Austin
Shit. The only thing I managed not to fall off today was a fence. I shouldn’t be surprised; my brain sure isn’t in the game. I heave my bareback rigging toward my gear bag, and get on one knee to unbuckle my spurs.
“Austin.” Carly’s soft, sad voice comes from behind me.
I stuff gear in my bag as fast as I can. “I’ve got to git.”
“I know, but can I talk to you?”
Half my stuff hanging out, I pick up the bag. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t forget your bull rope.” She points to the fence.
Crap. I tug the slip knot, throw it over my shoulder. She’s blocking my way.
“Can I at least walk you to your truck?”
I shrug. “Free country.”
She’s tripping along, almost jogging to keep up. I sigh and slow down.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
I keep walking, threading my way through the lines of pickups. Where did I park my damn truck?
“Austin, please. Will you just hear me out?”
I reach my truck and toss my bag in the bed and turn. “Go ahead then. I’ve got to get on the road.” Man, she looks wrecked. Dark circles under eyes that are dull and sad…unCarly-like.
“I was selfish. I admit that. I was tired, and lonely, and missing you so bad.” She clasps her hands in front of her and looks at the ground, like a chastised schoolgirl. “I didn’t go planning that. I just got caught up, and…”
Even with her hair falling in her face, I can see her blush.
“I couldn’t stop.”
She looks up, her mouth turned down, her bottom lip shaking. “I didn’t even think about you thinking we’d be back together. Thinking doesn’t happen much when we start—” She takes a breath and looks up, into my eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m an idiot. I made a bad mistake. You can think I’m a flake, or whatever. But I can’t stand that you think I’d hurt you like that. On purpose.”
Damn me. I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything’s going to be okay. But that’s just because she looks so much like my Carly. To remind myself she’s not my anything anymore, I grab the door handle. “Okay. I gotta go.”
* * *
Carly
We decided to stay the night, and the next morning a glance in the bathroom mirror gives me a start. My face is bloated; my eyes are pools of reddened sadness, the bags under them so dark they look like three-day-old shiners. And I don’t want to think about trying to comb the hoorah’s nest on top of my head.
Inside me, though, there’s an odd stillness that holds the faintest whiff of peace. After all, yesterday, I told Austin. Badly, but I did it. I made the decision to keep the baby. Two things I thought I couldn’t do, and I’m still standing. I know it’s only the beginning of many things I must do that I don’t think I can. Like telling Nana and Papaw. And Unforgiven.
And I’ll have to figure out how to live without Austin. That’s going to be hardest of all.
But the jitters aren’t dancing this morning, and I have no trace of morning sickness.
The way things are going, I’ll take what I can get.
I strip out of my T-shirt and underwear, and step under the cheap water-saver showerhead. How can the spray hurt when there’s barely enough water to wet my skin? I soap my belly slow and soft. Only I would know there’s a little pooch to it.
Mornin’, baby. A smile rises in me. I don’t have Austin, but I’m not alone.
Ten minutes later, I’m trying to repair the damage to my face with a makeup miracle.
Bang, bang, bang! “What, are you nesting in there? I gotta pee.”
I pull the door open to Nevada’s perpetual frown. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
Arms full of clothes, she mumbles something and pushes past me.
I step out. “We need to make a grocery run on the way out of town. I saw there’s a Costco—”
She slams the door on the rest, so I sit on my bed with my tiny travel mirror and finish my makeup. I’ve had about enough of Miss ’Tude. I’ve made allowances for what I’m sure was her crappy childhood. I’ve gone out of my way to try to get along. I even put up with her eardrum-stabbing music. I’m no longer the soft little yes-woman. I’m tough. “Honey, you may be all Homie, but you push a country girl too far, you gonna see some cat-crap crazy,” I mutter, brushing on mascara.
She reappears in ten minutes in micro shorts and a ratty-looking T-shirt with BITE ME in faded letters.
“You know, Costco sells T-shirts and shorts with real legs on them.”
“Do they sell cans of ‘Give-a-shit’? Cuz I’m fresh out.”
I shake my head. “I’ll meet you in the Costco parking lot. You know where it is, right?”
“I know where it is. I don’t know why you just don’t give me the credit card. You afraid I’m going to steal from Cora?” She stands, feet apart, chin out, her hands fisted at her sides.
I lift my dad’s jacket from the chair and shrug into it. The thought had occurred to me, but this probably isn’t a good time to bring it up. I grab my helmet from the desk. “Let’s go, I want to get on the road. We may be able to pick up some lunchtime business somewhere.”
“You’re gonna have to wait. Somebody was hogging—”
Nevada’s not the only one who can slam a door.
