9 Letters (6 page)

“I should be getting home,”
she said.

“I’ll give you a
ride.”

“You’d better, Luke
Cawley. I ain’t riding Rooter to my mom’s house.”

“Let me ask you something,”
I said. “You were in the parking lot, where were you going?
You’re not old enough to drive, right, so you don’t have
a car in the lot back there. Were you...”

“Oh! Aren’t you full
of yourself? Mister star baseball player. You think I was just out
there waiting for you, hoping you’d come give me a ride?”

“Were you?”

“I shoulda thought of it,”
she said. She reached out her hand, and I took it, and there was that
magic again. “But I just went out to call my mom, have her pick
me up, and I thought I’d watch you all practice. I didn’t
hardly know you from Adam. Barely know you now. But you seem nice.”

I took a chance, then. I don’t
know why. Something in me just had to.

“I’ll tell you what,”
I said. “I can give you a ride home if you want. Right now. But
what I’d rather do, I’d rather drive a little further
out, watch some of the stars before the moon comes up in a few
hours.”

“Well ain’t you
something,” Emily said, sizing me up in that way she had.

She put her hands on the tailgate
and shoved herself to full standing, got close up to me. Emily was
barely shorter than me. “Alright,” she finally said. “But
you get me home by ten or else my daddy will find out.”

“Deal.”

“What do you want in life?”
she asked. The heavens were open up above us, and we were lying in
the bed of my dad’s Ford. It was just cold enough that it was
right and natural that we were up against one another for warmth, but
not so cold either of us thought about leaving.

“Oh, I don’t know,”
I said.

“Tell me anyway,” she
said.

I’d never met anyone as
nice as Emily Jackson.

I took a breath. “First
off, I guess I’ve gotta work with my hands, whatever I do,”
I said. “Maybe I’ll go to school, play ball for Kansas
State. If I’m being honest, I don’t think it matters much
if I make it to the pros. Same as I love playing guitar but I’m
not trying to be a country star. I’ll play ball as long as I
can, and then...it’s kind of silly.”

“It’s not silly,”
she said.

“You don’t even know
what I was going to say.”

“You couldn’t be
silly if you tried.”

My stomach got all tight when she
said that. She turned her head to look at me but I had to look away.

“Okay. I want to be a
contractor. Work for myself, with my hands.
Make
things. That’s what I want to do.” The words tumbled out
of my mouth and I kept going, afraid to look over and see if she
thought what I wanted was small or dumb or just plain funny. “When
I was a little kid, we lived outside of town for a couple years, in
my uncle’s old place after he died. I must have been six, maybe
seven. My dad was fixing up the place to sell. It was the first time
I saw the guts of a house. I saw the plaster and the studs, and my
dad started teaching me stuff. I realized that with my own hands I
can build something like a house, some place where kids feel safe. I
want some kid someday, some kid I don’t even know, to grow up
in a house I built and feel safe. He doesn’t have to know I
built it.”

I took a deep breath, exhaled. I
could see my breath in the cold night air.

“That’s what I want,”
I said.

“You’ll do it,”
she said.

“What?”

“I’ve had a lot of
guys tell me a lot of things,” Emily said. “Before I even
ask, guys just say it at me whether I’m trying to hear them or
not. Most of them, they say they want to ride off into the sunset
with some beautiful girl like me and live off the land or stuff like
that. Or they’re going to be bigger than Garth Brooks, or
they’re going to ride better than my daddy. Ain’t no one
alive going to be bigger than Garth Brooks or ride better than my
daddy. And none of them have the heart you do, Luke Cawley. You’ve
set your sights on something worth doing, and you’re going to
do it.”

“Can I take you to the
prom?” I asked. As soon as I thought it, I said it.

“Don’t that beat
all,” she said, her voice gone quiet. “I move to the big
city, and just like that I find a handsome, kind man to take me to
prom. Well.” She took a breath. “Luke Cawley, the truth
is, I’d love it if you took me to the prom.”

She took my hand in hers again,
and I reckon I fell apart right then and there.

