Chapter Four
Neon Bible
Sundays in Crowley are reserved for church and football. Though Bennie and I have never been ones to conform to town rules. I’m surprised when I step into the kitchen in search of coffee and find her slipping into her fancy shoes. This is her description, not mine. She thinks just because they have a tiny heel, they are fancy. I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth.
“Where are you off to?” I ask, pouring a cup of coffee into my favorite mug. There’s something so refreshing about abandoning a simple item like this only to find it waiting for you three years later.
She’s quiet for a beat too long, and I know she doesn’t want to say.
“Church,” Bennie answers.
“You know how I feel about lying, Bennie.”
Bennie grabs her purse and exhales toward the ceiling. I feel her frustration in having to answer to me. “I’m really going to church, Wren. It’s not too late if you’d like to join me.”
“As far as church goes, it is too late for me. There’s no saving me now. Tell the reverend and wife hello.”
She gives me a wave and walks through the door, closing it behind her. I stare at the back of that door for a while. I’m unable to process all the tiny changes I see in Bennie: her appearance, her drinking, and now church. My first instinct is to go snoop in her room while she’s out, but that is what teenage Wren would do. Not me. Now, more than ever, I know when to respect someone’s space. I was recently taught that lesson the hard way.
I finally finish unpacking my bag. I find a couple of T-shirts, some socks, a few condoms, candy bar wrappers, two bottles of water, and my iPod. It’s an ancient piece of shit that I found somewhere in New Jersey. Luckily, it was loaded with decent music.
I turn the bag over and shake it, just to make sure it’s empty. I can hear something rattling, but nothing falls out. I lay it flat and pat down the exterior. Near the bottom, I feel a small rectangular block. Flipping the bag inside out, I find a small pocket that I didn’t even know existed. I unzip the pocket and pull out a navy and silver box. There are a couple of symbols on it and a grey button that says SOS. The logo at the bottom says Brickhouse.
Turning it over a few times, I can’t figure out what it is or where it came from. I take the device to the kitchen table and set it next to Bennie’s computer. Lucky for me, she doesn’t keep it password protected. I open a browser window and type in the name on the box. I scroll down the page and recognize the picture of the same device I have. When I click the photo, I read the name of the product again and again, forcing my brain to process the words on the screen. GPS tracker. “Our Best Portable Tracker - Now Faster, More Accurate and Longer Lasting. Top-rated GPS tracking device provides instant speed and location information sent right to your phone.”
“Dylan,” I whisper.
My stomach lurches, but it’s empty so I end up dry heaving over the kitchen sink. My knees are weak as I hold on to the counter to stay upright. I try to catch my breath, which seems to only choke me more.
“No. No. No. No,” I repeat over and over, until it matches the pace of my racing heart.
I turn the faucet on and splash cold water on my face, burying myself in the darkness behind my hands. I stand there for a few minutes, until realization snaps me back to the present.
I stomp across the kitchen and grab the GPS tracker from the table. Back at the sink, I flip the garbage disposal on and toss the thing down the drain. I know it’s dramatic, but I just need it destroyed. There’s an awful crunching and grinding sound as the old metal blades hack at the thing. When I’m satisfied, I turn the switch off and pull what’s left out of the drain.
What was once a sleek blue box is now a mangled piece of garbage. I toss it in the trash, shut down Bennie’s computer, and head for the shower.
As the steam surrounds me, I tell myself the thing probably ran out of power before I got here. I try not to think about Dylan knowing where I am. I try not to think about him coming here.
I try, but I’m not successful.
The rest of the morning is spent going through boxes of old stuff in my closet. There are tons of clothes in there, and I make fun of the stuff I wore in high school. I stand in front of the mirror and hold a floral patterned dress in front of me. I can almost see the girl who used to wear this. She had long blond hair and year-round tan lines. She was a sheep, following and doing what others told her to. She was Logan Sawyer’s girlfriend. She was a virgin, and then one night, she wasn’t. She believed that all of life’s answers lived outside of Crowley.
