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Her fingers still clutch mine as we walk through the tall grass without saying a word. I release her when we reach the Jeep and we both hop in. My heart bleeds and anger courses in my veins. I turn on the engine and peel out of the clearing.
My brother left.
My brother is gay and he left and he’s never coming back. My father acts as if he never existed. My mother is miserable. My parents—people who once loved each other—hate each other.
Driving alongside the creek, I wait for a shallow part before crossing. I’ve tortured Beth enough. With this Jeep. With my presence.
Isaiah said I made her cry. My fingers tighten on the wheel. Beth’s right—I’m a jerk.
I’ll take her home, then ride to the back field of my house. And drink. By myself.
Drinking may not undo history, but it will cause me to forget for a few hours.
I jerk the wheel to the left when the rushing of the creek slows to a trickle. Water barely laps the tires as I cross, but the moment I hit the other side, I know I’m screwed. Mud.
Too much mud. Deep mud. I press on the gas and pull the wheel to the right to try to force the front tires on solid ground before the back ones sink, but it’s too late. The back tires whine and halt all forward progress.
“Shit!” I slam my hand on the steering
wheel. Knowing that fighting will drag us deeper, I cut the engine. I’m stuck. I yank the hat from my head and throw it to the floorboard. That sums everything up—I’m in deep and I’m stuck.
My leg sinks a foot into the mud. Beth will be full of colorful words when I tell her we’re going to have to walk. The mud acts like slow-drying concrete, making each step nearly impossible. My jeans rub and slosh in the filth.
I’m a complete mess, but I don’t have to let Beth get this dirty.
I haven’t been much of a gentleman to her. In fact, I’ve been the opposite. Not that her shining personality has made it easy. I open her door and hold out my arms. “Come here. ”
Her forehead furrows. “What?”
“I’m going to carry you out of the mud. ”
She lifts an incredulous eyebrow. “The show’s over, Bat Boy. You don’t have to be nice to me anymore. ”
Not in the mood for her mouth or an argument, I slip my arms underneath her knees and lift her out of the seat. She won’t be bitching me out the entire walk home because I ruined her shoes.
“Wait!” Beth wiggles in my arms and reaches for the Jeep.
Can’t she permit me one nice act? “Dammit, Beth, let me help you. ”
Ignoring me, Beth leans into the passenger side. The back of her shirt hitches up, exposing her smooth skin and Chinese symbols tattooed along her spine. My eyes follow the path of the symbols until they disappear into her jeans.
Way too quickly for me, she leans back into my arms, two six-packs of beer cradled against her chest.
My eyes flicker from the beer to Beth.
She shrugs. “Six wasn’t enough. ”
For me, it’s plenty. I don’t want a drinking partner tonight and if I did, it wouldn’t be her. I kick the door shut and wade out of the mud.
Beth’s light. Weighs one hundred; maybe one-o-five wet.
“You’re obsessed with touching me,” she says.
I jostle Beth to shut her up. The beer cans clank together as she juggles them to prevent them from falling out of her lap. “Readjusting”
Beth did shut her up, but it positioned her head closer to mine. I stare straight ahead and try not to focus on the sweet scent of roses drifting from her hair.
“You are obsessed with touching me. You could have put me down forever ago. ”