The next game, sure enough, there
was a scout in the stands. It was dark out, and the lights were on
the field. I loved that feeling, like all the light in the world was
just on me and my teammates. But that night I didn’t care all
that much about impressing the scout—I didn’t care all
that much about impressing anyone but her. All that light was on me,
lighting me up just so she could see.

I got a couple of good runs in,
including a double that put two people across the plate. Got a few
good outs. I felt alive in that way I’d only ever felt on the
field, and I helped our team win a close game.

But on my way towards the locker
room, the scout came out. Tall guy, really tall. Beanstalk of a man,
who kind of loomed over me like a beanstalk that was about to fall
over from its own weight.

“Cawley,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You played good out there.
You’ve got heart, you’ve got some raw talent.”

“Thanks,” I said.
Even while he was talking, I knew I was more excited about getting
changed and tracking down Emily than I was in whatever he was going
to say.

“But it’s not
developed. It’s not trained. Your coach says you’re the
best player at the school, and he might be right, but you’re
not ready for college ball. Sorry, kid. Maybe next year. Maybe.”

“Cool,” I said. I got
past him.

A week earlier, hearing that
might have crushed me. I might have found myself drunk somewhere,
yelling at the world. But hearing those words from him, well...cool,
whatever. I liked playing guitar more than I liked playing shortstop.
Emily helped me realize that.

She ran up to me in the parking
lot, her hair wooshing past her head, like she didn’t care at
all that everyone was staring.

“You did so good!”
she said, as she came up and got her arms around me. “It’s
like you were the only player on the field. Is that fancy recruiter
gonna take you away now?” she teased.

I got her up in my arms and swung
her around, and she was laughing and I was smiling.

“Nope. I didn’t get
recruited,” I said, after I put her down.

Yeah, everyone was staring. Who
cares.

“Wait, what?” Emily
frowned and stepped back, searching my face for the disappointment
that wasn’t there. “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

“I’m not,” I
said. “I feel great. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me,
and playing ball? That’s only part of it. Only the smallest
part of it.” She was already in my arms, but I held her tighter
as I said that last bit, to emphasize my point.

“Well, Mr. Cawley,”
she said, “You’ll have to let me do
something
to make you feel better. I’ll take you out for a milkshake.”
She winked.

“Alright,” I said.

“And if you’re good
boy, maybe you and I can go watch some stars.”

Shit. I was in love already.

It turns out you can’t just
walk into the store, find the cleaning aisle, and have everything all
laid out for you with neat little diagrams of what products you need
to clean what parts of your house. It turns out you actually have to
have some kind of idea what cleaning stuff you need for cleaning each
different thing. I was learning that the hard way, standing in the
cleaning aisle of Price Chopper. Staring at a thousand bottles in a
thousand colors. Spray bottles and tall cans and weird jars and why
are there so many types of scouring pads?

I started trying to Google stuff
on my phone, but I’ve never really liked trying to figure
things out on that tiny screen with that tiny keyboard. And it was a
rabbit hole. You can’t just Google “what cleaning
supplies do I need.” No, there were even more webpages with
different ideas than there were bottles on the shelf in front of me.
How do people learn stuff like this?

Emily always handled the real
cleaning. Which kind of made me feel like an idiot, in retrospect. A
man should know how to be self-sufficient. That’s gotta include
cleaning.

I solved the problem the way God
intended: I bought pretty much one of everything. Glass cleaner,
surface cleaner, countertop cleaner, all-purpose cleaner,
biodegradable orange cleaner, disinfectant, dish soap (I’m
pretty sure I already had dish soap but hell, who knows), dishwasher
detergent, another kind of dishwasher detergent, laundry detergent,
scouring pads, steel wool, cleaning wipes, a new mop head for what I
hoped was the right kind of mop. Baking soda. Bleach. Anti-mold
spray.

I went to the hardware aisle
afterwards, kind of to cleanse my soul, and got a big ole jar of that
good goop, the kind that cleans grease off everything. After I’d
cleaned the house, I’d reward myself by cleaning out the
garage. Let myself dick around in there for a couple of days,
cleaning and sorting my tools.

