The Last Exit to Normal (12 page)

CHAPTER 15

T
hree o’clock rolled around and I was on my last fence slat when Miss Mae banged the back screen door shut, signaling she was coming out to make sure I was doing a good job. She looked down the rows of posts, then nodded. “Come on over here, boy.”

I did, waggling my tail and lolling my tongue like a puppy looking for a treat.

She pointed a gnarled finger at the second-to-last post. “That don’t look straight.”

I looked. “It is. You just have crooked eyes.”

She narrowed her crooked eyes at me. “You lip-ping me?”

I smiled. “Nobody ever told you that?”

“You make sure that fence is straight, hear?”

“Will do.”

She slipped her hand into her dress, taking out a twenty-dollar bill and handing it to me. “Any decent man has money in his pocket, and you’ve worked for it. Now go spend it on that girl of yours. She deserves more than you slinking around her house all the time, looking for a kiss.”

I tucked the twenty away. “I’m done?”

She nodded. “You done proved yourself. You work till four every day and you’ll have a twenty in your pocket to spend as you see fit.”

I added the hours. Twenty bucks a day for eight hours of work added up to two-fifty an hour. Now I knew what it meant to be a ditchdigger without a green card, but I’d take what I could get. “Thirty a day?”

She narrowed her eyes again. “You trying to put an old woman in the poorhouse?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Twenty-five, then, and not a penny more.” She reached in her mysterious dress again and pulled out a wad of cash, peeling off a five for my day’s work and handing it to me.

“Ever heard of a bank?”

She scowled. “Don’t trust ’em. Mind your business.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then I had an idea. “How about we make a deal?”

She furrowed her brow, suspicious. “What kind of deal?”

I pointed behind the shed. “Does that truck back there run?”

“Did the last time I drove it, but that was three years ago.”

“How about this. If I can get it running, it’s mine through the fall, except I have to do all your errands for you, anytime you want me to. No complaints.”

She considered. “I’ll do you one better. Same deal, ’cept you get the title to the truck come winter.”

“Cool! I’ll take it.”

“I ain’t done.”

“Oh. Go ahead.”

“You pay me twenty-five dollars a week until that time comes. Then you bought it fair and square.”

I smiled, then handed her the five dollars I’d bargained for minutes ago. There was no getting around this woman. Shrewd. “Deal.”

“Deal.” She took a pack of cigarettes from another part of her dress, then a lighter from yet another part of her dress. I wondered if there was any furniture in there. She lit up. “Your daddy been moping ’round this house all day like he lost his pet fish.”

“Yeah.”

“Suppose you two still have differences.”

“Yes.”

“Bet it was hard for you.”

“Not easy, that’s for sure.”

“The hardest things won in this life ain’t hard for no reason, Benjamin Campbell.”

“He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

She laughed in that gravelly chicken-gullet laugh, low and quiet. “Suppose there’s times there ain’t room for talk.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Now go get yourself cleaned up. You stink.”

My future wife picked me up that night, and we had our first non-working-your-ass-off date. We ate at the burger joint in town, ordering milkshakes for dessert and talking about stuff.

The only other girl I’d
really
dated had been Hailee, and the times we’d gone out had been more party related. We’d both been into the rave scene, and any kind of serious conversation had been hampered by earsplitting music. Then everything crumbled with her mom’s overdose, and Hailee was gone. Ben’s life, chapter two. Chicks leave.

Kimberly was so totally and completely different than Hailee that it wasn’t even funny. She didn’t like punk rock, had no desire to do anything wrong or illegal, didn’t wear black lipstick, had no piercings or tattoos, didn’t smoke or swear, and sitting across from her at the burger joint, I realized I had my hands full on an intellectual level, which suited me about as well as a boil on my ass.

Every time I looked at her mouth when she talked I wanted to stick my tongue in it, and that didn’t go well when you actually had to listen to a person speak so you could give an intelligent answer. It also didn’t help that every time I pictured her naked breasts, they morphed into Dirk’s fists speeding toward my face.

