If Jack's in Love (15 page)

I stood behind a magnolia tree and eyeballed the darkened den window.

“Myra!” I shouted in a whisper.

Nothing happened.

I hooted three times into cupped hands, sounding unnaturally like a hooting Witcher. I could imagine Mr. Joyner waking up and reaching for his gun.

Nothing happened. I hooted again, but I needed to clear my throat; it came out too raspy.

Then I saw a motion at the window. The screen was raised, a bundle flew out.

Rusty's ears perked up.

A skinny limb thrust over the sill, and another, and Myra leapt to the ground. She snatched the bundle and ran athletically through the dark to greet me behind the fragrant magnolia. We were all excited by our daring, bonded by our transgression, and passionately we kissed.

We headed to the front yard. A car came down Lewis Street and we ducked behind Gaylord's Mustang until it was past. Myra was gripping me breathlessly, holding on for dear life. I was already thinking about her breasts.

After the car went by, we jogged to my house, staying close to the side of the road so we could hide in case other cars came. Rusty ran ahead, looking back deliriously, ecstatic over the unexpected late-night adventure. When we got to the yard I sent Myra to my bedroom window and went back to shoo him off. I stomped my foot and tossed a stick past his head. His tail drooped, he stared in bewilderment. I hated being mean to the dog, but I was afraid his presence would provide a clue to Myra's whereabouts once the family realized she was missing. Rusty tended to follow Myra wherever she went.

It didn't matter, my exertions proved futile. He whined indignantly and went to Myra. She was against the house, twisting her head to watch me.

“Why are you doing that to Rusty?” Myra said.

“I don't want him to stay, he'll give you away.”

“But he's here all the time. Nobody will think anything.”

“Maybe,” I said.

I knelt beside her, feeling all emotional. I moved my lips towards her and we started making out. While we were kissing, my hand went creeping towards her breasts and I pulled it away.

“I didn't think you were coming. I was in the den with my bundle, I must have waited an hour.”

“Snead was here. Him and Pop were in the front yard and I had to wait 'til he left.”

“Why does your dad like him so much?”

“Why shouldn't he?”

She didn't answer and I said, “Pop isn't prejudiced, he isn't like people around here. He isn't like Mr. Pudding.”

Myra nodded, as if in favor of the idea.

“What did you bring in the bundle?” I asked.

“PJs, my toothbrush, Band-Aids, aspirin.”

We kissed again, only this time I couldn't control myself. I placed my hand on her blouse, above her tiny right breast, feeling the slightest rise.

Myra pushed me away.

“What are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“Well, don't.”

“What's wrong?”

“Do you want me to go home?” she said archly.

I leaned my head against the house, hurt. Then I remembered something. I hitched up and felt inside my pocket and came out with the bracelet Gladstein had donated to my cause.

“Here,” I said.

“What is it?”

“It's yours.”

Myra caught her breath. The golden bracelet gleamed in the faint moonlight.

“Oh, Jack,” she said.

She slid it over her skinny arm and held it aloft. We sat for a while, listening to the glowing sounds of the warm night: crickets and frogs, faraway automobiles, dogs barking at shadows on the streets.

“I've been wearing your ring,” she confessed, “I put it on at night and sleep with it, and in the morning I take it off.”

“So you're my steady girl?”

“Yes!” she cried.

We kissed again, and I dangled my errant hand in the air to keep it away from her breast. It was making its own decisions.

By and by we heard the sound of an engine from the direction of Clark Lane and broke out of our kiss. Parallel beams shot past the house. There was a deceleration and the car came to a halt out front. It was Anya's GTO.

Myra began to panic and I shushed her.

“It's my brother,” I said.

“Oh God, your brother.”

“It's okay, he's on our side,” I said.

“If Gaylord finds out—”

We kept watching. Stan was driving, and now he flung open the driver's door while Anya climbed from the passenger side and went around to take the wheel. Beside the car they sullenly kissed.

Myra shielded her eyes. “We shouldn't be watching this.”

After Anya coasted away I dashed to the yard and nabbed Stan.

“I have Myra with me! Open up the window so we can get in.”

He didn't say a word. He went in the house, and a few seconds later the window was raised.

“Hey, little Joyner.” He gave her a wink.

Myra didn't respond. I cupped my hand and she put her foot in it and Stan pulled her up. I tossed her bundle through the window and climbed in behind her.

The three of us stood in the dark room, baffled, amazed. Stan switched on the desk lamp.

Myra squinted at me. She squinted at Stan. She squinted at the bunk beds. Then she burst into tears.

I shushed her and lowered her to the bed. I put my arm around her.

My brother, for once, behaved chivalrously. He gave her one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs from the dresser drawer. Then he went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water and some cookies. I thought that was right nice. I was surprised he did it.

Myra thanked him politely. She took a gulp of water and said, “I'm so scared.”

“Want me to take you home? Maybe we can sneak you back in the window.”

“What if they already know I'm gone?”

“Aren't they asleep?”

“Daddy looks in on me when he goes to the bathroom. He might know by now.”

That made me kind of nervous.

“What are we going to do?” she said.

“I don't know. There's a deserted cabin on Baskin Road, I was thinking we could take you there.”

“To a deserted cabin? What if it's got mice!”

She cried again, only this time a lot harder.

It was too much for my exhausted nerves. I looked at my brother. He was sitting backwards in the chair, with his chin against the back. He made a scornful sound through his nose. “What the hell did you sneak out of the house for? You expect a luxury hotel?”

“Shut up,” I told him.

Myra became dignified. She looked at me coolly, not bothering to answer. “I need to sleep,” she said.

She curled up in my bed. I sat beside her and patted her shoulder. Stan turned out the top light and climbed to the top bunk and went to sleep in his clothes.

