I plod along the field, then quick-step it across four lanes of hot asphalt to the gas station. If I’d known I was running away from home today, I wouldn’t have worn flip-flops.
Seven
“Okay. So you had a dream about Mr. Alton, and he was down somewhere by the river?”
“I don’t … I mean … ” The dream has fled. It seemed so vivid when I woke up, but now all I can remember is the impression it left, like following deer tracks in mud. “It was about the river, but I don’t think Mr. Alton was in it.”
“Why are we doing this, then?” Tyler’s voice is full of vinegar.
I snap back, “Because you don’t have any better ideas.”
So we drive past the condos lining the downtown em-bankments, eyes squinted, searching for your pa-paw’s old pickup. We search Tuck’s Cove, that harbor east of the Indian mound. Tyler doesn’t say a word. He’s worried about what Bo is telling his parents right now. He’s annoyed with me, thinking we’re wasting time.
But your pa-paw has come to the river, Holly. I know this because it’s what draws our dreams and deepest thoughts. He’s come to the river because everything else is so thin. The stupid stuff people talk about—what they ate for lunch, some sale at Foot Locker—I get mad just listening to them now. The river is the only thing that feels real anymore.
But Wilson Lake is fifteen hundred acres. Half a dozen marinas dot its shores. Probably two dozen resorts and campgrounds, and hundreds of cabins on private land. This could take forever.
Pulling out of Tuck’s Cove, Tyler says, “Well, where to next?”
“There’s Bay Hill Marina, the one with the restaurant.”
“On the south shore?” He groans.
“We can’t give up until we’ve looked everywhere.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler sighs. “Let me make a stop first.”
“What? What do you have to do now?”
“A friend is leaving town. I need to say goodbye.”
“We don’t have—”
“It’ll take five minutes, Jane.”
I slump down in the seat. “Five minutes, right?”
“Five minutes.”
Neither of us say anything else. My phone rings. Mom again, and this time I turn it off. Your pa-paw’s down by the shore, Holly. I know because he has to be. Please, God, let him be. Otherwise, we’re totally lost.
We drive to a neighborhood that was probably really pretty once. Now it’s falling apart. Porches sag, and tinfoil covers windows. Tree roots tilt the sidewalk slabs until they crack. There’s a lawn that’s all weeds and tire ruts, with a white Florence Utilities van parked under a maple. Ultimate Steve sits on the front porch with a bunch of people I don’t know. They’re all older. They’re all as shabby-looking as the house.
I follow Tyler through the front gate. It looks like somebody bashed in the mailbox with a baseball bat, then scribbled Shut up! You can’t play!!! across it with paint marker. There’s a girl on the porch wearing Jackie O sunglasses, her black-soled feet propped on the railing. Launching a jet of cigarette smoke, she yells, “Whoo, Tyler! Show us some tits!”
The rest of them fall out laughing. We’ve walked into the tail end of a running joke. Judging from the empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays, it’s been running since last night.
Tyler grins. “Morning, LeighAnn.”
The girl stands up, blocking our way. “Do it!” she answers. “Tits!”
And he does. Like a puppy performing a trick, Tyler yanks the front of his shirt up, showing a soft slab of belly and chest.
“That’s what momma likes,” she crows, stepping aside. “That’s it!”
“Max, can’t you do anything with her?” Tyler asks the guy picking at a guitar.
“I’ve tried. Believe me, I have tried.”
Ultimate Steve gives Tyler that shoulder-banging half-hug boys do. “Missed all the fun! Thought you were coming after that church thing yesterday.” He scratches at his beard like he’s got fleas. I can’t help glancing at the stump of his missing pinky finger. Idiot.
“I was. Just, uh … some stuff came up after. Just didn’t feel like a party.”
“Holly stuff?” LeighAnn asks. When Tyler nods, they all sort of lean toward him for a moment. LeighAnn wraps an arm around his neck, presses her head against his.
Who are these people?
“But hey, I couldn’t let Patterson run off.” Stepping around LeighAnn, Tyler gives the tall guy a real hug, squeezing him tight. “Glad I didn’t miss you.”
“Me too.” Really tall, Patterson stands stooped over everybody else, like a tree in a storm. “Hey, I’m giving you my Vox.”
“What? Why?”
Patterson shrugs. “I won’t have the space for it. But we took off the casters, so you’ll have to find new ones.”
“Well, thanks. Really. But doesn’t the band need—”
LeighAnn shakes her head. “We’ve got the Mini Colossals with the Weber speakers.”
“That Vox is de-damn-licious, though,” Max adds. “Shut up and take it.”
They talk about push-pulls and SPSs and two-by-twelves. It’s white noise to me, but ends with Tyler following Patterson into the house to grab the amplifier. Through the door, I glimpse the living room—a drum kit beside the couch, and walls covered in stained burgundy carpet. Somebody’s sleeping on the couch with his arm thrown over his eyes. I waffle, not sure if I should follow them in or not. Then the storm door bangs shut and I’m stuck outside.
“Jane? How goes it?” Ultimate Steve asks.
“Good.”
He nods, shaking a cigarette from a half-empty pack. A girl with a sketchy-looking dye job sits on the porch rail, talking
to LeighAnn. When Steve leans back, she wraps her arms and legs around him. He turns to whisper some little joke to her. She chuckles, nuzzling his ear. She’s gross. I can see her pink satin whale-tail sticking out of the back of her shorts.
“So this was, like, a goodbye party?” I ask.
“Uh-huh. Yeah. Patterson just finished his bachelor’s in forestry … ” LeighAnn gets distracted searching for a lighter. “Uh, headed up to South Carolina. To the Congaree National Park.”
“Neat. So he’s going to be a park ranger?”
“Yeah, but actually, natural resources manager.”
“Okay. Neat.” I nod without really knowing what that means.
“Yeah.”
We fall into foot-shuffling silence. Empty beer bottles fill the window sill behind Max. Draining another one, he sets it in the line.
“Want something to drink?” LeighAnn asks.
“What? No.”
Ultimate Steve laughs. “Jane’s church-folk, LeighAnn.”
“I meant a Mountain Dew or something.” She curls her lip at him. “I figured she’s—you’re still in high school, right?”
“I’m fifteen.”
“Yeah, so I wasn’t going to give her beer, just that it’s miserable hot out here.” She turns back to me. “So, want some sweet tea? Or we’ve got just water or—”
“I’m not thirsty, but thank you.”
LeighAnn nods. “And just for, whatever, the record? This is kind of a special occasion, with Patterson leaving and Labor Day and all. We’re usually sober by Monday morning.”
They all laugh. Max says, “Now, don’t lie to the girl, Lee-Lee.”
“I’m not! I don’t know about you, but I don’t—”
“What about Fourth of July? When we went to your brother’s?”
“That was a special occasion too! That was celebrating the birth of our country!”
“What about when Twitchy was here?”
“Twitchy was here! Another special occasion!” Now LeighAnn’s laughing along with them. “I can’t help it if my life is blessed with good friends and cheap beer.”