Zigzag (16 page)

“Iris . . .”

“Please don't tell her. She'll freak out.”

I thought about it. “If you promise to stop doing it, I won't tell her, but you've got to
stop.
”

She nodded. “I will. I promise. Okay?” She stood up and tucked her shirt in a little tighter. “
Okay
?”

I sighed. “Okay.”

“So, let's get going. I don't want to miss the lessons.” She adjusted her hat, rebuckled her big silver belt buckle, and checked her lipstick in the mirror. If I'd been barfing and crying my face would look like sausage, but Iris looked like Dude Ranch Barbie with flat feet. She'd metamorphosed from pitiful weeper to poised fashionista in thirty seconds flat.

The minute we walked into the barn we saw Jackson and Glen leaning against the wall up near the front. They saw us, too, or at least, they saw Iris. Both pairs of bowlegs came striding over immediately.

“Hey, Iris!” Jackson got there first. “Can you dance as well as you ride?”

She blushed. “I don't know how to square dance.”

“It's easy,” Glen said, trying to get a little face-time with her, too. “The caller tells you what to do and you just follow along.”

Hello,
there's another person standing here.

You could tell Jackson was used to getting what he wanted. He
tipped his hat back on his head and gave Iris a big grin. “I'm the best square-dance teacher there is, ya know.” He reached out and took her arm and led her away just as more squares were forming for the next dance.

As we watched them go, Glen looked at me uncomfortably. “Did you want to . . . ?”

“Don't worry about it,” I told him. I didn't feel like being anybody's sloppy seconds, so I headed over to the row of chairs that surrounded the dance floor. I remembered the feeling that was starting to rise up in my gut, and I didn't like it at all; I'd felt it so often before meeting Chris—that awful, lonely feeling that nobody would ever appreciate me the way I was.

But just then Jackson called, “Hey, Glen, come on! We need two more to fill up a square. Get her!”

I decided not to turn around—Glen probably wouldn't remember my name either. But he clopped over behind me. “You want to? They need two more.”

How could I refuse such a lovely offer? “My name is Robin, by the way,” I told him.

“Cool,” he said. “Like the bird.”

Fortunately, you didn't need to be an original thinker to square dance.

We proceeded to swing our partners, and do-si-do our corners, and honor everybody in sight, all in slow motion until we got it down. Then the band kicked in with some hee-haw music and we were off. Glen wasn't much of a dancer, but you don't have to be good to square dance—you mostly just have to not get in anybody else's way and screw them up, and he was capable of that. Jackson, of course, was a great dancer and seemed to love doing it. Iris did fine, although she was self-conscious and got flustered and mixed-up once or twice.

I decided, the hell with it, I don't know these people, I've got
nothing to lose—I can just have fun. And I did. I danced with Glen a few times and then he disappeared into the crowd, but there were lots of ranch hands to go around. I figured they probably got paid to dance with the customers, so I might as well take advantage of it. Dory came in about nine thirty and sat and watched. She looked kind of sad, and I wondered if she was thinking about dancing with Allen before he died.

I'd been do-si-do-ing with a tall, skinny guy who was having a ball, kicking his long legs all over the place and whooping up a storm. So when we finished a song I took him aside and explained the situation with Dory and asked if he'd dance with her a few times. Before she knew what hit her, Tall and Skinny had whipped Dory out of her seat—despite her protests—and was swinging her around the circle.

As the evening wound down, I ran into Glen again and we actually danced one of the few slow dances of the evening together. He was staring over my shoulder most of the time, out into the dark.

“So, do you guys
have
to come and dance with the guests?” I asked.

He gave me a quick grin. “It's part of the job. I don't mind.”

Thanks so much. “I don't mind it too much either,” I said.

He ducked his head. “Am I being rude? I'm sorry. You're a good dancer.”

“Ah-huh. How many people have you said that to tonight?”

“No, really.” He smiled again. “A few.”

“Some job.”

“Yeah. I like it. Not as much as Jackson does, though. Looks like he and your friend ran off somewhere.”

“They did?” I looked around the barn and realized I hadn't seen Iris in at least half an hour.

“He's a player,” Glen said. “I guess your friend can take care of herself, though.”

I stared at him. “She's my cousin, and she's only thirteen years old.”

“She is? God, I thought she was sixteen.”

“When you say he's a player . . .”

He laughed. “Don't worry. Jackson won't do anything she doesn't want him to—he'd get canned if he messed with a guest. Wait'll I tell him she's only thirteen, though! He sure can pick 'em.”

“Maybe I should go check on her,” I said. “I don't think she has much experience with guys like that.”

He nodded and we broke apart. Then, as I turned to leave, he said, “Hey, Robin, you're not thirteen, too, are you?”

“Not in four years,” I said.

He grinned. “Good. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow.”

I
checked around the tennis courts and the swimming pool and then down behind the stable, but I wasn't going to wander out into total darkness looking for them—Iris wasn't nearly likable enough for me to risk death by snakebite. Then, as I was walking back to our bunkhouse, there was Jackson himself, suddenly heading right toward me, his long legs covering ground fast. He didn't look happy.

“Hey, do you know where Iris . . . ?”

“In your bunkhouse. Safe and sound,” he said through gritted teeth. He barely glanced at me, then strode on past, down to the ranch hands' quarters.

