools down the drain. His mind drifts there for a while, as they work in silence side by side. He thinks about helping his mama in that same kitchen all those years ago, when he was even younger than the girl now standing beside him. He thinks about these Russian dolls Roy's mother used to have where one lady fit inside the other, over and over, smaller and smaller. Lizzie and Esther used to play with them sometimes when Mrs Reynolds wasn't looking. He remembers a story he'd overheard in prison told by some spick he never himself knew, about a donkey down in Mexico in the boy's native village that got into the corn and nearly ate itself to death. He wonders what got him there – from potatoes to dolls to corn. He wonders what happened to that donkey. He feels at peace. Listens to her humming.

It's only when she speaks that he realizes it's now he who hums.

‘Uncle Jasper?'

He glances at her. Keeps on peeling.

‘Why didn't you like Josh?'

‘I got no problem with the boy.'

They peel again in silence. ‘Uncle Jasper?'

‘Yeah?' Voice gravelly.

‘What'd Josh mean when he said that thing about diggin'?'

The carrot feels cool in his palm, its outside so rough still but the inside polished smooth. Like a different vegetable altogether. He turns to her, unsurprised to find her eyes wide upon him. He'd known they would be. He can feel when her eyes are on him; he has grown to know her at least that well. He hadn't expected the openness of her face, though, as she looks trustingly up at him. That childish innocence clouded by all the mystery of woman that's slowly seeping in. No, that he hadn't quite expected, and it stuns him, the innocence of her, the beauty she will one day grow to be, despite her awkwardness now. He doesn't want to tarnish that. Sometimes it seems that everything he touches stops shining.

‘Why was he thinking of diggin'?' Joanne asks, big eyes searching his. ‘What was he lookin' for?'

Jasper swallows. Forces a smile. ‘He ain't thinkin' of diggin'. That was talk is all.'

‘You offered him a shovel.'

‘I did.' A peel falls loose and hits the bowl barely making a sound. He can feel her eyes still on him.

‘What's buried?'

He pauses. ‘A treasure of sorts, I guess.'

‘Buried treasure?' Voice shrill with excitement.

He glances at her, frowning, then away. ‘You could call it that.'

‘Like a pirate?'

He peels a long strip of orange skin. Watches as it falls into the bowl. ‘Different kind of treasure.'

‘Oh.' Her brow furrows in thought as she falls silent again, and they switch to snapping the ends off a pile of green beans. He likes the crisp snap of the beans, the gentle thud as the discarded ends hit the sink. A sound that's barely sound. The clock ticks. Somewhere in the house a floorboard creaks and falls silent. She turns back to him, brow still deeply furrowed. ‘Is it valuable?'

‘What?'

‘The treasure.'

He tosses the green bean he holds into the pot and reaches for another. Rinses it beneath the running tap. ‘It ain't worth money if that's the answer you're after.'

‘Did you bury it?'

He snaps the end off the green bean, pulling its stringy green spine. Tosses it aside and reaches for another. ‘A lot of folks round here seem to think I did.'

‘Did you?'

He looks at her a long moment. Forces a tired smile that even his own lips don't trust. ‘What do you think?'

She shakes her head. So much innocence in those eyes. Wider even, maybe, than a doe's. ‘I dunno what to think.'

He nods. ‘That's a good way to be, Doe Eyes. You stick with that.'

His breath catches, afraid to make a sound. He hadn't meant to call her that. Not out loud. For a moment she freezes, brow deeply creased, then her face glows as she beams up at him.

It's a long time before they speak. Josh is driving too fast, and she wants to tell him to slow down, but Katie's afraid that if she breaks their silence he'll just start yelling at her, so she holds her tongue. Bites it for a while, but then they hit a pothole, and the whole pickup lurches, bouncing up off the road. When it comes down again, loose gravel spins out from under the wheels, hitting the pickup's body with tiny hollow thuds. Another pothole throws Katie forward. She catches herself against the dashboard, using the heels of her hands to brace herself. Bites her lip as she's thrown forward, her teeth lightly nipping her skin. A single tear runs down her cheek. Hot, sticky, she wipes it away. Josh doesn't notice, eyes glued to the road before them, or if he does, he doesn't show it. There aren't streetlights on these back-country roads, so the road before them is visible only in tiny bursts illuminated by Josh's high beams as they hurtle forward. Looking out of her side window, Katie can see nothing but the dark stretch of prairie around them. They pass no other cars.

They almost miss their turn. A small dirt road that leads down to the creek. One of those roads you have to know about to find, and even then at night it's hard to spot. A road too small to have been mapped or named. Their tyres squeak and burn as Josh cuts the turn too sharp. The kind of turn that leaves black skid marks on the pavement. Katie has to brace herself not to fall into Josh as they turn. She wants to fall into him. She usually would. She wants this whole stupid thing behind them. But it's not that simple. Nothing seems simple any more. So she holds onto the door handle, the leather of it
smooth, cool in her palm. Josh grips the steering-wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The radio is off.