I stayed next to her for a long time, unsure what I should do. Should I remain as a sentry? Curl up beside her? Finally I curled up beside her.

A snore came from the top bunk.

Myra rolled around to face me.

“I think I should go home in the morning,” she whispered.

“Okay,” I said.

“I won't tell them where I was.”

“Won't you get in trouble?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

After a while I said, “Will you still be my steady girl?”

She was quiet.

“I must be going crazy,” she said. “I like you. I really like you.”

“Even though I'm a Witcher,” I said.

“Oh no, you're too good to be a Witcher.”

She fell asleep after that. Her leg twitched once or twice.

I stared at the declivity above, where my brother was sleeping. What did she mean I was too good to be a Witcher? Why did my victory have to be so unpleasantly qualified?

I had a suspicion there would be hell to pay.

IT WAS WAITING in the morning.

We heard a pounding at the door and my mother shouted, “What did you lock the door for? What are you doing in there?”

Myra's face, all scrunched up, turned to look at me.

“Is Myra Joyner with you?”

I peeked out the bedroom window, the one that faced the front. The Joyners' blue Impala was parked outside. Rusty was sitting on his haunches, grinning at the house.

“It's your parents.”

Myra didn't let a second pass. Just as she had efficiently obeyed Gaylord at the pool, now she leapt up, snatched her bundle from the desk, transferred the bracelet from wrist to pocket, and, with a neat, lovely swipe at her hair, swung open the bedroom door.

My mother and Mr. Joyner were in the doorway, with Pop hovering a few feet behind.

“Okay young missy, we're going home right this minute,” Mr. Joyner said.

I stepped forward.

“I want you to know one thing, Mr. Joyner. It's my fault. I talked Myra into it.”

“I don't doubt that in the least. Come on, Myra.”

He pulled her into the hall. One of his eyebrows was arched upwards like a rocket ship about to fly towards the sky. For a few seconds he looked crazy—genteel Mr. Joyner looked crazy! His eyes were churning at me. He had a weird grin on his face. He kept darting glances, at me, at Pop, at Mom, at Stan, with a wild, trapped expression. It was as though he had just got his first glimpse of the minor demons of Hell. Never had I felt such contempt coming from an adult. I realized I was taking my prideful place in the Gallery of Witchers. No longer would the neighbors pity my low birth. I had grown into my fate. I was behaving as my blood had bound me.

Pop didn't like the way Joyner was looking at me. He put his hand out and Joyner yanked away, as if a Witcher touch might prevent his escape from the abyss.

And then it was over, just like that. Myra didn't even say good-bye. We heard the screen door slam (letting it slam was a deliberate insult) and we heard the Joyner car move off.

Rusty barked twice and stayed in the yard.

“Damn dog gave us away,” I said.

“He didn't need the dog to find out where she was. He knew where she was the second he saw she was gone. And quit saying ‘damn.'” Mom was furious. “What's been going on between you and Myra Joyner that I didn't know about?”

“She's my girlfriend,” I said.

Pop laughed triumphantly, unable to check himself. Mom gave him a livid frown and he wiped his mouth.

She spun back to me. “You do not bring young girls into this house to spend the night. Are you out of your mind? And you,” she said to Stan, “what are you thinking of, letting him bring a girl into the room at night?”

“Don't lose your wig, they kept their clothes on.”

“That's not the point! I should hope they kept their clothes on!”

She stared my brother down and returned to me. “You do not go with that girl, do you understand? Joyners and Witchers do not mix.”

“What book of the Bible is that in?” Stan sneered.

“Listen to you. You should know better than anyone about what happens when Joyners mix with Witchers.”

He opened his mouth to make a retort and faltered and looked away. That might have been a low blow on Mom's part.

At any rate, the upshot was I got grounded for an indefinite period of time. The yard would form my front and my rear boundaries. Mom pointed them out like an avenging angel.

I shrugged. If ignoring Myra's cries of distress meant not getting grounded, then getting grounded was worth it. Besides, my birthday was only days away and I felt pretty sure I'd receive a pardon when it came.

My brother, meanwhile, had got all agitated, and he pulled me into the room.

“Did you see the way that son of a bitch looked at you?”

“He was mad 'cause I kidnapped his daughter,” I said.

I could put myself in Mr. Joyner's shoes well enough. Myra was a hothouse flower, a precious fruit. I'd be mad too if some kid came and plucked her away. But my brother was remorseless. He said I hadn't forced Myra to do a damn thing. She was the one who started it with her goddamn letters.

“What was she doing leaving notes in our mailbox? She was asking for it, that's what she was doing. And then you told the old shithook it was your fault.”

“Well, I'm the boy and she's the girl.”

“What difference does that make?” Stan burned quietly. Then he said, “You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna go strolling past the Joyners' house. I'm gonna walk up and down the street until Gaylord comes out.”

“What for?”

“So I can kick his ass.”

“Man, don't do that, that'll just make it harder for Myra and me.”

“Oh, get over the skinny twit, will you.”

He left the room.

After a while I realized I was just sitting there, staring ahead. That's when it dawned on me I wasn't allowed to go anywhere.

I sauntered meekly into the kitchen, where Mom was slamming plates to the table, preparing breakfast in a rage. Through the window I saw Pop's head passing back and forth as he rearranged the junk at the side of the house.

She was making a point of not speaking. I cleared my throat and kept staring until her movements grew less furious. I made my eyes big and childlike.

She darted me a look, and a tight-lipped smile softened her frown. I was her baby boy, and I knew how to play that card.

She let some time pass, maintaining her indignation, and then she said, “You're setting yourself up for a fall, you know that, don't you.”