Sharing Sam (6 page)

I followed his gaze. “Close, but no. That’s a milk bottle. So what did you mean just then? About getting worked up?”

He smiled at me, that been-somewhere-you-haven’t smile. “I admire people like you, Alison. People who think they
know where they’re going, who want to change things, be things. It must be cool to wake up and say, ‘I’m going to do
x
and
y
and
z
today and it will mean something.’ ”

“What’s the alternative? What do you say when you wake up?”

“Well, let’s see. Today I woke up and said, ‘What the hell day is it, do I have to work?’ Then I remembered I had the afternoon off and my bike was fixed.” He took off his sunglasses. His eyes glittered like the dark water. “Then I said, ‘I’m going to see Alison today. And maybe that will mean something.’ ”

I liked the way he said it, but it scared me a little, too. So I rolled on my back and closed my eyes and let the sun warm my lids.

“Well, what do you want to do?” I asked after a while.

“You mean when I grow up?”

“Yeah. Next year, or five years from now, or ten.”

“That’s a long time, Alison. I don’t think that far ahead. Maybe I won’t be here, who knows?”

“That’s crazy. What do you care about, what are you good at?”

He didn’t answer. I opened my eyes and found him grinning at me. “Sorry,” he said. “Leading question.”

“What
else
are you good at?” I persisted, conscious of my body, of the hot sun on my bare arms and neck, in a way I hadn’t been a second before.

“Not much.” He looked annoyed.

“No, name something.” His indifference was annoying me back. “Everyone’s good at something. You’re a good mechanic, you’re a good motorcycle rider—well, okay, scratch that. But you’re good at math or lunch or something. Tell me
you know all the words to the
Brady Bunch
theme song. Tell me you can stop a moving fan blade with your tongue. Just say
something
, Sam.”

He exhaled slowly. “I suppose,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him, “that I’m good at watching out for people.”

“But you’re not very good at watching out for yourself,” I countered. “Why don’t you wear a helmet? Why do you smoke? I mean, it’s just … stupid, incredibly stupid. Do you have some kind of death wish? Or is it just a way to look cool, big bad Sam with his Harley?”

He looked genuinely surprised at the emotion in my voice. “Death wish,” he repeated. “Interesting theory, but I’m not really all that complex. I have a Harley because, well, I like it and it’s cheaper than a Viper.” He sighed. “And as for the helmet and the cigarettes, I guess they’re just bad habits.”

“So why don’t you quit?”

“I suppose because no one ever asked me to.”

“
I’m
asking.”

He smiled. It was a broad, smooth smile, the kind that curled up just a little at the edges. “Okay, then.”

He was making fun of me again. “What, you’re going on the straight and narrow because some perfect stranger asked you to? What about doing it for you?”

“I’m not what you’d call an interested party.”

I sat up, frustrated, clutching a mound of grass. He was a mystery to me, as much a mystery now as when he’d been the object of hushed bathroom speculation.

“You are really exasperating,” I said. “While I’m reforming you, why don’t you stop cutting school, too?”

“I can’t. Sorry.”

“Why?”

“I see one, I think.” He sat up too. “There, by the dock. Big, ugly, round? Like a walrus?”

“Sounds right. I don’t see one, though.”

He nodded. “So. I’ve seen a manatee.”

“Did not. You were just changing the subject.”

“No, I saw it. Sort of like Fred Flintstone in a wet suit. Definitely a manatee. So why is it again I should care if there are only a few left?”

“Because,” I said firmly, “we are the most intelligent species on the planet. And we’re the ones who are killing this one off.”

“And what if it doesn’t work out in the end? What if you try and you end up failing? Why do it, then?”

“Because we have to try.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. That I understand.”

He surprised me then by touching my hand, warmth on warmth. We both looked off at the water, neither daring to meet the other’s eyes.

We sat there for a long time like that. Holding hands, only not. The world fell still and became just us and the water and the sun. It was like that sweet stirring before a storm, when you sense something is about to change and all you can do is wait.

We looked for the manatees, but they were swimming secretly in the dark grasses, waiting for a safe moment to appear. Waiting, I suppose, as we were, to see what the world had in store for them.

A
FTER A WHILE
we rode over to a phone booth at a Texaco. He needed to make a call, Sam explained, checking his watch.

