more than one thing at a time. I didn’t think what he let happen to June when she was ten was right, but he was also the person who had been tender with her when she was eight, driving her around until she got dizzy watching the sky. He committed a crime, but he’d served time for it. He was what he was.
Kevin and I never talked about anything important anyway. Work and the weather. But kind people who peppered my day were a type of friend, and their compliments, or their teasing, or just the sight of their faces, meant something to me. No matter how busy we got, even if I overlooked him for a bit, Bill Mahlon was always patient andcalled me the Peekaboo Girl and made sure I got my dollar tip. The game warden who teased me about the time he caught me and June skipping school and swimming out at Sweet Arrow Lake always made sure I got a dollar tip from each of the guys at his table. Kevin Keel always said I was pretty in whatever color I had on that day and made sure I got my tip. I didn’t give a shit if the reason they gave me money was because they could see the flowers on my underwear or not. Because as tough as I pretended to be, I still craved kindness, and I took it where I could find it.
14
O NE night around quarter to ten the phone rang. Before I even answered, I knew it was June. When I picked up the receiver, though, I heard a lot of noise and crackling, and I thought, no, it’s Del calling from a bar, wanting me to come pick him up.
“Hey, it’s me,” June said.
“Where are you?”
“Eighty-one. At the rest stop.”
“What are you doing there?”
June said, “Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime. I just called to ask a favor.”
One of the rigs picked that moment to pull on through. When the roaring was done, I said, “What’s the favor?”
“If Ray calls, tell him I just left. Tell him I just left your place. I told him I was running out to see you.”
“What for?” I said.
“Please, Vangie. I don’t think he’ll call, but help me out just this once.”
“No, I mean, what did you tell him you were coming out here for? What’s the story?”
“I said you needed help hemming a couple uniforms. I couldn’t think of anything else.”
I said, “If I hem them much shorter, I might as well not wear a skirt at all.” Another rig pulled out then, and after the sound passed I said, “What are you doing up there anyway?”
“Getting cleaned up. I couldn’t go home like I was.”
“Where were you before now?”
“In the woods.”
And it took me that long into the conversation to understand what the situation was and what June was asking. She and Luke weren’t just screwing in the house when Ray was at work—she’d left Ray at home, waiting, so she could go fuck Luke in the woods, and she wanted to use me as a cover.
“Jesus Christ, June,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
“No one saw us. I’ll tell you more later.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Are you going home now?”
“Straight home from here.”
“Where’s Luke?”
“I don’t know. He’ll wait a couple hours before he goes back. He’s probably in a bar.”
“So you’re there by yourself?”
“I have to go, Vangie. I’ll tell you more later.”
“All right. I got it,” I said, and she hung up.
After I hung up, I sat there in my kitchen in Mennonite Town, picturing June washing up at the rest stop on the interstate. I knew the place. There was a line of sinks—one of them with a tall, curved faucet where you could wash your hair if you needed to. I pictured June standing in a stall, washing with wet fingers and paper towels.
It was crazy what June was doing, and I was crazy myself for being part of it. I wasn’t doing a goddamn thing wrong, and yet here I was, caught up in a lie and worrying a liar’s worry over it. It was bad enough each time I didn’t tell Del the truth about what was happening to Ray, but I didn’t also want to be June’s alibi. To
Kevin and I never talked about anything important anyway. Work and the weather. But kind people who peppered my day were a type of friend, and their compliments, or their teasing, or just the sight of their faces, meant something to me. No matter how busy we got, even if I overlooked him for a bit, Bill Mahlon was always patient andcalled me the Peekaboo Girl and made sure I got my dollar tip. The game warden who teased me about the time he caught me and June skipping school and swimming out at Sweet Arrow Lake always made sure I got a dollar tip from each of the guys at his table. Kevin Keel always said I was pretty in whatever color I had on that day and made sure I got my tip. I didn’t give a shit if the reason they gave me money was because they could see the flowers on my underwear or not. Because as tough as I pretended to be, I still craved kindness, and I took it where I could find it.
14
O NE night around quarter to ten the phone rang. Before I even answered, I knew it was June. When I picked up the receiver, though, I heard a lot of noise and crackling, and I thought, no, it’s Del calling from a bar, wanting me to come pick him up.
“Hey, it’s me,” June said.
“Where are you?”
“Eighty-one. At the rest stop.”
“What are you doing there?”
June said, “Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime. I just called to ask a favor.”
One of the rigs picked that moment to pull on through. When the roaring was done, I said, “What’s the favor?”
“If Ray calls, tell him I just left. Tell him I just left your place. I told him I was running out to see you.”
“What for?” I said.
“Please, Vangie. I don’t think he’ll call, but help me out just this once.”
“No, I mean, what did you tell him you were coming out here for? What’s the story?”
“I said you needed help hemming a couple uniforms. I couldn’t think of anything else.”
I said, “If I hem them much shorter, I might as well not wear a skirt at all.” Another rig pulled out then, and after the sound passed I said, “What are you doing up there anyway?”
“Getting cleaned up. I couldn’t go home like I was.”
“Where were you before now?”
“In the woods.”
And it took me that long into the conversation to understand what the situation was and what June was asking. She and Luke weren’t just screwing in the house when Ray was at work—she’d left Ray at home, waiting, so she could go fuck Luke in the woods, and she wanted to use me as a cover.
“Jesus Christ, June,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
“No one saw us. I’ll tell you more later.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Are you going home now?”
“Straight home from here.”
“Where’s Luke?”
“I don’t know. He’ll wait a couple hours before he goes back. He’s probably in a bar.”
“So you’re there by yourself?”
“I have to go, Vangie. I’ll tell you more later.”
“All right. I got it,” I said, and she hung up.
After I hung up, I sat there in my kitchen in Mennonite Town, picturing June washing up at the rest stop on the interstate. I knew the place. There was a line of sinks—one of them with a tall, curved faucet where you could wash your hair if you needed to. I pictured June standing in a stall, washing with wet fingers and paper towels.
It was crazy what June was doing, and I was crazy myself for being part of it. I wasn’t doing a goddamn thing wrong, and yet here I was, caught up in a lie and worrying a liar’s worry over it. It was bad enough each time I didn’t tell Del the truth about what was happening to Ray, but I didn’t also want to be June’s alibi. To
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