South of Sunshine by Dana Elmendorf

overhead, but Billy keeps his mirrored aviators on, spritzed by the rain. His nostrils flare. “License and registration,” he says and leans down to peer in the window. Both his huge, hairy-knuckled hands grip the doorframe. I pass over Van’s papers, and that’s when Billy says, “Kaycee Jean McCoy, is that you?” Now those sunglasses come off.
    “Yes, sir.” I straighten to attention at my full name. His eyes move from me to Bren then to our hands—hers still resting on my leg, mine clinging to her arm. Simultaneously Bren uses that hand to cough, and I rub my sweaty palms on my shorts. “Were we speeding, Officer Arden?” Speeding, reckless driving, running stop signs, and ten other infractions at least.
    “You were doing sixty-eight in a fifty-five zone.” He glares at Van. “Y’all in a rush to get somewhere?” He locks Bren in his sights like he’s trying to figure her out. The whole right half of her body is getting soaked from the rain sprinkling down. A clap of thunder rumbles the sky.
    “No, sir,” Van says. “Just wanted to hurry and get home before the storm gets worse.”
    Rain drenches Billy’s tan shirt, but he drums his fingers on the vinyl of the door, letting his silence torture us.
    It works.
    He stands back up with a sigh and scribbles in his booklet. Even my mother’s secret relationship can’t get us out of a speeding ticket. I’m almost tempted to mention my mother but stop for fear of making things worse.
    “I better not catch you speeding on my highway again,” he says, and hands the ticket over to Van.
    “Yes, sir, Officer Arden,” Van says.
    But he’s not listening to Van. He’s eyeballing the road behind us. Headlights brighten in the rear view as Chuck the Buck’s truck slowly rolls by. Just as he passes on our left, he shoots his gun fingers at us. Dang it. We’re it.
    “Yes, sir,” I say, holding out my hand for the license and registration. “Won’t happen again, I promise.”
    He hands it back with another warning, and we all nod obediently.
    “We’re lucky he only wrote us a ticket,” Van says as he puts the car in park in front of the Quick Stop.
    “I know.”
    “At least you won’t get in trouble with your momma, because then she’d have to fess up to doing the nasty with him.”
    “True.” Even though I’m grateful for that part, I wonder if Billy will say anything to her about how cozy Bren and I were. I try to imagine a scenario where he might write it off as something other than two people groping each other, but my mind draws a blank.
    Van pauses in the car doorway. “Kaycee, peanut brittle?” I nod. Van points a finger to Bren. “Anything?”
    “Gatorade.” She bucks her pelvis up to pull some cash from her pocket. The door shuts after Van takes her money.
    Do I think Mother would actually say anything to me? She has gotten pretty good at dodging the subject so far. Maybe she really does just think I’m a tomboy. She won’t think that after Billy talks with her, though. A part of me wants to explain myself to him, but what would I say?
    “Hey.” Bren squeezes my hand. “What’s worrying you?” Her beautiful eyebrows frown at me. Her brown eyes melt my soul. “That cop, you’re worried he’s going to say something to your mom.” I nod. “So your mom doesn’t know.”
    “No.” Which comes out harsher than I intended. “Sorry.”
    She weaves her fingers with mine. With her free hand she traces the number eight continuously on the back of my hand. “Not all parents can be as open-minded as mine.“ Her admission surprises me. “Yep, my parents are pretty awesome. Of course, there was a brutal fight at my Tia Lola’s wedding. Involving a ten-year-old me in this horrid junior bridesmaid’s dress—lace upon lace upon lace.” She sticks her tongue out, gagging.
    I’m smiling now. I cannot picture Bren in any kind of dress.
    “Mom bribed me with a new basketball hoop if I promised to wear it. But when my cousin Louis