Wire Mesh Mothers (35 page)

“When we get there,” Tony had told the girl, “my dad will probably let you stay a little while. If you’re good. You can’t be fussing or anything, though, you hear me? And you can’t be doing that rubbing thing, it’s gross. Okay?”

Mistie had nodded.

“He has horses. You ever ride a horse? They’re wild, you know? Maybe he has a pony. A pony would be better for you.”

Mistie had said, “I like ponies. Princess
Silverlace
has a golden pony.”

The stories of the ranch at
Lamesa
seemed to keep the kid’s mind off being hungry and tired. It was worth it to Tony to bullshit with the kid so she wouldn’t start whining again.

There was a stoplight in the center of
Farstone
, and it was red. The teacher slowed the truck and waited. There were no other cars to be seen, save the few parked along the main stretch through town, but here was a stoplight. It was mid-afternoon, and dry, and very warm. Nobody was outside except some dogs, and they were hiding in the shade under bushes. Maybe this was a town full of Mexicans. Mexicans took siestas.

“Guess some city council had to fight hard to get that stoplight put up,” said the teacher.

“Whatever,” said Tony. “How far we got left?” Tony nodded at the trip-o-meter. “Looks like another hundred thirty miles. Not bad.”

A motor scooter with a white-haired old lady at the handlebars putted up the road on the left and crossed over to the other side.

“Now I see why they got the light,” said Tony. “Heavy traffic.”

“They’re looking for us now, you know,” said the teacher. “One hundred thirty miles across open land isn’t good odds for anyone trying to stay hidden.”

“We’ll get to the ranch,” said Tony. “Texas cops ain’t much brighter than Virginia cops, I’ll bet. But they know who we are, all right. I bet we’ll make the news tonight. Interstate crime. Try that radio again.”

The stoplight turned green. The teacher worked the clutch and the gas, grimacing as she did. The truck picked up its pace again.

“Radio!” said Tony.

The teacher turned on the radio and pushed the “search” button. Nothing but country music and a pop station. “It’s not the top or bottom of the hour,” the teacher said. “News comes on then.”

“Might be a flash bulletin.”

“Maybe.”

The music was some kind of
twangy
music with banjos. Tony waved her hand. “Cut that shit off.”

The teacher cut the shit off.

They’d left Nacogdoches yesterday, sneaking out of the city by way of every
skeezy
alley and strip mall back lot they could find. Last night had been spent parked behind the crumbling brick snack bar of the “Clifton Drive-In,” which no longer had a big white screen and no longer had ground-mounted speakers but still boldly proclaimed its name on a sky-high white and blue sign that still offered the double feature of “Ghostbusters” and “Ghostbusters II.”

Tony had secured the teacher and kid inside of the truck and had gone on a little scavenger hunt. The teacher had said, “I’m not running away, Tony. You no longer need to tie me up. I will go with you to
Lamesa
. I’ll help you get there.”
Tony’d
laughed at the woman, but it was odd because the teacher had really seemed to be telling the truth.

But truth could be lies.

She’d hiked only a half-mile or so up a dirt side road before finding a small farm with its own gas pump just outside a tractor shed. A collie had run up to her, barking and snarling, but she’d pretended to have something in her hand and the dog had wagged its tail until jumped on its back and slit its throat. She’d carried a couple gallons back to the truck in a bucket she’d discovered in a tool shed, and made a funnel out of a tattered newspaper she’d peeled from the wall of the snack bar.

In the middle of the night, Tony and the teacher had awakened to the sound of a siren out on the road. Tony had held her breath, counting, not moving even to scratch the lice. The cruiser passed the drive-in, lights flashing, the wailing key of the siren shifting lower as it got farther away.

“After a speeder,”
Tony’d
said.

“Possibly,” said the teacher.

They’d awakened hungry. But there was no money, no time, and Tony didn’t want to do anything but get to
Lamesa
. They could eat then. They could fucking wait to eat. The kid whined about wanting something to eat until Tony started telling stories about the ranch.

In the town of Carbon they’d stopped at a Shell station and took turns drinking out of the water hose that was turned on a bed of flowers beside the lot. The water had tasted funny, like it had rocks in it, but it was cold and it was wet.

While Mistie was sucking from the hose, a gangly teenaged cowboy pulled up to the tanks and began to fill his pickup with high octane. Tony thought he looked like a real cowboy. She wondered if he knew about Burton
Patinske’s
ranch. He probably did. A girlfriend in the passenger’s seat leaned out the window, holding a hot dog dripping in chili. “Bo, want a bite?” she teased.

“Want a bite of you, baby,” he said. The girl had laughed, burped around a bite of the dog, and the boy had kissed her full and wet on the lips. Tony had turned away, not wanting to see.

Back in the truck, the teacher mentioned they were down to a quarter tank of gas. Tony brushed it off; a quarter tank of gas in a big old truck like the one they were riding in could likely last to
Lamesa
. The map said it was about one hundred seventy miles from Carbon. And Tony didn’t want to stop one more time, not for shit, not for water, not for God Himself.

Well, except for a stoplight, but that was a done deal and they were rolling again.

Tony let her fingers play the air of
Farstone
. “Know what?” she called back inside to Mistie. “If I’d had my gun, I’d-a shot that roadrunner back there. I hear they taste good as chicken.”

“I’m hungry,” said Mistie.

“Shit, I was kidding.”

They passed the shacks and the sleeping dogs and the dusty trees. Then, as they reached the western boundary of the town, the truck coughed, shimmied, and went dead.

“Out of gas,” said the teacher. It was nearly a whisper. She sounded horrified.

The truck coasted to a stop in front of a trailer with a business sign by the door that read, “Madame Rose. Palm Reader and Advisor. Closed Until Further Notice.”

