Read Online Gone With a Handsomer Man by Michael Lee West - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Lee West
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bikini, and a matching cover-up. I put the clothes into a paper sack that smelled faintly of peaches. He picked me up in a pastel gray ’69 Mustang, an old car that had belonged to his daddy.
During the drive to the lake, Coop tried to draw me into conversation, but my voice was shaky and I gave tight-lipped answers. Besides, a green bug was crawling on his shoulder, and I was distracted. I was afraid to pick it off. What if he thought I was being forward?
When we got to the lake, the whole youth group was there. I headed to the women’s restroom to change clothes. I pulled on the suit, then I jumped up and down, trying to glimpse myself in the high mirrors. The suit was skimpy. The bottom fit, but my breasts swelled out the top. I was ready as I’d ever be. I draped my cover-up over my arm and stepped out of the restroom into bright sunlight.
Coop was waiting beside a pine tree, holding a patchwork quilt. He wore a t-shirt and cutoffs. When I walked up, two dimples cut into his cheeks. It was the first time a boy had looked at me that way. I liked it.
Coop sat on the quilt while I picked daisies. Behind us, ski boats sliced across the green water. He wanted to know what I did on the peach farm. I wanted to know about Barb, but I bit down the question and watched a bass boat stir up waves, pushing swimmers into the shallows. The kids whooped and swam back, waiting for the next boat.
Smoke rose from the pavilion. It smelled of lighter fluid and hickory wood. One of the church elders came out and yelled at a girl who’d shown up in a string bikini. I slipped on my cover-up as one of the mothers led the girl to the restroom.
“Come on, Teeny,” Coop said. “Tell me about the farm. Y’all grow the sweetest peaches in Georgia. What’s your secret?”
It was the first time he’d said my name. A warm flush spread through my chest. I twirled a daisy and told him about pruning and trimming, hot days in the roadside stand, and my quest for the perfect peach turnover.
I held out the daisy. Coop started to tuck it into his pocket, when a strangled cry pierced the air. Way out in the water, a girl was thrashing. Just beyond her, two boats moved into the shallows, their motors drowning her garbled cries.
I sat up and looked toward the chaperones. They were crowded in the pavilion, hidden by a wavy veil of charcoal fumes. I glanced back at the lake. Waves lapped over the girl’s head. A white arm came up, her fingers clutching air.
The daisy fell from Coop’s hands. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the shore. Just before he dove in, the girl went under. The boats were headed straight toward her. Coop didn’t notice. He swam toward the flailing girl. Just before he reached her, she went down. He took a mighty breath and dove.
One boat cut in at an angle and sped toward the place where Coop had been. I ran down the bank and waved my arms, yelling at the boat. The church people ran out of the pavilion and began screaming, too. The boat sped up. Why didn’t the driver see or hear a shitload of Baptists waving and hollering?
Coop burst out of the water with the girl. The driver jerked the wheel. The boat veered away, sending up huge green waves. Coop and the girl floated up the edge of the swell, then slid down. He gripped her in a neck lock, keeping her face above the water.
The choir director waded in, but Coop was already kicking to shore. They laid the girl on the bank. Water rushed over her hair, pulling and fanning the damp brown strands over the pebbles.
She sat up and coughed while the choir director pounded her back. She burst into tears, hiccupping every other breath. Several of the church elders hollered out a few hallelujahs, then they went back into the pavilion.
Coop took my hand and led me back to the quilt. We flopped down. Water was beaded in his lashes. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked. “And the night after that?”
We dated that whole summer. He ate supper with us every night,
During the drive to the lake, Coop tried to draw me into conversation, but my voice was shaky and I gave tight-lipped answers. Besides, a green bug was crawling on his shoulder, and I was distracted. I was afraid to pick it off. What if he thought I was being forward?
When we got to the lake, the whole youth group was there. I headed to the women’s restroom to change clothes. I pulled on the suit, then I jumped up and down, trying to glimpse myself in the high mirrors. The suit was skimpy. The bottom fit, but my breasts swelled out the top. I was ready as I’d ever be. I draped my cover-up over my arm and stepped out of the restroom into bright sunlight.
Coop was waiting beside a pine tree, holding a patchwork quilt. He wore a t-shirt and cutoffs. When I walked up, two dimples cut into his cheeks. It was the first time a boy had looked at me that way. I liked it.
Coop sat on the quilt while I picked daisies. Behind us, ski boats sliced across the green water. He wanted to know what I did on the peach farm. I wanted to know about Barb, but I bit down the question and watched a bass boat stir up waves, pushing swimmers into the shallows. The kids whooped and swam back, waiting for the next boat.
Smoke rose from the pavilion. It smelled of lighter fluid and hickory wood. One of the church elders came out and yelled at a girl who’d shown up in a string bikini. I slipped on my cover-up as one of the mothers led the girl to the restroom.
“Come on, Teeny,” Coop said. “Tell me about the farm. Y’all grow the sweetest peaches in Georgia. What’s your secret?”
It was the first time he’d said my name. A warm flush spread through my chest. I twirled a daisy and told him about pruning and trimming, hot days in the roadside stand, and my quest for the perfect peach turnover.
I held out the daisy. Coop started to tuck it into his pocket, when a strangled cry pierced the air. Way out in the water, a girl was thrashing. Just beyond her, two boats moved into the shallows, their motors drowning her garbled cries.
I sat up and looked toward the chaperones. They were crowded in the pavilion, hidden by a wavy veil of charcoal fumes. I glanced back at the lake. Waves lapped over the girl’s head. A white arm came up, her fingers clutching air.
The daisy fell from Coop’s hands. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the shore. Just before he dove in, the girl went under. The boats were headed straight toward her. Coop didn’t notice. He swam toward the flailing girl. Just before he reached her, she went down. He took a mighty breath and dove.
One boat cut in at an angle and sped toward the place where Coop had been. I ran down the bank and waved my arms, yelling at the boat. The church people ran out of the pavilion and began screaming, too. The boat sped up. Why didn’t the driver see or hear a shitload of Baptists waving and hollering?
Coop burst out of the water with the girl. The driver jerked the wheel. The boat veered away, sending up huge green waves. Coop and the girl floated up the edge of the swell, then slid down. He gripped her in a neck lock, keeping her face above the water.
The choir director waded in, but Coop was already kicking to shore. They laid the girl on the bank. Water rushed over her hair, pulling and fanning the damp brown strands over the pebbles.
She sat up and coughed while the choir director pounded her back. She burst into tears, hiccupping every other breath. Several of the church elders hollered out a few hallelujahs, then they went back into the pavilion.
Coop took my hand and led me back to the quilt. We flopped down. Water was beaded in his lashes. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked. “And the night after that?”
We dated that whole summer. He ate supper with us every night,
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