Lucky Strikes (13 page)

“Gotta follow the creek bed.”

That water was rushing on down like judgment, and I weren't gonna go nowhere near, but then Dudley said, “Less snakes this way.”

So there I was, stepping from one stone to the next in my Joan Crawford sandals, the moss making every rock slippery as a hog butcher's fingers. More than once, I thought I was fixing to tumble right in, dress and shoes and everything, but Dudley's hand found me each time—it seemed to know.

No denying he had a firm grip, and being as I was following him, I had time to study the rest of him, too. His waist, which was tinier than I'd have guessed. The ridge of his shoulders. Legs dancing from rock to rock, never missing a step. The place on his arms where now and then his sleeve would pull up to show a little rectangle of white skin against the red of his forearms. Seemed like that was the only way I could keep my balance sometimes, staring at that white band.

We saw but the one snake—a cottonmouth, wrapped round a fern. It didn't pay us no never mind.

By now it was hard to tell if the water soaking my dress was from the creek or my own sweat, but I felt freer with each step.

“Not much farther,” said Dudley.

Farther to where? I wondered. How long had we even been gone? I saw berries shining out of arbutus bushes. Cedar creeping under a pine tree. Sun and shadow, shadow and sun. Off in the distance, Massanutten Mountain, changing from blue to gray and back again. And just up ahead, the biggest damn boulder I ever seen, splitting the creek in two.

“We're here,” said Dudley.

He helped me up the side of the rock, and what do you know? Turned out there was a big ol' granite shelf on top, ten feet in every direction, with a view clear down to the valley.

There's folks would've paid ten thousand dollars for that view, but Dudley, he flung himself down on that rock like it was his birthright. Stretched himself flat on his back and gazed up at that sky. I was figuring to do the same, but I'd had so damned little practice wearing a dress I couldn't figure how to settle myself without showing too much leg. I ended up tipping onto my hip and tucking in my knees tight as I could.

“You hungry?” said Dudley.

He reached into that rucksack of his and brought out … peanut butter sandwiches … fried chicken … strawberries … fresh biscuits. Even a little jar of apple preserves. Now, I have heard a young lady is never supposed to be hungry in front of a young man, but I was ready to eat ten boars, so I piled in. And I will say it was tolerable nice, sitting there on top of that rock, eating chicken and licking the grease off my fingers.

“Dudley,” I said, “can I ask you something?”

His mouth was full, so he nodded.

“Why you bothering with me?”

He give a shrug, kept chewing.

“No, I mean it,” I said. “Best I can recall, I ain't never tossed you a kind word. Been nothing but a torment to you from the day we met.”

“That's so,” he allowed.

“Well, then, what is it? I would truly like to know.”

He folded one arm over his head.

“My daddy,” he said. “'Fore he died, he told me if a gal don't give you the time of day? Why, you pass right on by 'cause your chances ain't good. But if a gal takes a real pleasure in
devilin'
you, why, you stick around 'cause it probably means she likes you all right.” He give me half of a smile. “I'm only telling you what Daddy said.”

“Oh, yeah? What else he say?”

“Well.” He set down his sandwich. “He said don't you never fix your sights on a gal till you see her for real. A lot o' girls, they can put on the pretty, but you make sure you're lookin' at 'em when they's
natural
. And hell, Melia, you ain't never been nothin'
but
natural. I can't even believe you wore a dress today. I mean, I'm not sayin' you don't look right nice in it. What I mean is, you look okay the way you are.”

Made me right glad I hadn't bothered with the rouge. (Would've washed off anyway.)

“I reckon that's a compliment,” I said.

“Yes, ma'am, it is.”

Say something nice back.
But all I could think to say was …

“How'd your daddy die?”

His eyes squeezed down a hair.

“I mean, I was just wondering,” I said. “Did he take sick or something?”

“He was working a coal seam. Over in Mill Creek on the West Virginia side. They was down about two miles—my daddy and four others—and they hit a pocket of firedamp. Death was instant, that's what the company said.”

