The Last Exit to Normal (4 page)

After he left, I looked at the piece of paper and realized it had been on the refrigerator. A list of chores.
“Great. Now I get to be Billy’s twin slave.” I read them: Mow, edge, water, weed the vegetable
garden, paint the fence behind the garage, rebuild the half fence on the Hinkses’ side, fix the mailbox, and clean
out the shed. The top of the list noted that I had a week to complete everything besides rebuilding the fence. I crumpled
up the list and threw it. They could rot for all I cared.

CHAPTER 5

T
he one thing about hot days in Montana is that the nights are chilly.
It’s like a teeter-totter of heat and cold, and I knew I’d freeze my butt off. My stomach crawled with
hunger, too. I looked around the shed and there wasn’t a clear place to sleep. Then I saw the crumpled chore
list. Fine. I’d clean the shed. That’s all, though. She could come out here and beat me with the biggest
wooden spoon in the world, but I wasn’t caving in. Not to some short old woman with a nasty attitude who
thought she knew everything.

An hour later, I’d cleaned half the shed up, found a candle and lit it, and set up my bed on the dirt
floor. Whoopee. I’d probably get eaten by some wild animal or kidnapped by a bunch of lunatic hicks out for a
midnight ballyhoo. Then I remembered the girl I’d fallen in love with earlier. She’d keep me warm.

I woke up the next morning in a puddle of sweat, and the mosquitoes had feasted on my flesh. Billy
Hinks was standing at the entrance of the shed, his big eyes locked on me. As usual, he wore a long-sleeved shirt and
too-short Levi’s. He tilted his head, squinting at me. I sat up. “I thought you weren’t supposed
to talk to me,” I said.

“I ain’t.”

“You ain’t what?”

“Talkin’ to you.” He pointed to the back door. “Pa told me to ask Miss
Mae for her wheelbarrow. Ours got a busted handle.”

I looked toward the back of the shed, saw the wheelbarrow behind a roll of chicken wire, and stood up.
“Here.” I threw the chicken wire aside and grabbed the wheelbarrow. “What are you
doing?”

“Moving bricks.”

“Building something?”

He shook his head. “Moving them.”

“Why?”

He looked at me for a second, almost like he was deciding something. “Ain’t none of
your business.”

“Secret brick-moving mission?”

He shook his head, the tiniest smile playing on his lips before it disappeared. “I gotta git. Pa
don’t want me talking to you.”

I looked at Billy’s house. No one in sight. “So what?”

He laughed. “So I don’t want to get in trouble again, that’s so what.
Bye.”

He left me scratching my head, wondering how he’d gotten in trouble. I’d been the one
talking to him, and besides, he hadn’t said more than two sentences to me. I stretched, raising my arms above
my head and looking at the driveway. Dad’s car was gone, and I remembered Edward and him talking the day
before about checking out a building in town to lease. Some sort of business they were thinking of starting. I figured it
would be a hit with all the gays in town.

I walked to the back porch and checked the door, but it was locked. I had to take a dump, so I walked to
the front door. It was locked, too. Great. I sat down, dragged my last cigarette from the pack, and lit up. The other packs
were inside. My stomach growled, so I turned on the hose and drank.

This was going to be a fantastic day. Miss Mae wasn’t going to let me in. No food, no toilet
paper, no money for smokes, no nothing. Fine. I stood up, headed back to the shed, and found an old towel. If I
couldn’t go in, I’d go out. I walked over to the garden behind the shed, dug a hole with my heel right in
the middle of a bunch of potato seedlings, dropped trou, and planted my own version of nature’s bountiful
harvest, smiling as I grunted the last out. Never let it be said that Ben Campbell couldn’t get in the country
swing of things.

I un-squatted after wiping with the towel, then kicked dirt over my gift to Miss Mae. I peeked around the
other side of the shed; an old Chevy pickup was sitting there. Miss Mae didn’t drive anymore, and I figured it
was her dead husband’s. I walked around it, kicking the tires and looking inside. It was in great shape—if
faded and worn a bit.

