“Land costs a pretty penny, Bonnie.” He scratches his jawline. “I help my pa at the service station, but it’s not adding up. To put money away, I skim from businesses, ones that have sold out to the Man. Big corporations own over half of our country’s industry now. At least that’s what Buck says. He knows ’bout this stuff more than me. All I know is I’m hurtin’ for money more than them. They’ll be fine. One month where their books don’t balance. My family, though—they deserve a different type of life, away from here.” He pauses, as if he’s debating his next words, then says, “You serve illegal drinks. I took a little from the rich. Is it really all that different?”
Yes, I want to scream. But it’s not. We both did it for our families. We both did it to become more. And Clyde says he’ll stop. He’ll stop, without asking me to do the same.
“No,” I say, and my desire to be with Clyde overpowers my doubts. The distance between us seems inconsequential now. I walk into his chest, and his arms close ’round me. “Will they leave you alone now?”
Clyde sighs. “One can hope, ’cause big things await us, Bonnie.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” I say into his chest, concentrating on the positive, not on Clyde being a target tomorrow, the next day, the next week.
“Anything.” He kisses the side of my head. “Anything awaits us.”
Clyde’s response is whimsical. It ain’t realistic, not with all I’ve worked for lying broken at my feet, but he makes me want to believe that anything is possible.
“Jobs?” I ask.
“I got something else in mind. The job hunt can wait one more day.”
I ain’t sure of that. I quit school to find a job. But it’s so tempting to get caught up in the whimsical with Clyde.
He kisses the side of my head again. “How ’bout we have that supper?”
I pull back. “It’s lunchtime.”
“It’s going to take a few hours to get to the Gulf,” Clyde says matter-of-factly. “You’ve always wanted to go to the water, haven’t you?”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Okay, well, let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“There’s no time like the present, Bonnie.”
I roll onto my toes, fully anticipating the trip with Clyde, along with all those other unnamed things that await us. But, before this moment passes us by, I say, “You’re exactly right. There is no time like the present.”
With Clyde’s shirt bunched within my hands, I pull him toward me. Slow, our kiss starts slow, then Clyde winds his hand ’round the nape of my neck, and I melt into him. When we part, breathless, remaining inches apart, the space between my legs still tingles.
*
Air whips at my hair, tossing it carelessly into my face, behind my shoulders, into Blanche’s face. She raises her arms above her head, lets out a holler—so reminiscent of the photo of her, with Buck driving.
“How much longer?” Blanche yells into the wind.
Buck shakes his head. “Four hours and fifty-five minutes.”
Blanche slumps down in the backseat of Big Bertha. I settle next to her, my teeth chattering, and meet Clyde’s lazy smile in the rearview mirror.
“We’ve only been on the road for five minutes?” she says.
I laugh, but I also think, Take your time. This is the very first time, in my nineteen years of being on this earth, I’ve gone beyond Cement City and Dallas.
And I have Clyde to thank for that, even if Blanche made it possible with her car. Had to figure she’d insist on going on the trip as well.
I try to absorb as much of the passing landscapes, the cityscapes, the neighborhoods, the open road as I can, happy Blanche also insisted on having the top down, despite the chill in the air.
Buck’s and Clyde’s voices drift back to me, arguing over the best route to take. Clyde holds up a map, pointing to his preferred path. I smirk, enjoying the scenery and the boys’ bickering. Though, after last night’s lack of sleep, worrying over Clyde in jail, along with the weight of facing life again after we return, it doesn’t take long before my eyes grow heavy.
When I wake, my head is on Blanche’s shoulder and we’ve stopped. I lift my head and Blanche dabs her sleeve.
“Thank goodness you’re up. You’ve been drooling on me like that dog of yours.”
I wipe my chin, pull my collar higher to shield more of my neck from the too-cold air. “What’re we doing?”
“Just filling up the tank.”
“Where’s Clyde?”
“Inside, getting some grub.”
I spot him through the service station window. Buck is chattin’ it up with the gasoline attendant. “Buck can yap with anyone, can’t he?”
Blanche nods. “Probably talking business. His family owns a service station back in Dallas.”
“They own it?”
“Yeah, fooled me. I saw dollar signs when I learned that. But it ain’t like that. They’re making enough to get by. Buck told me they lived under their wagon when they first moved to Dallas.”
“Why’d they come to Dallas?”
“They were farmers.”
“Oh,” I say, not needing more of an explanation. I know the war led to a rise in farming, all those mouths to feed in Europe. But with the war over, those countries didn’t need our farms anymore. Lots of families here had to pack up and head toward cities to afford putting food on their own tables. Ironic, really. “Well, Clyde’s got a hankering to move back. He told me he’s been looking for land.”
“Yeah.” The humor vanishes from her voice. “Dallas has some bad memories for their family.”
“What do you mean?”
Buck’s whistle announces his return, and Blanche clamps her mouth shut.
“All ready to go,” Buck says, and hops into the driver’s seat. Blanche leans forward in her seat, wrapping her arms ’round Buck’s neck. “Where’s Clyde?” he asks us. “The lad tire of ya already, Bonn?”
I narrow my eyes, earning a boisterous laugh out of Buck.
Clyde returns, and we’re on our way. In less than an hour, we’ve left behind any type of civilization, and Big Bertha bounces down a rocky dirt road. Blanche and I exchange This car better not get a flat looks. On either side of us, wildflowers form a path in one direction: toward the sea. Though, ahead of us, a dune, speckled with sea grass, blocks any glimpse of the waves.
“We’re here!” Buck proclaims.
Blanche squeals and ushers the boys out of the car so we can put the roof up and change into something more suitable for the Gulf—not that either of us will go in the freezing water.
The boys scoff at Blanche’s silly desire to wear bathing suits, and I don’t blame them.
We emerge, beach shoes on our feet, stockings to our knees, shorts—cut higher than I’d like—covered by a one-piece top. Skintight, all of it. I pull my jacket tighter against the cold as the boys whistle, no longer scoffing.
Blanche shimmies her shoulders, not bothering to button her coat, then jumps into Buck’s arms, wrapping her legs ’round him and nearly whacking him upside the head with her parasol. Buck carries her up the dune, laughing at her antics.
Clyde holds out his hand. “Truth be told, I wish it was warmer so you didn’t have to wear that coat.”
I blush but swag my hips a bit more than usual as I walk toward Clyde. He takes my hand, and we trek up the sand mound together, the sun setting on our backs.
This is exactly how I wanted seeing the Gulf for the first time to be: seagulls chirping in disjointed melodies, my feet sinking into the sand, and sea grass swaying gently in the breeze, whispering to us.
The dune makes me work for each step, ’til there it is.