you on a propeller plane and goodnight, Tommie. Is that really what you want to do? Just say. I’ll give you a little purse of money and a bag of snacks and cash for a cab from Midway to Lombard.” The left front wheel dropped five or six inches into a gouge of dirt and they jerked in their seats. He gave her a look. Contrite. “I’m sorry, Tom. I am. I’m not very good at this. I’ve never had a niece, or a sister, or anything like that. To say nothing of a daughter. This is new territory for me, do you understand? That’s part of the beauty of this thing, isn’t it?”
Nothing.
“Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
She said nothing.
“You can say no, if you want to. That’s how it’s going to be—where we say everything we’re thinking. Especially things that are hard to say. Promise you’ll always tell me those things. And the stupid stuff. Everything. I want to know when you’re homesick. When you’re cold. Or like, when you have diarrhea.”
“Ew.” She made a face.
“Come on,” he said. “You’ve had diarrhea, haven’t you?”
Her mouth was twisted into a crinkled bud. Trying not to laugh.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t. Where it tears up your belly and it feels like someone is slicing yourguts with a lawn mower blade, and it’s all messy and it burns your butt and it’s terrible, right?”
“Oh, sick.” But she was smiling now.
“I want to know when you have it next. And I want to know when you need to vomit, so I can hold your hair back and brush your teeth for you, right? We don’t have to be big and bad and tough with each other, do we? It’s not like that, is it? Aren’t we friends? Don’t friends make mistakes and miscalculations and still they’re friends?”
“I guess.”
“You’re embarrassed because I saw you naked. No. I know you are. And I’m sorry. I’d take off all my clothes now too, but I don’t think you want to see it.”
She looked out the window away from him, smiling at the glass.
“Look at this. Would you look at this? Is this the most beautiful place on the planet or what? Look—look—another hawk. Do you see that wingspan?” He tipped his head beside the steering wheel and watched it spiraling up into the blue sky.
“Did I bruise your eye?”
“Why? You want to even them out?”
“Maybe.”
“You think about it. And let me know what you decide.”
“Gary.”
“Tom.”
“You don’t have to turn around.”
“Listen. Don’t make your mind up yet. Jury’s still out on the truck driver, right?”
She watched him. He put the truck in Park and opened his arms. “Will you give me a hug?” She let him enclose her. “Are we making up?” She nodded her head in his shirt. He pushed her away and looked at her. “Favorite girl,” he said and pulled her back in. “Favorite girl favorite girl.”
• • • • •
“Are you ready? Because this is going to change your life.”
“I’m ready.”
“Get up on your knees in the seat.”
“On my knees?”
“Right. Like that. Keep your eyes closed.”
“Like this?”
“Perfect. Give me a second.”
“What are you doing?”
“Turning off the engine.”
“What?”
“Okay. Open your eyes.”
The truck was parked in front of a sheet-metal outbuilding Lamb would call the shop. He looked at the girl. He loved to make her eyes big. Her mouth wasopen. Sweet. He gently pressed a finger beneath her chin and shut it. She grinned, up on her knees, and looked all around, three hundred and sixty degrees. In the new quiet, engine off, they could hear the rush of a river. A magpie sat on the rusted weather vane and blinked. No other houses in sight. Grass and a blue sawtooth horizon and trees and somewhere out behind those trees, nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing. Lamb opened the glove compartment and took out a small ring of keys.
“Just like you imagined?”
“But”—she was whispering—“I thought we were pretending.”
“We
Nothing.
“Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
She said nothing.
“You can say no, if you want to. That’s how it’s going to be—where we say everything we’re thinking. Especially things that are hard to say. Promise you’ll always tell me those things. And the stupid stuff. Everything. I want to know when you’re homesick. When you’re cold. Or like, when you have diarrhea.”
“Ew.” She made a face.
“Come on,” he said. “You’ve had diarrhea, haven’t you?”
Her mouth was twisted into a crinkled bud. Trying not to laugh.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t. Where it tears up your belly and it feels like someone is slicing yourguts with a lawn mower blade, and it’s all messy and it burns your butt and it’s terrible, right?”
“Oh, sick.” But she was smiling now.
“I want to know when you have it next. And I want to know when you need to vomit, so I can hold your hair back and brush your teeth for you, right? We don’t have to be big and bad and tough with each other, do we? It’s not like that, is it? Aren’t we friends? Don’t friends make mistakes and miscalculations and still they’re friends?”
“I guess.”
“You’re embarrassed because I saw you naked. No. I know you are. And I’m sorry. I’d take off all my clothes now too, but I don’t think you want to see it.”
She looked out the window away from him, smiling at the glass.
“Look at this. Would you look at this? Is this the most beautiful place on the planet or what? Look—look—another hawk. Do you see that wingspan?” He tipped his head beside the steering wheel and watched it spiraling up into the blue sky.
“Did I bruise your eye?”
“Why? You want to even them out?”
“Maybe.”
“You think about it. And let me know what you decide.”
“Gary.”
“Tom.”
“You don’t have to turn around.”
“Listen. Don’t make your mind up yet. Jury’s still out on the truck driver, right?”
She watched him. He put the truck in Park and opened his arms. “Will you give me a hug?” She let him enclose her. “Are we making up?” She nodded her head in his shirt. He pushed her away and looked at her. “Favorite girl,” he said and pulled her back in. “Favorite girl favorite girl.”
• • • • •
“Are you ready? Because this is going to change your life.”
“I’m ready.”
“Get up on your knees in the seat.”
“On my knees?”
“Right. Like that. Keep your eyes closed.”
“Like this?”
“Perfect. Give me a second.”
“What are you doing?”
“Turning off the engine.”
“What?”
“Okay. Open your eyes.”
The truck was parked in front of a sheet-metal outbuilding Lamb would call the shop. He looked at the girl. He loved to make her eyes big. Her mouth wasopen. Sweet. He gently pressed a finger beneath her chin and shut it. She grinned, up on her knees, and looked all around, three hundred and sixty degrees. In the new quiet, engine off, they could hear the rush of a river. A magpie sat on the rusted weather vane and blinked. No other houses in sight. Grass and a blue sawtooth horizon and trees and somewhere out behind those trees, nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing. Lamb opened the glove compartment and took out a small ring of keys.
“Just like you imagined?”
“But”—she was whispering—“I thought we were pretending.”
“We
Similar Books