I throw most of the clothes in a bag for donation, keep a few basic pieces, and move on to the last box. As I rip the tape and pull back the cardboard flap, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. My favorite books and records are stacked inside, along with yearbooks and a few knickknacks. When I find the Arcade Fire album, I jump up and put it on in the main room. I crank the volume and go back to my box of valuables.
When Bennie comes home, I’m in the middle of my rendition of “No Cars Go.” She rolls her eyes and disappears into her room. A few minutes later, she reemerges, looking more like herself. She makes lunch and helps me wash all the boxed clothes I’m keeping, plus the stuff from my bag. Later we park ourselves in front of the television and watch reruns of Bewitched. There is a buzzing and banging noise coming from somewhere, and it’s driving me nuts. I mute the television and listen again but hear nothing. I want to ask Bennie, but she is asleep after two episodes. Instead of waking her, I cover her and leave her on the couch.
…
The shop is closed on Mondays, so when I crawl out of bed at ten o’clock, Bennie is still in her kitchen drinking coffee. She sits with her laptop open, typing furiously.
“Morning,” I grumble before pouring myself a cup.
“Good morning,” she says, glancing at me over the top of her screen.
I take a seat and sip my drink. “I need to go shopping, get some necessities. Can you give me a ride to Franklin?”
Bennie keeps her eyes on her screen. “I can’t today. I’ve got plans.”
I wait for her to say she’s kidding, but she doesn’t. “Okay.”
I look out the window, at the street below. An old man walks a tiny yipping dog, both of them strutting down that sidewalk like they own it. A couple of kids race each other on bikes and then turn around to try again. There are a few cars parked across the street, but other than that, it’s pretty quiet.
“I think Preston goes to Franklin on Mondays. You should ask him for a ride,” Bennie says.
My filthy mind immediately pictures Preston giving me a ride, and I grin into my coffee.
“I just might do that,” I say.
Bennie closes her computer and pushes away from the table. “Well, I’m going to get dressed. I’ll be gone most of the day.”
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
She grabs her laptop and gives me a sad smile. “Spending the day with Laney.”
“You guys are still besties?”
“Oh, yeah. Super besties. BFFs forever. Totally dude. OMG.”
I sigh and stick my tongue out at her. “If you’re trying to make fun of my generation, you’re way off with the ‘totally dude.’ No one says that anymore. Anyway, how’s Laney doing?”
“She’s got a toddler and is going through a divorce right now, so we’re going to do some girl bonding and man bashing.”
I nod and watch as she slips into her bedroom. Figuring now is as good a time as any, my coffee and I step out into the hall and knock on Preston’s door. I hear no sound from inside and knock again.
The click of the deadbolt snaps, the sliding metal chain scrapes, then finally the door opens. Preston holds the door in one hand while the other arm props him up against the doorframe. He’s wearing gym shorts and a black beater. The muscles I’ve only imagined before now are on display, and it is a glorious sight. Sweat covers his skin; tiny beads roll over dips and curves of flesh. His shirt is soaked. Preston’s chest rises and falls quickly as he fights to catch his breath. I am blatantly staring and am not afraid to do so. When I finally meet his eyes, I find him staring, too.
I glance down and realize I’m still in my sleep clothes—a tiny pair of shorts and tank top, no shoes. There’s nothing I can do about it now. Not that I would want to with the way his eyes linger on my good parts.
“Sorry to interrupt…whatever you’re doing,” I say.
He shakes his head and meets my eyes. “I just finished.” A bead of sweat slides down his neck, rolls over his chest, and soaks into his shirt. I’m staring again as the silence stretches between us.
“Wren?” he asks.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Bennie mentioned that you might be going to Franklin today. I really need to do some shopping. The clothes I’ve been traveling with are slim pickings. And, well, I have some old clothes, but who wants to wear their high school underwear, you know? So is there any way I can get a ride with you?”