* * *
Carly
A half hour later, I’m sitting on the concrete in the shade of Costco, fuming. She doesn’t do makeup. She pulls her dishwater mop into a ponytail, and God knows, she doesn’t spend time on her wardrobe. She’s dawdling to tick me off. And it’s working.
Ten more minutes pass before the truck pulls in the lot and parks. I’d love to march over and chew her out, but I’m not giving her the satisfaction of going to her.
She walks right past me, ignoring the cart I’m standing next to, pulls out another, and pushes it through the doors when they whoosh open.
Okay, that’s it. I leave the cart and stomp after her. “Just what the happy heck is your problem?”
“You want to do this now? Okay.” She stops and plants a fist on her hip. “All your little ‘countryisms.’ Look, you want to say ‘fuck’? Say it already.” She puts her head back and yells at the beams, two stories up. “Fuuuuuuck.” She turns to me and shrugs. “See? Not so hard.”
I point to the glowering mother who has stopped her cart to put her hands over her toddler’s ears.
She snorts. “Deal, lady. I’ll bet he’s already heard it from his father.”
I put a hand on her forearm. “Stop it.”
She jerks away. “Don’t you touch me.”
“Seriously. You’re rude, crude, and you have no manners. I’ve never done anything to you, yet you’ve hated me since you first slapped eyes on me. You’re going to tell me why, if I have to dogpile you in in the middle of this store until you do.”
Her face is screwed into a red knot of distemper. “Little Miss Perfect.” She hisses. “All the men fall all over you—”
“What are you talking about? They do n—”
“You don’t see them watch you when you walk by? Like they’re stray dogs, dying to have you pet them. They get all stumbly and tongue-tied around you. I don’t get it—it’s like they think you’re girl-next-door wholesome. Shows what they know.” She pushes the cart into the first aisle.
I stand, stunned for a moment. I’ve spent the past month and a half beating myself up, slinking around, feeling guilty. I’m not taking it from this one. A crimson fountain of rage goes off in my brain. “I’m not done talking to you, bitch!”
She stops. As does everyone else within hearing range.
“I made mistakes. But at least I’m not a felon.”
Her face hardens like cement in the sun. I’ve gone too far, and I don’t care. I stomp down the aisle until I’m even with her. “I don’t give a flying bat booger what you think of me, Nevada Sweet. I’m your boss. Cora left me in charge, and you will show respect for that, if nothing else.” I notice we’re by the flour. I heft a ten-pound sack and heave it in the cart. “Now, shop, damn it.”
She shoots me a look, but shuts her mouth.
She may be smarter than I gave her credit for.
* * *
Carly
The bike vibrates beneath me. I’m following the truck, but staying back a hundred feet to avoid the buffet-zone right behind it. My thoughts are skipping like a rock tossed across a lake.
It may have been justified, and it sure felt good, but I’m ashamed of my behavior in the store. I was taught not to lower myself to a bully’s level. Nana would snatch me bald, if she knew.
Nana. Under my ribs, a hollow place bursts open and homesickness fills me. I want my Nana.
I’m exhausted. I’m heartsick. I want to go home. And this is only the beginning of a long road that’s going to end with a helpless human in my arms, and a much longer road ahead. Alone is one thing, but this is like hanging off the side of a cliff, clinging to a branch that’s loosening a bit more every day. That kind of alone.
I thought it’d be good to get away from Unforgiven’s prying eyes and local gossip. Now all I want to do is go where everyone and everything is familiar. Even if they hate me when the news gets out, at least there’s Nana and Papaw.
Unless they hate me, too. I imagine their matching looks of disappointment, hardening to disbelief when I tell them the baby isn’t Austin’s.
I’ve got to stop this. I’m not going to know for sure until I tell them. And to tell them, I have to be home. But Cora’s not due back for another week. That week stretches unending ahead of me. I have no idea how I’ll get through it.
Hey, maybe Cora’s not having fun, either. She could be sick of diapers, and arguing with her daughter. Maybe she’s as ready to come back as I am to go. It’s possible.
I check the left lane, pull into it, and hit the throttle until I’m even with the driver’s window. I hold up my hand, fingers touching my thumb; our signal for “I have to pee.”
Eye roll, then Nevada points at the sign for the next exit, one mile up. I raise my thumb in agreement, and fall behind again.
We pull off the highway and into the first gas station we find.
After a snide comment about pregnant women’s bladders, Nevada heads for the Stop-n-Go mart.
I pull my phone and hit speed dial.
“Hello?”
Cora’s voice brings a flood of moisture to my eyes. It seems so long since I heard a friendly voice. “Hi, Cora.”