I didn’t let myself look
too close at the receipt. Since I drank for free at work, and ate
half my meals there too, I wasn’t doing too bad on money. But
I’d just spent more on cleaning supplies than I had on getting
King.

Right, King. I took everything
out to the truck, dumped it on the passenger seat, and grabbed the
folder of info they’d given me at the rescue place. I couldn’t
just feed him venison every day, I was pretty sure about that. I
found the kind of food he needed, which Rae had circled on the page.
I went back into Price Chopper and bought a 50lb bag of the stuff.
Cheaper in bulk like that. Hoped he liked it.

I threw the bag in the bed of the
truck just as my phone started to ring in my pocket. Pulled it out,
looked at the screen. Mike. Guess it was about time I quit avoiding
his calls.

“Hey bro,” I said as
I answered.

“Hey man, how you holding
up?”

“Been worse,” I said,
grateful he wasn’t chewing me out this time.

“Want to get lunch in a
few?”

“Some other time,” I
said. “I’m going to stay at home today.”

“Luke, listen.” There
was a pause, but I already knew what was coming next. “You
can’t just shut yourself off from the world, all right? I know
you haven’t talked to Dad in months, and Mom’s worried
too, says you’re acting funny. You know I’m always here
if you need to talk—”

“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“I’ll catch up with you later, man.”

The hell I couldn’t shut
myself off from the world. I’d get through this on my own.

King must have had only my best
interests in mind, because while I was out getting cleaning supplies,
he was at home giving me a whole hell of a lot more to clean.

I opened up the door with the
50lb bag of food in the crook of my arm and I don’t know that
I’ve ever seen a house as trashed as that. People say something
looks like a tornado ran it over, and I used to think that was kind
of a dumb comparison, but that’s how my house looked. Like a
damn tornado had run it over. A tornado named King.

The jade plant was chewed up all
over the floor—luckily it’s not toxic, Emily had checked
because she wanted a dog and maybe one day a baby. Dirt from the
planter was right back on the floor where I’d swept it up from
yesterday. I’d thought they’d have to plant that thing on
my grave when they laid me down next to Emily. Turns out what man’s
neglect cannot kill, a dog can make short work of with tooth and
claw. Two of the couch cushions were shredded and foam dusted the
whole floor like snow. My hunting jacket was on the stairs, drooled
on and chewed up, and the bags of clothes for Goodwill had found
their way all over, well, everything.

My first thought: the letters.

I dropped the food bag from
waist-high and it thumped onto the ground as I ran around the corner
to the kitchen. I spotted them immediately. The letters were fine.
The kitchen table was untouched. Might have been an actual, honest
miracle, because my carefully-laid-out altar of letters was the eye
of the storm, undisturbed amongst so much chaos.

I let out a long breath and part
of a laugh that hitched in my chest.

Emily would have thought this was
funny. But she wasn’t here. It was just me, and this dog, and
my destroyed house. And that’s how it’d always be. I slid
to the floor and put my head in my hands.

I wasn’t mad at King.
Couldn’t say why I wasn’t. King definitely expected me to
be, because he was kind of cowering in the corner over by the TV. Had
been since I first opened the door. I wasn’t mad at the dog, I
was just mad because the goddamned rug had been pulled out from under
me, again. I thought I was on the right track. I was doing what Emily
said, and it’d been working. I had a purpose for once, small
and unimportant though my mop-wielding might be. I hadn’t gone
out with Maggie. I’d made it through the one-year anniversary
of the death of the love of my life. And I was going to make it
beyond that. King was supposed to help. It was supposed to work out.

But at the end of the day, none
of it meant anything. I still had nothing. Nothing but a job I was
likely about to lose, a mess of a house to clean up, and a poor dog
cowering in the corner of my living room. I finally looked up.

“All right,” I said
to King. “Come on. We’re taking you back to the shelter.”
I don’t know if it was the defeated tone of my voice or the
destruction all around us, but the dog started shaking. I told myself
it was okay, that he was probably just anxious. Not scared.