Preston looks at the floor between us. “I’ll only be there for a couple of hours. Not long at all.”
“That’s great. Perfect, actually.” I sip my coffee and wait for his answer. My eyes follow the round curve of his shoulder, up the defined muscles of his raised arm, and focus on his fingers gripping the doorframe. The beds of his meticulously clean nails are turning white from the way he’s holding on to that wood.
“I leave at twelve fifteen.”
I smile, victorious. Preston’s wide eyes and the way his chin drops to his chest make me think that he can’t believe he just said that. I act quickly, not giving him the opportunity to change his mind.
“I’ll be ready whenever you need me, Preston.”
He nods and slowly closes the door between us. I’m a little put off that he seems indifferent to my shameless flirting. Preston is such a mystery. I don’t know if he’s not interested or if he’s being overly cautious. Usually, I just go for what I want. But with Preston, it seems that approach might backfire. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, one of possible rejection, and I don’t like it.
By the time I shower and get dressed, Bennie is already gone. I slide my flats on, throw my bag over my shoulder, and meet Preston in the hall. He looks like a different person now, dressed in a plain black T-shirt, jeans, and Chucks. I want to climb him, like the beautiful man mountain he is, and plant my flag.
“I’m parked out back,” he says.
I follow Preston down the stairs and through the back door. There’s a dumpster in the alley, some flattened boxes, and a couple of crates. Under Bennie’s covered parking spot is a stunning dark-blue vintage truck. I follow the curves of this beast, sliding over shiny chrome and round fenders. It’s fantastic. The pair of us reflected in the bumper makes me smile.
“Is this your ride?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Preston answers, pulling out a pair of Ray-Bans from his front pocket and sliding them on. “Been working on it since I was fourteen.”
“Wow.”
He walks to the passenger door and swings it open for me. I give him a smile and hop up onto the bench seat, dropping my bag on the floor. Preston shuts the door, walks around the front of the truck, and climbs in behind the wheel. He snaps his seat belt into place and tugs on it. It looks like he’s not satisfied, because he unhooks it and slides the metal back into the buckle. Preston tugs again, and a sigh escapes his lips. He repeats the process three more times as I watch his frustration grow.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, both hands on the wheel now.
“No apologies, Preston.” I click my seat belt into place.
When the engine roars to life, I really appreciate the beauty of this truck. Preston’s posture is tense as he backs out of the space. Soon we’re out of Crowley, heading west on Highway 70. I roll my window down and hang my arm out of the truck. The wind whips through the cab, making my shirt flap around me. Preston looks over, and even with his sunglasses in place, I can feel his eyes on me. In this truck with him, I feel more free and content than I have in a long time. Even the sight of those loathed crop fields does nothing to squash my giddiness.
“What did you do yesterday on your day off?” I ask.
He pouts, which only improves his already handsome profile. One hand leaves the steering wheel, and he touches a dial on the dash. Then he touches the others before returning to the wheel.
“Worked in my shop.”
“Shop? What kind of shop? What are you doing in there? Where is it?”
He gives a grin at my excited chatter and adjusts his side mirror.
“I’m refinishing old furniture in the attic space above the apartments.”
“Really? I knew I heard power tools yesterday. Thought I was losing my mind. I forgot about that place. It’s so creepy up there.” I pause before seizing such a great opportunity. “So, you must be good with your hands.”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” Preston answers.
I turn to find his eyes still on the road, but even in profile, that teasing smirk kills me. Houston, I think we have flirting.
“What kind of truck is this?” I ask.
“It’s a 1954 Chevrolet 3100 5-Window pickup. It was my grandfather’s project. We used to work on it together. Then he gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Preston grins and subtly relaxes against his seat. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other arm resting out the window. There’s a chasm of space between us, and more than anything, I want to slide over and tuck myself beside him. But we’re still strangers, and I have mostly learned to control my impulses. Mostly.
“Where is Bennie today? I’m sure you would much rather go shopping with her, right?” Preston asks.