I sat on the bike, watching him dial. He turned away from me furtively. I strained to listen. “Morgan …” I heard. Then “… police …” Smothered, angry sounds. “When were they there?… back soon. Thanks.”

Police
. The word sent a jolt of reality through me. The rumors resurfaced. What had I really found out about this guy, this guy whose hand I’d been holding, sort of, for the last half hour—this guy I was convinced I was falling in love with?

When Sam rejoined me his expression was flat. “Something came up. I have to take you home.”

“What came up?”

He reached for his helmet. “Nothing.”

“You have to take me home for nothing?”

“It’s not your problem.”

“Maybe if you tell me, I could help.”

“It’s not your problem.”

It was like trying to see through lead. He was not going to let me in.

“Fine,” I said. “Forget it. Take me home.”

He put on his helmet, climbed on, and revved the bike. Angrily, it seemed to me, but then, it was hard to tell with a Harley.

I tapped his shoulder. “Just tell me this,” I yelled. “Did you or did you not rob a Get n’ Go?”

Suddenly the bike fell silent and still. He looked over his shoulder.

“What exactly is a Get n’ Go?”

“No, I know. It’s the witness relocation program, right? Your dad’s some kind of drug kingpin and you turned state’s evidence.”

Behind his clear mask his grin broadened. “Where
are
you getting this?”

“School. Rumors. People talk, I listen.”

“Why are you even here if that’s what you think? Why did you agree to come with me? Weren’t you afraid I’d drive you to the nearest 7-Eleven so we could pull a Slurpee heist, maybe zap a couple of burritos as we blasted our way out?”

“I wasn’t afraid,” I said, suddenly shy. “Actually, I knew you weren’t any of those things.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. I concentrated on the dark hairs on his arms. “What did you base that on?” he asked.

I looked past him. “You kissed my horse and you carry pocket Kleenex.”

He stared at me, shaking his head. “You are one very interesting girl, Alison,” he said. “A little weird, but very interesting.”

Again he revved the engine. He turned back and sat there for a long time, watching a gray Taurus rise up slowly on the garage’s lift.

“Come on,” he said finally, reluctantly. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

When we rode up the lane to Sam’s place, the old man was sitting in the driver’s seat of the red Cadillac. The top was down. The parrot was sitting on his shoulder. Two petite white-haired women shared the front seat.

It wasn’t until we pulled up alongside that I realized they weren’t petite women. They were giant poodles.

“There you are, boy.” An older woman with a thick quilt of brown wrinkles appeared in the doorway of the trailer.

Sam parked the bike. “I’ll be right back,” he told me.

He and the woman spoke in hushed voices. I heard the word
police
again. The old man gripped the Cadillac’s steering wheel, spinning it like a captain would turn the wheel of a clipper ship. The poodles and parrot stared intently through the dirty window. I followed their eyes, but all I could see was the weedy paddock behind the trailer. Far off in the distance an old horse grazed, as dented and weary-looking as the Cadillac.

I climbed off the bike and removed my helmet.

“Nice caboose,” someone said, adding a wolf whistle for full effect. A shrieky voice, not quite a man’s. Not quite a woman’s, either.

I spun around. No one was taking credit.

“Need a lift?”

This time it was definitely the old man. I looked to Sam for guidance, but he was deep in conversation.

I approached the driver’s side slowly. The man was smaller close up, with deep, pocketed eyes the worn blue of old jeans. He was wearing a natty red bow tie and a green plaid flannel shirt that hung in drapes off his frail arms. On his head was a leather driving cap. He seemed very happy to see me.

“Nice caboose.” It was the parrot, I realized, vaguely relieved.

“How far you going?” the man asked.

“Uh, well, I live on Fruitville—” I began.

“I can take you as far as Vegas. Back, Forth, make room for the lady.”

He snapped his fingers and the two poodles edged closer in perfect unison. Two more dogs, sweet little muttly types, sat in the backseat. One was wearing a little straw hat.

I looked over at Sam. He was shaking the woman’s hand. He caught my eye and gave me a look that said he’d be there soon.

“Hop in, hop in, let’s hit the road. You play keno?”

I went to the other door and opened it obediently. “No.”

“Ah, roulette, then. Thirty-two red, that’s the ticket.”