“Oh Carly, it’s so good of you to call—Brittany, do not eat the cookie dough. Don’t you know it’ll give you worms?”
I hear a chorus of pre-teen gross-out in the background.
“Sorry, Carly. We have a kitchen full of Brittany’s friends, and my daughter went to the store to get more butterscotch chips.”
“How’s the baby?”
“Down for a nap, but I doubt that’s going to last long with this bunch…Annalise, not in her hair!”
“Sounds like bedlam.”
“Are you kidding?” I hear her smile. “This is heaven.”
So much for being saved by the cavalry. I knew it was a long shot. “I’m happy for you.” And I am. But…I shoot a glance at the store. “Look, Cora, Nevada is worse than difficult. She’s rude, obnoxious, and insubordinate. We almost got in a knock-down in Costco. I don’t know if I can—”
“Megan, mind the stove, hon, it’s hot. Sorry. Have you tried sitting down and talking to her?”
“I threatened to sit on her to get her to talk to me, but she’s a hard case. Won’t you fill me in on what happened to land her in jail? It might help.”
“I’m sorry, Carly, I promised her I wouldn’t. I’ll lose her respect if I go against her wishes.”
“I get that. I just don’t know if I can work this out.”
“Come, Brittany love. Take the spoon and keep mixing this, will you?” I hear steps, and the noise recedes. “I know this is hard for you, Carly, but there’s not much I can do from here. I did warn you, remember, but you—”
“I know, I know. I’ll find a way to work it out, Cora, don’t worry.”
“Now, tell me how you’re feeling. Morning sickness? Have you run into Austin yet?”
“Yes, and yes.” The store door opens and Nevada walks out. “But it’s a long story, and I’ve gotta run. You enjoy the family and I’ll fill you in when I see you in Alamogordo, next Sunday.”
“Okay, but Carly? Please be patient. She’s hurting, too.”
“I’ll try. Thanks, Cora. Kiss the baby for me.” I drop the phone into my jacket pocket by the time Nevada walks up. My stomach growls. Loud.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “You want me to fix you a hamburger?”
Wow. If that’s her idea of an olive branch, I’m grabbing it. “I’ll tell you what. We’re close to stopping for the night anyway. I’ll buy you dinner.”
She looks at me like I’m a vacuum salesman standing on her doorstep. “Why?”
“I’d offer to smoke a peace pipe, but we’d probably be arrested for contraband, right here in the parking lot. It’s a free meal that you don’t have to cook. Are you going to turn it down?”
“Hell no. Lead on, moneybags.”
We head to the pizza place that shares a space with the station’s convenience store. I’m starving, but seeing the pooled grease on the slices under the heat lamp makes my stomach start an agitation cycle. I order a salad and garlic bread, instead.
Nevada orders two pieces with pepperoni and a soda from the pimply kid in a paper hat.
I pay, and we take one of the two plastic tables. The locals must feel the same way I do about the pizza; the place is deserted.
Nevada takes a big bite and grease runs down her chin.
I must have winced, because her face tightens and her chin lifts. “What, my manners not good enough for a Rodeo Queen?” She swipes her chin with a thin paper napkin.
“No. It’s just the grease doesn’t agree with the baby.”
“Oh.” It comes out small.
“Not everyone is judging you every second, you know.”
“Yeah. Probably. In your world.” She takes another bite.
I pick at my salad, picking my words as carefully. “We live in the same world. It’s all in how you look at things.”
“Look. I can tell you’re trying to be all sincere. But I doubt your world growing up had rats and junkies and Johns, okay? You grow up that way, then tell me how I should see things.”
She takes another bite, like she just told me we were low on coffee. I check the muscles of my face, to be sure my shock won’t show. “Where did you grow up?”
“Houston. Third Ward. And I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had social workers in my life. I don’t need another.”
“Okay, fair enough. What do we talk about?”
“Dunno.” She says around a mouthful of pizza.
Talking to Nevada is like juggling porcupines bare-handed. “What do you think of the rodeo? Have you watched it yet?”
She nods and swallows. “Cora made me, when she first hired me. I think it’s stupid.”
She’s a city girl. I smooth my hackles. “Why do you say that?”
“A bunch of kids who don’t know they can die, doing dangerous things with huge animals, for tacky jewelry and not much money.” She shrugs. “What’s the smart part about that?”
“I’d like to argue, but put that way, I’m not sure I can.”
“Holy shit.” She slaps her forehead. “Is this it? The end of the world? Did we actually find something we can agree on?”
“Nah, I love the rodeo.”
When I smile, she smiles back.