We talked about law school and politics and life in Montana and life in Spokane, and before I realized it, two hours had gone by and I actually found myself wondering if the whole boy-girl conversation thing wasn’t all that bad. She asked me what I wanted to do when I got out of school, and she laughed when I told her I wanted to be her house husband and greet her at the door wearing a checkered G-string, with a rose in my mouth. Then I told her I had a compulsive-feelings disorder and that I couldn’t seem to control verbal outbursts. She called me a romantic, and I think she liked the sound of it.

We talked about Billy, too. I explained that on the one hand the kid was great, and on the other he was like a Future Serial Killers of America award winner. A moment passed after that, and I studied her. “I want to show you something,” I said.

She eyed me warily. “What?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

“What time?”

“Around one?”

“One? In the morning?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at her fingers. “My dad would never let me. Not that late.”

I shrugged. “Don’t tell him.”

She frowned. “Ben, I can’t.”

I frowned back. “I’ll be on our back porch at one tonight. Meet me if you want, okay? No strings attached, but I really want you to come.”

“To do what?”

I smiled. “It’s a mystery.”

Just then, Greg Thompson, Kimberly’s ex-boyfriend, and Ron Jamison walked in. Greg glanced at us, then turned to the menu board. Ron saw us and came over, sliding into the booth beside Kim. She moved away from him. He smiled, making himself at home. “On a date? Awesome.” He called to Greg. “Hey, Greg, come here. I want you to meet my new buddy.” He looked at me as Greg came over. “What was your name again? Benald?”

“Sure.”

Greg nodded to me, and we shook hands. He looked at Kim. “Hi, Kim.”

“Hi, Greg.”

Greg looked around uncomfortably. “Come on, Ron. Let’s order.”

Ron laughed. “What’s your hurry, Greg? Come on, sit down and visit.”

He didn’t sit.

Ron smiled. “Come on, man. Sit. We’re all friends, right?” Then he looked at me. “Hey, Benald, how’s your little buddy? Showing him some ‘moves’ on the board?”

Greg cut in before the sparks could fly. “Your dad is opening a restaurant here in town, huh?” He looked at me, and I frowned, wondering if this was a setup. He nodded. “My dad works at the bank. Ms. Pierce is their loan officer.”

I relaxed. “Yeah. A steakhouse.”

“Cool.”

Ron brightened. “Mmmm. Ms. Pierce. Looks good in those skirts, huh, Benald? Bet your dad would love to . . . Oh, forgot. He doesn’t like that type, does he?”

Kim interrupted. “Knock it off, Ron.”

Ron sat back, splaying his hands wide. “What? Just making conversation.” He looked at me. “Your dad is a queer, right?”

I stared at him. “Yes.”

“You ever hear them, you know, knockin’ the work boots?” He laughed, slapping his fist into his palm.

Greg was silent, ill at ease. Kimberly rolled her eyes. I smiled. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, your dad came over last night and stayed for a while. He walking funny today?”

Ron’s smile disappeared.

I took a sip of my milkshake. “He sounded like a woman, actually. Sort of like this squeal thing, you know?”

Ron clenched his teeth, then smiled. “You’d best mind your manners, freak. You don’t belong here.”

I stared at him. “I’ve never fit in with dumbshit rednecks like you.”

Greg stood, anxious. “Ben, nice meeting you. Come on, Ron.”

Ron got up, his eyes locked on mine. Then he smiled. “You take care, Benald. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

I smiled. “Say hi to your dad for me.”

Then they were gone. I shrugged, watching them walk out the door. “Guess we ruined their dinner.”

Kim looked down. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything.”

She shook her head. “Not everybody is like that here.”

I blew it off, but my ears burned and my stomach did what it always did when shit happened. Quivered. Not like butterflies, but almost. “Listen, Kim, I’m used to it. Having a gay dad equals hassle.”

“Well, I’m still sorry.”

I smiled. The last thing I wanted to do was make this an issue. My dad being gay seemed to infiltrate every corner of my life, and I didn’t want it here. “Greg seems like a pretty decent guy.”

“He is.”

“Why’d you break up?”

She looked away. “Things just didn’t work out.”

“Was he a jerk to you or something?”

“No. I didn’t like the people he hung out with.”

“Ron?”

“Yes. And his buddy, Cobie Wilson.”

