That was a man. A man and a woman saying the words and gosh, I didn’t know one of them but it sounded a lot worse than Daddy and my stepmom’s.
My eyes slid to the side and I saw them outside the little, rickety house with its gutters falling down. The outside light was on. I could see the paint on the sides of the house and around the windows nicked and chipped. The screen hadn’t been switched out of the side door since summer which was crazy and the screen had come loose on one end, hanging down. I could see the house was a whole lot smaller than Daddy’s and mine. Then again, everyone in town, even me, knew the Creeds didn’t have a lot of money and my Daddy and Granddaddy and all the ones before made certain that everyone knew we did.
I could also see a man and a woman outside in the snow. She was barefoot. He had his jacket on. She was pushing him. He shoved back and she fell on her bottom in the snow.
I gasped.
I just heard the words.
I never saw. Never, never, ever.
Tucker Creed jerked me around so his back was to the house and I couldn’t see anymore. Then he started walking, fast, making me walk backwards, his hands still covering my ears.
Silently, Bootsie followed us.
He came out like I did. He came out to get away from the words. He came out so he wouldn’t see.
“You don’t like the words,” I whispered and watched his head move funny, hard, fast, like a twitch.
“The words?”
“Mean words,” I told him as he kept pushing us back.
“Fuck you, motherfucker!” the woman shouted. “You leave, don’t come back!”
“I time it right, you got a bottle of Jack in you, you’ll lie back and spread so fast, my head will spin then you’ll spin that tired, used cunt of yours ON my fuckin’ head!” the man shouted back.
Tucker kept pushing me into the woods, his hands over my ears, clenching kind of tight but not hurting, his body blocking the view.
Then his mouth came to my ear.
“I don’t like the words.”
He didn’t like the words. Like me.
“I don’t either,” I whispered in his ear.
“Time it for TWO bottles, asshole. That’s what it’ll take for you to get me to spread!” she screamed.
Tucker kept pushing us back, asking, “You got the words?”
I nodded, his hands moving with my head. “Daddy and his new wife.”
Tucker kept pushing us then he said, “We’re in the sun.”
I blinked.
“What?” I asked.
“We’re in the sun. On the pier. By the lake.”
“Get off me, bitch!” the man shouted, I closed my eyes tight but my hands came up, lifting high, I put them over his ears.
“We’re in the sun,” I agreed, seeing it, feeling it.
We were on the pier on the lake in the sun.
Tucker kept pushing me backwards. “We’ll do cannonballs off the pier. My splashes’ll be bigger than yours.”
I kept my eyes shut, kept moving back with him, feeling Bootsie against my leg following us. I was also feeling the sun, the warmth, seeing the lake in my head, Tucker in swim trunks doing a cannonball off the pier.
“No way, my cannonballs are the best,” I told him.
“Not as good as mine,” he said.
“Better,” I replied then kept talking in his ear as he kept moving us back. “I’ll bring a picnic. In a big basket. We’ll swim and we won’t wait thirty minutes after we eat.”
“We won’t wait.”
“We’ll jump in right after we eat. Bologna sandwiches. With cheese. And Ruffles, they have ridges. The cheesy kind. We’ll drink as much Coke as we want. Cans and cans of it. And we’ll eat frozen Snickers bars,” I said.
“Frozen Snickers bars. Sounds good.”
“Takes forever to eat them. It’s great.”
“Bologna sandwiches and frozen Snickers bars,” he agreed.
“Cannonballs and sun and water,” I said. “And nothing else.”
“Nothing else,” he agreed again.
“No one else,” I told him.
“Just us,” he said.
“Just us.” I nodded, moving his hands with my head. “And Bootsie, my doggie.”
“And your dog.”
We were moving up the incline I fell down and it made me think things I didn’t like.
I started to shiver.
“I been gone a long time, Tucker,” I whispered. “Daddy might find out I’m gone. He doesn’t like it when I take my walks.”
“Then let’s get you home, Sylvie.”
He knew my name. I didn’t know how. I didn’t care. I just liked how it sounded when he said it.
We’d made it almost to the top, he let my ears go but took my hand, turned me and kept us walking. I heard him give a low, quiet whistle and Bootsie trotted with us.
“It happen a lot?” he asked in a soft voice.
“Unh-hunh,” I answered and felt his hand squeeze mine.
“Your Momma… does it –?” I stopped talking when his hand squeezed mine again and he answered, “Yeah. Lots.”
I didn’t like that. I didn’t like the words for me. I didn’t like them for him either.
I squeezed his hand back.
He kept walking me toward my house.
“You know where I live?” I asked.
“Everyone knows all about the Bissenettes,” he answered in a way that was kind of funny. A kind of funny that didn’t feel good.