Run (9 page)

I grabbed my cane and followed her downstairs. Daddy was home now, sitting in the recliner, watching TV. “Hey, honey,” he said. “I hear y’all are going to a party. Sounds fun.”

“Yep.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you tonight, Daddy.”

Bo and I were almost out the door when I heard Mama’s voice from the kitchen.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she hollered before coming into the living room. “Just a second, girls. Bo, you said your cousin is gonna be driving?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And I can trust him to be safe, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And he’ll have Agnes home by ten thirty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe I should come out there—meet him myself. Let me get my shoes.”

“Oh, let them go, Maryann,” Daddy said. “I’m sure Bo’s cousin will get them there fine. If you want Agnes home by ten thirty, she’d better get going.”

I’d never felt so grateful to Daddy in my life. But then he said: “The Hickmans don’t live far from here. If we get worried, we can just drive over there and check on her.”

He laughed.

I didn’t.

“Okay,” Mama said, clearly resigned. “Just be careful. No drinking, no drugs—”

“I know,” I said. “Bye, y’all.”

“Good-bye, Mr. and Mrs. Atwood,” Bo said as we headed out the front door and onto the porch.

It was already too dark for me to see much. The crickets and a few cicadas, still clinging to the dying summer, were singing their night songs. Two headlights shined from the driveway, giving me just enough light to follow Bo, who led me to the passenger’s side of a tall pickup truck.

She opened the door and climbed in. I folded up my cane and hoisted myself in beside her, trying to keep my skirt down. The truck was tight quarters, but Bo was tiny enough to fit between me and the driver.

“Agnes, this is my cousin,” Bo said, “Colt Dickinson. He just graduated in May.”

Even though Bo had said her cousin was driving, it hadn’t occurred to me until just now that I’d be going to the party with two Dickinsons. Which probably should’ve worried me far more than it did.

“Hey, Agnes,” said a boy’s voice from behind the wheel. I couldn’t see him at all, but I could already imagine the head full of strawberry-blond hair he must have, just like the rest of his family. “I was in the same class as your sister. Gracie at college now?”

“Yeah,” I said. “UK.”

“Good for her.”

“Come on,” Bo said. “Agnes’s gotta be back by ten thirty. Y’all can get to know each other at the party.”

None of us said much on the ride to Dana’s house. Colt had the radio tuned to a country station, and I caught myself humming along to a Tammy Wynette song as the truck bounced down gravel roads. Dana Hickman lived all the way across town, but Mursey was so small, it only took about five minutes to get there.

We parked half a mile or so from the party. Bo said too many cars in front of Dana’s house would draw a lot of attention and the cops might come. I hadn’t even thought about that, the idea that the cops might come. The thought made me nervous.

And maybe a little bit excited.

“Let’s go,” Bo said, urging me out the door. I slid from the truck, unfolded my cane, and started following her down the dirt road.

“Hey,” Colt called after us. I heard the truck door slam and keys jangle. “I can’t even get a thank-you?”

“Thanks,” Bo hollered over her shoulder, but neither of us stopped walking.

There was the sound of quick feet behind me, and then Colt was at my side, laughing in a way that was almost musical. “What’re you gonna do when I’m gone and can’t drive you to parties no more?”

“I’ll find someone better to drive me.”

“Where are you going?” I asked him.

“Nowhere special.”

“He’s being modest,” Bo said. “Colt’s leaving town in a couple months. He’s got a welding job lined up in Louisville.”

“It ain’t in Louisville,” Colt said. “It’s about forty-five minutes from the city. It’s nothing special, like I said.”

“Sounds special to me,” I told him. “You’re getting out of Mursey. That’s pretty special.”

“You think so?” Colt asked.

“Definitely.”

“Which means it’ll be up to me to carry on the Dickinson legacy in this town,” Bo said. “Now I gotta get in enough trouble for the both of us.”

“I don’t think that’ll be too hard,” Colt said. “Whatever you don’t do, the town will say you did anyhow.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

I shifted, readjusting my grip on the cane. I wasn’t sure how to respond to any of that. I’d grown up believing all the stories I’d heard about the Dickinsons. Believing they were trash. And I knew at least some of the stories were true. Meeting Bo’s mama had proved that. But the way Bo and Colt talked, not every story should be believed. I wondered how much had been made up and how much was real. And had I been part of spreading any of the lies myself? The thought turned my stomach.