Cobie had also been in the Bronco. “The tagalong?”

“Yes.”

“Why does Greg hang with them?”

“He and Ron are cousins. They’ve been together since they were born.”

“You can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your relatives.”

She giggled. “Greg told me once that Ron bugs him sometimes.”

“I would bet Ron bugs a lot of people a lot of the time.”

“People ignore it. He’s the best pitcher the school has had since the sixties.”

“Oh, one of those deals.”

“Yeah, and his dad is on the town council.”

“Oooh. A politician. Even better.”

Kim smiled, and a moment of silence passed. “You know it doesn’t bother me, right?”

“What doesn’t bother you?”

“Your dad. I mean . . .” Her voice trailed away.

I smiled. “Your dad doesn’t bother me, either. I mean, him being straight and all.”

She laughed, embarrassed. “That was insensitive, wasn’t it?”

“No. Just the truth. Believe me, I don’t do well around sensitive people. My dad had the wrong kid to have a gay father.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

I met her eyes. “See, that’s the thing. You know what bugs me more about people? It’s not guys like Ron. It’s the liars.” I twiddled a fry between my fingers. “Somebody somewhere said that you’re supposed to act normal around un-normal things, and everybody just sort of agreed. You have to hide it, you know? So you smile and say the things you’re supposed to say, even though everybody is thinking the same thing.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s bad, Ben, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I shrugged. “I don’t care who thinks it’s bad, Kim. Really. Maybe a couple of years ago I did, but not now.” I sat back, tossing the fry on the tray. “I know what we are, and it ain’t normal. Especially around here. Dads aren’t supposed to be gay, and you know what? I agree with that.” I smiled. “It’s not like I was walking around in seventh grade wishing my mom would split and my dad’s boyfriend would move in.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

I smiled at her discomfort. “I’m not a walking basket case about it, if that’s what you mean. We have our crap to deal with just like everybody else.”

She looked at her reflection in the window next to the booth, silent.

“You’re really uncomfortable talking about this, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just . . .”

“Weird, right? Let me guess. Your dad has talked to you about it.”

She smiled. “Well, yes. But I’m not homophobic. Neither is he.”

“Oooh. The homophobic word.”

She frowned. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re having fun with me or being serious. It’s like I can’t tell where you stand with it.”

I smiled, drawling my best John Wayne. “Well, little lady, I don’t know where I stand with it, so I guess we have something in common.”

She thought for a minute. “Do you prefer not to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not talk at all.”

She laughed. “Don’t be nasty, Ben Campbell.”

“I can’t help it. You bring out the animal in me, but every time I dream about it, your brother comes in and pulverizes me.”

“Well, we just might have to change that.”

The thrill of Ben almost scoring coursed through me. “Meet me tonight, then?”

She shook her head.

“Say not a word, dear lady. You know where I’ll be. One o’clock.”

At five after one that night, soft footsteps on the driveway brought a smile to my face. Romance was in the air, but this wasn’t about romance. This was about freaky, and I wondered how she’d take it. Kimberly, in deep shadow, appeared from the corner of the house and looked around. I whispered hello. She jumped, and I stood up. “Sorry.”

She took a deep breath. “Where are we going?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.” I took her hand, and a tingle went up my arm as I did. I led her across the backyard, looking up at the sky. The moon was high, and out in the open, the landscape glowed with a bluish tinge. In Paris or Rome or somewhere else, it might have been romantic, but here it was creepy. I opened the back gate and led her into the fields.

She stopped, tugging at my hand. “Where are we going?”

I smiled. “To make wild love under the moon of a beautiful Montana night.”

She took her hand from mine, shaking her head.

I took out a cigarette, looked at the back of Miss Mae’s house in the distance, then thought better of lighting up. “Kidding. No funny stuff. I promise.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Ben . . .”

I chuckled, smiling. “What are you worried about? You know you could kick my ass all over the place if you wanted to. I promise. No moves.” I held my hand out to her.

She looked at it, then took it. “No funny stuff.”

“Not even a grab-ass. Trust me.”

She sighed at my lame attempt at humor, but came along. Once we reached the trees before the ravine, she looked back. “I’ve never snuck out before.”