Bring the Rain (2 page)

“Oh? Still friends with Gina?”

“Of course.” She’s the only friend from elementary school who cared to stay connected after Mom and Dad’s divorce.

“Good. She’s a nice girl.” He yawns again and I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t start yawning myself. “Well, if you are heading out, then this is as perfect a time as any.” He opens up a desk drawer and pulls out a set of keys, placing them in my palm. “It’s your welcome home gift.”

“A car?”

“Nope.” He walks me over to the window and pulls the curtain open. A massive white truck sits in front of the shed.

“A truck?”

“Not just any truck. It’s a 2006 Ford F250. King Ranch Supercab.” He may as well be speaking Chinese.

“I don’t have a license.” The words slip out before I realize how crappy of a reaction I just gave him. He hesitates and stares blankly out the window. I rub the bridge of my nose. None of this is going smoothly. It was ignorant of me to think we’d play the summer off as people sharing the same kitchen. This will be harder than I thought. I lean my forehead against the glass.

“It’s really nice, Dad.” I add, desperate to recover.

“But you’re sixteen, how do you not have a license?”

“I live in the city. We use subways, taxis, or hired drivers. Licenses aren’t necessary.” It’s all true, but I blush anyway. I hate that I don’t have it yet. It’s like a rite of passage or something. And, although this place is equipped for some amazing TV surfing, not being able to drive is definitely going to make me a hermit this summer. I didn’t even think of that.

My phone vibrates with a message from Gina. Before I can even respond, she’s honking her horn.

“Is it okay if I go?”

Dad opens the kitchen door for me, so I take that as a yes. I grab my purse out of the closet, thankful I’d packed my makeup in it as a carry-on.

Dad gently tugs on my arm. “Curfew is ten thirty.”

It takes every ounce of willpower to not laugh. “Mom has always set it at one thirty.”

“That may swing in New York, but no dice here. How about eleven?”   

“Twelve thirty?”

“Midnight. And not a second later.”

“All right.” There’s probably not much to do past midnight here anyway. His fingers loosen from around my arm and I scoot out the front door before I stumble into another awkward moment.

***

 Gina drives like a fabulous maniac. Her wild red hair trails out the back truck window while we shout along to ScreamZee’s version of Brown Eyed Girl. Between Skype and Gina’s regular visits, we haven’t missed a beat.

“Autumn, just wait until you see Peter. For real. You’ll freak. Rock hard abs, gorgeous neck, fab forearms.” She nudges me. “He knows you’re coming tonight.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. And so do the rest of the guys from school. It’s the whole New York girl thing. They’ll be all over you tonight.” She squeals. “You better share!”

I roll my eyes. Cowboys aren’t my thing. I prefer the dark, artsy intellectual guy that wants to sit with me at a coffee shop or stroll the Chelsea Market. Not a chap-wearing goofy grinned cowboy who wants to take me to the local county rodeo. Men need insight and perspective to impress me, not a lasso.  

Gina tosses me a look. “Don’t judge until you check him out. You need a distraction if you’re going to survive three months in no-where.”

She peels right, turning onto another unnamed gravel road. Lights flicker on the horizon and she speeds toward them, whooping into the wind. Gina’s smile is contagious. She’s a firecracker. Usually she’s a fun drunk. But, when she’s angry, she’s the angriest, spiteful drunk I’ve ever encountered. I saw it once last fall and I couldn’t speak to her for weeks. We never apologized, but somehow moved forward in an understanding that we both messed up. The ridiculous thing is that we don’t even remember what we were fighting over.

“Peter, here we come! This is going to be fun!” Gina yells into the wind. It looks like she’s set to have a good night. My gut relaxes. I didn’t realize I’d been so nervous about drinking with Gina again.

Country music pumps out of an old white farmhouse as we pull into the yard. As we walk to the front porch, I notice the paint chipping off the spindles. A cowboy hat seems to swallow a blond girl in a love handle hugging dress. We swerve around a sloppy kissing couple on the porch and in through the front door. There’s a bucket with a sign for two dollars and some skinny dude sitting on a stool. I toss in two dollars for a yellow, plastic cup and we are directed toward the keg. I squeeze the thin plastic, the crinkling addicting to my palm as we wait in line. The place smells like cigars, cedar, and booze. This is so far from the Manhattan roof-top bars I sneak into back home.