The road is narrow now, scarcely wider than the pickup, and Josh is forced to slow a bit as they ease downhill. The only incline for miles. The only thick growth of trees for miles, too, as branches reach out, scratch at the sides of the truck, and attempt to reach through the open windows as the truck rolls past. The creek is different than the prairie. It's a bit of a drive north, but worth it all the same, their hidden oasis tucked into the beginnings of hill country. Trees grow thick along the creek bank, tangled roots twisting around each other in their quest for water. Vines hang down from some of the taller trees, and long thick beards of white moss from some branches – kids often use the vines to swing across the creek or to swing out and drop down into the water when the creek is swollen high enough. It's been a good few weeks since the last rainstorm, though, and the creek is low, tangled roots along its bed even more exposed than usual. There are more rocks around it than sand. In the day, the foliage is thick enough that the shade stays nice and cool. At night, nearly all the stars are blocked by overlapping leaves.

There are a couple of other trucks already parked along the creek bed. Light from a fire flickers where it dances further up the bank. The murmur of voices and laughter drifts to them, carried on the wind. Josh pulls up off the dirt road and cuts the engine. Turns to open his door. She catches his wrist before he can, his hand that's still on the steering-wheel. ‘Josh?'

He says nothing.

‘You OK?'

He turns to her then, but she can't see his face. It's too dark in the pickup. ‘I don't want you livin' with that creep.'

She lets out a breath too long held. Collapses back against her seat, hand coming up to press her palm against her forehead. ‘God, Josh!' She can't keep the annoyance from her voice. ‘We've been over this!'

‘You want me to just pretend I'm OK with it?'

‘No …' She presses the heel of her hand further into her forehead. Can feel a headache starting.

‘It ain't right, what he's doin'.'

‘Oh, yeah? What's he doin' that's so wrong?'

‘Men like that should die in prison.'

She takes her hand down and looks at Josh's profile. A tiny bit of moonlight illuminates his features enough for her to see the anger chiselled there. ‘He ain't
that
bad, Josh. Yeah, he gives me the creeps, and he's got this weird laugh, and he's a bit odd and all, but I mean …' Her voice trails off. She thinks of Uncle Jasper earlier in Esther's shop, touching those women's panties. Of the look on his face when he touched them. The look on his face when he noticed her watching him. She thinks about how his eyes ran up and down her legs while she sat on the porch waiting for her toes to dry. Thinks back to photographs in newspapers long ago. ‘I don't know,' she whispers finally. ‘I don't know what to think. I'm scared sometimes, Josh.' Her voice cracks then, falters, and she can feel the tears burning behind her eyes, and suddenly his arms are around her, and she knows it's going to be OK, surely everything is going to be OK. He holds her like that for some time, saying nothing, stroking her long blonde hair.
She can still feel the anger in him, tense in his arms around her, but at least his arms
are
around her. She feels safe.

At length she whispers into his chest, ‘Did you hear 'bout Esther Reynolds?'

His hand pauses on her head. ‘No.' His words cautious, guarded. ‘Tell me.'

‘He grabbed her by the face. Scared her real bad, I think.' She sniffs back a sob. ‘Joanne saw it.'

‘In town?'

‘Yeah, in her shop.'

‘Did he hurt her?' His voice has gone real quiet.

‘I don't think so. Not bad anyway.' Her voice chokes up again. ‘I don't know …'

‘It's OK …' He presses her tighter to him. ‘It's OK.' He strokes her hair again. Pulls her from him gently to sit her up so he can see her. Takes his index finger to lift her chin so their eyes are even. ‘He ever hurt you, baby?'

She chokes back another sob. ‘No.'

He searches her eyes. ‘You sure abou' that?' The intensity in his gaze frightens her a little.

‘Yeah, I'm sure.'

‘He ever touch you none?'

‘No, he never touched me! What you gettin' at?'

‘Nothin'.' He pulls her to him again. ‘Just worryin' 'bout you is all.' He kisses her on her forehead, real soft, his hand behind her neck, now resting where skull and spine meet. There's something reassuring about just feeling his hand there. Someone hollers from by the campfire, the sound of their call and the laughter that follows carried upstream on the breeze. Josh and Katie instinctively look over. ‘You wanna go join the others? Ray's meant to
have beers.' He smiles at her, his voice gone back soft again.

She feels her own smile break and spread. ‘Oh, he's got beers, does he?' She playfully pulls at the collar of Josh's shirt.

He's grinning now, full on, teeth white in the moonlight. ‘Yeah,' he nods, ‘that's right.'

‘Well, then, I guess we'd best go over.' And she leans across the cab to lightly kiss his lips. She can feel the anger easing from him as his body starts to relax.

There's nine of them round the campfire. Hank Trident lit the thing right in the centre of a large boulder to stop any chance of the fire spreading. That's how dry things are. One spark and the whole prairie could go up. Or that's what Hank's told them anyway, and his daddy volunteers at the fire station so he ought to know. The boulder sits right at the edge of the creek bank. Usually, when the water's at normal levels, the stream comes right up high on the boulder so that you can sit on it and let your feet dangle down deep into the cool creek water, but everything's gone so dry lately that there's a good couple feet between the top of the boulder and where the water starts. Dark lines on the rock hint where the water should be. It's too late now for fireflies, but the mosquitoes are out, and every now and then someone stands up swatting and cussing before moving closer to the fire to seek refuge in its smoke.