“She’s spending the day with her friend Laney. I didn’t want to ask her to drop everything just because I’m back in town. I’m glad she still has her best friend after all this time.”
“What about you?”
I turn toward Preston. “What about me?”
“Do you have a best friend?”
“I used to,” I answer, frowning at the scenery flying by outside my window. “Bridget and I were inseparable after she moved here in tenth grade. That was until I found out everything she ever told me was a lie. After years, I found out that she’d only befriended me to get closer to Sawyer. She fed me lie after lie, while I confided everything in her. She was a hard lesson in trust.”
“Does that have anything to do with honesty topping your list?” Preston asks.
I nod. Memories of that traitorous relationship sit heavy on my brain, and I scramble to change the subject.
“What are you doing in Franklin today?”
He keeps his eyes on the road and takes a deep breath. “I have an appointment,” he says through tight lips.
I’m taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, but I try to appear unaffected.
“Okay, well, if you could just drop me off at the shopping center near campus, I’d appreciate it.”
Preston nods. The rest of the drive is silent and a bit awkward. Preston pulls into the parking lot, and I hop out, not wanting him to have to get out to open my door.
“You can just pick me up right here when you’re done,” I tell him.
“Should be around three o’clock.”
“Perfect.” I give him a wave and watch as the truck rumbles through the lot and turns back onto the highway.
My shopping experience is pretty great. I buy some new bras and panties, a couple of pairs of shoes, some skinny jeans that make my ass look fantastic, and a vintage Beastie Boys T-shirt. A few times, while hidden away in a dressing room, I find myself looking at an outfit and wondering if Preston will like it. I want him to like me a little more than I’m willing to admit. It’s the uncertainty that’s killing me. Just when I think he’s coming around, something snaps him back in place.
I stroll through the food court, looking for something to fill my growling belly when a black leather jacket catches my eye. Dylan. My feet freeze in place as my heart leaps into my throat. The guy wearing the jacket has wavy blond hair and black boots, but I can’t see his face. I want to run and hide, but my body does not cooperate. I now understand the deer in headlights.
Someone bumps into me, and I am nearly knocked off my feet.
“Sorry!” a lady yells as she chases after her kid.
“It’s okay,” I mumble, righting myself.
When I check for the guy in the leather jacket, he’s gone. I shake my head and spin in place, searching the area. It can’t be him. Dylan is far away. I am home. I am safe. Once I’ve convinced myself that I’m in no danger, I grab my shopping bags and make my way toward the exit.
“What kind of idiot wears a leather jacket in the middle of summer anyway?” I ask myself, stepping out into the heat.
A little before three, I sit on a bench near the entrance of the shopping center. Bags of wardrobe loot surround me. I hear Preston before I see him. That engine signals his approach as I gather up all my stuff. While I’m collecting my things, he throws the truck in park, hops out, and comes around to help me.
“Hi,” he says, giving me a smile. He seems to be in lighter spirits than when he left, and I wonder about his appointment. I absolutely hate that he’s wearing those Ray-Bans. The best thing about his smile is the tiny lines he gets in the corners of each eye. Preston gives great eye crinkle.
“Hey,” I answer.
We slide my bags into the truck, and I hop in. Preston waits until I’ve buckled my seat belt before closing my door and running around to his side. After only buckling his seat belt twice, we’re back on the highway, heading toward Crowley.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Yep. I got this,” I say, reaching into a random bag and pulling out my jeans. “And this,” I repeat, showing him the T-shirt. “And these.” I grab a handful of panties and lift them out. Preston stares at the mixed colors of lace and satin for too long. We hear a thump, thump, thump, and realize the truck has drifted onto the shoulder. I giggle as Preston’s gaze snaps forward and he corrects our place on the road.
“How was your appointment?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. “I feel like we should get to know each other, Preston. All I know about you is you have my old job, my old apartment, and a sweet truck. What if you’re some kind of crazy person?”