Hick house parties, my new social reality.

I down a cup of watery beer as I weave with Gina through the crowd of cowboy hats and girls in Daisey Dukes and tube tops. My ballet flats, skinny jeans, and loose teal scarf are a small freak show here. Smiling, I wave back at their stares. Lots of cliche cowboy nods with the tip of their hat follow. It’s sort of sweet and I actually giggle. My hand flies over my mouth, silencing it. It’s a fluke. I refuse to believe there’s anything redeeming about this place.

“Peter,” Gina calls out. A tall guy with a white cowboy hat spins around. Unlike many of the guys here, his teeth are brilliant and white, meeting Gina with a movie-star smile. As he hugs her, I can’t help but notice his hand lingering a little low on her back. Clearly, Gina has read this situation wrong. I step back, giving them space.

“Remember Autumn?” Gina looks at me and makes much too obvious of a wink.

 “Of course. Welcome home,” he says.

Home? The implication makes my stomach turn over. “Thanks, nice to see you again.” I say instead. Gina leans in toward him naturally so I redirect the conversation back towards her. “I’m lucky I’ve got Gina to help me reintegrate while I’m here.”

“Yeah,” he looks back at her and his eyes seem glued to her face. “She’s pretty great.” He reaches out, playfully pulling on one of her red curls.

Gina holds up her plastic cup, “I’ll cheers to that!” We clunk our cups together and finish them off. Peter offers to get Gina a refill. He strides away to the kitchen with Gina’s eyes plastered to his butt.

“So hot, right?” Gina says with a squeal once he’s out of sight.

“Yes, and he’s all yours. He’s totally into you.”

“You think?”

“Yes. I know.” I push her forward. “Go. Be merry. Be fruitful. But don’t get pregnant.” She rolls her eyes, whispering thanks as she exits the room.

I sigh. Finding myself alone at a Podunk house party on my first night here really isn’t my top choice, but at least I have a solid coping strategy. I hand over my cup to the guy at the keg, waving for him to cut it off when it’s three fourths full. Perfect. This is enough to do the trick. I’ve always been an embarrassing lightweight.

*** 

Light arms make for easy dancing, even to drawn out country tunes. Turns out, cowboys aren’t bad dancers. They know where to put their hands on your waist to help you sway. They share well too, making sure a new hat accompanies each tune. When my chest burns, I know I've hit my limit. "Sorry," I say to the only guy at the party wearing a baseball cap. "I need a break."

"I can take you outside if you want?" This brown-haired-brute's eyes are a bit swollen, and lips raw. I swear I saw him making out on the steps during my last spin on the dance floor.

"No thanks, I'm good on my own." I quickly zigzag through the crowd and slip out the back kitchen door. If it wasn't for the couple making out in a hammock, I would’ve barreled right into the gray weave. There's a deserted tree a few hundred yards out from the house. Brushing my ballet flats through the crisp grass, I do a quick snake check. Phew. I take a seat, tilting my head toward the sky. The darkness is alive and glittering.

I breathe out, the beauty above. Stars like this never happen at home. Here, Hercules and the dippers are too obvious. And, with a jostle of my memory, I can find the Queen and the Dragon too. I wish I had my paints and a canvas so I could try to capture it. I’d make my own Starry Night, but my brush strokes would be looser here than Van Gogh’s.

 A breeze moves through my hair, reminding me to take a deep breath. It instantly relaxes me; somehow one breath here is better than any oxygen bar in the city. I hate to admit it, but that’s another thing this place has going for it. It’s so much easier to breathe here.

“Can I join you?” a husky voice says from behind. I turn to find a tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired cowboy leaning against the tree. He doesn’t wait for my answer; rather he slinks down the trunk to sit next to me. His eyes turn toward the sky, but, even though I know it’s rude, my eyes can’t leave his face. His nose is almost perfect. It’d be easy to sketch with a soft pencil.

