“Don’t be dramatic. It’s nothing,” Kit snapped, though she wondered the same.
Kit glanced at the rearview mirror and relaxed a little. It was only Caleb. She noticed the purple stippling on her face and licked her thumb and rubbed at the spots on her cheeks, but the stain had set. She gave up and watched him, half-wary, half-curious. As Officer Caleb Nabors walked toward the truck, he smoothed back the ridges of his hair, which would have been wavy if he didn’t keep it so impeccably trim, and repositioned his hat. He centered his belt buckle, straightened his gig line, and gave a final inspection of his uniform before presenting himself at her window.
She hooked a muscular arm over the door and met his eyes with a look intended to cut him off at the pass.
“Listen, I don’t see the point of all this,” she belted out at him. “Nobody knows what happened. It’s just a schoolyard tussle.”
“Afternoon, Kit,” he said and tipped the brim of his hat.
She humored him with a slight nod.
“Kit, did you know your gas cap was missing?” He seemed, just then, to have manufactured a reason for stopping her. She breathed deeper into her lungs as she shook off her earlier concerns that he’d heard, that she’d have someone more imposing to reckon with than Mrs. Fowler.
“Yeah, so? Is there a law against missing gas caps or something?”
“Oh, uh, come to think of it?” He laughed, unnerved, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess not, it’s just it might be dangerous was all I was thinking.” Kit took no pleasure in witnessing him flounder. As if seized by a fresh idea, he snapped his fingers and tried another angle, ducked his head to window level.
“What’s this you say about a schoolyard tussle?” he asked casually.
“It’s nothing. Forget it,” Kit said.
“Anything I could help with?” Though Kit was never fully free of suspicion, he had a friendly air.
“I stabbed a girl in the face,” Charlie interjected with a proud half smile. “It was self-defense.”
Kit muzzled her daughter with the palm of her hand.
“Can you shut your mouth and let me handle this please?”
Charlie pulled away. “What, you want me to lie to a cop then? Jesus!”
Caleb whistled without concealing his horror at this confession. He tipped his hat back to wipe his brow. “Sounds like you can handle yourself, little lady.”
“Listen, I gotta go. We done here?” Kit had already shifted into gear.
He chuckled self-consciously, taking a step back from the door, and opened his mouth as if to speak a thousand words. Then he leaned in just slightly and she could smell his good soap and the Juicy Fruit on his breath.
“Y’all coming to the cookout Friday?” he asked. “Pastor Tom’s cousin is smoking a hundred pounds of brisket for eighteen hours or something.”
Kit shifted in her seat, itching to leave and wishing she were the kind of woman who wanted to stay. “I don’t think so,” she said, and as he held his smile against the disappointment, she was sorry to let him down.
“Suit yourself, ladies,” he said, tipped his hat, and turned around.
As Caleb walked away, Kit recalled the smooth, even curve of his nails, so clean underneath. She glanced at her own—one thumbnail blackish, split down the middle, the rest ragged from gnawing and cruddy underneath—and curled them into her palm. Kit did not like the feeling she got from Caleb. She knew he had a thing for her; that had been clear for a long time. Most guys would hoot from afar or try to hustle her. They were easy to blow off because she knew what she was dealing with—blunt, horny, shallow. But with Caleb she had this horrible sense that he wanted her in a different way. In a for keeps way. He was too sensitive, and backed off at the slightest rebuff, but he was patient. He had never given up trying as long as she had known him. Once or twice a year he’d ask her somewhere—trail rides, bonfires, church functions—in his Caleb way, both gentlemanly and shy. When he approached her, she felt nervous and conflicted. She didn’t deserve the attention of someone so kind and plainspoken, so different from Manny. What was love if it wasn’t violent and confusing, if you weren’t a slave to it? She couldn’t begin to see how she and Caleb would work together, but his interest reminded her of how lonely she was.
She remembered what it felt like to want someone, to settle into him, thread his legs with her own. The long mornings with their noses overlapped, passing the same sweet humid air between them. If only she could keep the parts she liked and trim away the rest, she might think about loving a man again. A swell of pain rose up from her ribs and into her throat. Her eyes wet, her neck flushed. Nope, she thought. She willed away her feelings, a little trick she’d devised as a girl, and felt the sadness fade into a sinking numbness, her merciful retreat. Her arms stiffened at the wheel and she drove ahead as Charlie stared out the window, far away.
Kit was late for work but she needed gas. She coasted up to the filling station and parked under the red and blue flat top, always in front and closest to the road, never boxed in, and squirted some gas in the tank and another gallon or so in a greasy red portable just in case. She hadn’t racked up much good fortune in these places and avoided them when she could.
Charlie lay across the bench seat and pressed her bare feet to the passenger window.
“I’m going inside to pay,” Kit said.
“You could offer me something to eat,” Charlie said. “I’m frickin’ starving.”
Ah, she’s hungry, Kit thought, though she knew food could only go so far in easing Charlie’s chronic bitchiness.
“I’d take one of those roller dogs, if it’s nice and hot,” Charlie said. “I can pay for it.”
“With what money?” Kit said.
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, instantly sour. “I thought I should at least offer but now I take it back. Christ.” She stretched her legs up to the ceiling and pushed its dented surface up so it made a wonk and let it dunk back into place. She was tall for her age, a leggier, browner version of her mother, more loosely put together, and she moved like there was plenty of space between her bones. Her fierce dark brows nearly grew together, giving her a permanently intense expression. She hung her head, her blanket of hair over the edge of the driver’s seat, and scowled.
“What. Are. You. Staring. At?” Charlie sassed, as if Kit were some ogling creep.
Kit wanted to ignore her daughter, or fight her, or scream at her. But she knew she had to be the parent, and that didn’t come naturally to her. She had to think before she spoke and decided to take a direct approach.
“Look, kid,” she said. “I’m just standing here wondering why you stabbed a girl in the face.”
Charlie shook her head and looked out the window, neither guilt nor care upon her face. “I can’t explain,” she said nonchalantly. “It just happened.”
“Did she say anything? Was she pushing you around?”