The Hinkses’ house was on the other side of the yard, and a portion of the fence had come down
in a windstorm a month ago or something. That’s the one I had to rebuild. As I turned from the truck, I saw
Billy Hinks staring at me through the space, the wheelbarrow in front of him. He’d seen me squat. I rolled my
eyes, then walked over to him. “I’m locked out.”

He smiled, looking to the garden-turned-outhouse. “I won’t tell.”

“Where’s your dad?”

“Helping some guy sell cars at the auction in Cedar Hollow.”

I looked at the pile of bricks. Almost all of them were broken, and the pile was big. At least four hours of
work for a kid his size. “An auction, huh?”

He wiped his brow. “Yep. He makes money doing it. Talks real fast. Practices in the
bathroom.”

I nodded, thinking about what the kid had said earlier about talking to me. “Did you get
grounded or something because I talked to you yesterday?”

He shook his head.

“Then what?”

“I gotta move these bricks.”

I looked at the pile, then at the smaller pile ten feet away that he’d made. “You have to
move bricks because I talked to you?”

He nodded. “Gotta get it done before he gets home, too.” He bent and picked up a broken
brick, throwing it in the wheelbarrow.

I realized then that there was no reason for moving those bricks other than punishment. I also knew it
was my fault. I hopped the downed fence.

“What’re you doing?”

I picked up a brick. “Helping.”

“You can’t. I’ll get in trouble if he finds out.”

“Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t find out.”

He shook his head, his big eyes scared. “You gotta go.”

I put the brick in the wheelbarrow, thinking for a second. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal.
I’ll help you do this, and when your dad gets home I’ll tell him that it was my fault you got in trouble
in the first place and that you didn’t want me to help, but I did anyway. It’ll all be my fault, so you
won’t get in trouble and you won’t have to do this whole thing yourself.”

He looked at the pile of bricks, then wiped his forehead again. It was at least ninety degrees out already.
“You sure you ain’t lyin’? You’ll really say that to him?”

“I promise.”

He took a moment, thinking. “Okay.”

So we worked. Billy Hinks didn’t talk when he worked, and I found out what a big pussy I was
after an hour nonstop. That I couldn’t compete with an eleven-year- old boy didn’t do much for my
self-esteem, and I thought about what my dad had said the night before. I decided I wouldn’t take a break until
Billy spoke, but the sun was relentless, my head pounded, my stomach crawled with hunger, and my hands were
blistered and bloody. So we continued, lugging a pile of broken bricks ten feet for absolutely no reason.

Then my angel-disguised-as-Satan came out the back door with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.
She stood on the back porch until she could tell we saw her, put the pitcher and glasses on the little table, and went back
inside without a word. Billy eyed the lemonade. I worked my hands, wincing every time I balled them into a fist.
“How ’bout it? You thirsty?”

He looked at the original pile of bricks, which was half gone, then back to the lemonade.
“Sure.”

At the table, Billy slumped in a chair and glugged. I did, too, and the shade from Miss Mae’s
awning over the stones of the porch felt like a piece of cool paradise. I cupped my swollen hands around the icy glass,
sighing. “Big pile of bricks.”

He nodded, an ice cube bulging his freckled cheek out. “Yep.”

“Your dad doesn’t like us.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair and drinking more. “Because yer goin’ to
hell.” He kicked his legs under the chair. “He took me to the potluck last year. It’s
comin’ up again.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but knew he didn’t want to talk about us moving in.
Besides, I’d heard the hell thing too many times before, and I didn’t want to get into it with an
eleven-year-old kid. “Was it fun?”

He nodded. “Yep. Got my face painted.”

I laughed. “I’ve done that, too.”

“I won a prize throwing beanbags, too.”

“Awesome.”

He nodded. “Yep. Stuffed animal. Still got it. Keep it in the secret place so it don’t get
thrown out.”

“The secret place?”

He glanced sideways at me. “Yep.”

“What’s the secret place?”

He bobbed his head when he talked. Almost like a cartoon character. “Can’t tell,
wouldn’t be secret no more if I did.”

I poured more lemonade for us, thanking God for Miss Mae even though she was a monster woman, and
then looked up. Mr. Hinks stood at the fence, staring at us. “Shit.”

Billy looked at me. Then turned and followed my eyes over his shoulder.

I watched his face go from animated to stony. He set his glass down carefully, then stood up. I got up,
too. “Wait here, okay?”

