Those Girls (7 page)

He looked confused. I was starting to think he might not be all that smart about people, just trucks.

“What else would you owe us?” He shrugged. “I just like working on stuff.” I glanced at his hands, the grease under his nails. His pinkie fingers were strange—they curved in toward the fingers next to them.

“We need a minute to talk,” Dani said.

“Sure, gotta take a leak anyway.” The boys walked into the woods. We could hear them breaking branches, then silence. We took a couple of steps to the other side of their truck, the music playing behind us.

“I’m not sure about this,” Courtney said.

“Me either,” Dani said. “But we need the truck.”

“We could take the bus,” I said.

“We don’t even know if one stops in town.”

“We could hitch to Vancouver,” I said.

“The cops might see us on the road and too many people will remember three girls—we stand out. Same with the bus, the cops can track us.”

Dani was sounding annoyed, but I couldn’t stop my questions. “What about the gun under the seat? We’ll be stuck here for a couple of days.”

“They don’t have any reason to look under the seat. Once the truck is fixed, we can get the hell out of here. No one knows where we’re heading.”

I glanced back where the guys had gone into the bushes, saw them walking out.

“You think
they’re
okay?” I whispered.

Dani turned and looked at them. “Yeah, they’re just typical boys hoping to get lucky. If they want to be nice, fine, but we don’t have to do anything else.”

*   *   *

We climbed into the back of their truck, throwing our gear and the cooler in with us. The boys had helped us load the remaining boxes into the cab of our truck so we could lock it up. Brian said he’d come back with a tow truck later in the day. It would be added to our bill but he said he’d get his uncle to cut the rate.

They brought us through town. It looked even smaller than Littlefield, and it was obvious the guys knew everyone—people waved at the truck as we drove past, giving us curious looks. I focused my camera and took a few pretend shots of downtown, which had only a couple of stoplights. I noticed a few stores, a diner, a brick motel. Between a pizza shop with some plastic chairs outside and a florist, a bulletin board was crammed with notices like no one had ever taken anything down. The hardware store had a sign for the post office. There only seemed to be one garage: “That’s where I work!” Brian yelled through the rear window. He pulled in front of one of the shop bays and got out.

“Just have to talk to my uncle and make sure he’s cool with everything.” Gavin got out and went inside with Brian.

We stayed in the back of the truck. The sun was beating down, reflecting off the black metal, hot to the touch. Courtney had her head resting against the plastic box under the rear window. It ran the length of the cab and had a padlock. Some of the men in Littlefield had the same boxes in their trucks for tools. Courtney’s hand was covering her burn. Dani was watching her and chewing her nails.

I noticed a pub beside the garage, or at least I thought it was a pub, with music thumping and the smell of greasy food. The back door opened into an alley between the two businesses. Above the pub an open window looked down on the garage. Some curtains blew in the breeze and I wondered if people lived up there.

The back door opened and a boy came out. He looked about my age, with blond hair that fell into his eyes. He brushed it away. His face was flushed like he was hot, his white apron stained. He glanced around and lit a cigarette, leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed as he took a long drag and slowly exhaled.

Brian and Gavin came out of the shop, voices loud, door banging shut behind them. The boy in the alley stood straight, looked right at me.

Our eyes met, held. Then he glanced at the boys. Something in his face, the way his eyes narrowed, told me he didn’t like them.

Gavin gave him the finger. The boy didn’t react, just took another long, slow drag. An older man with a full beard and silver-streaked hair came out, looked like he was about to say something, then noticed us. Brian and Gavin climbed back into the truck. The man watched us pull away.

The boys stopped outside a general store. Brian hopped out of the truck.

“Gotta get some beer.”

“Is there a bathroom?” Courtney said.

“’Round back.”

We piled out and went around the back of the store. Through the window I could see the boys picking up a couple of cases of beer. Gavin was elbowing Brian and they were laughing at something. I glanced at Dani—Courtney was in the bathroom. Dani was also watching the boys. I gave her a look.

“They’re just being guys,” she said, but she sounded worried.

Courtney came out and also noticed the boys. They glanced up, feeling our gaze, and gave us big smiles, lifting up a case of beer like a trophy.