I closed the door. The poodles eyed me suspiciously.

“Kiss me, mama.” The parrot again.

“Sam?” I called hopefully.

The old man floored the gas pedal, despite the fact that there was no key in the ignition. He turned the wheel and leaned into the imaginary curve. Even the poodles swayed.

“Hang on, sister, let’s see what this baby can do.”

I don’t know why, but I fastened my seat belt.

He changed direction, leaning the other way. Again, everyone swayed except me. He cast me a dirty look and I felt guilty, as if I were defying the laws of physics.

Just then Sam appeared. I sighed with relief.

“Morgan, this is Alison. Alison, this is my grandfather, Morgan.”

Oblivious, Morgan swerved again. Sam grabbed the wheel. “Jane told me what happened, Morgan. You found the keys, didn’t you?”

Morgan stared straight ahead. “Let’s hit the road and see where it goes.”

“You did hit the road,” Sam said. His voice was smoothly patient. “You hit it for six miles or thereabouts.”

For the first time, Morgan seemed to hear Sam. “I got her up to forty-five.”

“Too bad you were in the wrong lane at the time.” Sam held up a set of keys. “I hid these for a reason, Morgan. Now I’m going to have to take them out of the trailer altogether. You promised—no more joyrides.”

“Nice caboose,” the parrot remarked to Sam.

Sam opened the door and waited. “Let’s go make some burgers, huh?”

The old man turned to me. Once again he seemed genuinely, freshly happy to see me. “You his girl?”

“Uh, well, not—”

“Kid needs one. Might as well be a monk.”

He looked at Sam. “Kissed her yet?”

“Kiss me, mama,” said the parrot.

“Shut up, Cha-cha,” Sam said.

“She’s a looker,” Morgan added.

The parrot bobbed its head. “Nice—”

“Shut up,” Sam said again, “or we’ll be eating parrotburgers tonight.”

“Take her out. Ask her to a picture, ask her to a dance,
then
kiss her,” Morgan suggested. He eyed me doubtfully. “You cha-cha?”

“No, I—”

“Shame, that. Ask her anyway.”

“Will you get out of the car, then, and promise not to pull this crap again?” Sam asked.

“Listen to you, in front of a lady.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Alison, we’ll go out sometime, okay?”

The old man rolled his eyes. “A dance, something classy.”

“People don’t do that kind of thing anymore, Morgan.”

Morgan spun the wheel, pouting.

Sam’s cheeks were tinged with pink. I thought it was very charming. “Fine. Alison, let’s go to a dance, somewhere, sometime in the unspecified future.”

Morgan stared at me expectantly. So did all four dogs. “Okay,” I said meekly. “Sure.”

Morgan got out of the car. Very slowly he came around to the other side and opened my door. When I got out, he kissed my hand. His lips were cool and dry.

Sam took his arm. “I’m going to take Alison home, Morgan,” he said as he helped the old man inside. The four dogs trotted behind him.

I leaned against the warm hood. A few minutes later Sam came out. He looked … not embarrassed, exactly. Almost relieved.

“So,” he said. “Not exactly the Get n’ Go, huh?”

“He’s really your grandfather?” I asked. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Back in Detroit. I just came down to keep an eye on things for a while.” He smiled. “Guess I should have warned you. He’s kind of unpredictable.”

“I like him. I’ve never had my hand kissed before. Come to think of it, I’ve never had a parrot come on to me either.”

“He has good days and bad. Actually, today’s a real good day. He’s pretty lucid.”

I wondered what a bad day was like. “Is he the reason you have to miss school sometimes?”

Sam nodded impassively. “Yeah. That, or sometimes work.” He shrugged. “Sorry about all that dance stuff.”

“That’s okay. You were coerced.”

He hesitated. “There is some kind of dance thing coming up, isn’t there? I saw a poster, I think. Hearts or something.”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“I can’t dance,” he said.

“Not even the cha-cha?”

“Still, if you wanted, and things worked out, we could … you know. Go. And make fun of the other people dancing.”

I looked over at the trailer. Morgan was standing behind the screen door, a gray shadow. The parrot was still on his shoulder.

“I’d like that,” I said, and my voice quavered only a little bit.

“Okay, then,” Sam said.