When I came into our living room the only sound I could hear was Marshall's deep breathing from the other bedroom. Dory must still be at the square dance. The only light was from the bathroom I shared with Iris.
Oh, please,
I thought,
don't let her be puking again.

But when I looked in Iris was just standing in front of the mirror, staring at herself, her blond hair loose and falling in her face.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “What kind of a person do I look like?”

“What?”

She tipped her face up and looked down at herself. “You know. Do I look dumb or something? Or do I look like a baby? I just don't know what I look like.”

“Well, you don't look dumb and you don't look like a baby. But apparently you look older than thirteen. What happened with Jackson tonight?”

“He kissed me,” she said, staring deeply into her own eyes. “He kissed me a lot.”

I took her by the arm and led her out of the bathroom so she'd stop looking at herself like that—it was creeping me out. We sat on her bed in the dark. “Did you want him to kiss you?”

She shrugged. “At first I did. He's cute.”

“Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean he can kiss people whenever he wants to.”

“Well, I wanted to kiss him. But then . . .”

“Then what?”

“It's not a big deal . . . I know girls my age who do this stuff. I should have let him.” She bent over to untie her shoes and slip them off.

“Let him
what
?”

She sighed and flopped backward on the bed. “Touch me. Under my shirt and stuff. You know.”

“Iris! You just met this guy today!
And
he's about eighteen years old!”

“So?”

“
So,
you're only thirteen! God, you can't just let guys do whatever the hell they want!”

“I
didn't
let him. Which is why he hates me now.” I heard the catch in her throat and was pretty sure there were tears running down the sides of her face onto the patchwork quilt.

“Iris, you were right not to let him do that. You'll never even see him again once we leave here. And, anyway, you're much too young for him. He and Glen thought you were sixteen.”

“They did? Did you tell them I wasn't?”

“Of course I did!”

“Why?” Now I could actually hear her crying.

“Because . . . because a sixteen-year-old flirting like that probably
does
want a boy to try stuff with her. I don't think you know what messages you were giving out.”

“What do you know about it? You live out in the sticks.”

I almost laughed at that one. “Believe me, Iris, even in the outback of Iowa teenagers are interested in sex. Do you think Jackson is a city boy?”

“Whatever. I
did
want to kiss him—he's cute, and I never got kissed before.”

“Your boyfriend, Parker, never kissed you?”

The snuffling calmed down a little. “Parker's thirteen, too—he barely had the nerve to hold my hand.”

“Oh.” At thirteen I would have been too nervous to touch the opposite sex, too, so my sympathies were definitely with Parker.

Iris bounced her fists on the bed. “This is so embarrassing—I never want to see Jackson again. Which means I can't even go on the trail ride tomorrow.” That realization brought on another burst of tears, but at least she was crying about horses now, which seemed more appropriate.

“Aren't there two trail rides every morning? Couldn't you do the other one?”

She gave a deep, shaky sigh. “Yeah, there's a ten o'clock ride, too. Maybe they'll let me switch.”

“Sure they will. That Joe guy loves you.”

The living room door squeaked open and then clicked closed: Dory was back. Iris sat up, the tears immediately dry.

“Go into the bathroom,” I whispered. “I'll talk to her.”

“Don't tell her
anything
!” Iris pleaded. “She'll freak!”

“I won't,” I said. Iris shut the door behind her and I switched on a light, then walked out to see my aunt. She was getting herself a ginger ale from the fridge.

“Is everybody back? You want a drink?” she asked.

“No, thanks. We're all back. Iris is getting ready for bed.”

“Did you two have fun? I saw you dancing with that Glen guy, but I didn't see much of Iris.”

“We had fun,” I said. “She danced a lot, too, but she came back before I did. You stayed the latest,” I said, cleverly shifting the focus to her.

“It's funny. I almost didn't go over at all, and at first I felt so stupid just sitting there all alone. I haven't spent much time alone over the years, I guess. But then one of the cowboys asked me to dance, and then another one did, and pretty soon I didn't have time to catch my breath between dances. Square dancing is so much fun!”

“That's great!” She looked so happy that, without really thinking about it, I gave her a hug.

“I'm so glad you came along on this trip, Robin. I think the three of us were starting to go a little crazy—we needed somebody to get in between us.”

Well, that certainly seemed to be where I found myself most of the time—caught in the middle. But I had to admit I didn't mind it as much as I had at the beginning. I said good night to Dory and went back to the other bedroom.

The dance
had
been fun, but it made me wonder what Chris had been doing while I was do-si-do-ing cowboys. After all, he was living with a bunch of kids our age. What were the chances he wouldn't look for another partner?

Iris cracked open the bathroom door. “Is she gone?”

“Yeah, she's going to bed. She had a good time at the dance.”

“Did she
dance
with people? Men, I mean?”

“Several, apparently.”

Iris seemed a little stunned by the news. She staggered over to her bed and fell onto it like a broken toy. By the time I was done in the bathroom she was under the covers. As soon as I turned out the light, she started to talk.

“I wonder if she wants to get married again? That would be way too weird.”

“She might eventually. She's not that old.”

“I don't want her to,” she said, a touch of anger in her voice. When I didn't respond she said, “But I guess that doesn't really matter, does it?”

“I don't know.”

Neither of us said anything for several minutes, and I was dropping off to sleep when Iris said, “Are you in love with your boyfriend? What's his name again?”

I groaned. “I'm half asleep, Iris.”

“Just
tell
me.”

“Yes! Okay? Yes, I love Chris.”