We were getting close to the party now, though, and we all stopped talking as the sound of voices and country music grew louder. Bo looped her right arm through my left and led me around the side of the small house; Colt was a few paces behind us. I couldn’t see much as we rounded the corner, into the yard, but the smell of smoke filled my senses, and a few minutes later, I saw the bright glow of the bonfire.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” Colt said. “Agnes, you want one?”

“Uh … no,” I said, shaking my head. “Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” Colt asked.

I wasn’t. But I was too embarrassed to say so.

I nodded.

“All right,” he said. I thought he’d ask Bo if she wanted one next, but he didn’t. Instead, he just added, “I’ll catch up with y’all in a bit.”

“Take your time.” Bo took hold of my arm again and pulled me away, toward the bonfire. “Here’s a chair,” she said, guiding me into a half-broken lawn chair. “Can you see at all?”

“A little bit,” I said, folding my cane up and putting it in my lap. “The light from the fire helps some.”

Bo flopped down on the grass at my feet. “Can you see me?”

“Sort of. Mostly just your outline. It’s too dark for me to see your face. Oh, and I can see your hair.”

Bo laughed. “Even a blind girl can see Dickinson hair.”

I smiled. “It’s true. That’s how I recognize you most of the time. Your hair and your voice.”

“You know my voice?” She sounded excited by this.

My face felt warm all of a sudden, and I didn’t think it had much to do with the fire. “Yeah,” I said. “I mean, it’s how I recognize most people. I have to spend a little time with them before I can really remember it, but—”

“Agnes?”

It took me a second to put a name to that voice. I’d heard it before, I knew it, but I wasn’t sure it had ever spoken directly to me. It was a voice I’d heard in passing—in the hallways, giving an answer in class—a thousand times, though. And I figured out who it was about half a second before Dana Hickman was standing in front of me, blocking out the light from the fire.

“Holy shit. It is you!” Dana was talking way louder than necessary, and she smelled like beer. A lot of beer. “The hell’re you doing here?”

“Am I not supposed to be here?” I asked.

“Nah. I didn’t say that! Just surprised is all. Christy said she never brings you to parties because you’re always clinging to her—you know, ’cause you can’t see? It’s gotta be so annoying for her. Nice that she helps you out most of the time, though. Where is she, anyway?”

“Um …” I swallowed, not wanting Dana to see the tears I felt coming on.

No. Fuck it if Dana saw. Bo. I didn’t want Bo Dickinson to see me cry. Not over something stupid like Christy calling me clingy. I wanted her to think I was tough. A badass, like her, not a weak, weepy crybaby.

“She didn’t come with Christy,” Bo said from the grass. “She came with me.”

“Oh shit. Bo, I didn’t even see you down there,” Dana shouted. “Now, I knew
you’d
be here.” She laughed, her whole body swaying, and I felt a splash of something cool on my feet. Beer, I realized. “You’re always at the party, ain’t you? Always fucking somebody. Who’s it gonna be tonight?” She didn’t say it mean, the way Christy would have, but like she was actually curious. Still, her words made me cringe.

“Ain’t decided yet,” Bo said, voice cold and flat.

“Hey, Dana,” Colt said, next to me all of a sudden. “Somebody’s looking for you over by the cooler.”

“All right. I need another beer anyway.”

“No, you don’t,” Colt muttered as Dana stumbled away.

“You know Dana?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Her brother’s my age. He ain’t got much filter when he’s drunk, either.”

He sat down on the grass and started talking to Bo. Well, I guess he was talking to both of us, but I wasn’t really listening. I was still thinking about what Dana had said. Of course Christy had called me clingy. She’d said it herself, that guiding me around a party when she had other things to do was a burden. I couldn’t really blame her. Who wanted to lead a blind girl around all night? I felt a rush of guilt, of shame, because Bo might have insisted I wouldn’t be a burden, but now that we were here, I was sure she felt different. Sure she wanted to be free of me.

“Hey,” I said, cutting Bo off midsentence. “If … if y’all wanna go do something, I can just sit here.”

“What’re you talking about?” she asked.

“You know. It’s a party. I’m sure just sitting here isn’t much fun. Y’all can go dance or talk to other people or—”

“If just sitting here ain’t much fun, why the fuck would we leave you here?” Bo asked.

