Chapter Eleven
Urban Cowboy
I toss and turn most of the night. Dozing off just long enough for Dylan to make an appearance in my dreams. It’s not a nightmare reliving my time with him. It’s a new nightmare—one where he appears here in Crowley, chasing me through tall fields, a never-ending game of cat and mouse. Even after I wake, I can’t shake the sick feeling in my stomach.
Around one o’clock, I force myself out of bed and into the shower. I pull on my clothes and rake my fingers through damp hair. In the kitchen, Bennie sits drinking coffee in her bathrobe. She looks miserable.
I pour myself a bowl of cereal and get the milk from the fridge.
“No church today?” I ask.
She doesn’t look up from her newspaper. “What’s the point?”
Grabbing my bowl and a spoon, I take a seat across from her. “I don’t know. What was the point?”
“I guess I was looking for answers,” she says absently.
“And now you’re not?” I take a bite of cereal and the crunching is so loud in my head that I don’t hear her mumbling response. “What?”
“Sometimes the answer is not the one you wanted to hear.”
“Okay,” I say, giving her a strange look. This Bennie is unlike the woman I left behind. There are pieces of the old Bennie in there, wrapped in patchouli and old Alanis Morissette lyrics. But the newer parts stick out like thorns. She keeps secrets, and I don’t like it.
“Let’s do something fun today,” I say.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Let’s go to the lake and get some sun.”
“It’s late, Wren.”
“It’s summer. The sun doesn’t set until after eight o’clock. Come on. You need to sweat that alcohol out of your pores.”
“Fine,” she says, offering a flimsy smile.
“Yes!” I hop up, dance around the kitchen, and head to my room. “Get ready, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
“Bossy little shit,” Bennie mumbles before disappearing into her bedroom.
Twenty minutes later, we are in Bennie’s car, driving out to Lake Loveless. It’s only a forty-five minute drive from here, South of Franklin. This time of year, there will be lots of families and kids around. Bennie and I used to go to the lake to escape the pressures of being Reverend Hart’s kids. We would lie in the grass and point out shapes in the clouds. Those were the best days. I used to pretend we were in Europe, picnicking on the bank of some river, sipping mimosas and eating caviar. In reality, it was too close to home, two-dollar wine, and gummy worms.
When we get to the lake, it’s just as I predicted. There are kids chasing each other around picnic tables, men standing over hot grills cooking up lunch, and moms tending to toddlers in the shade. We walk away from the crowds and find a quiet spot. Bennie slips out of her shoes, lays her quilt on the ground, and takes a seat on one end. I shimmy out of my shorts and kick them off before pulling my shirt over my head. I’m wearing my bikini from high school. It’s a little small considering I’ve gained some weight back since returning to Crowley, but still cute.
“Holy shit!” Bennie says. “Let me see that.”
I turn and let Bennie inspect my tattoo for the first time. I can see the appreciation and wonder in her eyes as her fingers ghost over the design. It’s a beautiful henna and floral image that starts on my right side and travels diagonally under my navel, stopping just above my pubic bone. It is mostly black and gray with splashes of pinks, purples, and golds mixed in.
“I always wanted a tattoo.”
“So, what’s stopping you?” I ask.
She shrugs and looks out over the water. “Guess I’m too old now, huh?”
“You’re never too old for anything. You should do it. We should do it!”
“Matching tattoos?”
“Hell, yeah! You want to?”
Bennie gives me a grin. “Maybe.” Glancing back at the art on my body, she grins. “It really is beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a seat next to her and stretching out on the blanket. “I dated a tattoo artist for a few weeks in Austin, Texas.”
“He talked you into that in just a few weeks?” she asks.
“He was very convincing.” I give her an exaggerated wink and slide my shades down over my eyes. The sun warms my skin as I stare up at a cloudless sky.
Bennie pulls a book out of her bag and lays on her stomach next to me.
“I’m sorry about last night, kid,” she says after a few minutes.
“It’s no biggie. I figure you owe me a few of those. Remember when Sawyer and I got so drunk we passed out in the store? We couldn’t even make it up to my apartment.”
She chuckles. “Yes. I found you two cuddled up on the floor by the front door.”
“I swore off drinking that morning, but I guess it didn’t stick.”
“Not many things stick when you’re seventeen.”
I shade my eyes and turn toward her. Bennie’s face is serious, and she looks at me like she thinks I’ll be gone again tomorrow.
“That’s true. I thought I’d be rich and famous by now.”
“You mean infamous,” she corrects.
“That, too.” I laugh and nod. “What do you think Preston is up to today?”
