Box

10

When I exit what’s left of the barn I notice Trudy’s in the driver’s seat.

I open the passenger door and lean in.

“Not to be rude, but that man looks way too old to be your father.”

“He’s had a rough life.”

“How old is he?”

“You mean because he looks too old to be my Daddy?”

“Well, yes. To be frank about it.”

“He started another family before he met Mom. She was much younger.”

She looks at me, smiles, and says, “Guess she was a lot like me.”

“In what way?”

“Attracted to older men.”

I smile.

She says, “Aren’t you gettin’ in the car?”

“Who’s Darrell?”

She frowns. “Scooter told you about Darrell?”

“Just in passing. Who is he?”

“My brother.”

“Will he be mad at me, too?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No, of course not, honey!”

“Where are we going?”

“Your place.”

“I haven’t booked a room yet.”

“No. I mean, your place. New York City.”

“This is a rental car.”

“I know. You got it in Nashville. At the airport.”

She can tell I’m puzzled, so she adds, “The rental agreement’s in the glove box. I read it while waitin’ for you. So anyway, I’ll drive us to Nashville, we’ll catch an early mornin’ flight, and be home by noon.”

“Home?”

“I’ve decided to move in with you.”

“Seriously?”

“How could I not? We’re practically engaged.”

I hold up a hand.

“What?” she says.

“First things first.”

I open the glove box, pop the trunk.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t leave him like this. He’s in pain.”

“The man tried to hang you.”

“Good point.”

“And anyway, we’re gonna call an ambulance from the highway, remember?”

“I know. But in the meantime, he could go into shock.”

“Is there something you can do to prevent that?”

“My medical bag’s in the wheel well, under the spare tire.”

“Okay, but let’s do this quickly, okay?”

“Why the rush?”

“I don’t expect you to understand, but I’ve tried to escape this town six times and never got past Starbucks. Somethin’ always happens at the last second.”

“You’ve got a Starbuck’s here in Clayton? No shit?”

“No, of course not. Starbucks is a town, twenty miles south of here.”

I grab my bag and a towel from my suit bag, and head back inside. Trudy’s a step behind saying, “Who packs a beach towel to go to Western Kentucky?”

“Believe it or not,” I say, “Clayton wasn’t my destination.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Ralston.”

“Why?”

“It’s personal.”

“Personal means a woman. It’s a woman, right?”

I sigh.

Trudy says, “Good thing you met me when you did.”

“Why’s that?”

“Whoever she is, I’m way more fun.”

I stop a moment to look at her.

She shrugs. “It’s true, Gideon.”

I say, “In the two hours I’ve been here, I’ve been knocked out cold, tied to a chair, hung by my neck to die, and had a roof come crashing down on me.”

“So?”

“Where’s all this fun you’re talking about?”

“Are you always this negative?”

“Yes.”

“You know how I see the last two hours?”

“Tell me.”

“You had a wonderful home-cooked meal, you French-kissed the Wilford County homecomin’ queen, you felt her up, and found true love.”

“True love?”

“Well, far as you know.”

“What does that mean?”

“I got a feelin’ about you. And you’re about to get me on a road trip. Not many men can say that.”

“How many, exactly?”

“Let’s just fix my Daddy’s leg and get out of here,” she says.

As we approach Scooter, he says, “Don’t let him touch me, Trudy. He’s gonna give me an overdose and kill me.”

“Don’t be silly, Daddy. He’s a doctor. And a damn fine one, too.”

“You’ve only got his word for that.”

“I trust him. Now let him give you somethin’ for the pain.”

As I cover him with my beach towel he says to Trudy, “You know what he said to me a minute ago?”

“What’s that, Daddy?”

“He said he was gonna think about me every time he fucks you.”

She looks at me and says, “You said that?”

I shrug, check his pulse.

She says, “Well, how thoughtful is that! Weird, but thoughtful.”

She thinks on it a minute, while I check his pupils with my penlight, then says, “More weird than thoughtful, I think.”

By then I’ve given him a shot of morphine. When he seems stable, we head for the car.