The Last Days of Summer (11 page)

He smiles. ‘I collected these when I was a boy. Had a whole row of July flies up on my windowsill.'

‘Really?' Big blue eyes pop up to meet his, then fall again. ‘What happened to 'em?'

He shrugs, but does not incline his head. His smile feels forced, like it's bent the wrong way round. ‘Maybe they came back to life 'n' flew off somewhere. Maybe they shed new skins.'

She giggles. ‘Don't be silly.'

‘Well, then,' his smile broadens, ‘maybe they're just hidin' somewheres.'

‘Can I have it?'

He looks down into his palm. At the broken form within it. ‘Yeah, you can have it.' A pause. ‘Hold out your hands.' He picks the July fly up and places it in the girl's cupped palms. ‘Careful now, or you'll break him.'

She giggles, gazing down with a mixture of delight and disgust. ‘How do you know it's a him?' Blue eyes up to his.

He pauses.

She pops right up off the grass, all brown and gold and taller than him. Doesn't wait for an answer. Long legs and long arms not quite yet grown into. Seems odd to look up at her. She hesitates a moment, once standing, glances down at Jasper, and he thinks for a moment that she's gonna speak to him, gonna say something, but she doesn't. Just smiles instead. This goofy kid smile that doesn't mix so good with the woman she's becoming. And the smile makes him feel funny inside. Warm. A feeling he's not used to. Then, still grinning, Doe Eyes calls, ‘I'm gonna go show Mom!' and she runs off, July fly cupped in her palms before her. ‘Mom! … Mom! … Mom!' getting fainter and fainter as she nears the house.

Jasper stays on the grass a while, listening to her voice and footsteps fade. Leans his back against the coop. His head. Feels good sitting in the shade like that. A respite from the brutal sun. I could get used to this, he thinks.
Yes, sir, I sure could get used to this.

Yet another slow night at the diner. Wasn't too bad at the start. A few truckers from up north en route to Waco had passed through and stopped in for their suppers. A rowdy bunch, but decent tippers. Katie always likes it when the diner has a bit of a buzz inside it – makes the nights pass faster. But after that first haul of truckers had gobbled up their feed and pulled off in their eighteen-wheelers, not another single hungry soul had called round for supper, and Katie found herself looking and looking again at the Elvis clock hanging by the door.

It is late now, though, and the diner nearly echoes, it's so quiet. Radio's been shut off already, and the ketchup bottles have been filled, as have the salt and pepper shakers. Cutlery's been rolled and laid out for the morning. Tables, only just washed down, glisten as though new, muted lamplight hiding the chips and scuffs that in daylight mar them. The lights in the pie case and the glass Coca-Cola fridge have been shut off, and now both stand dark and solemn and cool.

From the kitchen, final pots and pans can be heard banging as Tom hangs them up for the night. Above the kitchen's clatter, his whistle drifts in and out of hearing. A Bing Crosby tune that had played on the radio earlier that evening. Katie smiles, hearing it. Hums along with him in her head, though she can't remember the words
exactly. Something about a lover saying what's in his heart. Or not saying it. She searches her memory. The only words she can recall are the chorus. ‘So take the sweetest phrases the world has ever known, And make believe I've said them all to you.' She smiles and shakes her head. Why is it Tom only ever hums sad songs when they're locking up?

The lights on the highway sign were shut off nearing half an hour ago, and the diner strikes Katie as gloomy without the familiar warm glow of the pink neon lettering reflected in the windows to wash across the floor. Usually the mirror image of the
ny's
in ‘Penny's Diner' reflects inside and spreads out across the tiles, staining them light pink. Bubble-gum pink. Except translucent. Katie likes that. The transparent shine of it. But now the only light comes from the overhead lamp, and there is nothing warm about its glow.

Katie is mopping the floor. Her final task. Once that's done, all she needs to do is let Tom know the front is clear so he can come out and lock up behind her. Katie usually hurried the mopping. Couldn't wait to get out of there and home. But things are different now. Home is different now. And Katie takes her time as she dips the mop in and out of the soapy water, as she wrings it and lifts it, and watches the tiles start to shine. Fact is, she doesn't like Joanne not knowing. Doesn't like her sister's pestering questions. The answers she does not have to tell her. The others she cannot share. Katie doesn't like the thought of coming home to that. She knows how Joanne's mind works. She knows Joanne will start to hunt for answers. And that scares Katie. That's what keeps her
eyes, seeing and unseeing, glued upon the tiles. For once, she doesn't mind one bit – she could mop all night.