“He spends most Sundays in the workshop.”
“Hmm,” I answer, making a note to check out that space at some point. I wonder if I could talk him into letting me watch him work.
A group of guys walks by, all toned and tanned. They’ve got big smiles for me. One even waves. I nod back, remaining indifferent to their attention.
“Man, boys that age didn’t look like that in my day. They were all skinny with big hair and stonewashed jeans.”
“How come you’re still single, Bennie?”
She folds her book closed, her index finger inside marking her spot. “I don’t know. I guess I just never found anyone who really got me.”
“My guess is you would have to look outside of Crowley to find that,” I say.
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just a lonely soul, looking for love in all the wrong places.”
“If you break into that ridiculous 1980s Johnny Lee song right now, I’m going to throw your book in the lake.”
Bennie clutches the paperback to her chest protectively. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would.”
“Oh, all right. I won’t sing. But, that was one hell of a soundtrack. Don’t you think?”
I flip over and untie the strings of my top, tucking them beneath my body.
“The soundtrack to Urban Cowboy? No. What I think is that you have a huge crush on John Travolta, even when he plays a sexist man-pig cowboy.”
“I won’t deny that.”
“Aren’t you hot in all those clothes, Bennie?”
“No, I’m comfortable. And I’m an old lady. Nobody wants to see this in a swimsuit.”
I pull up onto my elbows and frown at her. “What is it with you and age? You’re forty-two, not dead. Fuck everybody else. I say do what makes you happy.”
Bennie eyes me, and a sly smirk pulls across her face. “You mean like flashing your tits to everyone at the lake?”
I look down and remember that I’d untied my top. I drop back onto the blanket as we both burst into a fit of giggles. We laugh until we are breathless and there are tears in our eyes.
When the clouds do show up, we lie on our backs and play our favorite old game. The sun is still up when we leave, so I put my shorts back on, but stay in just my bikini top. I leave the window rolled down the whole drive back. My arm hangs out the window, and the wind blasts my eyes closed. I smell like grass and sunshine.
At the top of the stairs, Bennie makes a joke about me flashing my boobs out at the lake, and we laugh again. Around the corner, we find Preston leaving his apartment. Bennie walks right past him as he locks his door and tests the knob six times. When he turns to find me standing there, his expression changes. Those eyes scan my body and stay fixed on the tattoo visible above my shorts.
“Hi, Preston.”
He looks edible in all black—jeans low on his hips, belt, vintage button up shirt with white piping, and boots.
“Hey,” he answers. I see him swallow, and his fingers twitch. Other than that, Preston remains motionless.
“So, I missed you last night. I had to get drunk Bennie home all by myself.” I look toward her door, and she’s already slipped inside and disappeared.
“Sorry,” he says. “I was…busy.” His gaze is still fixed on my ink.
“Remember the list, Preston.”
“I’m not lying.” He finally meets my eyes, and there is obvious panic.
I take a step toward him.
“Did you come by early last night?”
He doesn’t say a word, but after a few seconds nods. His eyes look dark and dangerous in the overhead lighting. There are harsh shadows cast across his pretty face.
“Did you see me outside with Sawyer?”
He looks away. The muscles in his jaw twitch. “I don’t want to play games, Wren.”
“Then tell me the truth. I always want the truth,” I say, taking another step toward him. He is on one side of the hall, and I stand directly across from him. The space is tight.
“Yes,” he says. “I saw you there with him. It looked…intimate.”
I reach over and place my hand on his forearm, sliding my fingers down to intertwine with his.
“Nothing happened.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so, Preston. Nothing happened between Sawyer and me, and nothing will.”
“I didn’t wait around to find out,” Preston answers. “But I did listen at my door to make sure you got home safely.”
I nod. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Well, I have to go.”
“Where are you off to, Preston-who-spies-on-me?”
He is quiet for a while. I’ve learned that this is his method. He is thinking and overthinking, debating the pros and cons of spilling some kind of confession.
“Coffee Call.”
“Really? That’s great. Can I come? Are you going to read your work?”
“No. I’m just going to check it out.”
“No to which question?”
“You can come if you’d like, but I’d rather go alone.” Preston sees my disappointment and works to explain himself. “This is something new for me, Wren. I need to go by myself. Plus, if I freak out and have to leave, I’d rather you not be there for that.”
I nod and look at Bennie’s wide-open door. I drop Preston’s hand and pick up my bag from the floor.
“I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow, and you can tell me all about it.” I force a smile on my face and head for the door.
“Good night, Wren.”
“Good night, Preston.”