He shifted on his feet. I walked over to Mr. Hinks. “Hello, Mr. Hinks.”

He looked at me. “You’ve got no call being around my son. You know my
wishes.”

I cleared my throat. “Miss Mae brought us some lemonade.”

He looked at my bruised hands, then at Billy. “Come home, Billy.”

I shook my head as Billy walked over. “He didn’t do anything, Mr. Hinks. I was the one
who talked to him yesterday, not him, and when I found out he got in trouble, I decided to help with the bricks.
That’s all. He didn’t even want me to help him, but I didn’t think it was fair.”

“Don’t you tell me what’s fair and what’s not.” He turned to
Billy. “You had lunch?”

Billy shook his head.

“Get on in, then. I’ll be fixin’ sandwiches in a minute.”

As Billy ran past, Mr. Hinks cuffed him on the shoulder, pushing him toward the door. Billy almost lost
his footing, his arms and legs sprawling wildly before he regained his balance. I looked at Mr. Hinks. “I told you
it was me.”

Mr. Hinks looked at me, then adjusted his baseball cap. “You mind your business.” Then
he turned and began walking to his back door.

I watched him go, an icy feeling running through me. “I was just talking to him, sir.
That’s all. He didn’t want to talk to me. He told me he couldn’t, just like you
said.”

Mr. Hinks called over his shoulder for me to mind my business again; then the door closed and I was left
with the sun beating down on my head and my blisters stinging like a sonofabitch.

I looked at the remaining bricks, knowing Billy would have to finish moving them and knowing, too, that
the crawling in my stomach didn’t have to do with being hungry anymore. I hopped the fence and started
loading bricks. Screw him.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Hinks came out with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. He didn’t say
anything, just stood on the porch, chewing away at his lunch. I righted myself from the pile and we stared at each other
for a moment, challenging each other with our stares before I bent to my work again. He could pound sand for all I
cared, and if he wanted to push me around, he could come over and try. He wasn’t an old lady.

He didn’t, though. He stared at me as he finished his sandwich, then took his belt off and went
inside. I heard him call Billy to the back-door entry. A minute later, I heard the belt cracking against Billy’s
skin, and I heard Billy take it without more than a grunt every time the leather made contact. Six hits.

I quit loading the bricks and stood there for a couple of minutes, deciding what I should do. I’d
messed it up again, and I realized that even if I tried to do the right thing, it just got screwed in the end.

By the time I’d hopped back over the downed fence, my hands had pretty much gone numb, but
they were shaking. I was shaking. I couldn’t believe he’d just done that. My brains were stewed, my legs
were jelly, my shoulders killed, and not two minutes after I collapsed in the porch chair, Miss Mae came outside,
carrying a plate with two huge meat loaf sandwiches and a big lump of homemade potato salad on it. She set it in front
of me, poured me another glass of lemonade, and patted my shoulder.

I stared at the food. “Did you see what happened?”

“Yes.”

“I was just trying to help.”

She cleared her throat, and her voice, amazingly, was soft. “Stay away from that boy for his own
good, Benjamin.”

“Mr. Hinks is a scumbag.”

She patted me again. “You come in when you’re done and we’ll fix your hands
up. I’ll tell you something then.” She went inside.

CHAPTER 6

“T
hanks for lunch. And the lemonade.”

Miss Mae smiled, dunking my hands in some sort of country remedy that made them feel like the skin
was peeling from my bones. She nodded. “Man works hard, he needs to eat.”

I clenched my teeth against the pain, for some odd reason trying to live up to her calling me a man.
“My dad was right.”

“About what?”

I shook my head. “About a lot of stuff, I guess. I’m sorry about last night. And about
everything since we got here.”

She chuckled. “Don’t ever apologize.”

I looked at her like she was crazy. “Why?”

“Eddie’s father used to tell me that a man apologizing meant he’d done
something shameful. I suppose the secret’s not to shame yourself in the first place.”

I didn’t have a reply for that. How she could make me feel so good about myself one minute,
then make me feel like the biggest loser in the next, was beyond me. I had to remind myself that she was a monster, but
it wasn’t working. I was too exhausted, and thinking about that kid getting strapped because of what I’d
done made me want to shrivel up and die. “What were you going to tell me?”

