Curtains (5 page)

The phone rang in the house. That would be
her.

Larry slammed his hammer against the work
bench, causing his tools to jump and raising a ruckus among the
hens. He looked at the angled box before him, six sides, planks
straight, the knots aligned in something approaching art. Not that
Larry had much use for art, besides the art of dying. But you did
things right while you were on this earth, and let things take care
of themselves after you were under it.

The phone bleated again, as insistent as a
pregnant ewe. Larry wiped the hammer handle and hung the tool from
its pegs. The handsaw gave a dull grin, hungry for another meal of
hardwood. Or maybe that was only his blurred reflection. He'd have
to polish the saw later. But right now he had to answer the
phone.

He stepped out of the barn into sunshine and
tasted the mountain air. Rocks, water, grass, and trees, he had
plenty of those. He owned seven acres of dirt, some bottom land and
a ridgeline. He couldn't own any woman, though, and he couldn't
make any of them love his land.

The walk to the house took thirteen seconds,
another seven to get through the kitchen, and two more to get the
phone to his ear. Betty Ann knew the distance, probably had an egg
timer running at her end, and if Larry was ever more than five
seconds late—

"Hello?"

Usually he just said, "Hello, Betty Ann," but
once in a while he got a call from work and those damned
telemarketers had been trying to give him credit cards lately. He
didn't believe in borrowing. You pay as you go, and when you had a
chance, you paid a little bit ahead.

"Larry."

"Hey, Betty Ann."

“Where you been?”

“Working in the barn.”

“You and your damned wood. You ready?"

"We ought not talk about this kind of thing
on the phone."

Her laughter sounded electronic, as if she
were one of those pull-string dolls. "You've always been paranoid,
ain't you, Larry?"

"Just cautious, is all."

"Cautious, my ass. Chickenshit, you mean. If
it wasn't for me, you think you'd ever have a woman? Think anybody
else could stand you? Any other woman let you play smoochie and run
your hand down her skirt and—"

"That's not proper talk for a lady."

"I ain't a lady no more. Not after
tonight."

Larry looked out the window, at the long dirt
drive that led to the highway. "You sure you want to go through
with this?"

"You ain’t thinking of backing out on me now,
are you? You better grow some balls and fast."

Larry expected the blue lights to come down
the drive any minute, because cops could probably read minds. And
if not, they knew how to tap into phone lines, and Betty Ann never
could keep her damned mouth shut. "I—I'm with you, honey. I
promised, didn't I?"

"A promise from a
man
. Hah, that's
worth about as much as an egg from a mule. You only promised
because I was giving you my yummy sweet sugar at the time.
Remember?"

Larry clenched his hand around the phone. He
nearly flung it at the Franklin stove, but the Franklin had been in
the family for four generations. Maybe he'd start a fire with his
coffin scraps and melt down the phone later. "Of course I remember,
darling."

"And after, that part about snuggling in the
dark. Bet you never heard pillow talk like that before."

He had to admit he hadn't. But he didn't want
to admit it out loud. Not when they might hear. It was bad enough,
him knowing. And Betty Ann knowing. And whoever Betty Ann blabbed
to, at the hairdresser's or the Baptist Church or the Stateline
Tavern.

"You know that kind of thing gets me all
worked up," Larry said. "That's stuff's for in the dark, not out
here in the daylight where God and everybody can see."

Betty Ann laughed. "You must have forgot
about that time in the hayloft."

"Don't do this, Betty Ann. It's hard enough
as it is."

"You know all about hard, don't you?"

Larry looked out the window at the far slopes
of granite, the worn edges of the Blue Ridge. When you got mad, you
just had to look way off in the distance, his Daddy always said.
Daddy wasn't born a fool, just ended up that way. "That's enough of
that. I made a promise, and I'll keep it. Are you going to keep
yours?"

"But you ain't said what you wanted yet." She
lowered her voice into the husky whisper that sounded like the
result of a lot of practice. "But I got a good idea."