But then there's Josh, too.

She glances at the clock. Quarter to two. He should be here any minute to pick her up. She hasn't seen him since he stopped in the other night, and her usual butterflies at the thought of him fly low with apprehension in her gut. The argument never was quite resolved.

He pulls up as she's dumping the dirty mop water outside.
Just my luck that he'd see me now.
But she smiles into his headlights anyway and waves, heart skipping its accustomed beat just at the thought of him. She hopes she doesn't look too sweaty. Hopes she doesn't smell too much like fried food once she sits beside him.

She winks and waves before turning to go inside and finish up. Hopes she looks cute. Hopes he's not still mad. But glancing back out at the parking lot all she can see is his high beams, and she's fairly certain her attempt at a sexy wink was more like a startled, blinded blink.

She dumps the bucket quickly in the pantry, hangs up her apron, and quickly pokes her head into the kitchen, shouting, ‘Tom, I'm off!'

He does not look up. Just pauses mid whistle and calls what he always says, every night, ‘OK, baby girl, I'll lock up behind ya.'

But she's gone before he's even stopped speaking. Doesn't have to wait for the words to know what he'll say. She slams the door behind her and hurries into the pickup where Josh is waiting.

They don't speak at first. Road dark around them, before them. Even darker as they turn off the feeder by
the interstate and roll onto unlit country roads. Prairie blacker than sky. A deer-crossing sign catches their high beams, glowing bright-sun yellow as they speed past. A moonless night. And Katie does not look for stars.

It's Josh who finally breaks the silence. ‘How you been?'

The space between them in the pickup seems vast. A whole canyon there in the seat between them. Katie wants to slide up next to him on the front seat. Wants to wrap her arms around his. Wants to lean her head right there on his shoulder, crown nestled into his neck. Their familiar way. But she does not move. Does not try to breach the space between them. ‘All right.' Only his profile meets her searching eyes. ‘ 'N' you?'

He shrugs. ‘All right too, I reckon.'

Silence for a beat. Then, ‘You mad at me, Josh?'

‘No.'

‘You mad 'bout somethin' else?'

‘No.'

‘Well, what is it, then?'

‘It ain't nothin'.'

Purr of the engine the only sound.

She turns to him. Voice soft. ‘Don't lie to me.'

The tyres screech and squeak their halt, the sudden force of the pickup stopping tossing Katie forward slightly, her hands catching the dashboard just barely in time to brace herself.

‘Fucking hell, Katie.' He's facing her now, and there's fire in his eyes, and Katie feels her heart skip a beat, but not in the good kind of way like it usually does. ‘What the fuck do you want from me? You want me to sit here 'n'
pretend like everything's just perfect? You want me to act like I don't care what's goin' on with you? Well, that's bullshit. I ain't gonna sit by and smile and just wait for somethin' bad to happen.'

‘Who says somethin' bad's gonna happen?'

‘Who's to say it ain't?'

She says nothing. Stares out of the window at the utter dark nothingness of the road ahead. Angry, but not fully sure she understands why. She can feel his eyes on her.
Who's to say it ain't?
Bites her lower lip to keep her nerves steady. Silence stretches long between them. The air in the pickup thick, too thick, hard to breathe. She wishes she was home already. No, not home. Just anywhere but here.

He turns, back straight in his seat, no longer facing her, looking out into the darkness before them. Impenetrable. Slams his hand against the steering-wheel and the horn goes off. The sound startles her, and Katie jumps. Josh's breath releases in one low, long gush. ‘Fucking hell …' Tone discouraged. Fire spent.

She doesn't look at him. Speaks to the small patch of light illuminated by the high beams on the road before them. ‘I don't wanna fight.'

‘Me neither.'

She turns to him then, his face still too shadowed to see, the cab itself too dark to show his features.

He reaches out an arm. ‘Come here, baby.'

