it’s sickening.”
Jake reached across the table and grabbed her hand. It was oily and warm. He was about to let go when she squeezed him back.
Joanne never prodded him to say more or talk about his feelings. After they’d dated for three months, she told him she wanted to hear only one thing.
“That I love you?” he asked.
“Oh, please. I’m not thirteen. Tell me it will last forever. Tell me this can never end.”
At the time, he had not hesitated. Now, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure how he had been so certain, but back then he’d had no reason to doubt his goodfortune. He’d seen a lifetime in one skinny girl’s eyes. “This will never end,” he said.
On Valentine’s Day of their sophomore year at ASU, he asked her to marry him. She said yes, with stipulations.
“First, we both have to graduate. Then you go to law school wherever I work.
Then
we tell my parents, and they’ll have no choice but to give us the finest wedding in the history of the pathetically rich New-somes. And never, ever, do you tell me you’re too proud to take their money. Because believe me, they’ve got gobs of it, and I’m entitled to some, for putting up with them all these years.”
“None of that matters to me,” he said. “As long as I can love you forever.”
Joanne uncoiled her fists, and leaned over to kiss him. “Oh, Jake. You are a real doll.”
Now, when a desert wind blew up his mountain, it sometimes reeked of what he’d thought happiness was, of burning sweetness and optimism and wanting. But whenever he swallowed, it went down bitter. It left a bad aftertaste that lasted for weeks.
He unloaded the rest of the wood, then gathered his dogs into the bed of the pickup. Sasha was still mooning over the woman, and Jake touched her head.
“She put a spell on you, girl?” She turned away, as if she didn’t want him to see her eyes.
He got in the truck and turned over the engine. He had backed halfway out of the drive when Doug and his daughter knocked on his window. He stopped and rolled it down.
“You can come in if you want,” Doug said. “I’m going to see my granddaughter for the first time in years. And you haven’t met my daughter, Savannah.”
Jake looked at the woman. She was nervous, that’s what he picked out first off. She stood the way he’dstood for fifteen years, legs set apart, one foot in front of the other, one fist clenched—the stance of someone who was thinking about running. But when she looked at him, she was all smiles.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
He nodded. He’d run out of conversation three hours ago and, besides, the only thing he could think to say was that a girl had shimmied up one of the Juneberry trees and was sitting precariously on a skinny limb. Jake watched her in his rearview mirror. He didn’t give away anything, not even when she began tearing leaves from the branches and mashing flower petals in the palm of her hand.
“Let the poor man go,” Maggie said, coming down the drive.
“Can we start on the bench tomorrow?” Doug asked.
Jake turned away from the yearning in his eyes. “This weekend. I’ll call you.”
He hit the gas and skidded out of the driveway. In his mirror, he saw the girl jump from the tree, scaring the daylights out of her grandparents. The woman looked after his truck, as if she regretted not hitching a ride. He nearly slammed on the brakes and went back for her, then wondered what he was thinking, assuming she’d have any desire to be with him.
He turned the corner and took a deep breath. When a group of girls playing hopscotch saw his truck and bolted for the porch, he felt a little better. Long ago, he had decided he was only good for scaring people, and he’d spent the last fifteen years proving it. He’d befriended Cal Bentley, the country sheriff, for one simple reason: It was only a matter of time before the man found him out.
* * *
Emma jumped out of the Juneberry tree onto the
Jake reached across the table and grabbed her hand. It was oily and warm. He was about to let go when she squeezed him back.
Joanne never prodded him to say more or talk about his feelings. After they’d dated for three months, she told him she wanted to hear only one thing.
“That I love you?” he asked.
“Oh, please. I’m not thirteen. Tell me it will last forever. Tell me this can never end.”
At the time, he had not hesitated. Now, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure how he had been so certain, but back then he’d had no reason to doubt his goodfortune. He’d seen a lifetime in one skinny girl’s eyes. “This will never end,” he said.
On Valentine’s Day of their sophomore year at ASU, he asked her to marry him. She said yes, with stipulations.
“First, we both have to graduate. Then you go to law school wherever I work.
Then
we tell my parents, and they’ll have no choice but to give us the finest wedding in the history of the pathetically rich New-somes. And never, ever, do you tell me you’re too proud to take their money. Because believe me, they’ve got gobs of it, and I’m entitled to some, for putting up with them all these years.”
“None of that matters to me,” he said. “As long as I can love you forever.”
Joanne uncoiled her fists, and leaned over to kiss him. “Oh, Jake. You are a real doll.”
Now, when a desert wind blew up his mountain, it sometimes reeked of what he’d thought happiness was, of burning sweetness and optimism and wanting. But whenever he swallowed, it went down bitter. It left a bad aftertaste that lasted for weeks.
He unloaded the rest of the wood, then gathered his dogs into the bed of the pickup. Sasha was still mooning over the woman, and Jake touched her head.
“She put a spell on you, girl?” She turned away, as if she didn’t want him to see her eyes.
He got in the truck and turned over the engine. He had backed halfway out of the drive when Doug and his daughter knocked on his window. He stopped and rolled it down.
“You can come in if you want,” Doug said. “I’m going to see my granddaughter for the first time in years. And you haven’t met my daughter, Savannah.”
Jake looked at the woman. She was nervous, that’s what he picked out first off. She stood the way he’dstood for fifteen years, legs set apart, one foot in front of the other, one fist clenched—the stance of someone who was thinking about running. But when she looked at him, she was all smiles.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
He nodded. He’d run out of conversation three hours ago and, besides, the only thing he could think to say was that a girl had shimmied up one of the Juneberry trees and was sitting precariously on a skinny limb. Jake watched her in his rearview mirror. He didn’t give away anything, not even when she began tearing leaves from the branches and mashing flower petals in the palm of her hand.
“Let the poor man go,” Maggie said, coming down the drive.
“Can we start on the bench tomorrow?” Doug asked.
Jake turned away from the yearning in his eyes. “This weekend. I’ll call you.”
He hit the gas and skidded out of the driveway. In his mirror, he saw the girl jump from the tree, scaring the daylights out of her grandparents. The woman looked after his truck, as if she regretted not hitching a ride. He nearly slammed on the brakes and went back for her, then wondered what he was thinking, assuming she’d have any desire to be with him.
He turned the corner and took a deep breath. When a group of girls playing hopscotch saw his truck and bolted for the porch, he felt a little better. Long ago, he had decided he was only good for scaring people, and he’d spent the last fifteen years proving it. He’d befriended Cal Bentley, the country sheriff, for one simple reason: It was only a matter of time before the man found him out.
* * *
Emma jumped out of the Juneberry tree onto the
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