Evidence of Things Not Seen (18 page)

“Frankie, do you think the Traverses are still at the pull-out? I want to stop and see what they have.” She turns and looks out the back of the car. “We haven’t passed it, have we?”

“No, it’s up ahead. But it’s way past their selling time.”

“Would you stop anyway? I can say hello to Jean if she’s there.”

Frank knows the Traverses aren’t going to be at the pull-out. Not only is it after six but it’s Friday. He brakes and eases off the road, dropping into the ruts and divots. The car rocks from side to side as he pulls up next to a cluster of cedars.

Stella looks around. “Oh darn. They’re not here. We need to come get our vegetables earlier, Frankie.”

“You bet, sweetheart.” Frank smiles at his beloved. He would stop here at midnight and look for vegetables if it made her happy.

“It’s so pretty right now.” Stella opens her car door and gets out.

Before Frank can turn the car off, Stella walks toward the field and disappears between the cedars. He yanks the keys out of the ignition. Stella left her car door open. Frank thinks about closing it but goes after her instead.

“Stell?” He stoops to get under a low cedar branch, pushes his way through the undergrowth. “Stella? Are you okay?”

At first he can’t see her. Then he spots her running across the field. He starts after her, yelling her name. She is about a hundred yards away from him. She isn’t going very fast. Both of her arms are outstretched. She looked like a bird gliding over the field, but as Frank gets closer, he notices her gait is jerky and a couple of times she almost falls.

“Stella, stop!” he yells, and just like that, she stops and turns toward him. Frank doesn’t know what to expect because he doesn’t know what caused her to run across the field, but when she looks at him, she is smiling. As he walks up, her smile seems to grow brighter as her cheeks flush and her chest heaves from the running.

“Stella, what the—?”

“Frankie, I saw some deer in the field and I started walking toward them. Real quiet. They were watching me but they weren’t running away. Then, all of a sudden, this big bird, a hawk or something, swooped down and we all started running. I was running and running. The deer were so fast. Then I was running alone and I put my arms out like that big bird and I felt like I could fly.”

“Oh, Stella.” Frank pulls her into him so he can bend forward and kiss the top of her head.

“Did I look like I could fly?”

“I was worried you were going to fly away.”

Stella giggles and smiles up at him. Then she looks into his eyes. Not quickly. She gazes at him as if his eyes steady her, as if she is walking a tightrope and his eyes are guiding her across the chasm between them. Frank knows this is his cue to kiss her. When he does, it’s a free fall into her lips. He lets himself go and holds on to her. His arms tighten around her, pressing her whole body into him. They could be falling through space.

Frank shivers. Not from cold. From the thrill of standing next to her. How does she do that? He straightens up. “You got me again, Stella by starlight.”

Stella nuzzles her nose into his chest. Pulling his shirt open a little.

“Come on now, Stella. We still got daylight.”

“Aw, Frankie. We could go behind those bushes.”

“Chiggers.”

“Spoilsport.”

“I do not want to paint nail polish all around my privates to kill little buggers ever again.”

Stella laughs. “I thought my cotton candy pink looked pretty good on you.”

“You are wicked.” Frank slides one arm behind Stella’s back and guides her back to the car. Stella leans into him. Even though Frank is a good six inches taller, they fit together easily. They’re made to walk next to each other. Or dance together.

As they reach the ring of cedars at the edge of pull-out, Frank takes her hand and leads her through, holding a few branches so they wouldn’t snap back in her face. When they step into the pull-out, a large black bird takes off from the crown of a live oak. Stella looks up.

“Oh there he is, Frank. The bird that chased the deer and me.”

“That’s a buzzard, Stell. Probably a dead animal nearby.”

“Really? A buzzard?” Stella stares at the bird as it wheels in a wide circle above them. The black wings look like a cutout against the sunset-streaked sky. “They fly so pretty. You’d never know they were looking for dead things.”

“We better keep moving so it doesn’t get confused.”

Frank opens the car door for Stella. As he does, he notices she isn’t wearing her sweater. “Stella, did you leave your sweater in the field?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure you were wearing it.”

Stella smoothes the skirt of her dress. Again and again. Each time, she shakes her head back and forth. “I don’t know.”

