Shelby backed into the shadows and reclined herself on some boxes. Toby wondered if she was on shoes or bibles. She undid the buttons of her shirt and calmly drew one arm out of its sleeve and then the other. She was wearing nothing underneath. Toby’s mouth was dry from nerves and it was dry from the lack of Shelby’s mouth. He’d been watching her body for months and now here it was. Shelby was so pale and somehow her breasts were an even lighter shade. They were of a shape and character that Toby could not have imagined. He reached and placed his hand on one of them and a husky squeak escaped Shelby. Toby didn’t want to be scared again. He didn’t want to feel like a sucker. He wanted to feel what you were supposed to feel.
Shelby wanted this to go further, but she wasn’t going to lead Toby anymore. She wanted him to do something. He reached with his free hand for her shorts, no idea what was going to happen. She was right in front of him, but it seemed like he had to reach a long way. He fumbled with the button for a moment, his fingers stupid, and then Shelby was reaching for him, clutching at him.
Toby stepped back into a stack of boxes and they teetered and almost fell.
“I don’t want you to touch me this time,” he said.
“Why not?”
Toby didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be able to keep his nerve, to touch Shelby because that’s what she wanted. He reclaimed the space between them, and then both of them were holding still and listening. They heard a car. The noise got steadily louder until it was right outside the warehouse. The car didn’t have a muffler or something. The doors opened and then slammed. Toby handed Shelby her shirt and she accepted it and began buttoning it up. The two of them crept over to the wall and found a warped spot where they could see out. There were two men, both with flattop haircuts and one with an enormous class ring. They were talking about which statues to take, which would sell for the most, their voices raised because of the grumbling engine. Toby and Shelby could see the men but not their vehicle. They kept carrying statue after statue. It must’ve been a big pickup truck. They must’ve been piling the saints and knights one on top of the other in the bed like a bunch of dead bodies. The men may have owned the statues or they may have been stealing them.
That evening, Shelby asked her father to drive her to the library. She’d done enough walking in the woods for one day. They cruised along the edges of some cow pastures, slowed at a recent sinkhole that had collapsed half of a diabetes clinic. They pulled onto the dusty road, passed the power substation.
Lately, Shelby’s father’s breakfasts had gotten more elaborate — honey-pecan sausage, omelets, pineapple juice. He made himself read the paper each morning, grinding through the major stories of each section no matter how little they interested him. He gave Shelby gifts, the latest a book in which a bunch of poets wrote about their favorite pop songs. Shelby’s father had learned how to force his mood, to keep himself in the middle ground, neither manic nor hopeless. He seemed a bit lighter in spirit, perhaps because he had less of it. He would find peace, even if it were some compromised brand. Shelby could feel it; he would survive.
Shelby’s father parked the car and the two of them sat staring at a poster for a fundraising picnic to benefit the manatees. Shelby looked out her side window and saw the high school boys, with their falling-off black jeans and frayed shoes. They were cowardly and dangerous, a pack of hyenas.
“I don’t get manatees,” Shelby’s father said. “I don’t get the big fascination. If I’m still around when they kick, let’s have a party. We’ll make margaritas.”
“I understand manatees,” Shelby said. “They’re like friendly dinosaurs.” She got out of the car and leaned in the window. “Back in ten.”
Shelby walked along the front planters. As she passed the high school boys, one of them mumbled something, too low for Shelby to make out. Shelby went up the stairs without looking at them and went inside and got into her e-mail. If Aunt Dale still hadn’t invited her to Iceland, she was going to have to come out and ask. It was a rude thing to do, but less rude, Shelby thought, than leaving someone hanging for weeks. And maybe, as strongly as Shelby had been hinting, Aunt Dale hadn’t really comprehended that Shelby wanted to visit right now, as soon as possible, that Shelby wasn’t being hypothetical.
There it was, the message in the inbox.
Shelby,
I want you to know that I would really enjoy a visit from you, but unfortunately I’m not going to be able to make it work as soon as this summer. I’ve been hoping my schedule would clear a little, but it’s only grown more impossible. I’m hoping to take real vacation time (what’s that?) this spring, a sabbatical I’m going to call it, so maybe we can work something out, maybe on your spring break. It’ll be good and snowy for you. That may be better anyway, because I’m sure your dad still needs you around down there. I’m really glad we’ve gotten back in touch like we have. I’m sure there are a lot of interesting things you can get into down in Florida, and I’d like to hear about all of them — not too interesting, I hope. Wink, wink.
Shelby signed out, but she didn’t get up from her chair. The people in line could wait. Aunt Dale was ditching her. Shelby didn’t need to read it again. She got it the first time, she was being ditched. Aunt Dale was bowing out. The only reason it had taken her so long to say anything was that she knew she was going to hurt Shelby’s feelings. And she had. Wink, wink? What was that about, Toby? Of course Shelby’s dad needed her around, but what about what Shelby needed? Next spring. Next spring felt like another eon. The world could end before next spring.
Aunt Dale, Shelby saw, was a coward. Maybe next spring, like everything was fine. She was full of shit, this lady. Nobody was that busy. And using Shelby’s dad as an excuse. Aunt Dale was afraid of helping her flesh and blood. She was scared of Shelby, like everyone else.
Shelby picked up some pieces of scrap paper and tore them into little pieces and brushed them off the counter and into a wastebasket. She was annoyed that she was still susceptible to disappointment. She still lost her balance when a rug was pulled. She didn’t want to e-mail anyone ever again. She looked around at the other people, all staring at their screens. They were researching God-knows-what. They were trying to figure out what to feed a sick sheep, trying to buy a used engagement ring, looking for a cheap fishing boat. They were all better people than Shelby’s aunt. They would do anything for their families. They knew what was important. Aunt Dale was conducting a busy, glamorous life, and Shelby was a burdensome interruption.
Shelby stalked through the library and shoved the front doors open, then sauntered down the front steps. She rounded a planter and jumped across the walkway, landing a couple short feet from the high school boys, causing the closest of them to give ground.
“The only way you guys will ever get to second base is with each other,” she said. “None of you, in your lives, will lay your hands on a girl like me.”
The boys glanced nervously toward Shelby’s father in the car. They laughed a little, believing they could turn Shelby’s words from an insult into a joke.
“That’s why you stand out here and make remarks,” she said. “You’re not even rednecks or thieves or perverts or drug dealers. You’re worthless.”
“I am too a redneck,” one of them said, the one with the closest-set eyes and tightest ball cap. “And I’m the type of redneck doesn’t allow people to insult me.”
“Nobody thinks you guys are funny and nobody’s afraid of you.”