Breathing Water (25 page)

Read Breathing Water Online

Authors: T. Greenwood

Tags: #General Fiction

BOOK: Breathing Water
4.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“He's beautiful,” Maggie said, leaning to watch him walk to the bar.
“Maggie.” I blushed.
“I mean it. And
sweet.
So polite. I bet he's good to his mother too.”
“You think so?” I asked. I watched him kiss the curly-haired bartender on the cheek. I could almost see her blush and I got a strange twang of jealousy. It felt good though, sharp. Real.
“And he likes you, too,” Maggie said.
“Shh,”
I said, as he started walking back toward the table.
“I don't think you even
need
lucky jeans.”
He sat down with us, and I scooted into the booth to make room for him. From here we had a perfect view of the dance floor. There was one drunk woman dancing alone, twirling around in her cowboy boots, orange makeup, and a tight, low-cut velvet top. Her chest was covered with freckles.
Maggie got the next round of drinks. I passed her my shot of tequila this time, and she chased it with her cocktail. “I'm going to dance,” she said. She walked to the front of the bar, stopped at a booth full of guys, and dragged one of them onto the dance floor. His friends hooted and whistled, and he shuffled his feet all the way to the dance floor. But soon they were dancing, two-stepping, and Maggie was good. Really good. For a few minutes there was something nagging at me as I watched her. Like a word at the tip of my tongue. And then I realized that it was like watching Colette. It was the same feeling that I used to get watching Colette dance. Grace. Getting lost in the music. An ability to completely forget your body.
“Cheers,” Devin said, raising his beer to mine.
“To Maggie's birthday.”
“To Wonderland.” He smiled.
“Hm?”
“Drink me
.” He grinned.
Maggie came back to the table, breathless and smiling. “That was Billy Moffett's brother, Ted,” she said. “Do you remember Billy?”
I looked toward the booth where the guy's friends were slapping his back and high-fiving each other. I looked for Billy in his faraway face.
“Sure,” I said. “I knew Billy.” I sipped my beer, and Maggie grabbed Devin's wrist. “You two-step?”
“I can give it a shot,” he said.
They walked together to the dance floor, and I watched Billy Moffett's brother, Ted, watching them. I felt a chill. I pulled my sweater around me and watched Maggie teach Devin the simple steps. Soon they were dancing like some strange hillbilly version of Fred and Ginger. And Ted Moffett watched them. When he stood up, tripping on his friend's outstretched leg, I looked to see if the bartender was watching. She wasn't.
Ted walked slowly onto the dance floor, dancing alone, holding the rim of his cowboy hat, tipping it to no one. I sat paralyzed and watched as he tapped Devin's shoulder, as Devin turned around and saw Ted. Heard Ted's friends egging him on.
Devin let go of Maggie's hand and leaned to her, asking if she would like to be relinquished, I imagined. Maggie was drunk but not stupid, and I watched her shake her head no. And then I could hear his pleas, his friends' juvenile whistles and slurs, and the sound of the bartender opening the bar gate and slamming it down again behind her.
Soon she was standing next to Ted, putting her hand on his shoulder, trying to convince him to sit down again. When he threw her arm off of him, the bouncer was on top of him, twisting his arm behind his back. Within minutes he and his friends were gone. Outside at least, and Devin and Maggie were laughing at the table with me.
“I need another drink,” Maggie said. “Motherfuckers. Quite the pickings in this town, huh?”
“You okay?” I asked. “Do you think they're really gone?”
“Oh, I dunno. They'll get bored with the parking lot eventually. Do you think Maggie's having a good birthday?” Devin said.
I smiled. “Yeh. I do. I really do.”
When Maggie came back to the table she had a basket of french fries and another round of drinks. “Compensation for all the trouble,” she said. “She's cool.”
“Her husband works with me,” Devin said. “A super carpenter. He built half of the cabins at the lake.”
“A toast,” Maggie said. Her cheeks were hot pink, her brown eyes slits.
“To?” Devin asked.
“To me,” Maggie said. “To Effie. And to my new friend, Devin.” She swallowed from her drink and hit me on the back. She whispered, “Now go dance. He's like one of those guys on MTV. Really.”
“Maggie,” I said, but Devin was just grinning and touching my hand and starting to stand. And, like every high school dance I ever went to, the music turned slow, and my knees turned liquid. But this time I got the guy. This time it was Maggie sitting at the table, while I walked to the dance floor.
I had forgotten how to dance. Max and I never danced. In all the years we were together, we managed to never go to a single college function or other event that required this. Consequently, when Devin looked down at me and reached one arm around my back, I felt like laughing. I was thirteen again. But one of my hands found his hand, and the other found his shoulder and soon we were dancing. He was so tall, my face was even with his chest. I stared at the buttons on his shirt, noticed that one had chipped in half. And slowly, I gave in. I leaned in, and breathed him. Breathed the new smell of his detergent, felt the warmth of his skin through the flannel of his shirt. When the song ended, I didn't pull away, I only prayed for another slow song. But the music picked up and I would not attempt to do the two-step. I was accustomed to leaning, clinging, but dancing was something else all together.
At last call, Maggie was ready to go home. She had confetti in her hair courtesy of the bartender and a group of birthday greeters. She rested her head on Devin's shoulder.
“I think it's time for this one to get some sleep,” he said.
“Me too,” I said.
We managed to get Maggie from the bar to the truck; it took all of my strength to hoist her up onto the seat. The parking lot was almost empty. Devin got in the car, propped Maggie up, and turned the key. The engine trembled but didn't turn over. He tried three more times and then looked at me apologetically.
I looked out the window, wondering where Billy's brother might be hiding. Headlights illuminated the night and then turned toward the road. He turned the key again. Nothing. My heart started to pound so loudly I was certain he could hear it.
“Do you think we need a jump?” I asked.
“Probably. I'll run in and get Sue to help,” he said. “You guys okay here?”
“Um-hum.” I nodded. Maggie snored softly.
I watched him walk back to the bar. I was sweating even though I could almost see my breath. I was waiting for Ted to come out of a dark car. I was waiting for someone to get hurt. I nudged Maggie, but she wouldn't wake up. I felt like I was going to throw up.
But then Devin and Sue were pulling jumper cables out of her car, and creating a lifeline between one and the other. “Thanks a bunch,” he said when the truck roared to life.
Ted was not here. He probably had forgotten about Devin completely by now. And I hated myself for always being frightened of what was already gone.
Devin helped me carry Maggie to her bedroom. I kicked a pair of her panties under the bed. Alice was at her grandmother's, thank God. Maggie blew kisses as we left. I locked the door behind me, and checked two times to make sure it was locked.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“Kind of.”
“You wanna go home?”
“No,” I said. “I mean, I'm not really tired.”
“You want to come hang out at my house? I've got some chili.”
“Chili?”
“And cornbread. Mama's recipe.” I noticed then how kind his eyes are. Laugh lines like small rivers. Dimples like small canyons.
“Sounds good.”
 