I stared down at my sandals. “That when your uncle took you in?”

“It was more my aunt. She and Uncle Harley didn't have no kids of their own, so…”

“There you was.”

“I guess.”

“They treat you okay?”

“Good enough.”

“You like driving him around all day?”

“Beats mining.”

The boy had a point.

“What about your ma?” I said. “Did she—”

“She run off when I was two.”

“You know where?”

“Nope.” He jerked his head toward the water, but his voice was soft when it come back. “Used to think we had that in common, Melia. Me and you. Growing up without a parent and all. And then when your daddy come back…”

My face flushed hot.

“No, it's okay,” said Dudley. “I was gonna say when he come back, I thought it'd piss me off 'cause we didn't have that in common no more. But I set and thought on it and turned out I was happy for you after all. 'Cause how often does it go like that? I mean, family comin' back to you.”

“It's a rare thing,” I allowed.

“Boy, you said it.”

No longer was I thinking about my dress or if my knees was locked tight enough. I was thinking about kissing him. I tipped myself forward and brought my face right up to his. Wondering as I closed my eyes if we'd find each other, and we did.

His lips tasted of sun and chicken.

“That was the nicest one yet,” he said.

“Well, there's only been the three, so…”

“So let's do another,” he said.

And that was nice as well.

“Is this rock taken?” I said, pointing to the part alongside him.

“Why, no, it is not.”

So I laid there, and he laid beside. Neither of us quite touching. The breeze was tickling on down from the hills, and the sun was mopping up the water from my skin. I should've been at ease, but something stole over me without my knowing.

Useful. He might be useful.

“Hey, now,” I said. “What does your uncle say about me?”

His eyelids fluttered a little.

“Nothing much.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I'm serious. He don't bring up business with me.”

My fingers crawled toward Dudley's hand. Did a little dance in his palm.

“I know he wants our station,” I said.

“That's just business, Melia. It ain't personal.”

His hands closed lightly round my fingers.

“You know what I was thinking?” I said. “We could come here every Sunday.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Why, sure. We could bring food, and we could—you know,
talk
on things.”

“What things?”

“Oh, you know, whatever folks talk about. I mean, if we're gonna be
friends
and all, friends share things, don't they?”

“I guess.”

“Like things they
know
. I'd tell you stuff I know, and you'd tell me stuff you know. And that works out for both of us, see?”

That was when I felt his hand pry itself loose from mine. He sat up. He said, in a soft, lost voice, “You want me to spy on my uncle.”

I confess I underestimated the boy.

“Whoa, now,” I said. “Hold on there. That ain't what I—”

“That's what you meant.”

“No. It ain't. I swear.”

But he was already on his feet.

“Jesus. Is that why you come out here with me? To drag secrets out of me?”

“Don't talk crazy.”

“You think
I'm
crazy?” Next second, he was on his knees, leaning his whole body at me. “How far was you planning to go, Melia?” He hooked his hand round the back of my neck. “How much was you thinking of sharing? For friendship's sake?” He pulled my head toward his. “How much?”

“Hey,” I said. “Don't.”

He stared at me a long time, then let go his hand. “That's what I figured.”

He stood up, walked to the edge of the rock. “Write me down,” he said. “Biggest fool ever lived.”

“No.”

“Thinking you was—”

“I am! I mean, I could be.”

From where Dudley Blevins was came the saddest laugh.

“You
could
be.”

“Listen,” I said, rising to my feet. “You gotta understand. I don't know nothing 'bout—'bout
feeling
. All I know is fighting. And holding on. At the end of the day, I don't got much left for nothing else.”

“Jesus, Melia. Everyone I know is holding on. They can still find a place for other folks.”

