“The fact that you and I had a son. I had a son! We made a child together. And he’s dead. And I never knew him. I never knew him, Georgia! I never knew a damn thing about him. And you’re going to spit that shit at me? How did he die, Georgia? Huh? Tell me!” I knew. I was almost sure I knew. Eli kept showing me the truck. Georgia’s old truck, Myrtle. Something happened to Eli in the truck.
Anger zinged in colorful zags and streaks behind my eyes. I felt the water start to part, separating, splitting, and the colors from the other side started to seep down the channel. I pressed my hands into my eyes, and maybe I looked as crazed as I felt, because when I pulled my hands away, Georgia had jumped the fence and began to run, her legs eating up the distance swiftly, as if she thought I would kill her too. And instead of making me pause, her flight just made me angrier. She was going to answer me. She was going to tell me. And she was going to do it now. I went after her, over the fence, arms and legs pumping, rage narrowed on her slim back and on her pale hair falling out of her braid, running away from me like I was a monster.
When I pulled her down, I wrapped myself around her and took her weight on mine. We hit hard, her head bouncing off my shoulder, my head bouncing off the ground, but it didn’t slow her down any. She fought me, kicking and scratching like a wild animal, and I rolled on top of her, pinning her arms between us, pressing her legs down with my own.
“Georgia!” I roared, pressing my forehead into hers, controlling every part of her. I could feel her gasping for breath, crying, resisting me with all her strength.
“Stop it! You’re going to talk to me. You’re going to talk to me. Right. Now. What happened to him?” I felt the ice in my hands and flames at my neck, and I was reminded that Eli was there. I knew he was watching us, watching me restraining his mother. And I was ashamed. I didn’t want to see him and I couldn’t let her go. I needed her to tell me. I shifted so I wasn’t crushing her, but I didn’t lift my brow from where I pressed it into hers, controlling her head. When a horse gives you her head, she’s yours. Georgia’s words whispered in my memory. She wasn’t giving me her head. But I was taking it.
“Talk.”
Georgia
“MOM! I’M GOING!” I yelled as I strode through the kitchen and swiped my keys from atop the fridge.
“I wanna come too.” Eli jumped up from the floor where he was carefully building a corral out of Lincoln logs and ran for the door, sending the little logs flying in all directions. I’d already bathed him and put on his favorite Batman pajamas, even attaching the little black cape so he could save Gotham between repairing corrals. I caught him up and swung him around, his little legs locking around my waist, his arms around my neck.
“No, baby. Not this time. You’re gonna stay with grandma and gramps, okay?” Eli’s face crumpled and his eyes filled right on cue.
“I wanna come!” he protested tearfully.
“I know, but I won’t be home until late and it won’t be fun for you, buddy.”
“It will be fun! I like to stay up late!” he squeezed his legs tighter and his arms were like a vise around my neck.
“Eli, stop,” I laughed. “Grandpa said he would watch John Wayne and the cowboys with you. And I’ll bet Grandma will make popcorn too. Okay?” Eli shook his head vehemently, and I could see he wasn’t going to cooperate. I’d left him too often lately.
“MOM! Help!” I projected my voice so that my mom would hear, wherever she was.
“Go on, George! We’ve got him.” My dad’s voice came from the back of the house and I walked with Eli in my arms until I reached my parents’ room. My dad was stretched out on the bed, remote in hand, boots off, his cowboy hat still perched on his head. He greeted us with a smile and patted the bed, coaxing Eli to join him.
“Come on, wild man. Sit by Grandpa. Let’s see if we can find a good cowboy show.”
Eli released my neck and slid from my body reluctantly, falling in a forlorn little heap on the bed. He hung his head to let me know he wasn’t happy, but at least he was accepting. I kissed his head quickly and pulled back immediately so he couldn’t grab me again. His arms could be like sticky tentacles.
“We’re watching cowboy shows, Mommy. No mommies allowed.” Eli pouted, excluding me like I was excluding him. Then he crossed his arms and sniffled, and I met my dad’s gaze with a sigh.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said softly and he winked at me.
“You heard him. No mommies allowed. Get out, girl,” he repeated with a smile.
I flew through the house and out the back door, side-stepping chickens and my mom’s two guinea hens, Dame and Edna, flipping back my hair and yanking open the door to Myrtle in a matter of seconds. When the door closed, I turned the key, and the old truck roared to life, blaring Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” from the speakers. I loved the song and paused for a second, listening. This station always played country oldies. I felt like a country oldie myself sometimes. I was twenty-two years old, but lately I felt like I was forty-five. With a big sigh, I slumped forward and rested my head on the steering wheel, letting the song wash over me, just for a minute. I hated leaving Eli. It was always an ordeal. Right now, I just needed to catch my breath. There was no silence in my life. Ever. No time to breathe.
Tonight I just wanted to be young and beautiful and maybe dance with a couple of cute cowboys and pretend I had only myself to worry about, even pretend I was looking for a man like the other girls were. I wasn’t. Eli was the only man in my life. But tonight, it would be nice to be held for a little while. Maybe the band would even play this song. I would request it.
Gordon finished wishing for a mind-reader and the next song in the line-up was about mommas not letting their babies grow up to be cowboys. I laughed a little. My baby was already a cowboy. Too late.