“I’m not sure I’d agree that spending time in jail is funny.”
“We stole turkeys.”
“Turkeys?” I scrunch my brows.
He chuckles. “Clyde wanted to make the holidays special for our ma and—”
“That’s sweet.”
“That’s Clyde for ya. He planned this big ol’ dinner we couldn’t afford. Reckon it’s my fault we got pinched, though. I had this bright idea we could make some clams by selling turkeys—at a premium, of course, but still less than the store was asking, those crooks.”
“So you stole turkeys?” I reckon that ain’t too bad.
“And sold ’em. The po-lice only locked us up to scare us straight. We were out in no time, even though that bullheaded Clyde put up a fight, always does. They almost kept him longer for resisting arrest. But they ended up just keeping us a night in the box. We were home in plenty of time to carve that bird for our ma.”
“So you’re sayin’ you’re like a modern-day Robin Hood?”
Buck slaps his leg, letting out a hoot of laughter. “Saint Bonnelyn, I like that spin, I gotta tell ya.”
His story settles between us. The back of my head itches, but I don’t move to scratch it. Right and wrong has been so muddy lately that my thoughts also stay still, not sure which way to go.
“Look,” Buck continues, his voice barely more than a whisper, “we can’t be futzing ’round out here. They’ll be here soon, and I can’t keep them waiting. You and I are a team now, right? You got to trust me.”
He offers his hand again, and this time I slowly place mine in his. After he helps me from the car, he pulls my hand through the crook of his arm. I take another quick puff of my cigarette then stomp it into the ground.
Together, we walk down the alley toward the street, Buck navigating the many potholes.
“Okay,” he says. We round the corner onto the sidewalk, the buildings high around us. A car passes. The storefronts have people here and there but ain’t overly crowded, it being suppertime. “Pretend I said something funny.”
I take a quick breath and think of what Clara Bow would do in her film It. I lean into Buck and laugh.
An older couple passes us, the woman smiling at me in a grandmotherly way.
“You’re a regular actress,” Buck whispers. I smile at that.
He pulls open the door to MacGregor’s Restaurant, and I go in first.
A hostess greets us, not a single wrinkle on her dress. Buck responds, with the words anniversary, girlfriend, and celebration louder than the rest. I almost shush him, this seeming like the kind of place where you can’t speak more than a whisper. The tables are covered in white, the utensils sparkling, the lights dim, the music low.
We’re seated, Buck pushing in my chair, and I don’t think anyone has taken special notice of us. But really, why should they? They don’t know we’re here to bootleg alcohol. We’re here for a nice supper. Probably the nicest supper I’ve ever had.
I peruse the menu. Despite my own pep talk, my hands tremble. My eye catches on Crown Roast of Pork. When I put the menu down, Buck lays his hand over mine, offering me a reassuring smile.
“Aren’t you two adorable?” the waitress remarks, suddenly at our table. “Would you like to hear our specials?”
“I think we’re all set,” Buck says, glancing at me for my agreement. I nod and take a sip of water to busy myself.
With our order placed, the waitress gone, and Buck and I alone again, he leans ’cross the table. Any nosy bystanders would think he was whispering sweet nothings to me, something Roy would do.
“All right,” Buck says, “I’ll be right back. Just need to use the li’l boys’ room.” He winks.
What he really means is: All right, I’ll sneak into the alley, meet the distributor, quickly load the car with alcohol, then be back for the main course. You stay here, my perfect-looking fake girlfriend, so that no one thinks it’s odd that I’ve left.
“Hurry back,” I say, covering the nervous inflection of my voice with a flirtatious undertone.
Buck kisses my hand before walking toward the back of the restaurant. My gaze follows him ’cross the room, my heart thumping in my chest. I close my eyes, tell myself that there’s nothin’ to worry ’bout. I just sit here. Sit here and wait. That’s it. And he’ll be back in a few minutes.
So what if last time Buck made an alcohol run he thought he had police watching him? This time is different. There were no flashing headlights from Clyde. That’s got to mean no one knows we have a stolen car. Not yet, at least. And, so far, no one’s acting strange in the restaurant. The waitress thought we were a real couple, even. We’re being nothin’ but discreet.
My heartbeat slows and I open my eyes.
Staring back at me from ’cross the room is Hazel Griffin, Southwest Dallas High School’s most notorious chatterbox and lead writer of our school’s gossip column. Next to her is Jimmy … whatever his last name is. All my brain can comprehend is how Hazel pins me with a That wasn’t Roy expression. She studies Buck’s empty chair and her lips twist.
I instinctively stand, my chair scraping against the floor. My napkin falls from my lap.
“Hazel,” I whisper, as if sayin’ her name louder will make this situation worse.
She sashays toward me, Jimmy trailing behind like he always does. “I underestimated you, Bonnelyn Parker. He’s a Casanova,” Hazel says. “And you? Two-timing Roy Thornton? Just like Ethel Bowens did to Harold Monroe. Wow. Haven’t you two been together since you were pups? Didn’t Roy buy you a house?”
“No,” I say, and madly shake my head. “I mean, yes. He bought me a house, but—”
“And your hair? Now that’s scandalous. It really makes me wonder what you’ve been up to this summer. I got to believe Blanche Caldwell has been involved in some way or another.”
“Hazel—”
She steps closer, presses her finger to my lips. “Shh. Don’t you worry. After I figure out all your secrets, I’ll be sure to keep ’em to myself.” She laughs. “See you at school, Bonnelyn. Can you believe it’s starting so soon?”
Hazel brushes past me, my mouth doing nothin’ but catching flies. Jimmy follows, lowering his head.
“Hazel,” I say, louder, and turn to also follow, to tell her that she’s got it wrong. She doesn’t stop. My God, Hazel Griffin never keeps a secret.
I picture my world coming down ’round me, starting with Roy unraveling all of my lies.
All I can do is stand here. For a minute? Five minutes? Time also stands still, ’til I hear a scream, easily swallowing the soft din of the restaurant.
A deep scream.
A man’s scream.
My hand flies to my chest, the earlier pounding now seeming like child’s play.
The deal’s gone bad. I know it.
10
All thoughts of Hazel Griffin and her big mouth are gone, vanished, unimportant.
That scream …
Buck? No, I tell myself, hands on my chest. It’s not Buck.
Something’s gone wrong, but Buck is fine.