“See?” Dani said as she moved toward the bathroom. “Typical boys.”

*   *   *

We left the town and drove through some farms, then down a winding country road, the pavement cracked and rough. We passed a tractor, the old man giving us a nod. The air was filled with the scent of hay from recently cut fields. Dani’s eyes were sad, and I knew she was thinking of Corey.

The road changed to dirt and we hunkered low but still got coated with a fine layer of dust, coughing and rubbing our eyes. Finally the boys turned off onto a smaller road and stopped at a metal gate. Gavin jumped out and opened it.

“Almost there,” he said with a smile.

We pulled into a grassy field and bumped over the rough ground until we stopped at a grove of trees by a creek that had dried to a slow crawl.

Brian got out of the truck. “This is all part of our land. You girls can set up here. We’ll get your truck. In the morning, we’ll bring you up to the ranch.”

He grabbed one of the cases of beer, handing us each a bottle and opening one for himself. He also handed us a bag of jerky. “Liquor store didn’t have much else, but you guys look hungry. We can bring you some more food tomorrow.”

“What are you going to tell your parents?” Dani asked.

He shrugged. “Ain’t no big secret. You’re some girls we met passing through who need to make some money so we can fix your truck.” He noticed us exchange looks. “I don’t have to say nothing if you want.”

Gavin added, “We can just tell them you live in town.”

“We’d appreciate that,” Dani said.

“You girls running away or something?” Gavin laughed.

“We just don’t like people knowing our business,” Dani said, her tone angry.

Brian held up his hands. “Easy, sister. Whatever floats your boat.”

After the boys left, I said, “I don’t like them—they’re being too friendly. And they know we’re hiding something now. They could steal the truck.”

“If they wanted to steal it, they didn’t have to pick us up. Better that they know we want it quiet than them yakking to everyone about us.”

“They still might,” Courtney said.

“I don’t think so,” Dani said. “I get the feeling maybe they shouldn’t be helping us out so much. Serves them to stay quiet too.”

I watched the boys’ truck driving over the field, then turning onto the road, a dust cloud following them. I looked around the campsite.

“It’s sure quiet here. You can’t see any houses or anything.”

“That’s good,” Dani said, unrolling the tent. “We don’t want anyone knowing we’re here.”

I looked back at where the truck had gone, nothing but dust now.

“I guess.”

*   *   *

We spent the afternoon setting up our tent and exploring the creek. We found a couple of pools where it was a little deeper and took baths, rinsing our hair, trying to get the dust out of our skin and from under our nails, but as soon as we’d dried off it felt like we were coated again. That night we were restless, rolling into each other for warmth, the ground uncomfortable. Courtney and I whispered to each other, worried about the truck and the boys. Dani finally told us to shut up.

The boys came to get us early the next morning. We piled into the back of their truck, and they took us up to the ranch. It was pretty, with a brightly painted sign that read
LUXTON CATTLE RANCH
at the entrance, white fences and flowers lining the driveway, a white Victorian farmhouse that looked like something out of a movie, with a wraparound veranda, a porch swing, and a couple of maple trees. I almost expected a woman to walk out in a pretty country dress and offer iced tea.

I aimed my camera, took a few pretend shots. I caught Brian watching me in his side mirror and put the camera down.

The cattle were out on summer pasture but the ranch had a lot of horses and a couple of barns, a big chicken run. We didn’t meet their parents, just a ranch hand named Theo who had a perpetual squint like he was always looking into the sun. He showed us around and explained that we had to walk the fence line to check for any breaks, and for posts that were leaning from the winter snow or from cows pressing their bodies into the fence, trying to escape. We drove two ATVs, pulling a trailer with the rolled-up barbed wire and fence poles behind us. It was hard work, digging in the dry rocky ground, pounding the posts down, our clothes and sometimes our skin snagging on the barbed wire, the sun burning the backs of our necks. We wore gloves, but our hands ached from handling the shovel and the thick wire, the cutting tools. The strap of my camera dug in, the camera heavier with every mile, but I wasn’t going to leave it in my packsack.