Frank can see the worry line dig into the center of her forehead. He should go look for it. It might get colder. Blue northers can blow in real sudden, especially in September. He imagines the sweater lying on a tuft of grass like a small patch of blue fallen from the sky. But he doesn’t want to leave her alone right then. He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. “I’ll keep you warm, Stell.”

As Frank accelerates out of the pull-out, clouds of caliche dust swirl behind the car. He can see the buzzard light on the trash can. It’s watching Frank, waiting for him to leave, so it can eat the dead thing, wherever it is, in peace.

Frank looks over at Stella. Her hands are still smoothing her dress. He reaches over, takes one of them in his hand, and grips the steering wheel with his other hand a little tighter.

“What do you say we stop at the Whip In for a shake before we go to the dance?”

Stella doesn’t answer him. Her one hand is still folding and refolding the pleats. She tries to pull her other hand away from Frank but he holds on to it. “Remember our first meal there? We shared a burger, fries, and a chocolate malt. Only you wouldn’t let me have any of the fries.”

Stella’s hand stops pulling away. “I told you to order your own fries. I like to eat all of them myself.”

Frank loosens his grip on the wheel a little. “I still remember the dress you wore that night. Midnight blue.”

“I wish I still fit in that dress.”

Frank lets go of Stella’s hand and taps the side of his head. “You wear it every day up here.”

“I thought boys imagined girls naked.”

“That too.”

They both laugh. Frank loves it when they laugh together. It’s almost like they’re breathing in sync.

The red neon cyclone circling round a ten-foot ice cream cone glows against the light blue twilight sky. Frank pulls around toward the back of the Whip In and parks near the side door so they’re facing the restaurant. Through the windows, Frank can see a few people eating at tables inside. It isn’t too busy. Maybe five or six cars in the parking lot.

Neither one of them makes a move to get out of the car and go in. Frank can smell the burgers frying. He’s hungry but he doesn’t want to move. He likes how being in the car with Stella keeps them in a time capsule together.

Frank points to the poster stuck on the side door. “They still haven’t found that Smythe boy.”

Stella doesn’t say anything.

“It’s been almost five months.”

“Frank, I need to go.”

Frank gets out and hurries around to Stella’s side of the car. He opens the door and together they walk into the restaurant. Frank’s glad to see there was no one sitting in the back of the restaurant near the restrooms. Sometimes people looking at Stella set her on edge. He follows Stella to the restroom door and watches her go in. He thinks about standing right outside the door but then he hears the lock turn so he walks to the front of the restaurant to order the chocolate malt.

He’s pulling two dollars from his wallet to hand to the boy behind the counter when the banging starts. Frank drops the malt and rushes to the back of the restaurant. Stella is inside the restroom banging on the door. The door is still locked. Frank can’t get to her.

“Twist the lock, Stell. It’s up above the handle.”

Stella doesn’t say anything. She keeps banging.

Frank runs up to the front. The boy is wiping the counter where the malt had spilled.

“My wife is locked in the bathroom. I need a key.”

“Just a minute, mister.”

“I don’t have a minute. My wife’s in there. She could hurt herself.”

“Okay. Okay.” The boy reaches under the counter and hands a key to Frank.

Frank’s hands shake as he puts the key in the lock and turns it. He pushes the door open slowly, carefully, because he can feel Stella’s weight against it. Her fists are clenched in tight balls and her forehead is bright red. She must have been banging the door with her fists and her head. Or the wall. Frank doesn’t know. He steps toward her and she puts her fists up.

“It’s me, Stell. It’s your Frankie.”

She doesn’t move but her eyes look jumpy. Like she’s seeing a monster. Frank steps toward her. Closer. Closer. Finally he puts his arms around her. “I got you, sweetheart. You’re all right.” He raises her chin to look at her face. No cuts. But her forehead is completely red. She might get black eyes this time.

Frank opens the door of the car and helps her in. The moment he sits down, she leans over and puts her head on his thigh. “No, Stella, you need to sit up and stay awake. I need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Frank is helping her sit up when the boy from the counter comes out with a fresh chocolate shake and some ice in a towel. “I’m sorry, mister. Is she going to be all right?”

“Yes. She got a little disoriented. That’s all.”

The boy nods. He hands Frank the ice and the malt. Frank notices the boy’s name stitched on his shirt.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Sam smiles. “I’m sorry it happened, sir. My grandpa got that way. We finally had to put him at the Oaks.” Then he turns and goes back inside.