We sat on his porch eating chili until the sun started to turn the sky pink. The roof of my mouth was burned and there were cornbread crumbs in my hair. His right leg was touching my left leg. We sat like this, barely touching, chili turning cold in our bowls until the sky filled with light. We talked, but I was uncertain of the words. The only thing I was certain of was this shade of the sky and the way his arm fit across my shoulder. In the circle of his arm I was Alice.
Drink me.
And I didn't mind so much being small.
 
I could feel the air turning. Ever so slightly, there was a change in the scent of Gormlaith. It filled me with the strange familiar sadness of other summers' ends. But it was only August. This was only the prelude. There was, for now, nothing to fear.
Devin held the ladder as I climbed up to the tree house. My legs were shaky, uncertain now that we had torn so much away from the structure. I stepped into the musty room and waited for him.
“You sure we can fix this?” I asked.
“Promise,” he said. His breath felt like heavy feathers on my shoulder.
All day we worked. Mostly I carried things, kept things steady. The plans were all inside his head. I didn't ask questions.
By the time the air began to chill and the sun fell behind Franklin, I was standing on the miracle porch staring out over Gormlaith. I couldn't tell how I was suspended. There was no evidence to suggest that we weren't standing on air.
“There,” Devin said, brushing sawdust from his shirt. “Whatcha think?”
“It's great,” I said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said and sat down on the edge of the porch, his legs swinging below him. He looked like the giant at the top of Jack's beanstalk.
The sun melted into the water in dream colors and the porch swayed beneath us. I grabbed my sweatshirt from inside the dark tree house and pulled it around my shoulders. I sat down next to him and looked through the veil of leaves.
“It always ends too quick,” he said.
“What's that?” I asked.
“Summer at Gormlaith.” He smiled, helping me with a stubborn sleeve.
“I know.” I nodded.
The darkness fell around his shoulders as the dream colors turned from orange-red-blue into indigo. When he closed his eyes, he disappeared. I reached for him to make sure he was still there.
Back at his house, he brought me hot cider in a glass beer mug.
“Sorry, all the dishes are dirty.” He sighed and motioned toward his kitchen. “I wouldn't go in there if I were you. That kitchen's tempermental if you ask me. Temper tantrums. I swear to God. It damn near exploded today.”
I took the mug and held it with two hands. The smell of cinnamon and cloves filled my head like a hushed secret. It brought back all sorts of longing. For summer to linger. For other autumns.
“It's a little early for cider,” I said. “It's still summer.”
“I couldn't resist,” he said. “They had some at the Farmer's Market and I figured what the hell.”
I sipped from the mug and let autumn fill me.
It might be easier this way,
I thought,
to welcome fall.
“When do you go?” I asked. I couldn't look at him.
“Labor Day weekend,” he said. “Classes start the day after Labor Day. Nothing like waiting until the last minute.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Good?” he asked then, pointing to my mug.
“Good.” I smiled and finished the sweet warm cider.
I felt a yawn coming, my body giving in to the exhaustion brought on by a day spent working in the tree.
“Can we stay in the tree house one night?” he asked, reaching for my hand. “Before I leave?”
A thousand yeses. A thousand small aches. I nodded.
 
I woke up and didn't know where I was. The air smelled different. The quilts on my shoulders were unfamiliar, the fabric thick and soft but strange. I pulled myself from the confusion, sitting up to figure out where I was. The glass mug was still on the coffee table. Devin's flannel shirt was laid neatly across the back of an overstuffed armchair. The curtains were drawn and when I pulled them back to see what time it might be, I could see the light on in Devin's studio.
In Devin's tempermental kitchen, the clock said twelve-thirty. I was certain it was morning, that I had slept through an entire night. I felt rested and alive. I opened the back door and slipped a pair of Devin's boots on. I could barely walk, they were so big. I must have looked ridiculous standing in the open doorway of the studio when he turned away from his work and saw me standing there.
“Effie,” he said, startled. He was kneeling on the floor over an enormous piece of paper.

Other books

Switchblade: An Original Story by Connelly, Michael
The Watchers by Jon Steele
2 Dancing With Death by Liz Marvin