We turned our baseball caps around, slathered ourselves with suntan lotion, and used up all our water, but it felt good to be making some money. The guys came by once, driving another ATV.

“I couldn’t find a pump at the wrecking yard,” Brian said. “Had to order one in, might take a couple of days. It’ll take me a while to get it on your truck, need half a day and my uncle has a bunch of other shit lined up first.”

“So when do you think it will be ready?” Dani said.

“Maybe Friday. I’ll try my best,” he said. He seemed sincere and looked like he felt really bad, but as soon as he left, I turned to Dani.

“That’s
four
days. There’s something about these guys—I don’t trust them. We should keep going, I don’t like it here.”

“Me either, but we need the truck,” she said.

“We should just get on the bus.”

“How are we going to get back into town? It’s miles. We don’t even have enough money for three tickets. We’ve got to work for at least a couple of days.”

“You just don’t want to leave the truck—you’re being stubborn.” I felt trapped, panicked.

“Screw you, Jess. You’re just a kid, you don’t know—”

“But, Dani, this doesn’t feel right.”

“Like you have ESP.”

“No,” I said, frustrated. “It just doesn’t.”

“I feel the same way,” Courtney said.

Dani looked furious. She hated it when we banded against her. She dug up a few more shovelfuls of dirt for a posthole, her biceps bunching and flexing as she pushed the shovel into the hard ground, using her foot to force it deeper. We also went back to work, but we were waiting for her to say something.

“We’ll stay until we have a little more money,” she finally said. “We also need it for ID. It might be even harder to get jobs in Vancouver. We have to earn what we can now. If the truck isn’t fixed by Friday, we’ll try to sell it to the guys.”

I didn’t like it but there was nothing else I could say. Dani had made up her mind.

*   *   *

After we were done in the fields, we walked the country road back to our campsite, tried to clean our tired aching bodies in the creek. Most of the food in the cooler had already spoiled, so we ate the last of the jerky, some apples, and a sandwich Courtney had found in a lunch box in the barn. We’d filled up our water bottles at the farm but only had enough for the night. An hour later the boys came back to our campsite with some peanut butter sandwiches, granola bars, and fruit.

“Raided our parents’ cupboards,” Gavin said with a laugh.

“We’ll pay you back,” I said. I didn’t want to owe them anything, but we were starving.

“Nah, they’ll never notice anything’s gone.” He patted his stomach. “We eat like horses.”

While we ate, the boys talked. Gavin was nineteen, his brother two years older. They were both still living at home, to help their parents out.

“Not for too much longer, though,” Brian said. “How old are you girls anyway?”

Dani said, “I’m eighteen,” adding a few months. She pointed to us. “They’re seventeen and fifteen.” Courtney wouldn’t be seventeen until February. My birthday was the next day, I remembered with a jolt.

“Brave hitting the road all by yourself,” Gavin said.

“People know where we’re at,” I said. “We’ve got family.”

His eyes flicked to me and he seemed amused, like he knew I was lying, but he just said, “Want to go for a swim?”

They took us to a river a couple of miles down the road where they said all the local kids swam. There was a small sandy beach where teens sunbathed on towels, clustered in little bunches. A few were taking turns on a rope swing, leaping into the water with a splash and a yell. Down the way, on the other side of the river, you could see another beach where some families had towels and umbrellas spread out, toddlers splashing in the shallows, dogs chasing sticks.

We sat a little apart from the other kids, up on a hill. A few of the boys shouted out greetings to the guys as we walked past, but the girls ignored them, whispering to each other, and a couple of them giggled. I glanced at Brian’s face. He looked angry, then smug when some of the girls gave us curious looks.

Brian had brought extra towels and some beer and pot. I took a beer but refused the pot, not liking how it made my head spin.

Courtney took a long toke, her eyes closing as she held the smoke in her lungs, her shoulders finally dropping, relaxed. Dani took the next drag, sucking at it in a quick angry inhale before she passed it to Gavin. He grinned at her.

We spent the afternoon swimming, sloughing the sweat from our skin, rinsing our hair in the water. Across the river some men sat on the hoods of their trucks, staring at Courtney stretched out in her black bikini. I didn’t like the nod Brian gave them—confident, like we were theirs.