Frank holds the malt so Stella can take a few sips. It seems to revive her and she sits up straighter. Frank puts the towel on her forehead.

“Ow! What happened? That hurts, Frankie.”

“You tripped, Stella. The floors were wet in there and you tripped. They gave us a free malt.”

“Mmmm … I love chocolate.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. How about sharing a little?”

Frank leans over for a sip but Stella turns her head so Frank can’t have any.

She giggles.

Just like that, her confusion is gone and she’s with him again.

Frank backs out of their parking spot. Stella holds his hand and sips the malt. Frank hesitates. He can’t go to the VFW dance. Someone would notice her forehead. It might start purpling up. He could go back home, but she looks so happy sipping the shake. Truth is, he loves going out with her.

As he turns north out of the Whip In, he sees Enrique, standing under the Whip In sign. It looks like he’s waiting for his son Nando to pick him up. Maybe they worked on different farms today. The way the red neon light is washing over Enrique he looks like one of those saints on grocery store candles. When he waves at them, it feels to Frank like he’s just been blessed.

“I swear that man can make flowers sprout from rocks,” says Frank.

“Remember those herbs he gave us to help me have a baby, Frankie?”

Frank nods. He remembers. Those herbs didn’t work but he wonders if Enrique knows an herb that would stop his Stella from losing her mind.

About a mile up the road from the Whip In, the wrought-iron gates of the Oaks Rest Home march along the side of the road. Stella looks at the black vertical lines. “I don’t ever want to go there, Frankie.”

“I know you don’t, Stella.”

“But I heard that boy say that’s where they put old people like me.”

“Don’t you worry about what anyone says. I’ll take care of you.” Frank had always told her he would take care of her. It might be a little harder now. But he can do it. As long as he can drive, he could keep her with him. She loves to go on drives. It relaxes her.

Inside the car, they can stay Frank and Stella. If he turns around and goes back to their regular lives, he’d be an old man with his batty wife. He and Stella are so much more. They’re the first couple on the dance floor at homecoming. They’re the ones who ran away and got married after graduation. They’re never missing a dance at the VFW hall every Friday night. They’re six miscarriages until they gave up. They are sixty years of marriage.

If Frank keeps driving, she’ll stay with him. He can stop for gas and takeout and never have to be too far away from her. People run away all the time. Maybe that’s what happened to the Smythe boy. Tommy.

As if Stella can hear what he’s thinking, she says, “Frankie, remember that time we went driving and we tried to get lost? We kept driving and driving trying to end up someplace where we’d never been. Remember that?”

“Except we forgot about getting gas. Remember? We ran out and got stuck.”

Stella giggles. “I remember we kissed for a long time in the middle of some field.”

Frank remembers.

“Wanna go get lost, Stella?”

“I do, Frankie.”

Frank notices the city limits sign flash by their headlights when Stella says those words. Franks takes it as a good sign, like another blessing to begin their adventure.

Frank keeps driving and driving. He stops for gas and coffee. He turns on the radio and changes the station until he finds a song they like. Sometimes, when the radio doesn’t pick up a station, he sings Stella some of their favorites.
“Love me tender. Love me true.”

When she falls asleep, Frank worries she’ll be disoriented when she wakes up. But she isn’t. She’s still with him.

“I love you, Frankie.”

Frank can hear the smile in her voice. He can’t see her face but he imagines her lying in their bed on their wedding night, her chestnut hair all over the white pillow and a dreamy, sleepy smile on her face.

When she falls asleep again, Frank has no idea where they are or how far away they are from where they started. It’s pitch black outside. The moon is past full but it’s slipped behind some clouds. He guesses it’s two or three in the morning. Maybe later. The roads are starting to curve and it seems like they’re driving through some hills, but he isn’t sure. At first, not knowing where he is keeps him awake. The wondering excites him. The plan is working. If they stay in the car, Stella won’t ever leave him. He’ll keep driving and they can slide back and forth across every dance floor they’ve ever danced on. The Fred High gym at homecoming. The VFW hall every Friday night. Their living room. It won’t matter. He’ll dance every dance with her. All he has to do is reach across the seat and hold her hand. He can close his eyes and she’ll be in his arms. They’ll be floating across the dance floor. He’ll be leaning in for a kiss. He’ll be falling into her.