Tony looked at the needle on the gas indicator. It was below E. She looked at the teacher, who didn’t look back.

“No shit out of gas,” said Tony. She opened the truck door and stepped down. She scanned the road in both directions. The last thing they needed was some curious mayor or preacher to drive up and ask if they needed assistance. Not that
Farstone
would have a mayor. It didn’t even look like they had a church, unless they prayed in singlewides.

“Goddamn it!” said Tony. She drove the bottom of her foot into the side of the truck.

“We’re stuck,” said the teacher.

“We’re not stuck,” said Tony. She leaned in with her knife and cut the ties on the teacher’s wrists. “Get out.”

The teacher stood on the side of the road with her hands on her hips. She looked like one of those women in the pictures Tony had seen at school about the Dust Bowl. Eyes that were cooked dry, dirty arms, skinny legs. Mistie rolled out and leaned back on the truck cab, her hands tucked inside the front of her jumper.

“Let’s walk,” said Tony.

“
Lamesa’s
a good two hours away by car,” said the teacher. “How soon until we’d dehydrate? How easy would it be for us to be caught out in the middle of nowhere? You’ve made it clear you want the thrill of the chase. I don’t.”

“I was kidding. God, you think I’m stupid. I’m not stupid.”

“We have to get off this main street. Quickly.”

They hurried down the alley that ran alongside the fortune teller’s trailer and back another block for good measure, then sat close in the ratty grass in the shade of a hen house. A couple of Hispanic girls walked past on the alley, one holding tightly to the leash of a bouncing shepherd puppy. The girls glanced over, then whispered something and giggled. Tony was sure those girls didn’t know who they were. The girls were probably laughing at the teacher’s overalls. They were way pathetic.

“I’m going to the lounge,” the teacher with a tip of her head. “You two wait here.”

“What you gonna do, whore yourself out for a ride?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Damn! That’s a hoot!”

“Really, Tony? Call it what you will. Just don’t let Mistie out of your sight.”

“I don’t think I’ll let you go. I think you’ll be in there
sobbin
’ some story, tellin’ them all the bad things I did and how you’re all innocent.”

The teacher took Tony’s chin and Tony didn’t pull away. Her fingernails were rough where they’d broken off at different lengths. The woman’s breath was rank. “I’ve made my course. Trust me or not, I will get us to
Lamesa
.”

Tony shrugged then jerked from the teacher’s grasp. “Fine with me. But you got ten minutes, or each minute after that little old Mistie here gets a new piece of a tattoo. I think she’d look cute with a little angel, don’t you think? Down her back, between those bony shoulders, give the angel wings, a halo, oh, there’s lots of minutes to use up if I need them.”

“You won’t hurt her,” said the teacher. “And I will be back in less than ten.”

“We’ll see,” said Tony.

“You won’t hurt her.” The teacher was up, and hobbling toward the street.

“We’ll see, won’t we Mistie?” Tony said. She looked at the child, who had found a handful of grass with seedpods, and was rocking back and forth and popping the pods off with the wrap and snap of the stems.

“W
e aren’t open yet. It’s not even five yet.”

Kate squinted in the darkness, her heard turned toward the sound of the voice.

“I’m sorry,” said Kate. “I was just hoping for some help.”

“What kind of help?” The voice was male, and decidedly young.

“A ride.” God, to say it aloud, in that was the danger. In that the connection could be made if the news had reached this far.

Just get the ride, get out of here, two hours tops and we’ll be safe.

“Ain’t no bus service in
Farstone
, sorry,” said the voice. The darkness of the room began to shimmer away, and in the center of Kate’s sight she could see a single shaded lamp sitting atop a bar counter, and a boy behind the bar, counting dollar bills. “No taxi, neither. You ain’t from here. You lost?”

Kate could see well enough to walk to the counter without tripping on table or chair legs. She hoped her limp wasn’t terribly obvious, but knew it was. “No, I’ve run out of gas.”

The boy laughed. He was dark skinned, dark eyes, a head full of thick black hair. He was a little older than Donnie. “That’s a bummer,” he said. “A goat roper lost in Texas with no gas!”

“Goat roper?”

“Oh,” said the boy. He stacked the bills and slipped them into an open cash register drawer. “Don’t take offense, it’s just something we call people who aren’t from here, especially people who are, well, kinda skinny.”

“Oh,” said Kate. “Okay. No bus. Any gas? Anywhere?”

“Closest gas station is east up 180, town of Albany or west in Anson.”

“I can’t drive to get gas with no gas.”
Kate, keep it easy, don’t piss him off.

“Right there. George Watson got gas up at his ranch for his trucks. But he’s not the kind of man you ask for anything.”

Kate licked her lips. She slid onto one of the bar stools and caught her head in her hands. She knew she smelled. She hoped the boy had clogged sinuses.

“So, where you trying to get to?” asked the boy.

Say it.

“
Lamesa
.”

“Really?”

It was then that Kate saw the open newspaper on the counter by the register. She couldn’t read the headlines the way the paper was turned and
pooched
up at the fold.

“Why
Lamesa
?”

“I…because it’s nearly on the other side of the state, right? I make
Lamesa
and I’m almost to New Mexico. Thought if I could get that far, I could find a motel for the night.”

The boy shut the cash register drawer and nodded. He said, “Where you from?”

“North Carolina.”

“That’s pretty far away.”

“You’re telling me.” She tried to chuckle. It sounded like a gasp. “Can you think of anyone who would be willing to give me a ride to
Lamesa
?”

“You traveling alone from North Carolina?”

“Why? Does it matter?”

The boy looked over his shoulder. There was a phone mounted on the wall. He shrugged. “I guess it would, if there was only room for one person in the car.”

“You have a car? Would you take me? I can’t pay, but….”