Red - Jack Ketchum [6]
“My what?”
He wondered if you even had a bush at ten. He didn’t think so. He shot a free throw. Scored. Rebounded the ball.
“Grab her, Frankie,” said Sammy.
Fatass did as he was told, grabbed hold of both her arms and turned her toward Sammy. She let out a little mouse- shriek. Eeeek. Whether it was Frankie’s gripping her too hard or being pressed against his sweaty belly was anybody’s guess.
Sammy poked her in her skinny chest, punctuating his words, grinning.
“We. Want. To. See. Your. Bush!”
“No!” she said.
Jenny still didn’t seem to know what this was all about but she’d started to cry, tears welling up quietly. And then she did know because Frankie reached down to the waistband of her frilly two-piece bathing suit and started to tug it down, the boys all laughing at her as she squirmed every which way and kicked and struggled.
“Hey! Cut that out!”
Mr. French had a half-eaten hot dog in his hand and he was still chewing.
Mr. French was ex-infantry. He didn’t just approach. He loomed.
“What in the hell do you think you boys are doing here?”
The boys had no answer for that. They looked at one another. Saw no answer there either. How much the man had actually observed coming around the side of the house they didn’t know but they were going to catch hell anyhow for messing with a girl and they knew it. Frankie let go of her arm and she stumbled to the tarmac, crying. Sammy, John and Frankie took off like they were rounding third base for home with the ball in play. Even Frankie had a fire under him.
Brian shot another free throw. Sunk it. Rebounded.
Mr. French helped Jenny up. Then turned to Brian, scowling.
“Why were you letting them do that, Brian?”
“Sir?”
The eyes narrowed. The scowl now read contempt.
“Sir? Did you just call me sir?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Listen, you little smartass…”
“I was just shooting some free throws, sir.”
“Right. Sure you were. And you know damn well you should have stopped them. They’re how much younger than you? Three years? Four years?”
“I really wasn’t paying attention, sir. I was concentrating on my free throw.”
“You…jesus christ.”
He shook his head in disgust. Brian couldn’t have cared less if he was disgusted. He was an ex-marine with a gut on him. Fuck him.
He shot. Hit the rim and missed. Two for three. Not bad but he could do better.
Mr. French led Jenny back to the picnic.
Brian rebounded.
~ * ~
Chris glanced in the rear-view mirror at Darlin’ sleeping in the back. There was mustard on his daughter’s chin. He smiled. Brian got in beside her and slammed the door. She didn’t even flinch. The sleep of the innocent.
“How’d you do, buddy?”
“Eight for ten, dad.”
“Consistently?”
“Just the last time and once before that. I think I’m getting the hang of it, though.”
“Can’t win games unless you hit your free throws.”
“I know.”
He watched as Belle and Peg approached the back of the Escalade — Belle carrying two beach chairs and Peg a neat stack of wet towels. He hit the auto lock to unlock the tailgate.
“There’s Roger,” Brian said. “He’s got this major thing for Peggy.”
Cleek checked the rearview again and saw this towheaded pigeon-chested kid walk by with his parents to their own car and it looked like his son was right. The kid was fairly beaming at her. He said something Chris couldn’t hear to her and she shrugged and said something back. Whatever it was turned his smile into a frown.
Busted, he thought. Poor guy.
He couldn’t blame the kid for trying, though. His daughter had turned into quite a looker.
Belle closed the tailgate and they came around to the passenger side and got in, Peg in back next to her sister and Belle in front and quietly shut their doors.
He turned to his daughter.
“Never went in, huh?”
“Chlorine makes my hair gross.”
He laughed. He thought the laugh came out just fine. It usually did.
“Well,” he said, “we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
He put the Escalade in gear and pulled away.
~ * ~
It was the unpaved road that woke her up. The unpaved road meant they were almost home.
She’d been dreaming