“Andromeda,” he interrupts my artistic vision, pointing up at the sky. “The Greater Bear,” he traces the outline in the air. “And my favorite…”

“Oh, please don’t say something about your big dipper.” I put the yellow cup to my lips, finishing my third refill. It slides past my throat. Finally, the beer’s tasting good now. 

 “Actually, my prime constellation is Aries, the ram. That line though? Golden. I'll use it next time.”

 “A goat?”

 He smiles with a silent laugh and shrugs. “Sounds lame,” he turns toward me. His eyes sparkle and my heart jumps into my throat. His jaw is strong and chest obviously solid under his white button down shirt. “But it’s not.” He flips over my hand, tracing the constellation on my palm. Tingles crawl up my arm.

Now, this is a real cowboy.

“Aries is Zeus, in disguise. Ordinary, but it's full of power. Cool, huh?”

He lets go of my hand and returns his gaze to the stars.

My heart sinks. I want him to look at me. I’m not letting this cowboy get away. I lean in, close to his ear. “What kind of power?” I whisper. After Mom ditching me for Paris, I could use a little fun, and, as my hand caresses his rock hard biceps, I can’t help welcoming a distraction.

He doesn’t answer yet also doesn’t move away from my touch. Good. I take a deep breath and leap. If he didn’t like me, he’d have moved away already. I kiss the stubble on his jaw and he stills like a statue so I flip my leg over him, sliding onto his lap. The constellations spin. I nibble at his lips. His breathing deepens. Those full lips though? They don't even flinch. I pull back, repositioning to press my lips down his jaw line and then make my way up toward his earlobe.

“It’s not fun if you don’t play,” I whisper.

He laughs, allowing my lips to return to his. He responds now, kissing me with a soft, steady pressure and pulling me close to his rock hard chest. I’ve never been held so securely. My heart trembles and my muscles melt.

“Okay darlin’,” he says, pressing his lips against mine, giving me a kiss that reminds me of chocolate and lemons, before gently helping me off his lap. “I think it’s time we go.”

“Sure,” I whisper. The ground becomes wavy water and my hand disappears in his as I struggle to stand. Take me away cowboy.

He lifts me, giving me his arm to lean on as he leads me through the house, passing Gina and Peter making out on the stairs. He stops, pulling Gina away too.

“Colt? What’re-ya-doin’?” she slurs.

He drops my hand, and it burns with the absence of his touch. “Do you have a ride home Gina?”

She shakes her head as Peter pulls her back to the step next to him. “I drove Autumn.”

Colt unwraps Peter’s arms. “Which is why I'm taking you both home.”

Peter stands up. "Hey man, if she wants to stay, she should."

Colt only has to point to him and say, "Peter. Come on, you know not to try that with me." Peter nods, holding his hands up in some mysterious man exchange.

“Fine,” Gina stumbles like a turkey into Colt’s arms. So funny. I laugh so hard, my goose noise sneaks in too.

“Was that a chortle?” Colt lifts his brow with a cocky grin.

“Chortles are very sexy.” I throw my shoulders back.

He laughs as he wraps his arm around Gina to support her and takes my hand, leading us out the front door. “Into the truck, girls.”

It’s warm in the truck, and with Gina to lean on, comfy too. Sleep takes me away with a few bumps of the road. Gina’s shoulder is soon replaced with a leather jacket. The smell lulls me in and out of sleep with Colt’s whistled tune. My shoulder rocks and I wake. He reaches behind me, propping me up.

 “Want some?” He hands me a yellow cup of that watered down beer.

“Thanks.” I say. I am so thirsty. I put the plastic to my mouth, taking a small sip. The liquid slides past my tongue. This must be from the bottom of the barrel because it doesn’t taste right. It’s thin and a struggle to swallow. First goal of the summer, do not spit on the hot cowboy.

“Like it?”

“It’s super watery.”

 “Yeah.” He laughs and my stomach tickles with the sound. “Have a few more sips.” He holds the cup back to my lips.

I sip again. It’s horrid, laced with iron and something else that I can’t pinpoint. It’s so hard to slide past my throat. What is he, like, trying to drug me? I hold the liquid poison in my mouth.