She rubbed my hands gently. “It ain’t your fault Billy got in trouble. He’s old
enough to know his duty to his father.”

“But . . .”

She shook her head. “Sometimes two rights make a wrong.” She finished with my hands,
gave me a towel, then dug in a drawer. She turned around and held out a pair of worn gloves.

I looked at them. “I’m not going to do the bricks. He’ll get in trouble
again.”

She nodded. There was no twinkle in her eye, no evil sneer, no malice on her face. Just
matter-of-factness. “You’ve got chores. I’ll call you for supper.”

I’d skated for hours at a time, crashed and burned a million times, and been dead-dog beat and in
pain from doing it, but right then my body was on the verge of melting into the kitchen floor. I’d never been so
exhausted and hot in my life. Then a weird thing happened. I
wanted
to please her, and it went against every cell
in my body.

I took the gloves and walked outside. The first thing I did was dig up my lump of potato fertilizer from
the garden and put it in the garbage can. Then I got on my knees and started weeding, all the fight gone from me.

Edward had taken over tending the garden, which covered what seemed half a football field. Squash,
potatoes, peas, corn, a small watermelon patch, cucumbers, strawberries, raspberries, tomatoes, and a bunch of other
stuff were lined up in meticulous rows and neat clumps. I spent three hours weeding and got halfway through it before
Miss Mae banged out the back door and told me to get washed up. I lurched inside and slithered into the shower, letting
icy water rush over me.

I came downstairs to the smell of buttered peas, buttermilk biscuits, leftover meat loaf, loads of gravy,
and mashed potatoes with the skins on them. Miss Mae sat me down, brought me a plate full of food, and lathered my
potatoes in sour cream and butter. Then she lathered my meat loaf in gravy. She poured me a glass of milk, then got her
own plate. I watched her. “Thank you.”

She sat across from me. “You worked today.”

I realized I was being schooled, and didn’t mind it one single bit. My aches and pains lessened,
and I actually found myself in a good mood after hours of backbreaking labor in hundred-degree heat. And I was hungry.
I’d never eaten as much in a single day, and I couldn’t believe my stomach was growling after the lunch
I’d vacuumed down. “This looks awesome.”

She set her napkin on her lap, staring at me until I did, too. “Say grace.”

I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I didn’t want to spend another night
outside. “Grace.”

She looked at me with a pinched mouth, the blaze in her eyes starting again; then she realized I
didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. She nodded. “Bless the food, Ben.”

I blushed. Crap. The last time we’d said a prayer was never, and she’d nailed me again.
How did she do this to me? Nobody could make me feel this way, like I was three years old. I’d never said a
blessing, and she hadn’t brought it up before. I folded my hands. “Dear God, thanks for all this food and
everything, and thanks for the day. Amen.”

She opened her eyes, then smiled. “It’ll do.”

I dug in. Everything tasted golden, and I wouldn’t even have traded the peas for a Big Mac. For
ten Big Macs. Country people knew how to eat, and who cares about clogged arteries, I was into it. The meat loaf
melted in my mouth. “What time are my dad and Ed supposed to be home?”

Miss Mae wiped her mouth with her napkin. “They called and said they’d be late.
Business things.”

I was in heaven. Almost. I looked at her across the table. “Can I have a beer?”

She didn’t look up. “Man works hard all day is entitled to a beer if he so
chooses.”

I stood.

“Sit down.” She stood, getting me a beer from the fridge, then brought it back, her eyes
twinkling as she held it. “You ain’t a man yet. What do I get?”

I looked at the moisture beading on the bottle. “I’ll make you a space in the shed to
smoke. A chair and a little table.”

She handed me the beer. “Deal.”

I cracked the cap and took a swig. This wasn’t high school–kid beer-drinking. No
downing kegger cups or beer-bong action or getting drunk to be cool while you staggered around saying stupid shit
before puking your guts out. This was relaxing, work-your-ass-off-all-day-and-enjoy-something-cold-with-a-kick
drinking. “Can I ask a question?”

She nodded.

“Who’s that girl that lives down the street? In the yellow house.”