"I'll pick you up at seven. Like we
planned."

"Like we planned."

"Bye, now."

"Bye. I love you."

The click of the phone rattled around inside
his skull, bouncing against that word "love." He'd heard that word
a time or two before. And then push always comes to shove, and you
find out it doesn't mean a thing. It's just a word.

He went back to the barn. He spread the
velvet lining in the coffin and stapled it into place. Most people
went with black velvet, but Larry believed in Royal blue. There was
something churchy and sacred about it. When you went under the
dirt, you wanted all the comfort you could get.

Glue had leaked from one of the corners where
the angled wood met. Larry took a chisel from the workbench and
scraped the clot free. He felt along the joint. Not a stray
splinter, tight as a mouse's ear. He was getting better with
practice.

He finished up just as the sun set on the
hills. He tested the fit of the lid one last time. The lid wasn't
so heavy, and he'd drilled holes where the nails would go. This
would work just fine.

At least, the part you could count on. Wood
was straight up and honest, you could shape it and trim it and make
something that would last. You could build your own coffin with no
problem. But you had to have somebody to drive the nails, because
you damned sure couldn't do it from the inside.

He set the lid aside, wiped his tools, and
saw that everything was laid out on the workbench. He blew out the
lamp and hung it by the barn door. It was time to pick up Betty
Ann.

Larry sat in his Ford and looked around the
trailer park. Betty Ann could do better than this place. She was
plenty dumb enough to marry some farmer and have a bunch of kids.
You got married to the dirt up here, one way or the other. Some put
it off for as long as possible, but the mountains always took you
anyway.

He blew the horn. Betty Ann wanted him to be
right on the button, but she didn't mind a bit to keep him waiting.
Finally, the trailer door opened and she waved.

Larry swallowed hard. She was wearing the red
dress. Not a good choice for what they were about to do, because it
made her easy to remember. Larry remembered just fine. Maybe a
little too fine, because his pulse was running hard, and he needed
to be calm for what they were about to do.

She slid into the truck beside him and
squeezed his leg. "Ready for anything?"

He pushed her hand away. "I keep my
promises."

"So that's how you're going to be about
it."

"The things I do for you."

"Don't forget the things I do for you."

Larry wanted real bad to lean over and kiss
her. She was the prettiest of them all. But she said "love" too
easy and often. She looked like the lying kind.

They'd find out about all that later, whether
this was for real or not. He had a promise to keep, and so did she.
He started the Ford and headed toward Tennessee.

They drove fifty miles, running past the dark
quiet of Watauga Lake, winding through Shady Valley where the cows
outnumbered the people, and then followed a gravel road along the
river.

"You scared?" Betty Ann said. She'd been
quiet for the last half-hour, a long stretch for her. She must have
been thinking.

Larry had been thinking, too. "Not about
this. I'm scared about the rest of it. About later."

"I'll take care of you." Her hand was on his
leg again. This time, Larry didn't push it away. He stared ahead
where the black road met the headlights.

"I know. Because you promised."

Betty Ann murmured happily beside him. She'd
probably been looking for a dream man all her life. And that was
what she found. A dream man.

He said, "Other women made promises. Some got
broken."

"Larry, you ought to know by now that I ain't
like other women." She leaned over and her breath was on his neck,
and then, brief as a hummingbird, her tongue flicked across his
skin.

"You'd best quit that so I can drive."

They were under the lights now, on the
four-lane. Cars skimmed by in the night. Larry wondered where the
cars were headed. He was willing to bet that everybody else in the
world planned on sleeping in a normal bed tonight, that they didn't
have the kind of dreams Larry had.

"Here it is," Betty Ann said.

The gas station had four pumps, and Larry was
relieved they didn't take credit cards. An electric Marlboro sign
flickered in the window. The man behind the counter was hidden by a
row of fan belts. "You sure this is it?"

"Trucker told me about it. The owner's weird,
he don't believe in banks. Thinks they're all run by thieving
Jews."

