Shine - Lauren Myracle [40]
Nobody likes a tattletale.
I left Huskers, because I needed to get away from Dupree. I considered what he said, though. I considered it from various angles, all subject to a variety of interpretations.
One: Dupree was sharper than he pretended to be. His stoner act was just that, regardless of how much dope he actually smoked.
Two: Dupree was not only sharp, but potentially dangerous. Had he threatened me before I left Huskers? Was that what his “the sun don’t shine” story was about?
Which brought me to three: Wally. Wally was nasty as rotten lunch meat, living out in his trailer with his flea-ridden dogs. His eyes were constantly bloodshot, he had a chronic cough, and he was coated with filth and stink.
All things considered, I was left with a plan of attack that made my stomach lurch. First, I needed to keep Dupree in my sights, whether literally or figuratively. I needed to be very, very careful when it came to that boy.
Second, I needed to talk to Wally. I didn’t want to, and I wasn’t at all sure I’d find the courage to make it happen. Wally was worse than any fairy-tale witch, and his trailer wasn’t made of candy. Just the thought of him terrified me.
I’d think on it. For today, I was done.
I HAD CHORES THE NEXT DAY, AND NO WAY AROUND them. Collect kindling, even though fall was a ways off. Water and weed the garden. Laundry, laundry, and more laundry. And finally, tend to the dang green beans so we’d have them ready for dinner.
I hated green beans. First I had to pick them. Then I had to string them, pulling the tough top part straight down the spine of each bean on both sides. Then I broke them. Then I washed them until the water ran clear. Then I cut out the black spots made from bugs. Though fixing green beans was one of my least favorite chores, I stretched it out today. I was working up the courage for what I had to do next.
I knew Wally would talk to me. He liked girls, and the younger the better. Every winter he came into town for the Christmas pageant, because seeing little kids in angel robes gave him a boner. In the summer, he’d show up at the lake where younger kids went swimming—not Suicide Rock, but a lake with a dock and a lifeguard and a tiny snack shack—and it was the same thing all over again. His thing made a tepee out of his swim trunks, right there in front of God and every living soul.
Once he asked Gwennie if she wanted him to teach her to float on her back. I was ten. She was nine. We’d both known how to float on our backs for years. We wrinkled our noses and said ewww and ran off laughing. Gwennie probably should have told her daddy, but she didn’t.
When I finished prepping the beans, I put them in a two-quart pan to soak, ’cause Daddy liked them super soft. I threw in a big ol’ chunk of fatback for flavor, and also for its grease, and then I went to get my bike. It was a long ride to Wally’s trailer, which was deep in the forest. I hoped on the ride over I’d come up with a brilliant scheme to get him to talk to me without arousing his suspicion. I wasn’t feeling overly enthusiastic, as this was a man who gave his “boys” pistols. I could well be the most foolish girl in the county.
I was halfway down the driveway when Christian called out to me. I stopped. “Yeah?”
He cut across the yard, looking strong and tough with his sun-kissed skin and his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Why do you care?”
“Because you’re my sister.”
“Like that’s ever mattered before.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been acting strange, Cat.” He stood in front of me and took hold of the handlebars. “I’m not the only one who’s noticed, either.”
“Let go,” I said.
“Then tell me where you’re going. I’ll go with you. We’ll take my Yamaha.”
I didn’t know what he was up to. His shoulders were hunched, his body’s way of telling me he was concerned. But why? He didn’t care about me. Or maybe he did, but not enough.
To prove it, I said, “You’ll give me a ride