And somehow the space between is suddenly not so far, and she slides across the seat until his arms are around her. And they kiss. And everything's right again. Everything's gonna be OK again. She can feel it. The anger boils down and cools.

They stay like that a moment. Or an hour. Time no longer in existence. No cars or traffic on these back roads. The engine idling. Neither speaks. Neither moves. Time passes or does not pass. His arm around her feels like safety, and she closes her eyes. Imagines for a moment that the moment might last. It's a nice thought. A thought on lonely nights she will climb back to, seeking refuge.

It is Katie who breaks their silence. ‘The Saunders' truck drove by the house yesterday.' She feels his body stiffen. Regrets her words already.

‘What happened?'

‘I dunno. I wasn't home. Joanne told me 'bout it. Said it just drove by.'

‘Eddie's truck?'

She shrugs. ‘Who else's?'

Josh is silent, but Katie can feel the tension coursing through him, steady as a second pulse. As full of life, as dangerous and as deadly. She raises her chin to search his face. ‘Do you think there'll be trouble? Have you heard anythin'?'

He pauses before answering. ‘I ain't the only one that dislikes him back. You know that, Katie.'

‘We don't want no trouble, Josh.' Voice a soft, soft whisper.

He smooths down her hair to soothe her. ‘I know that.'

‘ 'N' other folks?'

He pauses. ‘They know that, too.'

‘If you heard someone was fixin' to do something, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?'

His hand is on repeat, smoothing down her hair,
petting her, stroking her calm. ‘Course I would.' But his pause before his answer catches her heart and squeezes and makes it hard to breathe.

She lifts her chin again, struggling to see his face. Only shadows there. ‘Do you think he's gonna do somethin'?'

‘I would, if I's her brother.'

Out across the prairie an owl calls.

‘Don't say that.'

‘I told you, Katie. I know he's your kin 'n' all, but it's just a matter of time till he's set off again 'n' folks get hurt, 'n' I ain't the only one that ain't just willin' to set back waitin' for it.'

‘Don't say that.'

No stars. No streetlights. Only the dark blanket of night around them, and suddenly the darkness seems too thick, too hot, despite the open pickup window. Josh kisses her forehead. ‘Best get you home.'

Long hours have passed since the evening primroses peeled open. Closer to their closing now than to their bloom. When she was a girl, Lizzie used to marvel at how, just past sunset, they would open. Petal by petal, like tiny yellow mouths. She used to sit right there on the front porch, waiting till the last golden rays turned pink and deepened purple. Used to go down in the flowerbeds right at that final moment of sunset. Careful not to step on the low-lying marigolds. The gentle lilies and daisies bedded there. Used to hold her breath as each night she watched the miracle of the primroses blooming and re-blooming. Like some sort of magic forever on repeat and unexplained. She never could understand what made
them close up so tight again. Why their flowers did not stay bloomed.

Fireflies dart across the dark lawn, zigzagging as they chase each other, their glowing bulbs the only lights on this dark night. Tag, you're it! as they collide. No stars above. Moon new or else just hidden. A cloudy night, but not cool, day's heat still a thick blanket spread out across the land.
Maybe it will rain tomorrow.
Crickets call out their usual summer symphony. From somewhere a July fly briefly joins their song only to fall silent and not be heard again.

Lizzie's been sitting there since before the sun set. In Mama's old rocker. Back and forth, back and forth, unaware of time's passing even as she's watched the night slowly fall; the hours stretch longer as the shadows begin to shorten. Joanne came out some time back and kissed her goodnight and went up to bed. Katie's at the diner still. Her girls. Her heartbeats.

He was one once, too. Bobby. Her heart's greatest beat. Now a still void of memories sugar-sweetened by time and retrospect.

The screen door creaks open, snapping her thoughts back to here. To now.

‘May I join you?'

She nods.

He sits in the rocker beside her. Gazes out across the lawn into the utter blackness beyond. ‘Dark night tonight, ain't it?'

Their rockers creak as both slide back and forth, back and forth. Different rhythms. Same sound. She listens to the crickets. Finds comfort in their call.

‘I still miss him,' she says at last. ‘Somethin' awful.'