One truck was parked behind the store, a slow
hunk of steel that had four wheels on the back axle. It was a
Chevy. No need to worry about getting chased down.

Larry parked by the door and left the engine
running. If he had any sense, he ought to push Betty Ann out and
let her thumb and screw her way back to North Carolina. But he
didn't have a lick of sense, not where she was concerned. Plus,
he'd made a promise.

He took the gun from the glove box. It was
Daddy's, a .32 revolver that didn't have much knock-down but was
big enough to move money. He tucked the gun under his arm and
opened the door.

Betty Ann leaned over and kissed him before
he got out. "For luck," she said.

The kiss tasted of sawdust.

The lights were dim, probably because the
cheapskate owner tried to save on the power bills. The beer cooler
in back looked tempting, but Larry had a long drive home. Rounded
mirrors hung in the corners of the ceiling, but there were no video
cameras. He went up to the counter and chose a can of snuff, the
real kind, not that sissy, grainy stuff in the plastic cans.

He laid the snuff on the counter and met the
man's eyes.

"That all?" The man looked to be a
hundred-and-fifty, or maybe it was the bad fluorescent lights. He
looked mean and cheap. Larry didn't dread this anymore. It was just
another chore, something you did to get what you wanted. It was
like making two pieces of wood fit.

He pulled out the gun, and the rest of it
went like they were in a movie, like they both knew what to do and
wanted to get it over with. The old man cleaned out the register,
handed over his wallet, and even put the snuff in a bag. Larry
backed out, checked for traffic, and tucked the gun under his arm.
The old man even waved good-bye.

"Here." Larry tossed the money and the wallet
into Betty Ann's sweet lap. "Like I promised."

"I love you," she said.

Larry glanced into the rear-view mirror. He
wondered what kind of description the old man would give. Should
have shot him. But that wasn't his way. You met the dirt when the
time was right. He gunned the truck out of the lot and roared away
into the Appalachian night.

They went back to his farm, the way they had
planned. Larry had to admit the whole thing had gone smoothly. At
least the first part of it, her part. He wondered if his part would
be smooth, too.

They stood under the stars. Not a streetlight
marred the dark view. This was how a man was supposed to live. Too
bad none of his women wanted to live this way.

"Seven hundred and twelve dollars," Betty Ann
said. "Plus some change."

"I could get the tractor fixed with
that."

"You and your tractor."

"All you think about is getting out of here.
You know how many gas stations you'd have to rob to even make it to
the Mississippi?"

"It's a start."

"No. You're born to this mountain dirt. You
belong to it."

"Don't start getting weird on me again,
Larry."

"You're the one that keeps talking about
love. And promises."

Betty Ann shut up for the second time that
night. Larry would have to remember that for the future. If they
had a future.

"I kept my promise, what about yours?" he
said.

She came to him and hugged him, pressed those
curves against him. The bills in her hand scratched his cheek. Her
lips were soft. The red dress was thin.

"Want to go inside?" she whispered.

"The barn."

"Ooh. The hayloft again."

Larry took her hand and led her down the path
that he knew so well. The barn was still, the animals mostly
asleep. Old Zaint had put himself up in the stall, and the chickens
had their heads tucked under their wings. Nobody would see.

Except maybe the cops. One day they’d get
around to digging behind the barn. But maybe Larry wouldn’t be here
when that happened. Betty Ann might be, or might not be,
depending.

He lit the lamp and took her to the
workbench. The coffin glowed in the lamplight. It was his best
ever. He couldn't keep down the pride that warmed his chest.

"What do you think?" he said.

"Damn, Larry. It's a . . ."

"What do you think?"

"What's going on?"

"Your part of the promise. I need to know if
I can trust you."

Betty Ann backed away. She looked scared, but
she didn't let go of the money.

"Do you love me?" Larry said. He picked up
the hammer. And the most important part, the nails.

Betty Ann made it to the door, but Larry knew
about how they tried to run. The first one had almost made it to
the creek. Almost. But Larry had fixed the door after that.