“Puh-leeze.” Charlie played along with Sandy’s little game. She was a nice person, Sandy. There was a time when she had felt like a big sister, but ever since Charlie had been nine or ten she’d known she was smarter than Sandy, which made her feel sorry for the waitress. Sandy was the kind of person that got pushed around by life and everyone in it. Realizing this about Sandy, Charlie had resolved to always be in charge of herself and never take shit from anyone.
Sandy returned with a stack of buttered toast and a frosty stainless-steel cup. She set the toast in front of Charlie and poured the peanut butter malt into a tall, fluted glass. There was a little malt left in the steel cup, which she held out for Charlie.
“You can have it,” Charlie said.
“Aw, ain’t you sweet?” Sandy said and downed the melted malt, tapping the side to get the last of the slush. She thumbed the malt from the corners of her mouth. “Wanna know a secret?” She looked around with twinkling eyes. Without waiting for a response, she said, “I’m in love.”
Charlie cringed at her openness. She imagined the sorts of guys who could win Sandy’s easy heart. A toothless crackhead, maybe, or a horny married man or, more likely, some barely decent-looking trucker passing through town, who would only use her and leave her on his way out. Sandy had left a sizable and diverse population of exes in and around Pecan Hollow, old and young, dozens of truckers, farmers, hired hands. Once she slept with her second cousin on accident and a pair of brothers—not hers—on purpose. Last year she had gone after Bill Marcus after his wife died and, when he broke it off, she went after his fifteen-year-old son. Sadly, Sandy’s type was anyone who would pay her attention. Charlie scolded herself for thinking so ill of Sandy, but she knew she was right. She cut her toast into strips and dipped them in the malt.
“Dang, that’s a good malt,” she said.
Sandy smiled. “I know. I put just a pinch of salt in it. Makes all the difference.” She filled the metal cup, left it in the sink, and came back over to Charlie.
“What’s he like, or whatever?” Charlie asked, her best attempt at interest. Sandy’s fair lashes fluttered, eyes bright.
“I’m not even kidding, he’s the hottest guy you have ever seen. He’s real exotic, and smart as a whip, like he never stops thinkin’, you can just tell.” Sandy drifted for a bit and then reengaged like she’d just remembered something. “Plus, he’s a man of God.”
“Oh, Christ,” Charlie said too quietly for Sandy to hear. It really pissed her off how shitty Sandy’s life was. She could give her a lecture about spending less time on boys and more time reading books or learning a skill or something. But maybe the kinder thing was to allow the girl her fantasies.
“You know,” Charlie said, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, “if there were a competition for best malt, you would win first place.”
Sandy blushed at the compliment. “Everyone’s good at something,” she said softly and turned and left Charlie to her meal.
Charlie honed in on her supper. She savored every buttery mouthful of her humble supper, sipped her malt slowly. She had a vague impression that someone had sat next to her but was so engrossed in eating that when the man pressed his hand against her midback she nearly fell off her seat with surprise.
Charlie grabbed the counter to keep from falling. Someone reached out a hand to help her. It was Dirk, the boy she had seen outside Doc’s stable. Charlie refused the hand and struggled to right herself.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said. Charlie scowled, but Dirk just smiled wider. “Okay if I sit next to you?”
She saw Sandy move away as if to give them room but could feel her watching.
“Free country,” Charlie said, hoping she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt, like a cat who had sprung up and failed to land on its feet.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“This is pretty much the only place to eat, and I wanted some supper so I came here. Lord,” she huffed.
He shook his head in disbelief. “What’s it like to get so worked up over nothing all the time, missy?”
The question only made her feel more worked up. It was strange how he was neither bothered nor intimidated by her attitude. She didn’t know what to do but pick a fight.
“Why are you so curious about me, wantin’ to know every little thing?” she asked. “Do you like me or something?” She made it sound like an accusation, but once she asked, she realized she wanted to know the answer. Dirk let the question hang and stirred his coffee.
After a minute, he said, “I don’t think I know you well enough to like you.”
Charlie felt her stomach drop and tried not to let it show. Dirk went on, “But what little I see makes me want to know more.” She let her long hair fall like a curtain between them so she could blush and smile in private.
It was as if her feelings were attached to him by a leash that he could pull in any direction he wanted. She suddenly became aware of herself. Had she bathed today? What did she smell like? She knew she hadn’t combed her hair. Looking at her lap she saw a smear of peanut butter malt in the fringe of her jean cutoffs. How could she be such a slob? She unfolded a pointlessly thin paper napkin and tried to cover the spot.
This was new to her. She had noticed boys before, but vaguely and superficially. Tim Pritchard for his blue-green eyes; the Brunell twins for being not-bad-looking and twins; Gil what’s-his-name for his shoulder-length hair he kept tucked behind his ears. And even so, the interest was passing and low voltage. With Dirk she felt like a Tesla coil. She liked his looks, but there was something about the way he was, guileless, totally open and curious, that confused and excited her.
They sat in silence for a few minutes while Charlie got over herself and Dirk glanced at the menu.
“I don’t know why I bother to look at this thing,” he said and slapped the menu shut. “I always order biscuits and gravy.”
Charlie still didn’t know what to say. Why was she all locked up?
Dirk leaned in. “Say, why do you think Sandy’s taking so long to come over here and take my order?” Charlie looked and saw Sandy idly drying a coffee cup, her ear cocked toward the two. Her open demeanor seemed to have soured. He leaned in closer to Charlie’s ear, sending a rolling charge down her spine.
“Looks to me like she’s eavesdropping.”
As if on cue, Sandy came over, still drying the very dry cup, and asked Dirk curtly for his order.
“Biscuits and gravy, and don’t be shy with the gravy.”
“Ain’t you trying to lose weight, Dirkin?” Sandy said, one brow arched.
Dirk smiled a big fake smile back at her. “Drown ’em to hell.”
Sandy warmed up his coffee and returned to her station, checking them out through the side of her eyes.
Dirk set Charlie’s bike in the bed of his silver Toyota truck.
“You don’t see many foreign cars around here,” Charlie said.
Dirk laughed. “Yeah, I get a lotta shit for this one. You’d think I was a communist or something just cause I drive Japanese.” He cleared the baggies and beer bottles off the seat; a horse blanket covered coiled springs that had popped through the upholstery underneath. She sat down and took in the wheaty, dust, and diesel smell. She put her feet up on the dash.
“Where to, miss?”