“Yeah? Well, tell you what.” I was walking at him now, slow hard steps. “Tell you what, Dudley. You get your uncle to back the hell off. You get him to call off his dogs at First Virginia Bank and the juvenile court and leave us the hell in peace and maybe then—maybe
then
I can be one of those lovesome lovebirds you're so hot on. Till then, I got a station to run and a family to hold together. So pardon me if I can't be your little chippie.”

It was like the water itself went quiet. Dudley stood a long time, staring down the valley. Then he half turned round.

“There's still some strawberries,” he said. “If you want any.”

“You eat 'em.”

“I ain't hungry.”

“Me, neither.”

“Then we'd best get back,” he said.

*   *   *

Going downhill should've been faster, but it was about the slowest walk I ever took. I didn't slip once and wouldn't have cared if I did. When we come back out the trailhead, Dudley took out his granddaddy's pocket watch and, with a face grim as winter, said, “Look at that. Two hours on the dot.”

 

Chapter

THIRTEEN

I asked him to let me off a few hundred yards shy of the station. He didn't question, just slammed on the brakes—never even cut the engine. I climbed on out, stood there a second, then slammed the door after me. He drove off without a look.

I don't mind telling you, I had cause to regret my pride 'cause I was bone weary. My dress weighing on me like tin, an evil itch throbbing at the back of my leg, my feet chaffy in their Joan Crawford sandals. In my head, I was already crawling into bed and pulling the sheets over me and sleeping straight till Wednesday. But then I turned the corner and saw Harley Blevins's butternut Chevy Eagle idling by the pumps.

The engine was still on, and the great man himself was sitting in the driver's seat, leaning one arm out the window. I had a notion I could slip by him, but he spotted me in his rearview mirror.

“Evening, Melia.”

It was a different voice when there weren't nobody else around. 'Bout twenty degrees colder.

“'Fraid we're closed on Sundays,” I said.

“Oh, I didn't come for no gas, child.”

I kept walking. Stopped just as I come abreast of him.

“So you
can
drive yourself.”

“Didn't have no choice, Melia. My driver took the day off. And do you know what he done on his day off? Why, he went and got hisself a date.”

“That so?” I could feel his eyes on me.

“Reckon it was one of them local hussies,” he said.

“You talking about the gal or Dudley?”

“I gotta hand it to you, Melia.” He took a hankie out of his coat pocket and give the back of his neck a swipe. “Tempting a boy with forbidden fruit. That's a new one for you, ain't it? Why, you must've torn that page outta your mama's book.”

Next second, I was leaning into the car. Grabbing him by his vulcanized-rubber bow tie and dragging his head half out the window.

“Listen, you sack of shit. You say another word about her—you so much as let her name drop off of those fat lips of yours—I will knock every single one of your goddamned teeth out your mouth and feed 'em to the squirrels.”

He peeled my fingers off his throat, one by one.

“Truth is,” he said, “my teeth's already out, mostly.” He rearranged the lapels of his seersucker jacket. “But I do appreciate a gal with spirit, 'deed I do. Tell you what, Miss Melia, I'm gonna make you a proposition. How 'bout we keep our hands off each other's kin? Sound good to you? 'Cause the thing is I got plans for Dudley.”

“Don't make me feel sorry for him now.”

“Oh, well, if there's any feller needs pity, it's me.” The tiniest shiver in the skin around his eyes. “Do you know I had to go and cut my prices again?”

Smile. Smile 'em all to hell.

“Down to eight cents a gallon. Sweet Jesus, it pains me, but there ain't nothing for it. We got to keep doing our bit for the working man, don't we? I reckon I'm lucky, having so many stations to spread the pain. Can't even imagine how the sole proprietor gets along.”

I narrowed my eyes to get him in better focus.

“The sole proprietor will get along,” I said.

“We'll just have to pray you're right.” He reached for the gear shift. “Forgot to mention,” he said. “I like your sign.”

His stubby little hand was hanging out the window as he pulled out. Couldn't help but recollect Dudley's hand, hanging out the same window.

The second I walked in the house, Janey spun round in her chair.