“I just—”

“And if you’re bored sitting, we can fix that,” she said.

“I’m not— That’s not what I was—”

“This is one of your favorite songs, ain’t it, Colt?”

“Sure is,” he said. “Gotta love Hank Jr.”

“Well, then. Maybe y’all should dance.”

“Oh, I can’t—”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Colt said. He took a long swig of beer, then tossed the cup aside before standing up. “Come on, Agnes.”

“No, really. I’m fine. You don’t have to dance with me, Colt. Besides, you can’t really dance with a cane.”

“I know I don’t got to,” he said. “But we’re gonna dance anyway.”

“And you don’t need the cane,” Bo said, swiping it from my lap. “I’ll hold on to it.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry,” Colt said. His hand was on mine, pulling me to my feet. “I got you.” I was about to open my mouth again, but he squeezed my hand and repeated, this time almost a whisper, “I got you.”

He was careful as he led me away from the fire. The farther we walked, the less I could see, until the shadows all melted together and darkness swallowed everything whole. But Colt’s hand stayed around mine, warm and reassuring.

I was being led into darkness by a Dickinson boy. A voice in the back of my head—which sounded an awful lot like my grandma’s—told me this could not end well. But I didn’t feel nervous. Not the way I should’ve. And when Colt stopped and pulled me toward him, his other hand resting on my waist as he eased me into the beat of the music, I let myself relax, trusting that, even though I couldn’t see a thing, he had me.

“This isn’t so bad,” I said.

“Well, thank you.”

I laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way. Just that … I haven’t really danced with anyone before. Except my daddy at his cousin’s wedding, but I was about six and he let me stand on his feet. And it wasn’t this dark.”

“I’m glad to be your first real dance, then,” he said. “So, you ready?”

“For what?”

“This.”

He dropped his hand from my hip and spun me around. I squealed as my hair whipped around me and my feet stumbled. But just when I thought I’d trip, his hand was on me again, catching me, pulling me back toward him.

And I was laughing.

“Warn me next time,” I said.

“I thought I did.”

“I hope no one’s staring.”

“And I hope they are,” he said. “Here’s your warning.”

He spun me again, but that time I kept my footing. So he threw me another curveball, swinging me out, away from him, then pulling me in again. I was laughing so hard that I did trip that time, and he caught me by the elbow.

“Sorry,” he said. “Should I stop?”

“No,” I choked. “You shouldn’t.”

We danced like that through a few more songs, Colt singing along to the lyrics about honky-tonks and whiskey while he swung me around. I laughed until I could hardly breathe, but I kept my feet moving, barely able to keep them on the ground. I loved the way my dress twirled around my thighs, the feel of the cool, late-summer air on my skin. It felt like I was flying.

“Incoming!” Colt called.

I didn’t have time to ask what he was saying before he flung me away from him again, but this time he let go. I sailed away from him, my body still spinning, until I crashed into something slim and solid. I toppled to the ground, my legs and arms tangling with the person I’d spun into.

I wasn’t sure how I knew—the smell of her skin or maybe just her size—but I was sure even before we fell into the grass that it was Bo I’d collided with.

“Shit,” Colt said, standing over us. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were gonna catch her and—”

But Bo and I were both laughing too hard to hear him.

She was stuck half-beneath me, and I rolled off her so we were both sprawled in the grass, laughing so hard it hurt.

“Are y’all okay?” Colt asked.

“Think so,” Bo said, panting. “Jesus, Colt. I was coming over here to tell y’all you looked crazy. You didn’t have to throw Agnes at me, though.”

“If you were gonna be an asshole, I did. What about you, Agnes? You all right?”

“Never been better,” I said.

And I kind of meant it.

“Shit!” someone yelled from across the yard. “Cops!”

“Fuck,” Colt said. “We gotta go.”

“Yep.” Bo hopped up, then she pulled me to my feet. “Run.”

“What?”

She answered by taking off at top speed, her hand still gripping mine. My feet scrambled at first, startled by the sudden movement, but I caught my balance.

It’s hard to make yourself run when you can’t see. Your brain tells you to stop, that it’s not safe. I hadn’t run in years. I’d barely walked outside my house without a cane. And a cane wasn’t much use if you were sprinting.