Miss Mae smiled. “Kimberly Johan.”

I looked at my food. “I fell in love with her yesterday.”

She slid me a small smile. “Quick about things, aren’t you?”

I shrugged, my tongue a bit loose with a buzz. “Can’t help it. I’m a lover, not a
fighter. Or a worker.”

She raised her eyebrows at me, then frowned. “Her daddy ain’t going to like you one
bit.”

I smiled. “Love conquers all.”

She dismissed it. “Puppy love.”

Silence followed, and we ate for a few minutes. “Can I ask another question?”

“As long as it ain’t foolish like the last one.”

My dad always used to tell me there weren’t any stupid questions, but I guess in Montana, there
are. I swallowed my embarrassment, then went on. “Did Edward get a lot of hassle when he lived here? I mean,
about being gay?”

She nodded. “The Lord doesn’t look too kindly on his choice, and neither do the people
in Rough Butte. We’re simple people, and Eddie isn’t simple. That don’t mean he ain’t
loved, though.”

I let that one go, because even a fool wouldn’t touch the whole “choice” thing
with a ten-foot pole. If I’d learned anything about having a gay dad, it was that arguing about the choice thing
was useless. You believed it or you didn’t, and any time God had something to do with how people felt, He was
the only one that could change their minds. “Why’d he come back if it was so bad, then?”

“He makes his own decisions. Ask him, if that’s what you’re after.”

I looked at her. “They said they moved because of me.”

She furrowed her brow.

“I mean, it just didn’t make sense. Just about everything Edward ever said about this
place was bad. All the stuff he went through.”

She frowned. “Edward might be different, but I raised that boy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you do right by your family even if it causes you pain.”

I thought about that, and knew what she was saying. I was his family. “Then why did you send
him away?”

Her face softened. Just a little bit, though; it couldn’t
really
soften. “For his own
sake. This place wasn’t right for him.”

“You understand, don’t you? I mean . . . that he was born that way?”

She cleared her throat, pausing. “It’s a sin.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

After another moment, her face hardened. “It’s my business what I understand and
don’t understand. Now eat.”

I took another bite of potatoes and my stomach groaned, stuffed to the brim. “What happened to
Billy’s mom?”

She set her napkin on her plate, then stood. “Up and left one night about three years ago. Girl was
always talking about city life.”

I smiled. “Can’t blame her, being with him.”

She took my plate, and I was sure to thank her. If I got whacked tonight, my arm would probably drop
off. She shook her head, but her eyes weren’t hard. “She’s a no-account for leaving her
son.”

“You don’t like Mr. Hinks, do you?”

“Too hard on the boy, if I had an opinion.”

I raised my eyebrows. “ ‘Too hard’ coming from you must mean
something.”

She turned around and smiled. “Eddie must have told you some stories.”

“Understatement of the year. He told me you hung him by his pants on a hook for three hours
one time.”

She nodded, fondly remembering the episode. “Boy needs to learn respect for his mother or she
loses control. You raise boys and you’ll know what I mean.”

I knew Edward had a brother, long gone from Rough Butte. “Did you strap your kids like Mr.
Hinks?”

“I done it myself on occasion with my boys.”

“That’s child abuse.”

“Maybe to your way of thinking, but since what you think don’t mean diddly, it
don’t matter.”

“So you think what he did was fine?”

She shook her head and continued clearing plates. I stood and began helping her; she shooed me away.
“You done your work, I’ll do mine.” She paused. “There’s a difference
between strapping a boy for good reason and strapping a boy because you’re a miserable sonofabitch. No, Billy
didn’t deserve that strap, I don’t think. Sometimes he does, though, and I ain’t going to say
Norman Hinks is a bad man because of it.”

“You don’t like him, though.”

“I sure don’t, but he cares for that boy the way he knows how. His daddy did the same to
him.”

“Well, he’s wrong.”

She chuckled. “At least you got an opinion on you. Now get on out of here while I finish
up.”

I did, and as I walked out of the kitchen, she called to me. I turned around. She kept her back to me as she
did the dishes. “You make waste in my garden again and I’ll whip the skin off your
backside.”

I was just about to say “Sorry,” then stopped myself. “It’ll never happen
again.”