Preston seems to flinch. His grip tightens on the steering wheel and loosens again. I watch the flex and movement of muscles in his arms and try not to drool. There’s another round of touching all the gauges before he glances my way. This reaction makes me consider going easy on him.
“What if I am some kind of crazy person?” he asks.
“Well, there’s crazy and then there’s cra-ay-zee. You know?”
“What’s the difference?”
“The first one might drink too much and do a table dance at Millie’s while the second one would smear peanut butter all over their naked body and quote Samuel L. Jackson movies while riding a unicycle through town.”
“Oh,” Preston says, though I doubt my explanation helped at all.
“So, you won’t mind if I ask some questions?” I ask. He shakes his head. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“What did you study in college?”
“I have a bachelor’s in merchandising and consumer studies.”
“Wow. That sounds impressive, Preston-who-has-a-degree. Are you the one who talked Bennie into expanding beyond records at the store?”
“I did. I figured even with the new rise in vinyl sales, having other vintage inventory could only help bring in the ideal crowd and increase our visibility in the right market.”
I stare at him. I believe that’s the longest string of words he’s spoken to me since we met.
“Makes sense to me,” I say. “Why work at Vinyl, though?”
“My mom used to listen to records all the time. She has a huge collection. Some of my best childhood memories include vinyl soundtracks.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “Me, too. What’s your all-time favorite album?”
“Too hard. There are albums that represent different things in my life.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s strange,” I say, looking over at his profile. “Most of my favorite albums came out before I was born. I guess that’s from having a much older sister.”
“What album changed your life?” he asks.
“I don’t even have to think about it. Siamese Dream by Smashing Pumpkins.”
Preston smirks out at the road and nods. “Interesting.”
“Don’t judge me,” I tease. “What’s yours?” I ask.
“The Velvet Underground.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. That’s one of Bennie’s favorites.”
We are quiet again, listening to the wind whip through the cab and rustle my bags. A few minutes later, we pull into the alley behind Vinyl and park. Preston grabs half my stuff and runs around to open my door.
“Such a gentleman,” I say.
He waits for me to climb out. I do so ungracefully and head in through the back door. Preston follows me up the stairs, and I make sure to shake my ass just a little more than usual. I unlock Bennie’s apartment and head for my room.
“You can just drop them off right there,” I say, pointing to the corner.
I watch Preston closely as he crosses the threshold into my bedroom and gently sets down the bags. He lines them up neatly and pushes them against the wall. The sight of him, here in my space, makes me want to tackle him onto the bed. I’m sure the old wrought-iron furniture could take it. Something about this guy makes me crazy. Sure, there’s the physical stuff—and he’s got plenty of fantastic physical stuff—but there’s also this feeling of wanting to look closer.
“Well, thanks. For everything, I mean.”
He stares at the bed and the wall behind it.
“Preston?”
He blinks a few times and shakes his head before turning toward me.
“You’re welcome,” he says. There’s a beat of silence and then, “My bedroom is on the other side of this wall.” Preston kind of blurts this like he’d been holding it hostage on his tongue.
I grin and nod my head. “Yeah, I guess I knew that.”
Preston looks at the floor and then into my eyes. “These walls are pretty thin. I hope I don’t disturb you.”
I step toward him now. We stand at the end of my bed facing each other, too far apart to touch. The tension surrounds, constricting us into a tighter space.
“I welcome any and all disturbances, Preston.”
His tongue sweeps over pursed lips, and I pray that he will kiss me. Instead, he ducks his head, mumbles a good-bye, and escapes my room. A second later, I hear the front door close. I lie down in bed and kick off my shoes, staring up at the uninteresting ceiling. I wonder about Preston and his strikingly handsome face, his tall form, and thick arms.
“What is my fascination with this guy?” I say out loud.
A few minutes later I hear the beginnings of Smashing Pumpkin’s “Cherub Rock” filtering through the wall and can’t help the wide grin that takes over my face.